HFTH - Episode 196 - Collisions

Content warnings for this episode include: Animal death (Shank as usual), Violence, Kidnapping and abduction, Death + Injury, Blood, Needles, Transphobia, Homophobia, Birds, Gun Mention, Strangulation/suffocation, Emotional Manipulation, Bugs, Body horror, Religious Violence, Gore, Minor Character Death, Blisters/Swelling, Electrocution, Meathooks in body, Sudden Head Impalement, Head Crushing

Between Two Doors

sound of Nikignik entering Syrensyr’s office chamber in the Council of Heavens

Nikignik

You wished to see me?

Syrensyr

Nikignik, welcome! Yes, I did, come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable.

Nikignik

Comfortable. Yes.

Syrensyr

I sense comfort is not quite what you are feeling.

Nikignik

I am more transparent than I should like, I suppose. It is a great honor to be here, and to hear you speak, let alone to be invited to your personal chamber in the Council of Heavens.

Syrensyr

You like what I’ve done with the place? Good. We’ll have to look into getting you your own; each member of the council has a dedicated sanctum here. I’ll ask Olbsalolb to consult you about your decorating style.

Nikignik

I am… honored.

Syrensyr

I’ve noticed. Honored this, honored that. It’s alright to be a little awestruck; you’re in the most important building in the universe after all. But I wouldn’t have summoned you to the Council if I didn’t see a very real opportunity for you to contribute to our work here. Are you ready for that, Nikignik?

Nikignik

Certainly. Yes. Quite ready. Is this about the findings you shared with the Council?

Syrensyr

You like what Tolshotol did with that? Very impressive. Really communicates the scale of what we’re dealing with.

Nikignik

I have long held my reservations about Urnundurn’s power. What it might do if left unchecked.

Syrensyr

Well, I would be surprised if you didn’t. You’re observant. That’s why you’re here, really.

Nikignik

Yes. Although, if you would not mind expounding… why am I here?

Syrensyr

I presume you mean, why did I invite you to the council, and not why do you exist? Although I could answer both.

Nikignik

The former. At first, anyway.

Syrensyr

I have chosen to elevate you to this position because lately, Nikignik, I am feeling like I can’t trust anyone…

sound of Nikignik's attention drifting to Earth

Nikignik

“Can’t trust anyone!” Sheryl Madhoff was saying, and she did not exactly mean it. She trusted the other members of the Coda. Some of them had been part of the group for over a decade; she had wept beside them, talked late into the night about what it meant to have your loved ones ripped from you, their bones plucked from their bodies and used in piano or saxophone keys. Other members were recent, came in the memory of Mr. Greenstreet or the other victims of the Instrumentalist Killer, and these too she welcomed with open arms.

And so when Sheryl screamed that you could not trust anyone, what she meant was, you could not trust anyone else. Because there could be zero tolerance for killers, for those who echoed the violence of Solomon Reed. Whoever it was deserved to die, painfully and without appeal, for what they had done. And that included the killer wearing the pig mask who had left a trail of murders across Scout City, and the groundskeepers who had betrayed their city tonight, and Shelby Allen who had been helping the pig choose his victims for months—it was all over the papers. Maybe even Mayor Valerie, for tolerating violence instead of putting her boot down, for promoting the Quartet rumor that Clementine and Shelby had come up with and burying the truth that the pig was still at large.

Sheryl was not alone, not in her beliefs or her screaming, or her being on the porch of the run-down Accordi place, where she was the first to jab her flaming spear through the door’s glass window, and then to kick the door inward with one forceful boot.

A dark hallway loomed beyond; a wooden chair at the end of the hall had been knocked over, and long trails of blood gleamed on the walls and floor.

“He was here,” she called back, and almost took a step in, but Lyle Hodges put a hand on her arm in warning; there was a hole in the floor of the hallway ahead of her, and the boards had collapsed into the pitch-black cellar.

She held up an arm, and the burgeoning crowd of her friends behind her waited, although several began to stream around both sides of the cabin to the back. But she took her spear—the sharpened head of it jutted past the bundle of flaming cloth, and she held it out over the chasm in the floorboards. The light fell on three figures in the cellar space below.

Shelby Allen, one-handed and injured on the ground, her face swollen in gruesome green pustules, the veins in her skin ink-black. The Instrumentalist Killer, laying motionless up against the cellar wall, with a jagged black nail stuck deep into the pig mask’s forehead. And Russell McGowan, whose hand was stretched up to the nail. And Sheryl stared down, wide-eyed, studying the scene.

