I must have blacked out.
Waking up in the woods, my clothes tattered and torn.
I knew it had happened again.
I only hope I had not killed, not slaughtered, again.
I hoped that Vanessa had not been my most recent victim.

I am a photographer. My name is Warren St. Norbert.
Strange things have been happening to me. I was on an assignment in England, taking black and white photos of graveyards, in the cold rain of England.
I witnessed a grave robbing. I took photos from behind large tomb stones, unseen and unheard. Or so I thought. The scene was right out of some macabre Boris Karloff movie.
The pair of night ghouls wore dark clothing and scarves. I was mesmerized and chilled to the bone with fright and the freezing night air.
I watched as the ghoulish duo went about their ghastly business of unburying the recently deceased corpse. I wondered at what the reason could be. Surely in this modern day, no such beings had thoughts of reanimating the dead as Mary Shelly dreamt so long ago.