'Things the gargoyles have done?' I asked. The conversation was taking a turn I was not entirely comfortable with.

'Yes, have done, will do. Do you think that time is significant when measured against the slow blood of stone?' he growled angrily, pressing closer to me. I instinctively drew back and realized with no little discomfort that only the wall was there to meet my retreat. Where the hell was Conner, anyway? Damn him and his lousy cigarettes.

I forced myself to remain calm and finish the interview. 'So, for our readers, can you describe something you have seen?'

'I've seen the inside of a news van, its interior soaked with the
blood of a dying camera man.'

That was it. I bolted out of the decrepit building and down the alley, slipping on trash and old newspapers. I stopped at the sidewalk.

One back door of the van was open and squeaking back and forth on its hinges in the wind. The door kept knocking against a foot that hung at an awkward angle out of the back of the van. A red smear was on the bumper and the pavement.

Horribly, incredibly, I found myself looking up to the gargoyle across the street. A maroon smear ran obscenely across its jaws and more red dripped from its stony clawed hands.