It's...hummm. [He pulls his lips in.] It does eat. There are bites out of the bodies, but it doesn't finish them off in a way that...it's more like the death itself. Or the condition of it, the amp up before the final blow. It takes a lot of sweet time building up to the kill.

And at the beginning and end of every year it feeds, there's some big blowout. Almost like a sacrifice. There was an explosion at the Kitchener Ironworks years and years ago, something like eighty-eight dead. That was at the end of a cycle. There was a shoot out that the whole town got in on in the thirties, I think? Some bank robbing gang came into town for a breather and they all lay in wait for them the next day. Peppered 'em right up with all the farming shotguns and nightstand pistols they had. The fire at the Black Spot — don't know if it's still a thing in your time, but there were a fair share of white supremacists in Derry back in the day. Didn't take kindly to the black folks having fun so they barbecued them in their own bar.

[He gives him an apologetic look. Sobering stuff, nothing pretty. Good ol' Derry.]

It seems to take the worst parts of people and crank them up to eleven. The moment it wakes up, things start going south all over. Then it naps for about a quarter century and starts the whole deal all over.