The monster, looking down at his cracked and dried hands, crusted with pigment and pig shit, imagined. He breathed deeply, and as the air filled his lungs it buoyed his vision as he rolled his head back.
Straight ahead he saw the mists on the moor, rolling in like a lunar tidal wave trapped in time. He saw men and horses and demon dogs leaping, in mid stride across the grassy field from the sullen bogs in the distance.
His head lolled up, ignoring the girl in his periphery, and his eyes scanned the heavens.
A miasma of white milky stars exploded in his field of vision. They moved with the same urgency of the specters on the moor, a difference in degree but not in kind.
The monster blinked and the bells of Downton Abbey rang out across the field.
It was two o'clock and the black carriage had arrived.
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