His name was Peter Ellison, but everyone had always called him Little Pete. Sometimes Petey. And now he heard his name. Like prayers floating up to him from the ghosts. A voice he knew. A voice he did not know. A third voice that reached to him in a way like the Darkness sometimes did, silently, through that emptiness that connected all who had been touched by the Darkness. In different words, in different ways, they each said, Take me. Take me, Petey. Take me, Little Pete. Take me, you little freak.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO
