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It is New Year's Day. My wrist watch stopped ticking many hours ago, but it is dawn and I can feel the warmth of the sun rising. I can smell the sea salt in the air, and my feet are damp from cold morning dew on the grass. If any birds remain from the night before, they are silent now. The water is silent. Everything is utterly still, and not even the sun can bring life back into this place. I remember everything that happened at midnight tonight and what came before; what compelled me to remove my eyes, and where my wife has gone. If you can understand this, it means I haven't lost my skill with a pen, or my mind. That is good. My name is Richard Lancaster, and with any God that lives as my witness, this is a true account of the events that occurred yesterday, December 31st of 1899 in Henry Lee Harbor.

My wife, Emma, and I arrived in Henry Lee Harbor in the late afternoon of the aforementioned day. We were married on Christmas Eve, and I was told by a dear associate that no coastal town in all of Virginia could compare to its breath taking view. Emma had expressed a desire to honeymoon somewhere that neither of us had ever been -to make an adventure of it- and both of us had long held love for the ocean. We packed our bags and my pistol, for sake of security, and took a carriage out from our home in Blacksburg on the 26th. Our travels were easy, our driver most amiable, and our stops were few. We wanted to arrived in Henry Lee Harbor in time for a special magic show. Emma was an actress, and had always had an affinity for parlor tricks and magicians. Within her social circles, she heard news that to celebrate our arrival into the 20th century one of her favorite performers would be hosting a free magic show well into the New Year. Emma spoke his name with great admiration -"The Sensational Samuel Flagg." I recall now that she told me it would be a night to remember, and that being a performer as well she would be beside herself to have the privilege of participating in his act.

By the time we had arrived, the sun had begun its descent to the horizon. As our carriage moved out of a gloomy forest and into the open air of the harbor the sky was on fire with a most resplendent array of color, and its brilliance reflected across the whole of the bay. Emma held my hands and looked out over the landscape with starry eyes. Our driver even commented that he had seen nothing like it, though his tone was not so jovial as ours. We took a slow tour down the streets to our inn, and it was then that I first began to notice strange things. The town itself was truly marvelous, perfectly quaint and straight from a picture book, but as we traveled on I noticed that the townspeople's eyes lingered on us. Every person ahead of us stared at our conveyance like we were criminals or impostors, and I noticed that many of them continued to watch us even after we'd passed on. Emma was enchanted by the sunset and seemed not to notice, but the attention made me uneasy. By the time we'd arrived at our lodgings, I was eager to step inside for a libation. Our driver quickly helped us with our bags, and asked if we required him to stay for the night. I could see he felt much of the discomfort that I did with the locals, and bid him good night. He departed in earnest.

The lobby was impeccably clean, tastefully furnished, but devoid of any patrons. It seemed more of a showroom than a lobby, but both Emma and I admired the space's immaculate trappings. I rang the bell at the counter, and in a few moments a woman came to our service. She was very old and incredibly austere, her piercing blue eyes seemed all the the more glacial from the formal black gown she wore. I could see by the glass in her hand and the sway in her steps to the counter that she was intoxicated, but that did not subdue the alarming look in her eyes. I remember her words precisely. She introduced herself as Abigail and asked how she could be of service. When I informed her that we had a room a certain fear overcame her features. "I allowed no one to book a room here tonight. Tonight, we are closed. Come back next year."

I was appalled at such blatant discourtesy, but remained civil. I told her that we were on honeymoon, that we had most certainly booked a room for tonight, and that my wife and I intended to see The Sensational Samuel Flagg's performance. The proprietor dropped her glass and it shattered on the dark wood of the floor, causing both Emma and myself to jump. The look on her face was terrible and disconcerting, and her words were weighty with meaning. "Why? Why would you? Don't you love your wife? We are closed. Come back next year." By this point I was less concerned than I was angry, and were it not for Emma's intervention the caretaker would have received many stern words. My wife smiled sweetly at the old woman, and spoke with the charm and charisma I loved so much about her. She expressed how dearly she loved the arts of magic, and how important to her our honeymoon and this performance was. Emma apologized for our seemingly unwelcome arrival, but assured her that we would be most amicable tenants and would make sure everything remained as pristine as it was.

