When the dark winds come trees whip wildly with possessed arms.
Leaves fly and swirl just as bones and gizzards swirl in ebony caldrons.
The wind howls like a banshee in the night.
The dark people come.
They come infiltrating, flitting as shadows around innocent men.
They come for souls.
Darker than dark they feed on the night vices of the innocent.
With shiny, black-marble eyes, they wait.
They wait to spread ichor across the earth…
one soul at a time.