Blood Hunter

It was kind of a joke, the legend about the swamp. The old folks of Aimsley, Louisiana, still whispered about the evil entities that dwelled there—the Mormo—but hardly anyone else actually believed the tales. The swamp was just a real quiet place, and the Mormo was the result of somebody’s imagination, like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. Debra and her reporter boyfriend thought it would make a great feature story for the local newspaper or maybe the National Enquirer. “The Return of the Swamp Thing”...

But now the swamp was stirring...coming alive. Hanging vines, trees, rotting vegetation churned, seethed, reached out for prey. Evil eyes shone through the murk. The very earth seemed to heave...swallow...shudder.

It was hungry for fresh blood.