“We need to burry this girl, Moe. And when we’re done, you’re going to give me an explanation.” * * * With Mona’s direction, Moe found a foo... crate in the basement. Mona cleaned the crate and lined it with a piece of plum-colored velvet cloth from her sewing basket. Nailing the lid shut was one of the hardest things Moe had ever done. That is, up until he had to dig a six foot hole in the back corner of Mona’s yard. “Under the weeping willow,” she told him. In Moe’s eyes, shroud-tailors skipped. “You can’t have it, it’s too cold, even for me.”“I’ll die,” he snarled, “get out of that bag before I-”Her hand shot out of the sleeping bag, taking his arm in an iron grip, he tried to pull away but he was too damned cold. He felt sluggish, his strength sapped, the cold draining his energy. She was strong, her fingers were digging into his arm, though she was careful to avoid cutting him with her hooked claws.“We’ll never survive the night on our own, our only chance is to combine our body. More

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