The next story comes from a darker place still.
It was ripped from the ruins of a burned-down asylum, scrawled in blood and soot on the walls of a cell.
A tale of madness, yes, but also of hunger—of something ravenous that waits in the walls, in the cracks, in the spaces you think are safe.
The one who told me its story begged me to destroy it.
I didn’t.
Mark Krijgsman