Our town isn’t what it seems.
It’s the thing everyone here knows but no one talks about. We don’t need to talk about it. Words are useless in that regard because it’s beyond words. It’s beyond anything humanly conceivable. Unless you’re from our town, in that case it is the only thing you could ever conceive of. Unfortunately, we’re not the norm. In the summer this place swarms with rich weirdos who barely acknowledge us, who think that because they own the big cabins around the lake, they own our town. But that’s the thing. No one owns our town. No one.
In fact, this town… It owns us.
It’s the kind of thing you read about in folk lore–and yes, I’m aware how cheesy that sounds–and I suppose that’s why it’s never stopped anyone from visiting. From laying their seasonal roots without a second thought. It’s why all these people set up shop without fear. Fear, if they could only see, could’ve been the thing that saved them. I wish I could feel sorry for them but things have escalated too rapidly, too violently to waste time feeling anything for anyone outside of our little network of knowers.
That’s what we call ourselves now.
Knowers. Again, it sounds cheesy but when you’re in the thick of it–of this–your greatest wish is for anything to be cheesy. To be any fraction less horrific than what it is. But, that’s life right? As soon as you think things are on the up and up, it all changes, distorts. It takes all of the good, all of the optimism, and regurgitates it back out as something that should never see the light of day. That’s what the thing some people call God does best.
Fucks everything up.
But let’s not start at the end–if this is the end–that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it? What’s the point of pain without pleasure? Or is it the other way around? Doesn’t matter. What matters is this story has a beginning and the beginning is the most important part, is it not? The root of the cause? The one simple mistake that sets the whole place on fire; the spark that burns the country to the ground. That’s the fun part, isn’t it? Seeing the thing that no one else sees. The thing that, at first, appears benign until you’re able to look at it in retrospect. Until you’re able to see it in all of it’s grotesque glory.
Well, my friends. Welcome to Hell.
Also known as Brody Creek, Missouri. Not that there is a creek here that any of us have found, and trust me we’ve looked. That’s part of all of this, but we will get to that eventually. Until then let’s focus on the less disturbing aspects of this shit storm. Let’s focus on the silver lining that petered out far too early. Let’s focus on the strange little individual taking you down this rabbit hole. Let’s focus on me.
Hi. My name is Albany Black, and let me start by apologizing for dragging you into this, cause none of us are getting out alive. Not even me.
To be continued…
