Sull was killed at the age of seventeen by the wraith of a disgraced demon king that he and his best friend Oscar unwittingly summoned. He woke up on the lawn, wrong, after a firefighter pulled his body out of his house, just in time to witness it collapse in on itself and claim the lives of Oscar and his parents. Terrified, he ran, and never stopped.

Since then, he's lurked the edges of the town he used to live in, allowing himself to be thought dead and leaving any sightings of him to be attributed to mistaken identity or even ghosts by the more superstitious locals, scavenging in unoccupied houses and yards for things he needs. Slowly warping into a monster of gnashing teeth and claw, he feels himself driven by primal hunger and fears it. He's made mistakes on the path; he now refuses to make more. He'd rather barely scrape by than harm anyone.

But he was not the only one like this in that tiny town. There was one, a story he only found in scattered pieces, thirty years older and in tatters. He knew they were two of a kind, trapped in the same rut. And yet...

Maybe he harmed someone after all.

from his old burned CD collection:

Way Out of Here //
  Porcupine Tree

Blood //
  Abandoned Pools

The Comfort of a Laugh Track //
  Roar

Easy Way Out //
  Low Roar

Evil Vibes //
  Typhoon

Magic Doors //
  Portishead