continued...

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****

Several hours' later....

****

By 3 o'clock, the thick fog still covered the town of London.

     The grey cobbled road was silent.

       Yet, as a Demon walked fast, its red eyes were focused on the Chimneys of the Devil's House. It was a House where Satanists dwelled...where they cast their seances, and practiced The Black Arts. These obscene rituals were done in the dark hours, as the spirits were called.

       The Demon, whose name was Astarte, had red, fiery eyes, clawed fingers, clawed feet, and was holding a sharp pitchfork in its right claw.

       Sharp horns were on its head.

        And, as it moved along the road, Astarte, (whose name wouldn't be uttered aloud), stared at the old blood that was spilled before.

         It tasted of a human; a rich human.

         And it smiled.

         No humans were here.

         They were asleep...or dead.

         Or nightowls up to criminal activity in the dead of night.

          The fog was unnatural.

          It came from the North.

           Astarte walked away.

          And then it heard the screaming, then looked around.

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