There would be no dormant period this time.

 

To the surprise of all, the place sold immediately. A very eager party, remaining anonymous, scooped up the deed with no hassle. They wanted the land: curse, death, fire damage, and all. Apparently, they had an interest in morbid history.

 

The mysterious owners hung no sign, gave no new name, and welcomed no visitors. Sort of a private club, it seemed. People on the outside didn't think much of it… until they started seeing the club attire.

 

When the sun went down, figures lurked around the cursed building in arcane red robes and twisted skeletal masks. Nervously, neighbors assured themselves. Perhaps it was some secret horror movie or a new haunted attraction. But if so, why was the parking lot always empty?

 

The red-robed figures never spoke, never came out in the light. And gradually, they started appearing in places beyond their turf. Standing silent, watching from afar. Sizing you up. What would happen if they liked what they saw?

 

People started going missing—and more than they usually do. 

 

Veterans of the downtown nightlife issued sloppy warnings: stay with your friends, or else the red robes will snatch you. It was a fun little fantasy at first, a novel folk-tale thrill just in time for the approaching Halloween season. But people kept disappearing, and the jokes grew stale. All eyes were anxiously turning to the cult that came to town. 

 

I told you from the start, dear listener. This shadow grows by the day. And tonight, it might be standing outside your window.

 

If you don’t believe me, take a walk there. Simply passing by on the street, that dense feeling of hunger and oppression will wash over you. And I know, you’ve heard the stories now. So maybe that’s all in your head. But there’s one little thing you can’t brush off so easily, emanating from the former church when the wind is low. 

 

Do you hear all those screams?