Beneath the floorboards under Mary's feet, Imp stalks and slithers through the ooze, through the festering stench of ancient decay. His playmates are the creatures of the night - his toys their twisted, broken bodies. As only Mary knows. Because Imp is her child, her creation, her demented, hellish vision..the evil she imprisons in the darkness below. But Imp is getting restless. There is so much out there to smell, to lick, to claw..to kill.