What do you get when you take eight of the most prolific voices on the indie horror scene and barricade them in a cellar for one hundred and seventy-three days with little food or water but unlimited paper and three pens each?
Well, you get a lot of things, let me tell you. Most importantly, once you look beyond the gnawed fingertips, broken ankles, and buckets of feces, you find a collection of stories that in all its depraved glory promises to slowly peel away the almost-healed scabs of what you believed was finally an escape from the revulsion that greets you each morning with open arms. I have looked deep into the corners of what they have to offer, and it is truly disturbing, to say the least.
Now free, Beauregard, Bedlam, Dixon, Ennenbach, Havok, McHardy, Volpe, and Watts invite you to walk with them through levels of psychological terror and extreme horror, ending in a slow waltz with the macabre and bizarre, as they watch from a safe distance, arguing about what is the most efficient way to remove the brain stem from a partially decomposed Appalachian Freemason.