EPILOGUE


The road stretched out before Robert Murphy as he casually strolled. The afternoon Summer heat did not bother him, and the homeless man was rewarded with a breeze for his valiant patience. A backpack was slung across his rugged shoulders and he whistled to himself as his worn shoes scuffed gravel. The lights of Darkhurst beckoned him in the fading light. He was almost there, it would probably be best to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

Nonetheless, he hadn't been here in years, and not a nearby house was in sight. He didn't mind. Rob was as always patient. He would find one, as sure as he had legs to carry him. He had been walking since he was young, and wouldn't stop for lack of hope. If all else failed, he could always curl up in a nice ditch. There wasn't much traffic on this old Oak Road anyways.

He stumbled as he tripped over an old beer bottle. He cursed and turned back to deliver it a mighty boot, and something caught his eye. Smoke, a smal, steady stream, apparently coming out of a patch of trees. The small forest looked as though it was down a rather beat up, barely noticable road. Why, there must be a house there, Robert thought with a smile. So he slung up his pack and strode down the road, and a small sign informed him that it was Summer Drive. How pleasant for him. Surely the occupants of the house would welcome him with open arms.

He had little clue how right he was, and didn't dwell upon it. He could see the moon now, even though it was still relatively bright outside. A couple stars had begun to poke through the darkening skyline as well. A few stray clouds drifted through the sky. Funnily enough, one of them looked like a massive eye. Must be good luck, someone's watching over me. Had he observed the rest of the clouds, perhaps he would have caught the one that looked like a skull, as well.

Had he stopped to realize what he was doing, he would also realize he could not stop walking by himself. He was being pulled absently. Strung along by something greater than his mind could comprehend. He pulled a bottle of water and began to drink. Before he knew it, he was before the wonderful cabin-style house. It completely suited the wonderful forest around it. And as no birds sang, he strode up to it. He passed a fairly new Volkswagen, and paused to admire it's condition. The tinted windows prevented him from seeing the car was crammed full of nineteen black robed corpses, perpetual smiles of glee plastered there upon their dried skulls.

He failed to acknowledge the small boy without skin watching him from the top floor of the house, eyes comically wide and smiling as falsely as the bodies of the Satanists. The corpses did not move, simply observed in fascination. They liked the house, it gave them an edge, a hook. A rope to reel in the outside world like a fisherman reels in fish. They waited with not a breath in their decomposing forms as he rapped neatly upon the door.

"Excuse me? Is anybody home?" Murphy called. The door swung open to reveal the wonderful contents within.

"Up here! Come on in!" A femine voice called, from the upstairs. The sounds of a shower were heard. Rob shrugged and walked into the brightly lit entrance hall. He pondered a second how quickly the response had come, when the door slammed shut behind him and the lights were killed.

The last thing Robert Murphy heard was a booming, mocking laughter. A laugh that filled the decayed skeleton of Summers. As the light faded from the sky and the silver moon rose ominously, an invincible, eternal force awakened to feed itself once again, as it would for years to come. And no one could stop it.