The Waking Dark

The town of Oleander is postcard perfect.



Until one day.



The killing day.



The day the Devil came to Oleander.



That day.



Whatever they called it, through the months to come - through the funerals and the potluck dinners and the sermons and the sidelong glances between formerly trusting neighbors - it was all anyone could talk about. It seemed safe to assume it was all anyone would ever talk about, as it was assumed that Oleander had been changed forever, and that, once buried, the bodies would stay in the ground.



But then the storms came...