A fog came into London. The mist so thick you could get lost in it. Something sinister was on its way. Dark angry clouds rolled in on the tide, looming low and heavy, threatening.

The graves were opened. Hell had opened up. The Devil himself had returned from the darkest parts of Africa.

James Delaney came home.

When the rains came thundering down, you felt it. That prickle creeps up your neck. Lightning cracks, candles flicker, cool air seeps through the windows. There is no where in existence you can go now.

He’s coming for you.