One year later houses sat, with termite rotten doors and floor boards. Inside sat old couches, shattered televisions, scattered children toys and paper, set dinner tables with no food, everything a family would have, but there were no families. The playground sat, swings swung back in forth, teeter-totters took turns in hitting the ground, merry go rounds spun round and round, not getting tired of their movement, but there were no children. Shops had broken windows and open doors, with no consumers to buy. The streets were cracked, with tipped cars with broken windows, the blood stains from those who left this world and the scattered skulls and bones left from the town’s people. The town was deserted, lifeless, never to be liveable ever again.
To this day, no one has ever entered the town or the forest that surrounds it. Everyone scared that the Devil man, Marc, would rise from the grave in which he was buried and begin to kill everyone who came in sight.