Mary Ann Mitchell

Deep in the basement a wooden box sits on a table. demons are etched on the box. With tiny claws they writhe, push, and scratch at the wood, attempting to gain freedom. The forked tongues flick the air, bulbous noses scent, swollen cheeks pulse. Their icy determined voices vibrate the atmosphere with inaudible high-pitched screeches calling for revenge.

Five-year old Stephen's mother is dead. Her body was cremated, he ashes cast into the ocean. Yet her spirit hovers over Stephen. It urges him to go down to the basement. For Stephen is meant to be the demons' instrument. His innocence will be their mask, his love their weapon.