To hell with monsters and to hell with men. There is no difference to me.

The cold stars spun to the ancient rhythm, the august march of an everlasting symphony. They are old, the stars, and their memory is long.

Are you okay?" I (Cassie) call up to him. "Um. Define okay." (Ben) "Okay means you're not bleeding to death." "I'm okay.

I don't move. I wait behind my log, terrified. Over the past ten minutes, it's become such a dear friend, I consider naming it: Howard, my pet log.

It's like a cockroach working up a plan to defeat the shoe on its way down to crush it.

There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?

Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.