Several things bristled within her, trying to escape first, but the words that emerged were, “Is he dead?”

Russell, that dirt-stained, blood-spattered McGowan boy, looked to the nail, and up to her, and said, “Yes. Don’t come down, he still could be dangerous. He’s not easy to kill…”

“He’s here,” Sheryl screamed, turning. “The Groundskeeper killed him!”

Sound of Nikignik's attention returning to the Council

Syrensyr

Nikignik? Are you with me?

Nikignik

Ah. My apologies, I was… lost in thought.

Syrensyr

Oh? Thinking about what?

Nikignik

Nothing as important as this conversation, I am sure. Could you repeat that last question one more time?

Syrensyr

It was a simple question: are you with me?

Nikignik

With you?

Syrensyr

As opposed to against me. As opposed to opposing me.

Nikignik

Without hesitation. After all, every member of the Council is aligned with your will; we are all ‘with you’.

Syrensyr

The Council is supposed to be. But this is what I was saying, Nikignik—when you gather the most powerful beings in the universe to rule under one roof, there are bound to be disagreements. And the more I understand about these disagreements, the better I can address them and the stronger the Council will be.

Nikignik

I had rather expected my invitation to the Council to be on account of Urnundurn, but if I am understanding you correctly, you are more concerned about the members of the Council themselves.

Syrensyr

Urnundurn is still far away, half a universe away. The Council is much closer to home. Our friends at the Council are far more unpredictable than he is, and capable of moving much faster. I am going to tell you what I have not told anyone, so I ask you to hear me out, if you will listen…

sound of Nikignik's attention returning to Earth

Nikignik

“Listen,” Russell was screaming, but could not make himself heard over the cries of the Coda, and Sheryl helped him up the stairs, and Shelby was dragged out of the Accordi home by the crowd.

“Listen to me!” he called again, but there was raucous cheering, or jeering, and he could not tell whether it was praise or animosity being heaped on him by the crowd on both sides of the porch.

“Russell killed the pig!” Sheryl shrieked over the crowd, and he could see the change coming over their faces, and he felt frozen. Did he deny it? Did he dare deny it now? And what would that sound like? No, I didn’t, the Quartet did, you don’t believe in the Quartet but they are certainly not your heroes, even if they did stick Shank with a nail, and he’s not dead, not really?

“Finally, the Groundskeepers doing their job!” a voice called in the crowd. He was surrounded by javelins, torches, spiked garden implements, stretching out in a crowd a dozen rows dense around the cabin. Shelby woke with a start as she was pulled free of the door of the Accordi house, and flailed away from the Coda members helping her along to kneel on her hands and knees in the dirt and retch. And then, partly bowing what floorboards that remained, the bulk of an unconscious Shank came to fill the hallway, as he was hauled out by eight men; they had sunk meathooks into his neck, shoulders, back, and it took all their might to move him; their ropes reminded Russell of nothing so much as the cables of the Quartet themselves.

“Off with the mask!” cried another as Shank, still with the nail in his head, was dragged across the porch, half propped up, face and upper body held up by the ropes, feet dragging behind.

“No!” Russell cried, and tore away from Sheryl, darted up the steps to stand between Shank and the crowd, beneath the blood-drenched head of the pig-man. He lifted his non-agonizing arm and screamed again,

“Listen!”

In that moment, there was a bright burst of light, and the crowd stilled for half a second, although it felt much longer to Russell. He looked up to see Victoria, perched on a wagon, a camocept in her hands; its light-emitting spots dimmed. He could already see the headline in the papers: Groundskeeper Kills Instrumentalist.

The photo of him, waving to the crowd, Shank suspended behind him like a hunter’s trophy.

He had to get the photo. He stepped down, pushed through the crowd towards Victoria, and the crowd made room, administered celebratory pats on the back or astonished inquiries about whether he was hurt; it was all a haze now, black and red, but he did not stop until he fell against Victoria, clinging to her arm like a drowning sailor to a rail.

“Please,” he found himself saying, the words sudden in him. Arnold had done his job, god bless him. “Please listen to me…”

Victoria studied him as he looked up to her; dark eyes flickering as if trying to decide to ask him for a statement, but then there was some golden warmth in them he had almost never seen, and her arms folded around him.

