Across the square in Steamboat Gothic style sat the Ministry Building and next to it like an ugly cousin sat The Saloon in true Western cut.
Inside the Ministry building they sat nine, three on each side of the tri-table a tangible darkness the breadth of which sat at breast and between.
No-one spoke they just sat feeding this darkness with their minds, the only sound a vibration so fast and low it was barely audible.
It was felt however like a fine carbonated liquid alive throughout the body, a symphonetic vehicle for dread and fear, quite beautiful.
The flames of the candles centre table rose and fell with the energy a hypnotic dance were any to see, none here did.
Then one flame died leaving a hole in the perimeter, they felt it and also felt Sherman struggle he'd lost it his candle snuffed out.
Shadows danced around Sherman seductive bitter cold and intensely hot, eyes shut tight he shook fear sweating out.
Darkness caressing arousing they the eight sat feeling Sherman's energy rise and fall his involuntary arousal theirs to share his pain his own.
The flames stretching and entwining with the darkness the energy in extremes and speeding Sherman the fuel orgasmic and horrific.
His clothes were melting and dropped like ashes from his form red and raw where the tiniest lines left artistic etchings.
His eyelids still shut tight exfoliated by the force his eyes wide and visible beneath the now thin skin.
Sherman longing for death an end to his pain, they feeding from his fear exultant and their collective climax eminent as Sherman was spent.