As you read this, Issue 257 rattles from the press like steak knives through skeletons.
Listen! Can you hear a soft-pawed wolf howling beside Calton Hill? Can you hear the banshee moans on Broughton Road? Are your bowels about to burst? Yes? Then you have read the future, or at least an early draft of Page 1.
Beware, beware! Page 2 is full of worms and death and cemeteries, the unexpected contents of a box, a serial intruder, grim-faced Leith Walkers preparing for the worst.
Stay clear of Page 3. It hoots. It lies empty and unlit. It finds odd little corners others shun. It grows unseen, furtively, sneakingly, its fingers crawling into cracks and finding their way in.
Page 4: strange potions, damned prawns, conundra, closure, the end. Will you survive to see it?
A few, rogue Spurtles may be found tonight. The rest will follow before dawn. Find them in all the usual earthly haunts, and online in black and red from midnight. Read carefully.