The Nevada desert stretched endlessly beneath a moonless sky, the air thick with heat even as night descended. Blackfire Festival was in full swing, a chaotic, neon-lit celebration of excess. Flames licked the air from towering sculptures, dancers spun in the firelight, and the pounding bass of electronic music reverberated through the ground like a pulse of life itself.
Susan "Suze" Bennett was laughing, a drink in her hand, her other arm draped over her boyfriend’s shoulders. The desert air tasted of dust and smoke, and the high she’d taken earlier made her head swim in waves of euphoria. But something was off. A sharp pain lanced through her skull, like a needle driving deep into her brain.
Her laughter turned into a choked gasp. Her vision blurred, the vibrant lights of the festival dimming into darkness.
"Suze?" her boyfriend asked, his voice distant, distorted.
She dropped her drink, and her knees buckled. Her body convulsed, muscles twitching unnaturally. Her boyfriend knelt beside her, shaking her shoulders. She tried to speak, but her voice came out in an inhuman growl. The last thing she saw before her world turned black was the look of sheer terror on his face.
Inside the RV, Suze was a caged animal. Her friends had laid her on the couch, tying her hands with a belt. One of them was on the phone with 911, but the spotty reception made their calls futile. Her breathing was shallow, and her head twisted at an unnatural angle, her eyes rolling back.
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“Jesus, she’s burning up!” one of them cried, dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth.
Without warning, her body went rigid, and her eyes snapped open—solid black, the whites completely gone.
“What the hell?”
The RV swerved as the driver turned to look, his attention diverted. Suze ripped through the belt binding her wrists as if it were paper. She lunged at the nearest person, her teeth sinking into his neck with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed the walls.
The driver screamed, jerking the wheel. The RV hit a boulder and flipped, tumbling violently down a hill before coming to a stop on its side. The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of dripping blood.
Suze crawled out of the wreckage, her mouth smeared with crimson. Her broken limbs twisted and snapped back into place as she stood. She looked back at the RV, where her friends lay torn and lifeless.
“Still hungry,” she whispered, her voice layered with something ancient and malevolent.
She turned toward the distant glow of the festival, her steps deliberate, her grin widening.
5 Years later
The Forester house was quiet, save for the muffled screams coming from upstairs. Margaret Forester sat in the living room, her hands trembling as she clutched a rosary. Her husband, David, paced back and forth, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
Father Jonathan Pierce stood near the fireplace, his hands clasped together in prayer. He was a wiry man with graying hair and a face carved with years of quiet suffering. Beside him, Deacon Michael Hart held a bible, his fingers white-knuckled around the leather binding.
Upstairs, the screams grew louder. A child's voice, warped and twisted, echoed down the stairs. “I will devour you all!”
Margaret flinched, tears streaming down her face. “Father, please. You have to help him. You have to save Eli.”