The Island of Eternal Night remains just that, shrouded in darkness, and lost.
Deep within the depths in the main cavern hang two figures from thin filaments of web, dangling upside down, but angled to prevent flooding the brain with blood and drowning the body, were Maximus and Maxima.
Below them, a few feet down on a ledge, were the webbed forms of two more, Max and Maxwell, also encased in webbing. One with his hands trussed up behind his back like a Christmas turkey.
Maximus and Maxima were facing one another, their eyes locked, but all sense of their humanity lost. Their minds, their souls and their sanity vanishing years ago in the daily stabs, pricks and fangs puncturing, drinking, absorbing, feeding, nourishing, healing and leaving them to restore for a later meal.
The air was dry and the hibernation period was ending again this year.
Even without their sanity, they could hear the waking beasts, the creeping legs, the furry appendages moving and the claws scratching.
Followed by the rise of thousands of whispers.
It was instinctual, they started to scream.
Loud and empty, shrill and horrifying, yet worst of all, penetrating.
Echoing down the other caves and crevices where those hoping to sleep late this period are forced awake.
And not happy about it.
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