Another journey into the realm of the strange and terrifying.

I hope you will enjoy the trip that it will thrill you a little and chill you a little.

So settle back.

Get a good grip on your nerves.

Where are we going?

You'll find out when we get there.

You'll find out when we get there. Come in.

Welcome. I'm E.G. Marshall. Welcome to the world of eerie imagination.

The fear you can hear.

Vendetta. The very word itself invokes dread and strength of of brooding terror but to live on the

island of Corsica home of the vendetta is to be steeped in the tradition of violent

massacres and the fatalistic expectation of ferocious vengeance as a way of life

at least it would have been so just a hundred years ago when these famous words were first written.

It was a hand, a man's hand.

Not a skeleton hand all bright and clean, but a hand black and desiccated with the yellow nails, the naked muscles,

and traces of blood upon the bones at the point where they had been severed as with the blow

of an axe about the middle of the forearm. The fingers, extraordinarily long, were attached

to enormous tendons, still held in their places

here and there by strips of skin.

That hand was something hideous.

It made one think involuntarily of savage vengeance.

And in spite of the putrescent look of death and dissolution, it seemed to have a life of its own.

...