So there he was, in the basement of an abandoned house on West Main Street looking for a clue that might reveal what the past kept hidden. Dirty syringes and worn mattresses lined the floor and gave light to the junkies that used to inhibit this place. Black mold grew densely between the stucco walls and gave off its gentle kiss of death.
And then it appeared; the face which constantly stirred the man while sleeping. A face which caused for restless nights of bleak terror. A conjured image that dissipated when the morning sun came over the lazy Montana skyline, but re-emerged as REM sleep approached.-
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