The woman stared at her for a time without saying a word, and this made Emma visibly uncomfortable. She made no attempt to clean up the broken glass. When our hostess spoke again, it was with a forced smile. She looked directly into my eyes and said, "Please forgive my rudeness, Mr. Lancaster. We very seldom have guests here, and I am rather set in my ways." She turned slowly towards two neat racks of brass keys, and fingered one of them from the top rungs. As the matron held it out to Emma, her words were masked by a false sense of friendliness. "You must be tired from your ride into town, and wishing to freshen up. The room is 202, up those stairs and the second door to the left. Your consort looks like he fancies something to drink. Shall I show you to the bar, Mr. Lancaster?" I was relieved at her sudden change of tune, even though it seemed false, and that our room was secured. Giving my wife a kiss on the cheek, I told her to change while I had a drink. Emma departed for our room, and I followed Abigail further into the building. She said nothing as we walked, but I was focused on the rooms. Each, like the lobby, was pristine and virtually untouched. Nothing seemed worn in or used. I wondered how many people had stayed here, and admired the ceaseless attention to detail.

I was distracted from my inspections when Abigail spoke again, and stopped before a grand old cabinet of cherry wood. "Pick your poison, Mr. Lancaster, and drink your fill." Doing my best to be a genial guest, I asked if she would like another drink. Sweet Vermouth. I poured myself a glass of scotch, and for a moment we sat at the bar. Abigail seemed to grow more distant with every moment, and imbibed her vermouth like it was water. I mustered the courage to ask what was troubling her, hoping that I could find some explanation for the town's distaste at our arrival. Her eyes looked on and through the walls of her establishment, out towards the bay. "It's the turn of the century, Mr. Lancaster. We have lost many friends and loved ones. The future of our town seems so uncertain, many of us would rather leave but haven't the courage. You should leave, Mr. Lancaster. I cannot stress that enough." I drank my scotch quickly so I wouldn't need to respond, but not as quickly as Abigail. She left me to my own devices, and to think on her ominous words. Emma came downstairs shortly after, dressed in the gorgeous winter gown I had commissioned for her. She was glowing with joy, and as she rushed to grip my hands I felt the worries of the day slip away. "Darling, may we walk by the water? I simply cannot ignore this marvelous sunset!" Her face was truly angelic, and I could not refuse her. My hand entwined in hers, we exited the inn and made for the harbor.

As we walked, we admired the architecture of those buildings that surrounded the wharf. Emma also pointed out with much reverence that there were many churches here, each outfitted with their own bell tower. It gave the town an air of sanctity and beauty, and many gulls were perched on their rooftops. The liveliness of the birds served as an eerie contrast to the streets below. Besides my consort and I, not a soul walked on the harbor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman shut her window and draw the drapes. Even as we approached the beach, no ships or sailors were tied up at port. I found the image haunting, but Emma was beside herself. "Darling, we have the beach all to ourselves! How wonderful that the townsfolk have given us such privacy." She laughed lightly and set one hand on my shoulder. As we made our way down into the sand, we removed our shoes and she hiked up her skirt to wade into the water. From where we stood, The Atlantic stretched out as far as the eye could see. The sun had begun to sink into the sea, and the bright hues that had painted the sky when we arrived had darkened into rich tones of red, purple and blue. It was breath taking, and without question the most beautiful sunset I will ever witness. We stood there in awe, watching darkness creep into the edges of the sky until a chilling voice sounded behind us. "Why aren't you in Church? You people can't seem to make up your mind, can you?"

