A newspaper page blows along the street. It wraps itself around a lamppost for a moment, then spins away into the gutter. None of its headlines are readable in the sickly light of the streetlight. In the distance, a lonely saxophone wails.
Lady Eldridge paces back and forth on the Oriental rug that decorates the floor of her room at the top of the tower. Her long, white robe swirls around her as she walks, like a death-shroud blowing in the wind. Suddenly, she turns, flings her door open and rushes down the spiral staircase to the main hall. The hall is lined with portraits, vanishing into the blackness at the end. Lady Eldridge starts to walk down the hall. Suddenly, she stops-staring ahead into the blackness. The candle drops from her numb fingers and snuffs itself out on the floor. Darkness.
The last of the documents falls on the fire. He watches with satisfaction as the flames tickle the edges of the page, then consume it at once, in a fury, until nothing remains but ashes.
The sundial is the oldest object in the garden. Lichen has grown up over the inscription, and now all that is legible is T US F G T. Of the numbers, nothing remains. But the shadow still proceeds around the dial, steadfastly marking off time...
He enters the library, and looks around. Bookshelves stretch to the celing. A few devoted readers cluster around tables, hunched over their books. A very old man sits at a desk next to the door.
"You must be the new librarian," the old man says.
"Yes..." he replies, "Yes, I suppose I am."
"Good." says the old man, and disintegrates into a fine dust.
Now that the moon has come up, the bends and twists in the hedges of the maze are more visible, as are the sharp thorns that bristle on each branch. The glass hits the wall and shatters. Shards go flying in all directions, and a smear of wine flows slowly down over the floral-printed wallpaper.
Cawing loudly with anger, the crow flies off. A single black feather flutters down, landing at the feet of the boy. The boy picks it up and turns it over in his hands, examining the minute black fibers with a strange intensity.
The rock tumbles down off of the ledge. It bounces once, then comes to rest in a dry creek bed.
"Get out of here," he says. "You're a disgrace to this family, and I never want to see you here again." She steps out the front door, snowflakes drifting down onto her shoulders. They find her body two weeks later, buried under a snowbank, curled up as though she had just lain down and gone to sleep.
The battlefield is a mass of carnage and destruction. Corpses, some armored, most not, are strewn randomly, smeared with blood and gore. The whole place is eerily silent, except for the sounds of a few birds that have found the feast.
In the moonlight, the skeleton of the rollercoaster looks like nothing so much as a giant spiderweb. Mist rolls in off of the lake just beyond the coaster, obscuring the empty cars that wait, deserted, at the bottom of the track.
Edwin looks around the classroom. All of the other boys are just sitting quietly, watching the teacher drone on and on. What a bunch of losers! Edwin pulls a straw from his pocket, sticks a spitwad into one end of it, and lets fly at the nearest boy. Before the spitwad can hit, the other boy is under his desk with a gun in one hand. Pointed straight at Edwin's head. Edwin is so surprised he forgets to scream.