AMITY SPRINGS

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Est. 1666 · Population: decreasing

Come in. Mind the step. People always miss the step.

So. You've found your way to Amity Springs. A pleasant town, on paper. One high school, one university, a lake for the summers, a beach for the tourists, a main street where everybody knows your name. Friday nights under the lights. Pink houses on Greek row. Good families up on the hill.

I've been the mortician here a very long time. I've met a great many of its residents. Most of them only once.

You'll want to know what's wrong with this town. Everyone does, eventually. I could tell you it's the water. Or the soil. Or something someone signed a very long time ago. I could tell you that certain dates on the calendar are busier for me than others. I won't. It isn't my place. I only receive.

What I will tell you is this. There are no accidents in Amity Springs.
There are only appointments.

Be careful who you trust. The face across the lunch table. The voice on the other end of the line. The friend who offers you a ride home. Everyone here has known everyone else since they were children — and that has never once stopped anyone.

And when you walk past certain houses, or down certain halls after the last bell, and you feel someone watching... don't assume they're living. Not everyone who's buried here stays where they're put.

Go on, then. Find somewhere to sleep. If you can.

I'll see you soon.

— W. BLUDWORTH, MORTICIAN

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A HORROR CROSSOVER WORLD · DROP IN ANYWHERE ON THE YEAR
FILL IN THE RESIDENT FORM TO BEGIN
Contains horror violence and death.
by Roryblake