I know you can hear it. The scraping of feet behind you. You're already walking on what you thought was a lone county road after a freak thunderstorm rolled through. You hear your own feet sink into the sand, but there is something else . . . an echo. You look behind you in the dark and see nothing. Until a flash of lightning shows the road. Nothing is behind you but footprints . . . hundreds of them.
Come join us and let us adore you.