Panel A
Johnny, standing cool in the hallway, caged in by these visceral black ropes, looks over his shoulder to where Baba Yaga is coalescing in a slick black pool of ooze on the far wall. She looks like an obscene old woman reclining in a tar pit, her iron-toothed mouth grinning, her gray tongue lazing from her lips like a dead snake. One of her eyes is missing; the other is bloodshot and rheumy. She is nude, and her breasts hang loose and empty against the crooked slats of her ribcage, sucked dry by generations of demons. Although she is grotesquely thin, her belly is swollen with unborn children, whose hands and faces press against her flesh as though seeking escape. Baba Yaga plucks the fat yellow eye from the ooze as she grins at Johnny.
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