Nobody can change where they were born, it’s just a fact that cannot be escaped; a shadow that looms behind us. Oakvane is in my blood, polluting me- just like my surname.

  The town seems pleasant from the outside, shyly peeking out from the surrounding woods. An uninitiated eye would likely use words such as “rural” or “quaint” to describe the veneer of the town- but they’re ignorant to a very insidious truth.

  You need to understand that monsters are real and whatever hides in Oakvane is the worst of them. I’ve spent my entire life trying to divorce myself from that place. Oakvane filled my story with such profound loss: it took my parents, my agency, and my innocence.

  I tried to take control over my narrative once. Ending it seemed reasonable, that was at least something I could control. It was warm that night, ten years ago- staring down from the top of the dormitory, the humidity clinging to my skin before the storm broke. The clouds had rendered the night so oppressively black that campus lighting struggled against its weight.

  Trauma is something nearly impossible to break without professional help. It haunts you and hollows you out until not even your dreams provide respite. At the time, there were only memories when I slept; memories of being bound to that wooden chair.

  Memories of that thin, copper syringe being tugged out of my tear duct.

  Memories of that man whispering to me, telling me that it wasn’t that bad- whatever he was doing to my eyes. He’d whisper to me, “See? Simple as a serpent.” He’d tell me that my pain was transitory, that no one got into Heaven without suffering. He made me thank him for stopping- as if I had been provided some vicious enlightenment under this tutelage.

  So many years free of that place, free of that chair, and I still couldn’t escape it. A decade passed and Oakvane was still hurting me.

  I wanted the agony to stop. I reasoned that it was better to be a cadaver than a toy. I was ready to jump and finally have a say in my life.

  I would have missed so much if I had jumped. I never would have fallen in love. I never would have become a father and I never would have my heart broken. I was lucky that the guy I shared a room with found me. Had he not grabbed my flannel and pulled me back from the brink- this would have all been different.

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  The storm broke when my tears did, yet he still sat with me. Barny sat soaking beside me until I was ready to come back inside. Never once did he complain, he just… stayed there with me. This guy had known me for three weeks and he stayed. When I was ready, he offered me a smile and took my hand.

  He was the only person I ever believed when he said that I would be okay.

  I dedicated my life to being someone kind because of him, someone reliable. This world may not have many friends for me, but I always had him and he always had me. It never mattered what the distance between us was; we were constants in each others’ lives.

  Oakvane found a way to exploit that. It is so incredibly hungry; I don’t think it ever stopped trying to pull me back.

  Now it has succeeded.

  Barny was supposed to be at my apartment two days ago, safe with me in Visage City after things ended with his fiance’. The fact that my dearest friend was homeless was a stroke of banality that I found difficult to suffer. He needed help, just like I did that night atop the dorm and I had no intention of failing him.

  The last word I got from him was a voicemail, telling me that he would be making a quick stop to get some cash. Neither of us would be suffering this uncertainty if I had just left my ringer on that day. That burdens me with a profound guilt.

  He left a message; he never leaves messages. He said that he would be delayed- that he had picked up work in Oakvane. About an hour later, I saw the message and tried desperately to call him back.

  By that time, his phone was already shut off.

  His phone calls me twice a day, each time the hour strikes three. Most times there is nothing more than the sound of smacking lips and static, but the last call presented something far more sinister.

  In the background, I heard a familiar laugh. A thin, evil chuckle that I remember always followed the phrase “simple as a serpent.”

  I know what that means, even if the police refuse to believe.

  I know that Father Darnette has my friend and that there is no one left to help Barny but me.

  I’m going home to save my friend and to finish the story that was started over thirty years ago.

  Maybe this is a confession? That I, Dean Aleston, travelled hundreds of miles to murder Father Darnette of Oakvane. I’m secure with that, even if I left out the more monstrous facts of my life.

  I am of sound mind.

  I know that monsters are real, and I am going to kill one.

  Do not follow me. Do not go to Oakvane. That place twists every person that it consumes, warping them to the very worst versions of themselves.