Dearest Michael, thanks for ruining my life. Now I will never know what happens to these generic two dimensional characters - the one with the fingernails and that other one - thanks to your failure to write the third book (after Children of the Night). This was my favourite scifi story ever as a child, because my Aunt bought it for me thinking it would be like Star Wars, but it had the word "BASTARD" in it so it was better. And yet I will never die a complete and happy person because of so called 'Michael Kring' AKA the Kringster. Thanks Kringster. You could probably have written the concluding book in about a day, to be fair. Why wouldn't you just finish the damned story? I like to think you were killed in some horrific writing-related accident. I mean, if not, then you are a very bad person. If you are still alive I will hunt you down and capture you, like in Misery, and make you write the third book. I will not flinch at busting up your ankles, Kringster. Not at all. Finish what you started. Damn you.