Night Stalker

The Trixster had changed his route and timing.  As the clock on the old bell tower of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa stuck the hour of Eleven the menace of fluffy household pets and other small mammals roved at will.  He was careful to keep a respectable distance between himself and the Face of Everyman.   He would deal with that artfully carved chunk of basalt some other time.  For now, the hunt was on.

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