The shrines to the buried god had started to become a problem.

 “There’s another one here,” the policeman called. He wrenched the handle where the cupboard for the fire hose sat. Out fell desiccated fingers and bundles of human hair. He threw handfuls of earthen twigs over his shoulder and withdrew a magpie in a jute sack. He held it up to the corridor light and it twirled about, thread binding its spindly legs. 

 “That’s two in this building alone,” the other lamented, straightening his tie and sliding a window ajar to spare his nose.

 Find one in an area and more are bound to follow. It took only one person to make a blood pact and soon the whole neighbourhood would start to fall. Parts of animals and people hewn out of the forest under full moons installed into the urban framework. Time was short until the management of the whole town would be at the inhumed one’s call. 

 “Should I phone it in?” he said, a finger hovering over his radio. The other shook his head. 

 “No time. I’ll just bring the petrol can from the car.”

“What are you doing?” a boy called from a classroom doorway. 

“Never mind, lad,” the policeman replied. “You just get back to your spelling.”

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