A Foolish Man Tells A

Henderson Sighed. There Was A Time, He Reflected, When The Coming Of This Night Meant Something. A Dark Europe, Groaning In Superstitious Fear, Dedicated This Eve To The Grinning Unknown. A Million Doors Had Once Been Barred Against The Evil Visitants, A Million Prayers Mumbled, A Million Candles Lit. There Was Something Majestic About The Idea, Henderson Reflected.

We're All Not Quite As Sane As We Pretend To Be.

Everything In This Business Makes Sense, Because It Serves A Real Purpose, Fills A Need That's A Part Of Living. Even A Single Nail, Like This One, Fulfills A Function. Drive It Into A Crucial Place And You Can Depend On It To Do A Job, Keep On Doing It For A Hundred Years To Come. Long After We're Dead And Gone, Both Of Us.

Then She Did See It There - Just A Face, Peering Through The Curtains, Hanging In Midair Like A Mask. A Head-scarf Concealed The Hair And The Glassy Eyes Stared Inhumanly, But It Wasn’t A Mask, It Couldn’t Be. The Skin Had Been Powdered Dead-white And Two Hectic Spots Of Rouge Centered On The Cheekbones. It Wasn’t A Mask. It Was The Face Of A Crazy Old Woman. Mary Started To Scream, And Then The Curtains Parted Further And A Hand Appeared, Holding A Butcher’s Knife. It Was The Knife That, A Moment Later, Cut Off Her Scream. And Her Head.

Magic--that's Just A Label, You Know. Completely Meaningless. It Wasn't So Very Long Ago That People Were Saying That Electricity Was Magic.