Prologue

I n a town in the heart of Florida, a house sits abandoned and weathered by time and circumstance.

Its doors hang off their hinges, and boards hang over its windows with rusty nails holding them in place.

Grimrose house is on the side of Panther Trail, a dead straight that cuts through the middle of Florida’s heartland.

Legend has it, however, that for one week a year, and one week a year only, lights illuminate Grimrose’s cracks and crevices, and screams echo off the heated asphalt of Panther Trail.

Everyone knows that it coincides with all the missing women who vanish that same week every December in Dunhaven. The authorities are perplexed, and the townsfolk are too superstitious to look directly at the glaring issue .

For a small community like Dunhaven, whoever creates the scariest week each December is likely a resident.

Someone’s neighbor.

Someone’s friend.

It could be any one of them.

So, for that one week a year, Dunhaven locks their doors, limits their outside exposure, and lets the Christmas Snatcher do his thing.

You don’t become his victim if you don’t cross his path.