Emma and I started, and turned to see a lone figure standing on the pier beside us. His ensemble was opulent, complete with a cravat, lace and a cane. A top hat adorned his face, which seemed both ancient and timeless at once. Even in the twilight, I could see his eyes. They glinted with an unusual light. Emma gasped aloud, and clutched my hand tightly. "Mr. Flagg! My goodness, what an honor!" Seeing this magician for the first time, all of the oddities of our night started to weigh on me. I smiled cordially and introduced both my wife and myself. Samuel Flagg smiled, and extended his hand to Emma. She floated forward and graciously gave him her hand, which he kissed with grace. "Mr. Flagg, I cannot begin to express how pleased I am to finally meet you! I truly marvel at your work," Emma spoke as she fanned herself, breathless at meeting this idol of hers. When he let her hand fall, he was smiling. I was reminded of a frightful illustration I saw of The Great White Shark, it's colossal teeth and fearsome visage resembling a terrible smile.

"Really my dear, you flatter me. Are you ready for the end?" I could not shake the nausea that was beginning to grow in me. Emma was quick to respond. "Oh yes, Mr. Flagg. This new year will be even grander than the last. My darling Richard and I were just married -this Christmas, as a matter of fact! He is such a gentleman. You two will get along famously, I'm sure. We cannot wait for your performance!" I could. In truth, as I studied Samuel in the growing twilight, I noticed the look in his eyes. That Emma had misunderstood him; that her naivety was amusing. I foolishly dismissed the thought. It was too absurd. Samuel Flagg spoke again. "Did you know, darling, that I am from Henry Lee Harbor? It's so good to be home on this occasion. The whole town remembers my growing up here, and they requested my talents for this very special occasion." Emma had not known. Neither had I. I suddenly felt an urgent desire to return to our lodgings, and told Emma I was not feeling well. The magician wouldn't let us go that easily. "Actually Mr. Lancaster, why not come with me to my studio? I have a small pre-celebration show I am holding, and I can tell Emma is a performer. If magic thrills her as much as she says I would be happy to have her on stage with me. Wouldn't you like to be in my show?" I should have said no. I should have shot him then and there, but what mortal man can predict the future? Emma could not have looked happier, and I would not deny my beloved an opportunity that she so strongly desired. We followed Mr. Lancaster away from the pier, and as the sun was finally swallowed by the ocean a church bell began to ring out over the harbor.

Samuel Flagg lead us into the darkness of many alleys, and finally we stopped at a door cast in iron. With a key he produced with a flourish, the door creaked open into a foyer lit by open candles. We entered at his request. The room was cold, and got colder as we walked down the hall and to another door which he opened to the sounds of cheers and excited chatter. The noise ceased immediately as we entered the room. The room was cramped and provided seats for less than 50 people, but each was filled except for two at the very front. Each of those 48 souls stopped to watch us in silence, many with scorn and suspicion in their sleepless, baggy eyes. Samuel stepped in front of us an exclaimed that those present shouldn't be so cold. He had found a new assistant. The room exploded into a frenzy of cheers and whistles as he led Emma and I to the seats at the front. I sat, and the magician took my wife onto the stage. I ignored most of the cat calls, but my eyes could not overlook the faces in the crowd. They were gaunt, pale, and hungry. Their enthusiasm was so great that it bordered on delirium, and the stink of spirits, sweat and smoke was overpowering. Samuel Flagg introduced my wife, who curtsied there in her winter gown. I was surrounded by rapid, desperate creatures. I could not dismiss the thought from my mind.

The show began, and the first tricks were simple cantrips and parlor acts. I was more focused on the crowd and a large object tucked at the back and center of the stage, its details concealed under red velvet drapes. The longer it went on, the more droll it seemed. Then, Samuel Flagg summoned flowers from Emma's hands. He twisted his head all the way around. In a flash of smoke, he levitated off the stage. I was speechless. The crowd screamed for more, and Emma was absolutely enchanting. No matter how impossible The Sensational Samuel Flagg's feats seemed, she was composed and demonstrated her prodigious showmanship. I was lost in the magic of Samuel's act, like all the others. When it came time for the finale, the magician made a swift gesture with his wand and a grotesque face. All fell silent, except for the ringing of church bells. I could here a number of them now, humming through the walls.

