They called it the Blood Monster.

The term did not accurately describe the true nature or mechanisms behind the phenomenon, but it wasn’t meant to. It perfectly described the perception and feeling of the human beings who experienced it. Or rather, it glommed together the fears, anxieties, and revulsion experienced by those people.

Dylan carried the blood monster within him, but most nights he slept peacefully anyway.

A great splash leapt up from a slow-moving pool in the river. Its final droplets landed very near the boy on the rocks. His friends were swimming. He was waiting.

Ajax returned to the surface with a shout, “The mighty Achilles! Defeated by a little water!”

The boy on the rocks didn’t look at them, though he could feel the eyes of Patroclus watching him from just above the water. 

The boy never looks, and he never swims. They cannot see what he sees.

“Never, ever stick your hands through the fence.” The tour guide’s demeanor grew suddenly serious, and Trinity suspected she did not want to hear whatever came next. She was right.

The guide casually adjusted his hat with a three-fingered right hand and said, “Ask me how I know.”