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“Bill’s conscience whispered to him: Only Billy isn’t your son, not really, and you know that but you don’t want to admit it. Billy was a baby you rescued…stole maybe…from Halloween cult freaks seven years ago, almost to the night. You talk about girls being an unknown quantity? Wrong, Bill, wrong. Those things… those Satanists maybe…on the moors that night are the only unknown quantity you need to worry your sweet little head about. What was really lurking inside those Halloween costumes? That’s right, Billy, the one-in-a-billion-baby, lotsa B’s, never returned to his rightful parents.”

“You’ve done something wrong and you know you’ve done something wrong. Sometimes we’re caught, sometimes we’re not. Justice comes in the strangest of forms. It will float to the surface sooner or later and wash up on your doorstep.”

“Mike walked about the cavernous basement, alarmed at the serious mould infestation and even more perturbed by the slithering amphibians gathering at his feet. Mike traced the black splotches of mould that took him to a blind spot behind the infinite staircase which was very quickly becoming the stairway to Hell.”

“Tentatively, Peter Armstrong levered his fingers into the groove in the section of floorboards that had been fashioned into the secret door and lifted. He shone his flashlight down into the opening to see the ghoulish girls living in the floor, staring up at him. That mental snapshot would stay with the boy indefinitely. It was the strangest of strange notions, but the girls’ malformations and deformities had turned them into twin phantoms of nightmare”

“The rhythmic whooshing of the waves fizzled away, and all he could hear were the seagulls and their incessant Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha mocking laughter. Dan's feathered friends stared down at him with their condemning eyes from their clifftop reverie. Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha the gulls squawked wicked mirth at him, the hapless jester, while the seabirds screamed and pointed their wings at him from their lofty galleries.”

“Mike Devine loomed up again, trying not to lose sight of that hole in the trembling light. He wasn’t sure if it was the matrix of luminescence and shadow, but the gravedigger was almost certain the black mass of mould — the scab — pulsed ever so slightly, like a dying pockmarked blackened heart.”