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August 5, 2005

Stacy: Encounter

Five times I killed it. Five times it came back.

The old man said I was marked, had been since the first time it saw me. It could find me anywhere using that mark. It could even come back from the dead, drawing on my own strength to cross over. But then maybe "dead" for them wasn't the same as "dead" for us.

The door shuddered as something large slammed repeatedly against it. I hadn’t run far enough, it seemed. This time would be different, though. This time, I’d been doing my homework.

I stepped inside the pentagram and waited.

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