You’d think it was the wind howling, if you didn’t know any better. But even as a newcomer to this town you know about the ghost.

You’ll see it. If you haven’t already…

You haven’t?

Just got here?

Okay, then prepare yourself, because this ghost is gigantic. It walks the hills at night, Fifty feet tall, ice white, crying and moaning, thrashing and stomping, whipping the trees into a frenzy ’til you think they’ll blow right over.

It’s interesting at first, but you’ll get sick of it pretty quick. It’s not that great having a giant’s ghost in your backyard.

The man’s crooked hands struggled to flip the book’s pages. His frame shook with excitement and the infirmity of old age.

“Here it is.” He pointed with a twisted finger. “This is the incantation. The spoken words, the hand signs.”

Geoffrey looked at the words and the drawings of hand sigils the old man could no longer perform. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

He was terrified.

He was no caller of demons, but the old man wanted so badly to see the things. He would have to do this. For the old man, he would do anything.

This is a long story I have to tell you. It could take years, decades, a lifetime.

People won’t listen when you have a story this long. They start talking over you. They leave in the middle of it.

They don’t understand; this story’s important. It has to be told.

I have to make sure you won’t interrupt. I have to make sure you won’t leave. I have to tell this story. It’s eating away at my insides and wants out.

So sit there, no sounds, get as comfortable as you can with those bindings.

This is a long story.

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