Something Wicked This Way Comes1983

Charles Halloway:
I know who you are. You are the autumn people. Where do you come from? The dust. Where do you go to? The grave.

Mr. Dark:
Yes. We are the hungry ones. Your torments call us like dogs in the night. And we do feed, and feed well.

Charles Halloway:
To stuff yourselves on other people's nightmares.

Mr. Dark:
And butter our plain bread with delicious pain. So, you do understand a little.

Charles Halloway:
You are known in this town. My father knew you.

Mr. Dark:
Your father? The preacher? That half-man?

Charles Halloway:
He lived on goodness.

Mr. Dark:
Tasteless fare. Funerals, bad marriages, lost loves, lonely beds. That is our diet. We suck that misery and find it sweet. We search for more always. We can smell young boys ulcerating to be men a thousand miles off. And hear a middle-aged fool like yourself groaning with midnight despairs from halfway around the world.