Clayton Walker parked beside a large juniper pine, the tree casting shadow over his car.

From the tree, on the corner of the crossroads sat a sun bleached cabin. A large old man sat on the porch in a rocking chair cradling a double barrel shotgun. It looked as old as the old man glaring at him.

"Your name is Clay Walker." The old man's voice echoed from his porch across the dirt road. "I am Cassus Finley."

Clayton shouted from his car, cupping is hands over his mouth. "Mr. Finley, I need to talk with you!"

"Don't want no part o'your petty war Clay. Don't concern me none."

"I need your help!"

"Got me a friend here that says you leave now."

"It'll come for you!"

"Long time comin' I reckon. Been too long. Killed it once. I'll kill it again."

Clayton chanced over his shoulder at the tree, and back to Cassus. "...and while you're sitting there waiting to die, it's out there killing everything. Everyone." Clayton shrugged, and advance on Cassus.

"Said I'll shoot. Will, if ya make me."

"Men like you don't talk about shooting. They shoot. I'm coming up."

Cassus Finley stared hard at Clayton as he approached, the steps to the porch creaking as he climbed them. "You're an audacious cuss, ain't you? It ain't killing everyone out there. It's broken."

"What do you mean broken?"

"It ain't human. It ain't even from here. That thing out there walkin' in yer boy's skin? Broken. Prisoner. Rules."

"What do you mean rules?"

"I mean rules. Laws. I know somethin'bout laws, boy. Been breakin'em since Jefferson Davis."

"Jefferson who?"

"T'think, I were the one with no schoolin'. Since Lincoln was oppressin' the secession with abolition."

"Impossible. You'd have to be..."

"Don't matter. You wanna talk history, go read a book. You wanna stop that thing out there, you needa'know how it works. How it thinks."

"How it thinks?"

"Were born before you. Before me. Were skulkin' it's filth b'for David struck down a giant with a rock."

"Impossible."

"Comin' from a man that believes in magick, and hunts monsters?"

"That's different, Mr. Finley. Things you can see. Things you can touch."

"Arrogant stupid whelp, ain'tcha? That thing out there is real. Can touch it... it can touch you. Where you think that power comes from? Those hoodoo children playin' with fire they don't rightly know... where you think it all started?"

"You seem to know."

"Clay, I were there. Not when it all were all begun, but I were there. Stepped in when that tree were a sapling. Came back, it were taller than me. Came back fightin' somethin' what didn't have name."

"Emim."

"Well ain't that cute? Learn a new word, an' yer all expert innit, ain'tcha? No, Emim is what it is. It doesn't have a true name. Not one we can say."

"It has one now."

Cassus sat in his chair quiet, reached to the frail wicker table beside him, and pulled a glass up to his lips. He sipped it, and sat it back in its place. "Has a name now, does it? That could be a problem."

"Problem?"

"Those things don't think. They don't have names. Once there was eight, now there's seven."

"I don't understand."

"They is seven, were eight, and they's jus' apart o'the dead god."

"God is dead."

Cassus Finley shook his head slowly. "No, boy. The dead god, Taal. The Tusken Towers o'er the black desert. Wakin' nightmares o'the sleepin' giant. A demon sure as is iffin'er ever was."

"Can we stop it? Can you stop it?"

Cassus Finley laughed. It was a papery, cracking laughter that ended in a brief fit of coughing. Cassus sipped from his cup again. Stared at the ice melting in it. "I like it where I am. Sit on the porch an'stare at the juniper all day sippin' scotch. Don't rightly get the drunk out o'the drink no more. Can't... but I like the way it tastes. Don't sit here thinkin'bout no demons or Terrors - your Emim - or wonderin' when's my final day. Been sittin' in my final days so long, done forgot how old I am. Run, Clay Walker. Leave Driftwood, an' don't come back."

"I can't do that."

"Then get right with God, 'cuz that thing out there? Iffin I hear it right, he's got your name in his mouth, an'he don't much like the way it tastes."

"I'll kill it. Gun it down. Poison it. I'll cut the fucking thing to pieces. Bury his parts over the four corners of the world."

"Naw. Naw, ya won't... but you'll try."