Duren Point - a small northern town where evil waits in patient silence.

 

Here, monsters do not hide beneath beds. They sit at kitchen tables. They stumble home drunk. They leave their marks where no one thinks to look. Cruelty and indifference have shaped the town into something cold and difficult to soften.

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Across town, strangers come and go through the Crowbar lounge, some in search of warmth, others for drink, or simply for company. Few would suspect that, beyond the reach of those lights, something far older moves along a set of forgotten rails leading to a lonely waystation:

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THE RAIL HOUSE!

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Long abandoned in the forests west of Duren Point, a weathered railcar from another era remains where it was left. Within it, something persists. Not entirely a man, though not wholly removed from one. It occupies the place as though fixed at its center, waiting.

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Those who come too near are not all taken quickly. Some are found before morning, broken and emptied, their cries having carried only so far before the forest closed in again. Others are kept longer. They are drawn down and worked upon, piece by piece, until what remains bears little resemblance to what first arrived. What is left does not wander far.

 

For over a century, these rails ran straight and true. Now the steel bends, subtly, almost imperceptibly. Lives and purposes, once separate, run side by side near Duren Point and begin, in places, to draw together. There is a sense of something tightening, though not easily named. The web gathers. The rail house remains.

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Step through this door, there will be no going back!