"Since man was crafted by the hands of God, we have feared death! For centuries, Humanity has sought a stalwart defense against the scythe of The Reaper! Emma!" He swept an arm out towards her, and with a twirl of her skirt my wife spun over to the covered object. With the flick of her wrists, the drapes were cast upwards on the air. A gasp from both Emma and the crowd betrayed the item's lethal nature. A coffin rested with its center beneath a guillotine, blade hoisted high and glinting in the stage's moody candlelight. I could not help but shiver and wonder as to the macabre designs of this final trick. I wish I'd never known. "Death is inevitable, gentlemen! To seek immortality is a fool's errand. Only Gods can live forever. But men, with magic, can rise again from the grave! The dead can be given life! You all know this to be true!" I did not. Such a notion was insane, and counter to every academic thought my brain had ever conceived. Yet the shrieking banshees around me screamed in affirmation. Stamping their feet. Flailing their arms. I could not remove my eyes from the glinting edge of that blade until I felt the burning gaze of Samuel Flagg fall directly upon me. "Tell me, Richard Lancaster, do you believe what I say?" I found myself unable to speak with conviction, but did manage to express my doubt. Immediately the crowd hissed at me like snakes, and in that moment I feared I would be physically attacked. Their anger was unreasonable. Their madness seemed unquestionable. "Gentlemen, tonight the laws of nature will be defied! This skeptic will witness rebirth! There will be no doubt in his mind as to the powers I control. Why? Emma, if you please!"

With Samuel's assistance, my wife rolled the device out to the center of the stage. The audience whispered among themselves. Their words were incoherent, yet I could not help but fear their connotations. Samuel Flagg stood before his dark creation, and with another dramatic flourish pointed to Emma. "My dear assistant, you are now the pinnacle of my act! Prove to your husband the powers of magic, and rest inside the coffin!" My heart stopped, and I stared at my wife. She cupped one hand over her mouth, feigning surprise and terror but I knew it to be part of the act. Still, ice coursed through my veins. I wanted to rise to my feet, put an end to this charade and take Emma back to our room. I could not. A terrible part of my soul left me transfixed, and I watched in silence as my beloved lifted the hem of her gown and stepped into the pine box. Her face still wore that perfect expression of mock fear and curiosity. My heart was pounding in my throat, and the wink she directed at me did little to alleviate my terror. To think that one memory of our honeymoon would be watching her get sliced in half and put back together was almost too much to bear, but still I found myself seated and silent.

Samuel stepped beside my wife and closed the lid to the coffin's bottom half. Then, the lid to the top, leaving only her head visible through the opening at the top. His voice was heavy and feral; his words terrible and awesome. "Men of Henry Lee Harbor, bear witness to the prelude of tonight's celebration! Before the clock strikes twelve, one soul shall die and be resurrected! Her name is Emma Lancaster!" There was no flourish or fanfare. The magician leaped to the handle on the side of the guillotine and thrust the level forward. The steel blade whistled down through the air, and my ears heard a sickening sound. Emma's head lurched upward, her eyes so wide they might have popped from her sockets. The studio was filled with a blood curdling scream. Her voice pierced my eardrums as it was twisted by forces unknown to me. The top half of the coffin shook violently. I could not breath. I could not blink. Her screams faded into feverish moaning. I heard the man next to me snicker and say, "She's so committed!" Dark red fluid dripped in a steady rivulet from the middle of the coffin. It bubbled from her mouth as her head fell limp towards the floor. My beloved Emma lay still as death in that coffin, and I was as horrified as I was mesmerized...

