The Nightmares Come While I'm Awake

So, the madness of our town has come to this. I was assaulted for telling the truth about our nameless saint—let us dispenses with the charade of calling her Jane save for convenience—and now the police are holding me, in the building with her. They say they want to get answers and keep me safe, but I see the way they look at me, and I hear what they say about her.

For any of you out there who remain sane and untouched, it is time to act. Do not tell others how you feel about the creeping madness, for it is likely that they are infected by it. Instead you must act. Smash the shrines, demand the body be buried, make preparations to bury the body yourself: anything to help break her hold upon the hearts and minds of the rest of the population.

What else can be done to stem this tide of madness? They are bringing in more bodies now. More than enough for a wedding party—and believe me, that is what they believe it to be, there are dresses and tuxedos arriving here. There are ushers and waitstaff and entertainers, local singer Ronald DeLint’s suicide is related to the abomination in the basement. Who could not see it coming given his sudden burst of original songs, all about her?

I have yet to hear of a flower girl or a ring bearer, but do not think they will not be involved. Do not think that children will be immune, or that parents will not provide the things their little ones need to join in this sick game.

We have been dragged to the brink of madness along with the town, it is time to push back as hard as we can, even if it tosses others into the abyss.

Arthur Manx
Editor in Exile