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Beware French Quarter nights, for the dead come back to drink from the living.
And when the hour tolls, never let Midnight find you at the crypt of Marie Laveau.
It is never quiet here. The thud of a blow into flesh. The whimper that follows.
The screech of marble against stone as a heavy lid grudgingly slides open.
What is that? Only a shadow you say, more in hope than in belief. You are not that lucky.
It is Her.
She who hungers for love … and for the flesh of Man.
The black tears streaking down her face. They are mute testimony that there can be no love for the thing she has become.
But there is flesh. Your flesh. See her reach out for you.
The night soon has new sounds.
Your screams.
***
ONLY TWO WEEKS LEFT! Do you want to win a FREE STEPHEN KING or FREE DEAN KOONTZ or LAUREL K. HAMILTON AUTOGRAPH?
WRITE A REVIEW OF ONE OF MY BOOKS AND GET FIVE ENTRIES!~
And when the hour tolls, never let Midnight find you at the crypt of Marie Laveau.
It is never quiet here. The thud of a blow into flesh. The whimper that follows.
The screech of marble against stone as a heavy lid grudgingly slides open.
What is that? Only a shadow you say, more in hope than in belief. You are not that lucky.
It is Her.
She who hungers for love … and for the flesh of Man.
The black tears streaking down her face. They are mute testimony that there can be no love for the thing she has become.
But there is flesh. Your flesh. See her reach out for you.
The night soon has new sounds.
Your screams.
***
ONLY TWO WEEKS LEFT! Do you want to win a FREE STEPHEN KING or FREE DEAN KOONTZ or LAUREL K. HAMILTON AUTOGRAPH?
WRITE A REVIEW OF ONE OF MY BOOKS AND GET FIVE ENTRIES!~
***
