The only stretch of woods where something is hunting YOU.
The Legend.
Hollis Creel Bleakmore was one of the first to turn. A fisherman by trade, he was among the original settlers who drank from the cursed lake. He didn't just go mad...he went feral. His mind reverted into instinct. His body warped by the lake's black veins.
The town banished him to the island in hopes of protecting the rest. But you can't isolate infection that evil. You just give it room to evolve.
Now Bleakmore haunts the edge of the swamp--the border between woods and water. His lantern glows red and green through the trees. His net drags behind him, tangled with what he's caught.
No one hears him coming. Because the swamp doesn't make noise until it's swallowing you.
The Curse
Bleakmore is the curse's first disciple. He ddn't resist it...he BECAME it. The swamp itself is his altar. Every root a nerve. Every ripple a warning. And if you see the lantern...run. It already knows your name. He's not alone anymore. He has disciples of his own.
And they'll be waiting for you.