Margaret insisted. “I don’t think I can,” Ellis sighed. The moth-man took another step toward them, swaying slightly in the hall. With each passing moment, the moths were grouping tighter together, their colors merging into a uniform smoothness of cloth, thread and skin. The coat was different now, a long military tunic emerging with two breast pockets beneath an open trench coat. The writhing moths at the figure’s head stiffened into a peaked hat, its visor suddenly shining in the hall light. “But you stopped Merrick!” There was panic in Margaret’s voice. “No one has ever managed to do that … ever!” “But I wanted to stop Merrick. I don’t think I want to stop this one.” Ellis pulled her feet painfully under her, pushing against the floor as she slid her back up the wall. “After all he’s done to you?” Margaret’s voice broke as she spoke. “He stole you away from us … from your home.” “I think I want him to come,” Ellis said. “That’s why he’s here at all.