“Are you alright?” she said. “He could have killed you.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Russell said, rather surprised by the hug, but it allowed him to be close enough to her to be heard; he had to hold onto her shoulders to keep from falling off his feet.

“He’s killed people, Victoria, but he’s not the killer. The Quartet were here. They poisoned Shelby. They shot me. They’re going after Danielle O’Hara. Right now. They’re going to kill her. I have names. We know who most of them are.”

Victoria’s eyes were wide as she let him away a little; shock and belief wavered on the edge. He met her gaze, lip trembling, eyes cold.

“I’m telling the truth,” he said. “Now, we need to get these people out of here, before Shank wakes up.”

But Victoria’s eyes traveled past him, and he looked back to find Shank strung up, ropes lashed to the porch rafters so that his massive form was more or less on his knees in front of the house, hooks pulling, arms suspended. And Sheryl was standing up near him, a long thin knife in her hand, a meatcarving knife.

“If Ben were here and not leading our evacuation aid, we’d let him do the honors,” she called, and then raised a hand to Russell, and the crowd went to look where she pointed; their voices hushed, their eager eyes fell on him.

“But instead, we’ll extend them to Russell McGowan, whose sister was killed by the pig tonight,” she said. There were some grumbles at this, but they found their way to acceptance, and he could see it in their eyes; they wanted him to prove himself. That the Groundskeepers of Scout City could kill; would kill monsters for them. That he was on their side.

And then there was a quiet thud; a long black nail finally twisted free of Shank’s head and plummeted to roll in the dirt path before him. And the second that it did, Shank’s arm rose, and his fist closed around Sheryl Madhoff’s head, and a geyser of blood shot from each hole in her skull as he squeezed…

sound of Nikignik's attention returning to the Council

Nikignik

You want me to spy on the other members of the Council of Heavens?

Syrensyr

Spy? No. I don’t want you to peep on them like a shy Great Destroyer poking from its shell. I want you to live and breathe them. Know their movements, their motives, their machinations. What they want, what they are doing when they think I am not looking. A bubble should not escape Olbsalolb or a stormy breath go out from Ephelzeph that you do not anticipate.

Nikignik

I… see.

Syrensyr

You are not in love with this assignment, I take it.

Nikignik

I did not say I was not; only that I am… surprised. There is a vast universe which I am constantly beholding; I had expected perhaps to act as a watcher of this, rather than overseeing your close friends.

Syrensyr

The universe continues to exist only because of my close friends. And if they ever were to reach a critical disagreement… you can imagine the calamity that would unfold. If Tolshotol were to become too paranoid and spawn, say, a thousand new starwolves on each sun-orbiting planet.

Nikignik

…

Syrensyr

Or Xyzikxyz to see this and in response choose another few dozen of her sunless children.

Nikignik

Conflict for dozens of crucial planets, yes.

Syrensyr

Is it dozens of planets you are concerned with, Nikignik? Or just a few? Perhaps even just one?

sound of Nikignik's attention returning to Earth

Nikignik

“-one thing has to go right tonight,” said Percy. Diggory agreed; it had been full of such pain already. They had made their way down from Danielle’s as quickly as they could, bypassing the winding, crowded main street of Scout City by escaping through Danielle’s window and scaling down the side of the city’s hundreds-foot trunk. After that, it was leaping across the rooftops of the stumps in long bounds, keeping up almost with the quick flight of the ghosts. And yet, it had still taken them most of half an hour to get from Danielle’s to the right cabin on the edge of the Stumps, and it seemed it had not taken long at all for the cabin to become the center of attention.

Diggory leapt from the last treestump roof and then was jaunting through the woods like a dark phantom, and Ratty and Percy flit in the sky above. A crowd had gathered around the cabin, and the light of their torches lit the log house in red, and they hoped they were approaching to find the members of the Quartet ensnared and Riot, Russell and Shelby standing victorious. But as they drew closer, over the crowd’s roars and commotion there was the sound of screaming, and they knew all was not well.

“One thing to go right might have been too much to ask,” Diggory whispered, and then leapt up to the high side of one of the massive trees that stood watch over the cabin, and then kicked off the bark, launching themselves over the crowd and into the fray.

