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Another one died overnight. They found Smythe’s body mutilated beyond mention. That makes seven that have fallen pray to the shadow that haunts us. I am so very afraid, Mary. I scarcely sleep at all anymore. We huddle together, listening for that infernal knocking, wondering who will be next.

And the earth continues to whisper to me. It is so hungry, Mary. So unimaginably hungry! It says it can help us. All I have to do is listen. I can do that. He has so much to teach us. He has been down there for so long, beneath our feet the whole time, since before history and time. His glory had been hidden from us, under a bushel, gnawing and gnawing in the dark and cold. So hungry.

We are dying, Mary. Something must be done. The whispers scare me. Who is he? I am afraid he is God and it chills me to the bone. But what if he is the only one who can save us?

Stay far away from this place, Mary.

J. Camden Forsythe

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Two Weeks at St. Julien rrtoboz