«There was a faraway screaming noise, thin and mindless, like an idiot child deprived of its toy. The smoke-tentacle let go of Richard’s ankle, and slid back over the edge of the platform, and it was gone. Hunter took Richard by the scruff of the neck and pulled him towards the back wall, where Richard slumped against it. He was trembling, and the world seemed suddenly utterly unreal. The colour had been sucked from his jeans wherever the things had touched him, making them look as if they’d been ineptly tie-dyed. He pulled up the trouser-leg: tiny purple welts were coming up on the skin of his ankle and calf. ‘What was that?’
Neverwhere
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