At dawn the sun rose over the town, it's first rays a herald to the hellspawn running rampant- it was time to return to the portal to hell. Some did so immediately while others left their possessed hosts with reluctance, unable even with a human body to escape the range of the spell in time to be set free on the wide world. As the sun ascended, it revealed a scene of pure chaos and destruction never before suffered in the tiny Connecticut community. Smoke curled high from still-burning fires and the streets strewn with bloodied human remains. The morning stillness was shattered by the shrill whine of sirens, emergency vehicles searching for survivors now that the immediate threat from demons had ended.
It took most of the night, but eventually the origin of the portal was discovered and just after sunrise, S.H.I.E.L.D. sent in a team to investigate a neglected old house on a dead end street called Baker. Agents burst in with weapons drawn and almost gagged at the stench of decay that emanated in the front hallway, accompanied by a faint smell of sulfur. The place was in shambles and certainly looked as if it had just served as the gateway to hellish monsters. Creeping cautiously from room to room, the agents called out but received no answer and saw nowhere even the hint of a living soul.
The house appeared utterly devoid of life until the discovery of a trail of dark liquid spotting the floor led them up to the attic. The team was paused here by a slow and rhythmic creaking sound. Approaching silently they rounded a corner to find an elderly woman in a rocking chair, rocking slowly back and forth in the wan morning light that filtered through a dirty window. A scorch mark tarnished the old wooden floor amidst strange symbols written in chalk and blood. Ancient dusty tomes laid open across a table and there were animal carcasses piled up in a corner with a bloodied knife tossed nearby.
With a serene expression the woman watched them approach, and beckoned with one hand while the other remained splayed over some round object resting on her lap. The trail ended there, at her chair, and continued in splatters up the hem of her dress. An agent shined a light on the woman to expose what was apparently a human head- that of a child wearing an eye patch- cradled on her knees. The woman gestured to the macabre spectacle of the room and then to the horrifying thing in her lap. "The children," she explained softly with a deranged kindness in her tone, "Always meddling. But not this time. No, I took care of that. Maybe they've learned their lesson, this time."
She stood and the child's head fell to the floor with a sickening thud then rolled a few feet into the shadows. Fastidiously straightening her floral patterned and blood stained dress the old witch smiled placidly and asked, "Would you young men care for a cup of tea?"