Inside the cocoon of hair, where Lloyd and Ed had no line of sight, the intent of the darkness was shifting, changing: seeking in the boy it had entrapped a vessel as much as a victim. Even as both other patients struggled, the hair found Al's open mouth and writhed in through his screams, filling his throat until only the barest slivers of air could sliver through, strands crawling their way down oesophagus and deeper.

The rattling quieted as it did, as Lloyd's attack sheared through the thickest wind of hair: Al's body thudded to the ground along with the mass of hair surrounding him, but it was rushing into him at a rapid rate, releasing him at the same time as it suffocated him.