Beneath the floorboards under Mary's feet, Imp stalks and slithers through the ooze, through the festering stench of ancient decay. His playmates are the creatures of the night; his toys, their twisted, broken bodies.
And only Mary knows. Becuase Imp is her child, her creation, her demented, hellish vision...the evil she imprisons in the darkness below.
But Imp is getting restless. So much out there to smell, to touch, to lick...to claw, to tear apart...Soon the little innocents will writhe in screaming agony. Soon the sonof Satan will seize the howling Earth...

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