Even now he couldn’t say it. Even though they’d had the talk. Even though he’d known it all along.
Because of course he had, of course he did, no matter how much he’d wanted to believe it wasn’t true, of course he knew.
But still he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say that she was– He was still crying furiously and finding it hard to breathe.
He felt like he was splitting open, like his body was twisting apart. He looked back up at the monster.
“Help me,” he said, quietly. It is time, the monster said, for the fourth tale.
Conor let out an angry yell. “No! That’s not what I meant! There are more important things happening!”
Yes, the monster said. Yes, there are. It opened its free hand.
The mist surrounded them again. And once more, they were in the middle of the nightmare.
THE FOURTH TALE
Even held in the monster’s huge, strong hand, Conor could feel the terror seeping into him,
could feel the blackness of it all start to fill his lungs and choke them, could feel his stomach beginning to fall–
“No!” he shouted, squirming some more, but the monster held him tight. “No! Please!”
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