As he felt his way down the darkened hall, he passed Mrs. Baylock's room, noticing the door slightly ajar. The massive woman was asleep on her back; a mountain of flesh spotlighted by the moonlight flooding in through her window. Thorn was about to continue but was suddenly halted, shocked by the woman's face. It was powdered a ghastly white. She was wearing lipstick, too, garishly applied, as though put on in a state of drunken stupor. It was a chilling sight and he felt weakened by it, struggling to sort it out. It made no sense. In the privacy of her room, the woman had painted herself like
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