Prologue


The wind was picking up. In these parts that was a sure sign of trouble and the locals were well aware of it; the streets were empty as though abandoned as thunder rumbled towards the east. Rain fell in torrents, flooding back alleys and the vacant properties at the bottom of the hill. Not a single beam of light penetrated the smothering darkness that blanketed the town, as the residents had locked their doors and shut their drapes so tight that the entire place appeared deserted. No smoke wafted from the crooked chimneys; no dogs scoured the garbage bins like usual. Everyone had shut themselves inside their bedrooms, doors and windows barricaded, a cross clutched in their fists as they fought off fear in a desperate attempt to fall asleep. If they had known beforehand how little all of this did to protect them…perhaps they wouldn't have bothered wasting some of their last breaths.

In long, slender fingers of mist the fog rolled in, turning the village into an eerie world of white. With it came a piercing chill, the kind that seems to puncture the warmth of your skin like a thousand shards of ice, and causes your breath to crystallize in the air in front of you. Every present drop of moisture froze over - trees and houses became ice sculptures; the streets, miniature versions of their glacier counterparts. The rain ceased to fall as winter seemed to take over from mid-spring, but clearly there was an unseen force at work here, one more powerful than any other that had befallen the sleepy little town of Port Clements. The unusual and supernatural were common happenings in and around the town for reasons unknown, but there had never been anything like this. Not even remotely.

At first the only sound was the shriek of the wind over the rooftops, rattling windowpanes and tossing loose objects against the aluminium siding of someone's home every now and then. After a while it stopped abruptly, dying down to a dull whispering that did nothing to drown out the sound of cloth dragging along the gravel road, as if someone were pulling themselves along the ground. Whoever – whatever – it was, they weren't alone; heavy, irregular footsteps followed behind, as if a drunkard were staggering along after knocking back a few too many shots at the local tavern. But the only pub was on the other side of town a few roads away…whoever these people were, they were outsiders, and unwelcome ones at that. Those who hadn't managed to succumb to sleep lay huddled beneath their quilts, eyes wide as fear flared within their hearts, fingers gripping the silver cross in their hands hard enough to turn their knuckles white. Something was not right; but even if they knew what it was there wouldn't be anything they could do to stop it.

The village was an old-fashioned one; the men went to work to provide for their families, while their wives stayed home to tend to the housework and the children. Rachel Hallstead was very different however – at thirty years old she had been married for eleven years, and had always refused to conform to the rest of the town's 'traditional' way of life. She and her husband, Ben, owned the book shop on the town's main street, and most of her time was spent there rather than at the house. Their ten-year-old daughter Carly was just as much of a spitfire, and was often getting reprimanded at school for back talking to her teacher.

Tonight they had left the shop late, like on all Fridays; it was the one day where Ben and Rachel could just sit down and get all that tedious paperwork done that they had let pile up over the course of the week. It was just after eleven when they finally arrived home, not long before the first omens of a threat appeared outside. Ben and Carly were fast asleep, but Rachel's mind was flying at a thousand miles an hour. After tossing and turning under the blankets for an hour, she gave up on trying to nod off and decided to go down to the kitchen and find something to eat – a snack usually ended up being the cure for difficult nights like this. With a sigh she slipped on her robe and padded downstairs, her footsteps echoing in the broad expanse of the winding staircase. It had been one of her favourite features of the place when she and her husband first bought it five years ago, and it still was – just not at night. It was pitch black without even the light of the moon glowing through the fog to guide her path; instead, she was forced to feel her way along the wall to make sure she didn't trip and break her neck (though she nearly did anyways thanks to the cat). Grumbling and a now bit sore around the ankles thanks to Pumpkin, as Carly had lovingly dubbed the hefty orange beast, Rachel made her way through the living room to reach her destination, glancing out the window as she went. What she saw made her blood run cold.

A hideous face grinned back at her, like none she had ever had the misfortune to see before. Mottled grey skin stretched paper-thin over its skull, bloodied and gaping where decomposition had worn it away. The thing's eyes peered in at her, wide and unblinking, as its lips stretched to revealed gruesome pointed teeth like that of a shark, but somehow ten times as threatening. Rachel's breath caught in her throat as she backed away on instinct, cringing as her back hit the wall behind her with a thud. For a long moment she simply stared, paralyzed with terror as it raised its hand as though to wave at her – this bizarre movement triggered her into action, and she opened her mouth to let out a scream…

But nothing came out. She tried again, but still there was nothing, just a rush of air as she exhaled. Panic flooded her system, gripping at her heart and squeezing until she was almost struggling to get oxygen into her lungs. Without a backwards glance she finally fled the room, stumbling over her own two feet as she went up the stairs as fast as she could possible go. Whatever that thing was, she wasn't letting it anywhere near her daughter or her husband. But when she flew into the master bedroom, Ben wasn't there.

"Ben!" she screamed silently, tumbling back into the hallway, the hair rising on the back of her neck as she saw the blood stain on the carpet trailing from inside Carly's room.

"No…" Her lips only mouthed the word as she ran towards it, stopping just inside the doorway. The room was silent and completely dark; she couldn't see anything but the outline of the chest of drawers, yet still she got the feeling that something terrible had happened – what other explanation was there for the pool of blood? Before she had a chance to flip the light switch to get a better look at things, she became aware of a presence behind her. Slowly she turned, somehow already knowing what she would find there.

The scream never even formed on her lips.

Can't even shout, can't even cry,

The gentlemen are coming by.

Looking in windows, knocking on doors,

They need to take seven and they might take yours.

Can't call to mom, can't say a word

You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard.

YES, I'm aware that the 7G's have already died. But the plot will play out lovelily (a new word!)

Please R&R!!!!!!!!