"Do you see your wife before you, Richard? She is still as the grave, for her life is no more!" At this point, I bolted up from my seat. I no longer found this charade of his amusing. With every passing moment my fear grew. "YES! I SEE HER! GET ON WITH IT!" I yelled at him, and my panic was met by laughter from the fiends in the audience. That damned sorcerer looked at me with his chilling shark smile, and spread out his arms. "Of course, Mr. Lancaster! Do not be frightened. As I said, and as they know, I have the power to return her to life!" He said as he rounded about the guillotine, and hoisted the dreadful device's blade back to its resting position. It was drenched in brackish crimson. I suppressed the urge to vomit, or to draw my firearm and demand he work faster. "Behold, Richard! The dead breath again!" He slammed both his palms down on the coffin, and began to chant.

The words he spoke I cannot recount. They were infernal, terrible sounds that slithered from his mouth like poison. The candles in the room flickered from the rise of a vicious, biting wind. The room grew so cold that I could see my breath as fog, and the whole of the chamber around us shook from some satanic power. All that kept me conscious was the need to see my Emma alive. Her head convulsed as her mouth opened wide, baring teeth and tongue as a hideous rattling sound sucked air back into her lungs. Then the room fell quiet. Those men around me watched in reverence. I was on the verge of collapse, but her face fortified my constitution. She was blinking. She was breathing. She looked around as if startled out of some horrible nightmare, and as the magician released the bindings on the coffin's lids she raised herself out of the sarcophagus with trembling arms. Her dress had been sliced in half at the waist, and from her hips to her navel my darling was soaked in red. She looked at me with wild, frightened eyes and though her mouth made no sound as it moved I could see her calling my name.

I rushed onto the stage and took her in my arms. Those beasts in their seats were applauding raucously and calling after Emma as she feebly held the bottom of her ruined gown to her waist. I wasted no more time in that Godforsaken theater. I scooped Emma up, and made my way towards the back door without further comment. Behind me I could hear their voices cackling and howling. Ahead of me roared the sounds of a town consumed by nature's wrath. As I forced open that door leading outside, sheets of rain immediately hammered down on us. The night sky was burning with coils of lightning as they lashed across the underbellies of vast black clouds. As fearsome as the weather had become, I could not hear the thunder. All around us, chapel bells echoed across the sky and reverberated down the alleys. So deafening and and clamorous were the tintinnabulations of these bells that it seemed all the churches in the world rang out together, to ward off some approaching doom.

I battled the elements with Emma in my arms and her face buried in my coat. This time, as I struggled down the streets, I was not alone. From every building, people marched into the downpour. They wore no raincoats. Many were dressed in their Sunday's finest. Others were not dressed at all. Their steps were determined, and their faces drowned in shadows and water. In a flash of lightning, they looked almost to be corpses. I forced all of my strength into my legs, and ran faster than I ever had in my school days. All the while, my darling wife clutched at my coat and murmured over and over, "He killed me, Richard... he killed me... I felt it. Oh God... my God..."

We reached the inn, and I broke the assurance Emma had given Abigail by smashing in the front door with my boot. I did not press my advance to the bedroom. I rolled Emma onto one of the lobby's immaculate sofas, not caring if its fabric were soiled. I drew breath to yell for Abigail, but she was already upon me. She was completely inebriated, and flung herself around the corner into view with her arm raised in judgement. "Why are you here?! Why didn't you leave! You damned fool, now it's too late for you! It's too late for all of us!" She was hysterical. She flung an empty glass at me but missed. I would hardly have noticed it sail by had it not struck the lobby's grandfather clock. It's hands read 11:46 as Abigail continued squealing at me, "Tonight was not for you! Tonight is for us! Go to your room, Mr. Lancaster and take your wife! Lock the door, and let no one enter! I tried to save you... By God, I tried to save you!"