There were dozens of faces which Diggory did not know personally, but the pins many wore as badges held the symbol of the Coda; a circle with a cross through the center. Towards the back of the crowd there was Russell, half of his body soaked with blood, clinging to a Scout City Almanac reporter with long eyelashes and a mustache; and shotgun fire going off as a quartet of Wickers came running from the forest up into the edge of the crowd. But most of all, in the center of the crowd, there was Shank, who appeared to have been suspended from the porch rafters on ropes, hooks carving deep through him.

Shank swung an arm, and a rafter cracked from the cabin behind him, and as it swung around at the end of the rope, the splintered board went straight through the head of a man. He could have been any man. He had grey hair on the back of his head; a Scout City yellow jacket with a moderate number of patches. Diggory was not sure if he had a wife or husband or other partner; who, belonging to the Coda, who he had lost in his life, whether to the old Instrumentalist or the new. Diggory would never know; there was no face to recognize now—only the sharp wooden spike of wood punched in through his face, caving in his skull, and protruding from the back of his head.

And Diggory landed in the center of the crowd, rolled across the mulched earth and to their feet, and immediately the crowd was seething around them, knives and javelins closing in. But Diggory reached out and clipped the rope that connected Shank to the sharp wooden board with a sharp fingertip before Shank could drag the man’s body back; the body collapsed to the forest floor. Behind Diggory, they were aware that Percy and Ratty sparked into the air in a wide circle around them, blazing a trail of white fire, causing the crowd to withdraw a few steps, even as screams went up; there was a second body, headless, by Shank’s feet as the pig-man rose.

“Monster!” someone screamed.

“Freak!” shrieked another, and Ratty and Percy had come to hover in the air, sparking with light; Percy hovering coldly, Ratty lounging. Percy was calling out to the crowd with words Diggory could not focus on, but it kept the guard of the crowd up and away from Diggory’s back as they stepped towards Shank, claws outstretched.

“Shank,” they said. “What have you done?”

Shank rose to one foot, and then the other, and straightened up. He was heavy and huge-booted, rawhide muscles bulging in the torchlight, and his clown’s coveralls had been ripped threadbare and stained by blood and soil and ichor. A black stain went down from a gnarled pockmark in the middle of his forehead which closed second by second. Shank reached up a gloved hand and ripped a meathook out of his shoulder, another out of his neck, another out of his side, until he had gathered five in one hand hanging from their ropes. He bent down to pick up an object from the ground; a twisted black nail. And then he looked up to Diggory, a flail of hooks in one hand, the nail in the other. There was no light in his hollow black eyes of the pig-flesh mask; his jaw had regrown completely. Shank breathed out, and beads of blood trickled down his nostrils as he spoke.

“They ain’t nothin’ but bullies,” he said. “Tie you up and kick you when you’re down, laughin’ and pointin’. Pain makes ‘em holler. Cuttin’ up things that can’t help themselves. Why you standin’ in my way? Ain’t’cha listenin’? They’re callin’ for you to be dead meat too.”

“They’re afraid, Shank,” said Diggory, and saw a twitch of Shank’s hand holding the hooks, and twitched in return with a handful of knife-tipped fingers. “Killing them will not help us.”

“Who’s us?” said Shank, cracking his neck to the left and right. “You and me, scarecrow? Or you and them, scared of lil’ ol’ me?”

Shank stepped forward as he said it, and the ribcage of the body by his foot shattered like a ripe watermelon beneath his boot as he did. Diggory had never known the feeling of sickness, but it curdled in their stomach, withered their cotton stuffing, twisted the loose ends of the thread inside them into split ends.

“What happened with the Quartet?” Diggory said. “Where is everyone? These are not the people we are trying to stop, Shank.”

“Everyone in this town is the same,” said Shank, glaring down at them. “Bullies don’t care ‘bout how much they hurt ya. They’ll do it just for a smile. How’re you gonna fight back if you’re afraid to spill a little blood?”

Diggory felt Russell come up beside them, then, and he grabbed onto their arm.

“Diggory,” he gasped. “They beat us. They’re going after Danielle. Have you seen Riot?”

Diggory glanced about; they did not, and could not see Shelby either.

And Diggory reached out, reflexively, and the arc of their bladelike fingertips cut through several ropes that were swinging through the air, meathooks at the ends, ready to arc and cut into the crowd. Ropes severed, the hooks flew off over the heads of the crowd, and Diggory looked up to find Shank with his fistful of ropes.

