Five staff members from Innsmouth University break into a church to unearth a secret that should have remained buried. Deep beneath the church's ancient sepulchre, there is a grave labeled with a warning that promises hell on earth if it is ever opened. And still, because they believe they know better, the graverobbers ignore the warning.

Harper slowed the pickup to a crawl. Goosebumps prickled his bare forearms, but he knew the cold weather was not responsible. Tendrils of chilly mist swept against the windscreen and threaded through the halogen beams of his headlamps as they lit the gloomy black asphalt ahead. The roads were unlit. Even the moon was hidden behind an impenetrable blanket of dark grey cloud above. But the inclement night remained outside the toasty warm cabin of the pickup. And still, the goosebumps on his forearms continued to make the small hairs stand erect.

It was a movement he caught in the corner of his eye that made him stamp on the brakes. The pickup slammed to a halt that pulled his chest hard against the restraints of the seatbelt. Harper hissed through gritted teeth. Acting quickly, he released the seatbelt, killed the engine, and reached into the glove compartment. A .45 Magnum fell into his hand. It was already loaded and he thumbed the safety off as he balanced its weight in his palm. Smiling without humour, he pushed open the pickup’s door, snatched a flashlight from beside the driver’s seat, and stepped into the darkness.

“I saw you hiding there, you little fuckers,” he grunted. “Come on out and get what you deserve.” There was a moment’s silence: the night and Harper each holding their breath. For an instant, he wondered if he had been mistaken. He wondered if his senses had let him down, or if what he’d thought he’d seen had simply been a trick played by his overactive imagination. The night’s hours of solitude had a way of whittling down a man’s senses until they were so sharp he could see things that weren’t there.