A new nameless terror stalks the darkness, her appearance haunts me after but a glimpse of her haggard silhouette.
Twisted and torn in unspeakable ways, with greyish dead skin stretched out over her emaciated body.
I saw that her arm was a horrid overgrown deformity that looked as if it could claw its way through flesh and bone.
I feel as if her presence speaks of endless torture.
Lisa Sherwood grew up in a quiet town.
The people of the village were kind, and the elders helped settle their disputes and keep the old traditions alive.
Lisa was particularly fond of the charms they taught her to draw for safety and good fortune.
One night, as she was walking home through the woods, a terrible storm struck without warning.
In the slick wet darkness, she lost her footing and struck her head.
Slipping in and out of consciousness, she watched dark shapes approach between the trees.
Soon they were close enough for her to make out their evil, hungry grins.
They kept her chained to the wall in a flooded cellar.
Through the gloom, she could see others, whose open wounds swarmed with flies.
They did not survive long once the cannibals began carving bites from their bodies with their rusted blades, but somehow Lisa persisted.
Starved and mutilated, her gaunt arms became loose in their shackles.
She pulled, and the metal tore through skin and muscle until she was free.
Her flesh oozed viscous yellow pus and bones were visible beneath gangrenous wounds.
She could go no further. Delirious, she thought of home; she thought of the elders.
She traced the symbols they had taught her.
A dark hunger stirred inside her. It yearned for blood. She chose vengeance.
The police search eventually brought them to the old house in the swamp.
Its inhabitants had been dismembered and devoured.
The elders’ charms were scrawled in blood on the floor. Lisa’s body was never found.