“Take Percy and Ratty and go. I will be there shortly,” said Diggory, and stepped ahead of Russell, towards Shank, who dropped the ropes and stood with his balled-up gloved fists at his sides. “Shank, you must leave. No good will come of you killing these people.”

“You think the world wouldn’t be a better place without ‘em?” said Shank. “Lemme prove ya wrong.”

Shank stepped forward, swiftly, and with each pounding of his massive boots shaking the earth. A hand went darting out past Diggory for one of the Coda who was standing awfully close with a machete in hand, and Diggory lunged beneath Shank’s arm to catch it; wrapped their knifelike fingers around his massive forearm to keep the hand from driving down into the ground, and Shank seemed surprised to meet his match in strength.

“I advise that you listen to my words,” said Diggory, calmly, but with embers of green flickering in their mouth. “You have shed enough blood for tonight.”

“Oh, I’m just gettin’ started,” said Shank, and his porcine mask was fixed in a rigid grin, and he twisted to fling Diggory off their feet and flipped them twenty feet into the crowd, and the nest of the Coda’s javelins…

sound of Nikignik's attention returning to the Council

Nikignik

I am not sure what you mean, exactly.

Syrensyr

I am told you busy yourself with using the power of dream which you acquired from Dreaming All That Is. You’ve spent a little time focused on a particular planet, haven’t you? What was it called, Mars?

Nikignik

Earth, is its name. I believe it has some significance…

Syrensyr

I’ve read your file from the interrogations, I know. You’re fond of the place. It’s a quarantine zone where my industry is concerned; the green fire that was deployed there is particularly destructive. Your old friend had a real knack for invention. If only he’d been able to put it to better use.

Nikignik

Why are we speaking of this world? I assure you that my pet projects are in no way to detract from the ultimately important work I will do on the Council.

Syrensyr

There’s nothing wrong with having a hobby—nearly every member of the Council has their own areas of interest. Only to say, a world like that is fragile. If the Council were ever to engage in a conflict, worlds like that would be one of the first casualties.

Nikignik

It is out of concern, then, for my interests, that you bring this to my attention.

Syrensyr

Nothing more. But do not worry; there is still time. So, what do you say?

sound of Nikignik's attention returning to Earth

Nikignik

“-say,” Percy shouted, and as he wheeled in front of the crowd of Scout City’s residents, felt a momentary flash of fear. He had not, almost ever, had so many eyes on him, and he burned brightly enough for all of them to see. But his presence was doing its job, too, and their host of torches and javelins stayed in their hands and were not directed at Diggory or Shank, and he needed to buy them time to talk. Ratty came to float beside him, just as raging hot, and stuck her tongue out at the crowd.

“I know you,” Percy said, over their strategizing and planning for how to attack, over the screams and sobs for the two who lay dead in the earth already. “I am Percy Reed. I am the Instrumentalist’s son. I was there when he died, and I hoped on that day that everything he stood for would die with him. But just like you and me, it has survived. And I am back here in Scout City because of it!”

Russell McGowan went stumbling beneath him, to join Diggory in confronting Shank; glancing behind him, it seemed to be going well, but the crowd spread out below Percy did not seem like they were yet content to remain still for long.

“I have met the real Instrumentalist killers, and they are not the pig-man who stands behind us,” Percy continued. “They are the Quartet. They are led by Ben Alder. They are out for blood tonight!”

The name of Ben Alder seemed to give the crowd pause; he wondered if some had ever seen a ghost before, and while he seemed to inspire a supernatural terror in them, their eyes went searching across their number. Where was Ben?

But in the midst of this, there were four faces making their way through the crowd; four blond bandolier-strapped survivors, three carrying guns, pushing straight through towards Shank, and he sensed that no words were going to be able to keep the night peaceful for long.

And then a set of meathooks swung out from Shank towards the crowd, and although Diggory clipped them handily, the attack had been noticed, and the raging crowd began to scream and press in again as a javelin sailed through his body and buried itself in the roof of the Accordi cabin. Percy whirled around, and tried to take stock of his friends; where was Riot? Where was Shelby? His eyes lit to Shelby, a trenchcoat far off in the forest, disappearing over a large root. Beneath him, Diggory and Shank clashed as Shank brought a huge fist down against Diggory, and it was caught in Diggory’s sharp claws. He caught a small glimpse of Ratty, her brows furrowed, a warning light, but he could not hold it back any longer; everything was falling apart and everyone that he loved was dead or dying and it was just like it had gone nearly fifteen years ago, with death as an ocean looming below him, swallowing up everything…

He screamed, and as he did, light burst from him in bright shockwaves, the crackling of white lightning, filling the air with a scorching flame that burst out over the Coda and Shank alike…

sound of Nikignik's attention returning to the Council

Nikignik

Not now…

Syrensyr

What?

