It had come into being moments before, floated over fences along hedges, down streets and parkways; until here it lays dormant, as leaves whither and crumble around it. It swoops from the alley; a response to a call, a tremble in the fabric of time, darting from garbage can to garbage can. It begins shaping from the shadowy limbs, almost a footprint of the bum before. It slides along the petunias that climb the walls of the structure; a pungency pitched venomously from its breast. All of its malevolent will seeks the source of the potency that will give it solidity. It can sense a presence of great power, perhaps the Drachr himself; but no, this vessel is inconsequential. It senses the singe of evocation, searching wildly for the power that will instigate a new possession.

Roger walked back outside, a premonition, but is unaware of the specter lurking in the shadows. Still wrapped in his own perplexions, he absentmindedly turns towards the door of his apartment building. A gaunt, undulating limb materializes from the ephemeral form of a jacket sleeve; missing Roger by inches. Roger reached the door, hurried in, and then slammed the door to the entrance. A muffled wail escapes the charred craw, as the shadow collapses in a heap on the sidewalk and dissolves like that witch in the Wizard of Oz; after the bucket. Quietly it began to drizzle, washing the shadow of the remains down the concrete to the asphalt, forming a puddle in the gutter; a puddle that oozes yet breathes occasionally.