THIS BOOK WILL KILL YOU

29_grinburn_

It's tall and thin, made of concrete and glass, and it looks just like any other building in the city except this one's as hard to look at as the sun, it carves shapes into my retinas, and in those shapes I see a vast, black, desiccated tree, windows like rot-holes, all of them blinking. I have to look away for a moment but it's still there like a deadlight, superimposed on everything else.

I close my eyes, remembering the dream. Oh god, the dream. I can still feel her pull now, the strength of her as she lifted me up and carried me through the streets, over houses, down alleyways, to the window. To these windows, I can see them right now when I open my eyes again, and once more it's just a tower, just a building.

I don't understand how this thing can be here. It's wedged between two other buildings that were once joined together. It's as if the world has added space for it, torn a hole in itself to make room for the witch and her tower. And again I wonder at the power needed to break the universe this way, at how easily she will break me when I knock on her door.

So I won't knock.

I get to my feet like an old woman. My back won't straighten out, there's something wrong with my spine, as if one of the deadthings left their bony hand wrapped around it. I clutch the knife. The blood has half-dried now and its stickiness is welcome, it makes me feel less like I'm going to drop it.

Taking as deep a breath as I can, I limp toward the only door I can see, a big, red door right in the middle of the building. It's as gaping as a dead man's mouth, and as I get closer I see that it is lined with big yellow teeth, horse's teeth—they've been hammered into the wooden frame like nails. Clumps of dark hair hang from the lintel, dirty beads woven into them.

The tower dwarfs me, it's so tall it seems to lean out, ready to stamp down and finish me. It's too much, and I hesitate outside the door, digging into my pocket. It takes me a while to find the folded mess that is _pinch_, and even longer to read through it again. There's not much here, except right at the end.

I ran, wrenching open the door and heading out into the apartment building. I didn't know where I was going, I just had to get away. Every door was closed, but I could hear voices from behind all of them, maybe the same voice, chanting, laughing, crying. I ran, stumbling up the stairwell, third floor, fourth floor, those voices chasing me, forcing me higher, higher, until I burst out into a corridor on the seventh floor and saw the door.

The seventh floor.

It's all I need to know.

The lobby's deserted, populated by rats and roaches and the head of a goat that sits there, surrounded by candles. Its horns curl up like arms. There's a door to the right, marked as a restroom, a second leading to the stairwell, and a third to my left that opens onto a corridor as derelict as this one. I'd have assumed the building was empty if it wasn't for the noises coming from my left. I can hear somebody crying, I can hear somebody singing too, a keening song that wants to break my heart. There's another sound, louder and closer than the rest. It's a soft, wet gulping that makes me think of a dog eating a hunk of meat. It's coming from the first apartment door, and it suddenly stops. There's a sniffing sound, a pad of feet, a jingling of bells.

It's coming.

I turn my back on it, my body boiling with quiet terror as I fumble at the stairwell door. It's stuck, and I throw myself at it, the sound of bells louder now, a wet spill of words flowing from the door behind me.

"Pleasepleaseplease," it says.

Pleasepleaseplease, I scream.

I give up on it, running for the next door, the restroom. It's open and I push through, closing it behind me, staring through the gap as a head pushes its way out of the door across the lobby, a shock of short, greasy hair, a face with feathers in its eyes.