Living armor walks the halls of the mansion at night, belly full, chest exposed, hungry for visitors.
A witch and her familiar begin a tenuous relationship. He helps her brew her potions. She swallows him whole and mercilessly digests him before reforming him in her magic circle. One of them is getting the better end of the deal.
A moan from the television catches your attention. Something is coming through the screen. A ghost? Yes. Is she here to eat you? No.
Sheβs here to eat your girlfriend. And then eat you.
Three women sit around the fire telling stories one dark autumn night. Stories of witches and ghosts and living armor; warm hearts and wet stomachs. But, whether they know it or not, all stories have a purpose, and as the night wears on, the rumbles of their own stomachs grow too loud to be ignored. Perhaps they should have eaten before they came.