Hello, Officer? Can you help me? My dad got turned into a zombie. You know, we’ve been travelling around getting rid of things that aren’t real, and this time they hit back. I really need someplace to stay – but can you make sure I have some holy water or something wherever it is? And some silver-jacketed bullets? That’d be sweet. Yeah, that’d be totally cool. Thanks. And while you’re at it, can you tell the guys with the straitjackets that I’m really sane? That would help.

Graves: It’s going to snow. Dru Anderson: Thanks for the warning. Graves: Hey, no problem. First one’s free.

It was stealing her breath, imbecile. Go get a towel." -Christophe, Strange Angels by Lili St. Crow

How had I managed to tie my boots? I didn’t even remember getting dressed. I was out here in public at the mall. What was I wearing? Jeans. I could feel socks. I had my boots on. I plucked at the edge of my t-shirt and saw it was red. I was wearing Dad’s spare Army jacket, and there was a heavy weight in the right pocket that had to be something deadly.

Besides, the normal people here wouldn’t see it. That was what “different” meant. It’s just another word for lonely.

Can I…I mean, do you mind if I sleep up here? If you don't, I, um, understand. I just—" "Yes." The word bolted out of me. "Yes, please. Maybe I'll be able to sleep if you're here.

If something is visceral and unsettling for me, my job is to not look away, not to punk out. Sometimes the dark things come from places inside me, experiences Ive had, that need to be transformed.