In the Beginning…

October, 1871.

The Midwest is a tinderbox. Dry winds from the south sweep up from the plains during an unseasonably warm autumn. In the surrounding rural suburbs, prairie fires have plagued farmers and townships alike all summer long. The heat is unrelenting.

As evening sets in, a fire the likes of which this country has ever seen will sweep through the Lake Michigan area, destroying homes & businesses alike.

Chicago will burn. Hundreds will die.

Those who survive the Great Fire will tell the tale of that panicked and terrible time, when all seemed lost. They’ll recall stories of harrowed survival and uncanny fear; stories of struggle and desperation and loss.

In the days to follow, these stories will focus on a cow in Mrs. O’Leary’s barn that kicked over a lantern, causing the initial sparks that set alight the entire city — but this is a lie, rooted in prejudice and ignorance. What really happened on that fateful night remains to be discovered.

For while Chicago pointed its finger at the unlikelihood of a cow, others in nearby cities like Peshtigo and Manistee and all across Lake Michigan will also tell stories… of fire raining from the sky; of the passing of Biela II, a comet that hurled directly toward earth some 2 million miles away. There will be whispers of supernatural horrors that seemed to arise from the wounded ashes of that great catastrophe.

They’ll speak of unholy blue flames that criss-crossed through the streets and unexplained disappearances of loved ones and pets in the night.

They’ll talk about the demons and the ones who preyed upon the weak and unsuspecting, who drank the blood of their victims and who lurk in the shadows even to this day.

No one knows where they came from. No one knows what they want. But they are among us.

And they are hungry.