“Goddamn! What the hell’s happened to’em?!” Heilis’ eyes are wide and filled with that madness that Bray knew only too well.
“I don’t know.” Bray’s voice sounds fake to his own ears as if his voice is coming from the end of a long hallway or echoing off the walls of a crypt.
A family of ghouls are sitting around a small dinner table. Their long cold morning repast is still sitting before them. Their flesh has been turned black and cracked like charred wood. The mother sits on the left, her white dress clashing garishly with her black skin. Her head is held at an unnatural angle as if she had frozen in the act of stretching it.
Two boys sit on the right, one older and one younger. The older boy appears to be around sixteen, blackened arms hanging loose at his sides, his head looking down
