Long hair hung in blood-caked strands. Pale eyes bulged from their sockets. The mouth gaped open and green flies were breeding among the torn lips.
It was so out of place in my sunlit world that for a moment it didn't seem real. It couldn't be real.
An unmistakable stench of rot crept into my kitchen I sprinted to the bedroom, wincing at the pain, grabbed Slayer, and went to the front door. My wards were up.
Cautiously I opened the front ward and stepped onto the porch.
Nothing.
No sound. No power.
Nothing except a rotting head in my front yard.
I approached the head and circled it slowly. It belonged to a young woman. She had died recently—the expression of horror was still frozen on her face.
A large nail pinned a folded piece of paper to the back of her head. I raised the paper with the tip of Slayer's blade. Uneven letters glared back at me.
