• On the very night of Christmas, it was pouring down RAIN. The children all laid down, hoping Santa would come. Unfourtunately, their hoping did nothing to stop the oncoming problem.

    The lightning flashes grew louder and brighter each minute, as if the storm was getting even more extreme. Each and every last individual cowered beneath their covers, afraid of what they knew would come. The storm was the sign of what would forever be known as the Devil's Path.

    The Devil's Path began as a simple trail winding through the woods. Eventually, as time stretched longer, killings began to happen more and more frequently, storms became more and more common, and Christmases were never peaceful again. The storms were always a symbol of a murder on the Devil's Path. And each morning, when police went out to investigate the murders, they always found the same thing. A lot of blood, a corpse ripped open at the heart, and claw marks in the dust. These murders were never solved, or even filed. And the worst part of these murders, people often died of fright at the sight of the bodies. I should know. I've seen them. My name is Jackie Stauffer.

    TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!!