Nikignik

Ah. I said, yes. Of course. It would be a great honor to perform this task for you. Simply let me know who you want these… reports, on, and I will do my utmost to scrutinize them for any sign of… disagreement.

Syrensyr

Wonderful! Good. This shall be exceedingly helpful before the Council next convenes.

Nikignik

I agree, and I shall set off to complete this right away…

Syrensyr

I had, funnily enough, expected a little more resistance from you.

Nikignik

Resistance?

Syrensyr

Some speech about how sight must be used with responsibility, perhaps, or personal agency. Watching too closely. Given how it went with Xyzikxyz reporting back on your friend’s doings to the Council, once upon a time.

Nikignik

…I suppose I have come to see the motives behind your work, and its importance.

Syrensyr

I could not be more pleased. And Nikignik, one more thing…

Nikignik

Yes?

Syrensyr

If you discover any sign of treachery, let me know immediately. With Urnundurn, the stakes are too high for the Council not to be functioning together as one cause.

Nikignik

I shall. And now, it is time for the work to begin.

Syrensyr

An absolute pleasure to have you on board, Nikignik. And…

Nikignik

Yes?

Syrensyr

Close the door on your way out, would you?

sound of Nikignik returning attention to Earth

Nikignik

Alright. Where were we? Shelby Allen slid down over the large root and then came to crouch in the soil beyond; she had no gear, no flashlight with her, but could tell by the scent of putrid Griffocaugh urine that a member of the Quartet—it must have been Brass, the only one she had not seen—had come this way, and by the trail carved across the forest floor that he had been dragging someone. She had not seen Riot since the Quartet’s assault began. She stumbled forward, barely able to see through her swollen face, or to feel anything except fire in her veins; her saw had been twisted and cast off during the fight, her crossbow was probably laying on the ground back in the Accordi cabin. She had nothing, now, except her anger, and a memory of ice cream over a river, and she wept as she kept shuffling forward, and then came to a stop, and straightened up.

The path lay ahead of her. And she wanted nothing more than to chase it; to run with reckless abandon after Riot, to find her and… do what?

Use her knife? Her body was exhausted and aching. Use her intellect? The venom Cole had hit her with clouded her thoughts. She looked back over her shoulder. She had not told any of them where she was going. Russell or Diggory or Percy or Ratty, or even Arnold if he was back from his errand to fetch Victoria.

And what had Clementine said?

She turned back, to look over the giant root she had crossed; there was a flicker of white flame, and still distant screams and shouts in the background. Any step backward was a step away from Clementine, away from Riot, and every single moment could matter if her life was on the line, if the Quartet had gotten the best of her.

And yet, Shelby turned, away from the trail, and took a begrudging step back towards the cabin.

“When I find you,” she grunted to herself, “It won’t be alone. I’m going to ask for help. I’m going to do it. Please just hold on until I get there. Please just hold on.”

Outro - Collisions

Collisions. I… I am sorry, dreamer, that took longer than expected. My work begins, it seems. I am already, as asked, with each member of the Council of Heavens that I can behold, invisible, watching. I will pass my attention there once this is done. But it is also in Scout City, and further beyond. On the grounds of the Church of the Hallowed Name where one returned decides how best to advise the founder of an ancient belief. In an underground vault where luck and misfortune run from the past and dream up a catastrophic escape, across the ocean where the void oozes from a silhouette of a chapel. You need all my eyes, and I wish I had more to give.

In the background of all of this, the fire has reached the trunk of Scout City, and begins to trail up the side of its massive bark; embers perch in its leaves and boughs, and the leaves of the great city begin to glow with crawling light.

Until the dawn arrives, I am your loyal host Nikignik, waiting and worried for your return to the Hallowoods.

The bonus story that goes with this episode is called 'Death's Door' and is available on the Hello From The Hallowoods Patreon. Consider joining for access to all the show's bonus stories, behind-the-scenes and more!