I could stand it no longer. The primal instinct they say that resides in all of us overcame me. I seized Abigail and struck her. I struck her twice to knock the liquor from her mind. I shook her, and demanded the truth. She moaned and laughed and wept all in one, and her hysteria only fueled my growing terror. Those bells, there was no escaping them. They pounded through the walls and bones and my ears and my brain. I shook her again, and screamed about the bells. Emma had curled into a ball on the sofa, and cupped her face in her hands. "WHY ARE THE BELLS RINGING? WHY ARE THE BELLS RINGING!!" Abigail stiffened in my hands, and as she turned her beaten face to look me in the eyes I recovered some semblance of my sanity. When she spoke, I could barely hear here over the ceaseless toll of the bells.

"They are waking the earth, Mr. Lancaster... they are raising the sea. Today, we dance with our ancestors! Today, the dead rise!"

The blood froze in my veins. I was without words. My Emma screamed as she forced her fingers into her ears, trying to quell the cacophony roaring all around us. How? How could the dead rise? This was insane. This nightmare could not be real. I demanded an answer from Abigail, who sunk to the floor and cradled herself in her arms. "You think Samuel Flagg is a sham... his magic is real! His power is real! We longed to depart this world and return to all we had lost... we waited so long for this day to come. Only once a century! Now it's here, now I'll be with my sweet Bernard again... now, my family will come back for me..." The hag giggled to herself, and clutched her hands to her face. I will never understand the happiness that welled up in her eyes. I cannot understand any of it. The wind and crashing water shattered the outside windows, and the storm outside filled the once pristine room. The candles all blew out. I scrambled to Emma in the darkness, threw her over my shoulder, and as the bottom of her divided gown slipped off I noticed the ghastly mark -the scar- that ran a circle around her hips, below her navel. I had watched my darling get sliced in half. I had witnessed her death, and rebirth. I could not comprehend it. I ascended the stairs with her warm, breathing flesh in my arms, opened the door to our room, and laid her on the bed.

"Don't leave me, Richard. I beg of you, don't leave me. The bells... the bells!" She clutched and tore at her dress; the sheets of the bed. She was gripped by terrible pain. My heart was torn in two, but I knew I could not stay. Samuel Flagg had to die. This abomination could not come to pass. I removed my pistol from my coat, emptied its wet powder and tore open our bags. My eyes trembled in their sockets as I reloaded my fire arm. I was not ready to face what lay ahead of me, but I had to. I took Emma in my arms, kissed her and clutched her face. I studied every inch of it, and knew that no matter the horror she had witnessed, she was alive. I told her I loved her, and throughout her protests I locked the door, braced it with a nearby chair and desk, and told her not to open it for anyone or for any reason. I forced open the window overlooking the street, and clambered out into the typhoon of sound and fury.

I overestimated my prowess at climbing, and fell. Through the grace of God, I suffered no injury beyond a sprain of the ankle. Adrenaline carried me onward, into the streets. I could not hear myself think. All I could see were bodies pressing onward towards the harbor. The bells seemed less dissonant; less overwhelming. Suddenly and almost in unison, the bells ceased their tolling. The psychotic jubilant mob surrounding me cheered amidst the wind and rain, and shouted out in glee. "THE DEAD HAVE RISEN! THE DEAD HAVE RISEN!" A single bell -the distinct tones of a clock tower- sounded out, and I realized with dread that it was midnight. I shoved my way forward, Hell bent on finding the magician and ending his life. When I broke out into the front, I realized that I was too late. Samuel Flagg was staring directly at me, smiling, and tipped his top hat from the very same pier he had stood on at our first meeting. All around him, the sea churned for as far as I could see.

Before I could see them, I could smell the rot of their decaying brine bloated flesh. It was overpowering, and all around me. As my fortitude failed me, I raised my pistol and set my sights on Samuel Flagg. I pulled the trigger, saw the flare of the powder and felt the kick of the barrel. I did not land the shot, and found that I could not muster another. My knees gave out as I emptied the contents of my stomach on the street. The rank odor grew worse, and worse until the air was so thick with putrescence I could taste it. The townspeople once again pushed ahead of me, barring my sight of the magician. Then, their was laughter. Laughter, and shouts of bliss, and the calling of so many names. Cries of "Mother" and "Father" were emotional and rapturous. Then, as the crowd began to advance further, all the way to the shore, I could see them.

