He stabbed it deep into the bark, carving a symbol into the wood, large and prominent. It was a pattern of crossed lines and small circles, a demonic ...igil. When he was finished, he moved on to another tree. It was hard going, his breath condensating in the cold air as it left his lips, his features obscured beneath the shadow of his cowl.Over the course of an hour, he had carved them into dozens of trees, maybe a hundred. The same symbol appeared everywhere, only varying in its size. When he. Even after he became Old Tom, he still would sit in her lap every evening, calming her with his rumbling purr. She knew Old Tom was gone, long gone, but Bill wasn’t. She wished she knew why he never visited her. He used to visit . . . every Sunday . . . and he couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off her. The day he gave her the kitten was the day she knew she was in love with him and would give him what he’d been pestering her for since they were kids. She knew too many girls who had babies. More

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