PAGAN.

That was the word carved on Freddie the Fantastic's forehead when two rousties found him swinging from a tree outside of the carnival's grounds.

The last anyone had seen of him, it was closing time. He was locking up his trailer, and according to one witness he had gone out into the darkness to relieve himself. After he didn't return for an hour, people started to wonder.

Roll was taken; Freddie was the only one missing. And then the two rousties who had gone looking for him returned with the news.

People wondered whether there was some special reason the miners had targeted Nevin- the theory they all agreed on in the end was that the miners had killed Freddie for going against the First Commandment.

The simple truth behind the matter- something that the carnies would never know- is that Freddie Nevin's crime was not having sinned. Every man, no matter how hard he tries to deny it, has sinned. And most sins are worse than anything Freddie Nevin had ever done.

His crime was simply being the first one caught alone.

---

When Lucius woke up, he had no recollection of how long he'd been out, or what had happened in that time.

For what had seemed like ages he'd lived in a nightmare world. Images strange and terrifying had flashed inside his mind, in front of his very eyes.

His punishment for asking so many questions.

In his mind- possibly even in reality- he'd wandered through the mines, crawling in the darkness. No food, no water, no refuge, no respite.

Worst of all, he'd heard things- the voices of the dead. Of the miners. Heartless, cold voices that taunted him and laughed from the darkness. Hearing them, Lucius had realized just what shadows of their former selves they had become.

And they hated him for being the only one left alive.

When he woke up, he felt less like a man, less like a real human being, then he'd ever felt. His face was wet with what he guessed were tears, although he wasn't crying. He was only still, and empty.

He was sitting at the entrance to the mines, where the rocks had sealed off the tunnel. He turned his head towards the West, and saw that the sun was setting.

Strangler didn't bat an eye. He didn't even blink.

He only rose to his feet, and headed off to take his place at the bar.

That night, looking out the window, he saw someone new in the crowd- a man in dark pants and a tuxedo shirt, walking with the same glassy eyes and pale stare as the rest of them.

The Sacrifice.

The town was quiet again- the carnival was long gone, however long that had been.

Weeks passed. Months. Again and again silence was exchanged for the rhythmic steps of the dead. And slowly, Stangler discovered he no longer desired food nor sleep. Many nights he found himself staring at a half-empty bottle of whiskey, his index finger circling the rim of a well-used shot glass over and over and over again- one rotation for every step from outside.

At times he thought he was dead, just like the rest of them. But then he would step out-of-doors while the sun was shining.

Every once in a while he would cast a cold eye towards the horizon, to the hill in the distance that marked the end of Babylon. The place where he'd fallen on the first night. The place where he'd met with that shadowy demon.

Looking at that hill was the only thing that made him feel human again.

It would be wrong to say that the time passed quickly, but the monotony of the situation made everything blur together. In the end Strangler couldn't have said how many years he'd spent staring that those bottles of whiskey. Oddly enough, he never seemed to run out.

Then, one night, the rhythm seemed to stop.

Stangler's finger stopped in the midst of tracing the empty glass's rim, almost at the exact same moment the footsteps ceased. He looked up, towards the door.

Staggering, he approached the door and opened it.

The miners had not vanished, but they had indeed stopped. They were standing in a perfect formation, spaced out exactly in straight lines. They were all staring towards the hill.

Stangler wondered whether the ghosts had taken up his habit. He limped drunkenly through the ranks, looking around, waiting for the explanation.

Then one of the miners spoke.

They're coming.

Stangler didn't even look to see who had spoken. He only turned his head, looking out towards the hill again.

The miners didn't move until sunrise. And that was when Stangler decided he'd give their new visitors a proper welcome.

In a trance, he packed up his supplies just as he had on that first day, knowing he wouldn't need them. Then, sometime in the late morning, he set out, traveling towards the hill.

As he approached the hill he saw the trucks come over it, and he kept walking as though he thought he was going to leave.

Soon the first of the trucks pulled up level with Lucius and stopped; a diminutive man spoke from the side window.

Hey fella... This the road to Babylon? he asked.

Yeah, just ahead, Stangler said, gesturing down the road, Over yonder.You from there?Yeah, I'm from there, all right. Stangler smiled ironically, then nodded towards the hill. I'm headin' out.Ain't nothin' back there but fifty miles of sand and sidewinders, said the man at the wheel.

Lucius looked for a moment at the side of the truck, which was fancifully painted. You the carnival?That we are, the small man answered.

We been waitin' for you folks a long time.Oh yeah? How's that?

But Lucius just heard himself chuckle softly as he turned to continue up the hill.

The caravan started to move again, and an old dusty car swept past Lucius.

Hey, handsome, said a female voice from inside the vehicle. Lucius turned, and saw a feminine eye wink at him from the window. She was pretty, whoever she was. But he didn't smile at her.

His mind was, at the moment, on one thing and one thing only- Scudder. He was there, somewhere, in that caravan. And once the miners had exacted their revenge upon him, Stangler knew he would be free.