The Dampness of Mourning

A ring-leader of phantoms and collector of souls, he played rhythms on bare flesh, hellish melodies on bone. Fifty years ago he disappeared as quickly as he came and the town of Division gladly swept his acts of torture from memory.

But John McDonnell and Michael Johnston have drawn him home — he hears their names in his sleep, tastes their blood on his tongue, and fantasizes about the rapture birthed of their mourning.