The Neophyte

Once, in the time of persecutions, of fear and death, the witchfinder had come. And out of the deaths Evil had been born, to feed and fatten in all the dark places of the village; in the minds, twisted and hungry to hate, of its people. Now, obscene and lusting, that Evil's hour of fulfilment was at hand. The man died first, gored and stamped into the mud. Next, the woman, alone and mad. Then the young boy, throat sliced open...