The dream-words siphoned round his head. His eyes bugged open. He felt cold and hot at the same time; he felt drenched in sweat yet dry as pumice. It was always dark in here, and the darkness was his nemesis. It seduced him with its comfort, then dropped the memories into his lap like freshly severed heads. The darkness whispered the dream-words again and again as he lay helpless and churning… But they weren’t really dream-words, were they? Ah-no— They were real… prey-bee… The hideous face, like a cracked mask, was always there, hovering in the dark. Day or night, asleep or awake—it didn’t matter. It was simply…always…there… Gut shuddered fiercer this time. He peed his pants again. The screams were there, too. How could he forget them? And how could he forget what they’d done to Scott-Boy? Christ…Scott-Boy… “Fergive me, God,” he whispered. It had to be God, sending demons after ’em for their sins. Gut knew they’d done terrible things, all the razzin’ and dope-sellin’, sellin’ all that shit ta kids just ta turn a buck.
