Storms brew likened a Witch's cauldron, stirring the phantom-filled skies, invoking demons to arise from the shadows within.
Shuffling zombies arise from static living death to grope for darkness once per etesian squall, savoring but a crumb of the feast we enjoy nightly in elegant splendor.
But who dares tread unto that dread lair the year through?
Despite reclining fantasies to nestle in deceptively safe harbors, we remain...
Lurkers in the fathomless depths of the vast Abyss, on dreadful thrones in amused sardonic cachinnation.
The glowing rictus of Jack O' Lantern's flame shall light the way to Hell...
Come one, come all to feed the Dark Gods!