The denizens sent from Hell to torment the living don’t have horns, bat wings and they certainly don’t fucking sparkle. They prey on humans in a much more clandestine manner. On a demon spawn’s 1,057th birthday she goes out on the Las Vegas city strip. Ready to hunt for men. Literally dressed to kill.

Thank you Dark Dossier Magazine for publishing my short, spooky story, “1,057th Birthday.”