now go, and bring me the night

  Sarah kicking leaves across the dance floor. This was how Mann thought of it, this empty and echoing gymnasium. The dance floor. The leaves had made it in here through the busted windows crowning the top bleachers. He had gone up there, curious about the handprints slathered across the remaining panes. They looked like fingerpaint, though not achieved by the hand of any child. Could be blood. They didn’t look like blood. For one, they were too colorful, some pressed against the glass in shades of yellow and orange, others in white or in black. There were only a few resembling blood. The eeriest ones were those missing fingers.

From the author of INTO THE SHADOW and PARLIAMENT:
 

MINE IS THE STRANGER'S VOICE