Chapter 95
Upstairs, where the body had fallen, something moved.
The headless corpse sat upright.
Naked, it hugged itself in the corner like a child seeking comfort from a nightmare that would not end. Blood still seeped from the neck stump, pooling between its thighs and dripping down the wall behind it.
The air coming from its body was thick with oppression.
Confused. Directionless. But growing.
If not for the Bloody Father's mercy, I should be dead.
The corpse clenched its chest. Fingers dug into flesh. Suddenly, it began to spasm—convulsing—as blood leaked from every pore. Crimson droplets beaded on its skin, rolled down its arms, and dripped from its fingertips.
Demonic influence.
Unknown to the killer who wore a dead man's face, his very presence had begun to spread. The walls darkened. The floorboards groaned. The shadows in the corners stretched and reached.
Dax walked into the room, watching the body's strange actions.
