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2:32 AM
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Crawling along the inside of your skull is a voice that tells you something is out of the ordinary. It's afternoon, but you can't see your shadow. It's night, but there's no sign of stars. The girl behind the counter at the corner store sells you paint and flashes a smile with fangs. Under the eaves of colonials with chipped siding, lupine shapes are roaming, circling. Did you hear that someone goes missing every twenty years on the same day? Or that someone saw the poetess who drowned herself a hundred years ago reciting verses to the lily pads yesterday? You don't come to this little town for peace and quiet, or a good tan at the edge of the lake. You come because you're curious for a glimpse of the post-mundane. You come because of that restricted military facility and its high fences. You come hunting monsters. You come because you are the monster. You come because you don't fit in anywhere else. Adjacent to the big city bustle, the supernatural has made itself at home in Repose. Blend into the crowd of weird, and settle in for a season or two. There's a storm of strangeness, and Repose is drenched. |
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