On blood moon nights the eyes of the long dead open once again to summon and stir ill will upon a land known for its pristine beauty and peacefulness. The lonely brick posts marking the point of entry to a place once known as Corpsewood speaks volumes by its silence. It stands guard before a long and treacherous road called Dead Horse Trail, a 2-mile walkway to the past. On cold winter nights two phantom mastiffs patrol the perimeters beyond what was the destroyed dreams of two enterprising Satanists, Dr. Charles Scudder, and Joe Odom. They have laid as corpses for more than 30 years, but their memory refuses to die. The reason I titled this book 'the catchfly' is very simple. In early April 2017, I had taken my friends Walt and Jim to Corpsewood for the first time. And as they were wandering around looking at the remnants, the bones of a once impressive castle, I began looking at the plants surrounding me. Directly across from the remains of the gazebo which sort of reminds me of a rib cage, I saw the beautiful little clump of red flowers that I had not seen before there. It turns out to be a Catchfly, a carnivorous native plant, that had a sticky fluid on its red leaves to catch flies, gnats, ants and the like. It then dissolves them and absorbs their fluid. I thought it was perfect, the absolute perfect plant to be at Corpsewood. Beautiful, charming but carnivorous; a lure. That's what the ruins are now. People know about it from all over the world and devour any new information possible.