From a Dark Space

Winslow Dunnigan spoke to the dead.

He had done so since the age of seven, after a mule had kicked him in the head, knocking him utterly senseless. He never recovered from it and by the time he was ten, his parents had pulled him out of school.

He eventually inherited his family’s farm.

Edwin LeDoux made it a point to check on him regularly. One afternoon he found Winslow sitting at the kitchen table, pale-faced, sweating, confused and eyes wide.

“What’s the matter, Win?”

“Something dead wants to return.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“How?”

Before Winslow could speak, he stood and went rigid, eyes rolling up, and body shaking violently.

“Win?!”

A second later, the old farm house was rocked by a deafening explosion and Edwin was slammed through the kitchen wall into the side yard. From where he lay, he could see the viscous blood and bits of Winslow Dunnigan dripping from the ceiling slats, counter top, stove and what remained of the walls.

In the center of that now-vacuous kitchen stood three obscene figures, each torn, twisted and deformed, each out of phase, blinking and shivering, each covered in Winslow’s earthly gore and each shrieking like the unholy Demons that they were.

Edwin LeDoux’s mind never stood a chance.