Mr. Rook grabbed the fanged head of an attacker (a vampire?) lunging for me in a single stone hand and rammed it into the steel wall.

"One of these days sir, I won't be here to deflect incomings like that," he said as passed me on the right.

I nodded. "Until that day Mr. Rook, keep up the good work if you would."

"Of course sir," he said conversationally as he grabbed two more of the vampires by the throats and smashed their heads together. James scurried up Mr. Rook's leg, the wee imp fleeing for a pursing werewolf. Or least it had appeared so.

However, as he reached Mr. Rook's waist, he yanked the large pocket watch and chain from the stone troll's pocket. James turned and leapt off of Mr. Rook and onto the werewolf's shoulders. Its eyes bulged; skin darkening, as James tightened the silver chain around its neck. He rode the werewolf to the ground, refusing to let the chain give. It howled and bellowed through a crushed windpipe as James drove a knife into the back of its neck. The wolf's skin sizzled and fell apart at the touch of silver. In only a few seconds, James had a trophy for his wall.

A vampire with paper skin and shrunken gums pursued Charles, gaining ground on the imp. Charles rummaged through his pockets, finding and fishing out a silver flask. As he ran, he popped the top and flung it back at the vampire's face.

The alcohol (rum from the smell) splashed across the vampire's face and chest, but as the silver touched its skin, it burst into flames. The vampire ran down the corridor, screaming as the fire spread, refusing to be put out. I shook my head. Faust had gone to great lengths to make monsters, even engineering the classic control mechanisms like allergies to silver. But they died too easily.

A toy clown with a filleting knife hamstrung a werewolf and brought it to its knees. Even as the werewolf sheared the clown's grinning painted head from its shoulders with a single swipe of its claws, another was pouncing atop it with a machete. Snicker snack.

Manfred and Whitfield caught sight of a vampire choosing to flee down the corridor. Manfred grabbed his brother's hands and began to spin. As they became a whirling blur of red hair and purpled skin, Whitfield let go with one hand and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a grenade, pulled the pin, and let go. The grenade caught the fleeing vampire square between its shoulder blades and drove it to the floor. I turned away from the explosion. No need to watch.

Mr. Jonathan whirled through vampire and werewolf alike, carving off limbs, opening throats. No one could match his speed. More than one way to skin a wolf. Or a bat.

Trevor swung about as best he could in close quarters, putting a bullet into every exposed limb. More than one vampire or werewolf fell to a bullet to the leg, only to be finished off by Rebecca's toys.

Sweet Rebecca.

The very first I ever brought into reality. Made her permanent on the first try. Just like mother. Scolding, cleaning, smiling. I think that's why I lost it when I caught her and Mr. Jonathan making out on the couch. I tossed him back into my mind immediately. But her... she was already real... so I yelled.

I remember when I went back to bed, she was sobbing. She had been for about an hour already when I stopped. My throat was hoarse for days afterwards. She ran away that morning. We were able to track her to the park near my old apartment, but there she just vanished.

That's why I knew there'd be trouble when a werewolf with a graying coat that stood head and shoulders above the rest scored three cuts on Rebecca's cheek and knocked her to the floor. I was screaming, spinning to fire at her assailant. I didn't move fast enough.

Before I ever managed to bring my pistol around, Mr. Jonathan slammed into her attacker. His top hat was gone, as was his overcoat. And he wasn't holding his razors. His lip was drawn into a sneer as drove the werewolf's head into the wall.

"What's your name," he growled.

It snarled and slashed for him, tearing open his silk shirt. Mr. Jonathan rammed its head into the steel once more.

"What's your name? Is it William?"

The werewolf tore itself free from Mr. Jonathan's grip and lunged from him. Mr. Jonathan slipped to the side and drove his elbow onto the werewolf's back. As it slammed onto the floor, he was already there, grabbing the werewolf's head, bashing its already bloody muzzle into the floor.

"I asked you your name." Crunch.

"William," the gray werewolf growled.

"Hello William," Mr. Jonathan said. He jerked William's head up from the floor, aiming his eyes at Rebecca. "Do see her?"

William snarled. Crunch. Three teeth and another helping of blood lay on the floor.

"Do see her," Mr. Jonathan repeated.

"Yessss," came a growled reply.

Mr. Jonathan nodded. "Good." Then, he drove William's head again. And again. And again. After the third time, Mr. Jonathan finally spoke. "Never look at her again. Never touch her. Do you understand?"

A single bared tooth. Slam. Crack. Crunch.

"Do you understand," he asked again.

A whimper.

"Good."

Mr. Jonathan rose, leaving the bloodied werewolf laying on the ground. He kicked William twice in the chest and turned back to Rebecca. As he crossed the room to her, the last vampire lunged for him. Trevor put it down with a bullet between the eyes. Mr. Jonathan never blinked. The small army of toys parted around her as he kneeled down next to her.

He spoke softly. "Are you alright?"

Rebecca touched her cheek. "I'm... I'm fine..."

Mr. Jonathan lowered his head and peered up into her downcast eyes. "You don't remember do you?"

"Remember what," she asked slowly.

He smiled and kissed her hand gently. "Nothing to concerned about."

I opened my mouth to speak, but there was suddenly a hand over it and I was jerked up into the ductwork. I was looking at bloody lava lamp eyes and wax sheet skin. "My name is Hugh and you're coming with me Nod."

Bloody hell.