“They get stronger,” he told me. “You can feel it in the fog. Thicker it gets, stronger they are. Sundown is the worst of times. They’re terribly strong at sundown, and I’m getting weaker. There’s a price to be paid for listening to the death song, and a greater one is due for any man who shares it. It was a solemn thing, any fool could see that, and yet we tampered with it.”
