Corn stalks sway gently in the breeze; a breeze that warms the soul and shakes the trees
Tired farmers fall asleep in the sleep inducing summer heat. Slaves are sent to work plantation fields; the bite of a whip snaps sharply at their heels.
But what both slave and owner do not know is of the Thing that hides in the cotton and indigo.
When the day is done and lady Nox creeps, it hunts human souls as they sleep.
It's voice is soft as the pitter-patter of rain. It walks, gently tapping on window panes.
It lures those whom it stalks with honeyed words and sweet talk. And they follow blindly without care, as they appear to be conversing with thin air.
It lures the weak to fields of Death, where they shall soon breathe their last breath.
It appears with eyes like fire which can see it's prey's fear and desire.
And while it's face is veiled and seldom shown, it's hands are like that of blackened bone.
With a grip that is icy cold, it rips the body from the soul.
It leaves behind an empty shell, with empty black eyes like the pits of Hell.
So southern folk, beware the creature on the attack; beware the demon known as Black...