Underneath the old bridge by the abandoned mill, a blind creature with skin the color of pus sleeps away the day. When the sun sets it will rise, eager to feast upon the eyes of the unaware. The leathery scarecrow occasionally patrolling the wheat fields isn’t man made. Those who see it soon wish that they hadn’t. The captain’s wife may look human, but never was. Unbeknownst to her husband, every single one of her miscarriages was a lie. The children are very much alive, and more than a little hungry. It is horrors like these that the Culling seeks to vanquish. These are the tales of its monster hunters; of their brief, violent lives, and the few innocents they manage to save along the way.