I stumbled into the Demented Doctor in a overcast lane next to the mews.
His eyes held the light which signalled the calm before the storm.
The last time I had seen him, he was rocking back and forth on his bent knees, holding his head, as he made a noise somewhere between maniacal laughter and keening. The syrup emitted from his ruptured pores and mixed with the battery acid leaking from olafactory organs.
I faked to the right before throwing myself behind the cast iron gates.
As I climbed the stunted excuse for a staircase, I could hear the banshees wailing.
Black wings hovered overhead and the bells began to chime.
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