Kyle M. Scott

Once they're in...they stay in. And that little bitch invited that evil into herself like a hard dick on prom night.

I'm guessing you're tits deep in a horror novel. Something by Laymon, or Ketchum, or one of those sick fucks you read.

Then the crying started. First one child, a little girl called Jen from across the street, then another, then another, until the June afternoon sounded like a vacation in hell.