Their corpses glistened with the grime and ooze of putrefying flesh. All along the shore they rose out of the water. Thousands of them. The people of the harbor could not match the ranks of the dead if they were multiplied ten-fold. I could not move. The fear of The Devil took hold of me, and I remained frozen in my place. The ghouls were unspeakable. some little more than bones with skin hanging from them like tattered rags. Others bloated and misshapen from days afloat in the sea. I cannot describe the horror. I can only swear to you that they were there, and each damned soul of Henry Lee Harbor rushed into their arms. They kissed their lipless skulls. They hugged them so tightly that their wet, decomposed frames burst open. The thick stench of rot and decay... and the laughter. Children bounced up and down clasping the hands of shambling ghouls. Mothers rocked dead infants in their arms. I watched Abigail throw herself into the arms of a gutless sailor, rent open by some beast of the deep.

They sang to the dead as they took them in their arms. What words were said I do not know. I could not comprehend. They swayed together, that mass of the dead and the living, spinning one another, dancing close together, their steps mimicking the loping rhythms of undeath. Cadavers cavorted through the streets. Their dessicated howls mingled with the township's cries of ecstasy. I could not move. I could not breath. I could not shut my eyes. From the shore line echoed screams of dozens. These were not of joy. They screamed again for help, to anyone who could hear them. Their, cast in frames of lightning and the moon were the silhouettes of the dead dragging their partners into the ocean. Suddenly, they erupted all around me.

I heard the sounds of broken bones as one cadaver crushed the hands of its partner with vice-like strength. I could see desperate feet scratching against the rain slicked cobblestones as they were dragged back out towards the tide. Hell. Hell, all around me. The dead forced the living to continue their macabre minuets, slowly swaying back into the bay as their partners pleaded, and begged, and prayed. Then, the sea became a thrashing basin of limbs and gore. The howls, no longer human. I couldn't take it. God would grant me no mercy, and so I inflicted it upon myself. I crawled to a broken window, took a shard of its glass, and plunged it into my eyeballs one at a time. I cannot describe the pain any more than I can describe the horrors that compelled me to do so, but my strength of will was great and I removed them both. Even in the darkness, I could hear the screams... I begged for my pain to take me from consciousness, but it would not. I clawed along the floor, cutting hands and knees to escape. Slowly, the screams began to die down. The cries of the drowning ceased. The rain beat down upon me until I crawled into an open doorway. I collapsed onto the floor, and remained there awake until the storm finally came to rest.

IIt is New Year's Day. I am blind, but I am alive. The devil known as Samuel Flagg is gone. I do not know if I can bring myself to live past this week, but the woman I love is somewhere in these houses. I will claw at the roads until I find that place where I left her. The key in my coat pocket is not heavy. It is light. It is the only hope I have. The face of my beautiful Emma pushes me onward, and should I find my beloved we will survive and leave this terrible place behind us. I hope that I will never forget this place. I hope my mind stays with me for all of my days and that I can spread word of this night until Samuel Flagg is found and killed. He can never be forgiven for what he has done. This town and all that lived here are dead. Only we remain..

My name is Richard Dane Lancaster. I am a surgeon from Blacksburg, Virginia. My wife is Emma Lou-Anne Lancaster. If I am to die here, these are my final requests. Should you find Emma, care for her until she can find love in the world again. Tell her that I love her, and that I gave my life trying to right these wrongs. Tell her that I am sorry.

If the worst should occur, I request that our bodies be taken to our home and buried beneath the elm tree at the Southern corner of our estate overlooking the hill country. If you have not the means, burn us until we are nothing but ashes. Please, do not bury us here. I beg of you, whoever you are, do not bury us here...