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There’s a sound of rusted hinges creaking in an Autumn wind. He didn’t think it was Fall, but he couldn’t tell how long he’d been bound, and tormented in whatever pit he’d been dragged into. The sound of bare feet pipped and papped their way across the cold stone tiles towards him. His breath stifled as he felt the stranger squat down on their knees in front of him; their all too familiar tormentor's hot breath buffeting his face, filling him with the stench of iron blood and old meat.

“You know Pete, I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” The stranger’s voice carried all the lost sweetness of curdled milk. Jeremiah had heard the voice a few times before- screeching madly and calling him a plethora of inaccurate names with an absolute assuredness each time before the pain resumed. It was however the first time it ever seemed to address him directly in a tone that seemed conversational. He held his tongue, body trembling for their tormentors' next lash. The stranger’s voice, like a whistling wind through gravel and broken glass, continued,

“Well Greg, I’m Larry. Some say I’m a Laugher; some grease painted performer, here to elicit amusement, but when I laugh it's with reason. It's a good cause for entertainment. So before I take these thumbs and drive them past those sockets and pop your neck, I’ll entertain you with a tale… Those who give me a whole lotta scratch’d love if you hear it. It begins like alotta stories;”
Once upon a time there was some place across the rift. A place where bad things seemed to come to people all the time. A place where people go missing all the time. A place where someone named Nesterin went missing. A place where dreams go to grow until they burst. A place where Balsum’s gone missing. A place where Baza has gone missing. Dreams were dead and a year ago my friends brought it back, but Travance didn’t wanna hear ‘em out. My friends wanted dreams to grow so big they’d burst wide open- but that all got stopped. Now there’s a place where someone named Alion has gone missing. Someone named Aize, Tuuliki, and Sable went missing too. They think they locked ‘em out but we’re still here talkin’ ain’t we Geoff?!”

Jeremiah felt cold callow hands lock around his shoulders, he murmured, “Please where is my wife?”

An impossible pain cut through him as he felt his optic nerves, retinas and iris regrow. The mad face of his tormentor was for the first time clear to him- their eyes interlocked. He realized Larry did not have his hands upon his shoulders. Jeremiah instinctively went to look up but the madman grabbed his scalp and pulled his eyes forward towards him. It was a cautionary gesture, not to look up- not to perceive what was behind him. He could now see the shreds of meat between the Laugher’s teeth,

“She’s in the hands of some Hags I think took a liking to her; some Midwives. I think they’re treating her rightwise. Right there with a little gal named Eden.”
Jeremiah began his prayers to Andorra for his wife’s peace and deliverance. The hands around his shoulders froze him to his core, The Laugher continued, “My friend won’t hurt you Jeremiah..”

At hearing his own name the pilgrim looked up for a brief second, seeing the cold blue eyes of his tormentor. Then  sharp thumbs blackened his sight. “He promised me you’re mine.” 

Pain, screaming, then the wet pop of joints. The last sound before it all faded into blackness was something shrill. Something like laughter.