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Banshee's Cry




"I don't know, Jake." Cael stepped over the broken glass. Every window in the run-down house had been shattered. "Something's off. It just doesn't seem like a demon."

Jake wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of decay overtaking the dusty parlor. Moonlight stole inside, illuminating white sheets thrown over chairs and tables. "All the signs point to it. Even the thermal images we nicked off the satellite cameras showed a straight line of heat from a demon passing, and then there's reports of locals suddenly going insane—six to date—all bat shit crazy enough to hara-kiri themselves. Come on, sounds like a demon getting his jollies off around here to me. Six, Cael. Tell me how six people in one little town all kill themselves in the space of two weeks if a demon hasn't been hanging around influencing them?"

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