To Whomever Thought it was a Good Idea to Read This, or Maybe You're Just Nosy

        In the following pages are the accounts of Quinberry Lane; past, present, and future. I will try my best to inform on the facts and not the speculation. However, I can't promise that everything will sound probable--this isn't that kind of event--nor can I say my way of stating the facts is professional. I'm only doing this so the world can know the truth about 224 Quinberry Lane, and the mystery behind all the secrets--believe what you will and what you must. 

        By the time you get this, I'll probably already be dead. But in case it all didn't go to plan, you can find me at the Walden. If you found this, you'll know what I mean in time. However, in order for you to completely understand, you need to know the past. So lets begin with Quinberry Lane. All the needed files and letters are attached. I hope you find my research and accounts useful.                              

------------/ P, W.

Quinberry Lane was your average suburban street. It was long and winding with an array of mailboxes lining the curb. It had trash pickup every Wednesday morning, while majority of the neighbors took it out Tuesday evening. It was the sort of street that would have block parties on random Sunday afternoons in order to give parents an excuse to brag about their child winning this award, that award, or something else all together. 

That is until July 15th, 1946.

There wasn't anything remarkable about July 15th. It wasn't someone's birthday, a holiday, or a block party.There wasn't some storm or sinister feeling in the air. It was as bleak and dull as any other late Tuesday afternoon. Fathers and mothers (those able to find work after ww2) were making an income to support their families, and the retired still found something unreasonable to complain about. The sun was out, causing sweat to drip off your brow, and children were roaming the streets laughing or racing each other on their bikes.

There were rumors, of course, dreadful accusations that took shape and formed into nightmares you wouldn't wish upon your greatest enemy. With the way the world worked, the truth didn't matter; what mattered was what people believed. And if you were on the wrong side of what society believed, you would discover the vitriolic ways humanity turns to corruption with open arms. But then again, what would a society--neighborhood--be without gossip?

It wouldn't have been Quinberry Lane

The talk of the town was how Felix Marksmith happened to get Martha Anne Richards to fall in love with him. Martha, who was called Annie at the time, was considered a loose wild thing. However, she had a heart of gold which seemed to be a foreign concept in the town.

The curvy, curly haired blonde with striking blue eyes happened to actually have a personality to go with the looks. She was kind, compassionate, smart, and funny. The complete package, some might say. The cold reality of the girl was that she never dated. Every teen, whether male or female, would ask her out from time to time if their egos could stand the brutal rejection. Every time, she politely turned them down. That was until Felix came along.

Felix wasn't what you would call an optimist, nonetheless a go-getter. He was quite bland, to be frank; an average looking, tall and skinny nobody, who never amounted to anything. He was quiet, silently judgemental, and pessimistic. His stories were like reading a math textbook at a funeral--macabre and somber.

One day he appeared in the town arm in arm with Martha, and it was official. The two had eloped in Wisconsin and journeyed back home to buy the house at the end of Quinberry Lane. There, they had one son, Colin Marksmith. 

One would think that the rumors would be centered around the anomalous pair, but they were mostly about the son. 

See, Colin wasn't like the other children. He was quiet, calculating. He took everything in stride trying to understand the way of the world through questions and experiments. While the other boys would tease and flirt with young and older girls, he was found using magnifying glasses to kill various insects. While the boys would run and tackle each other, he was isolated, finding comfort in the words of books. When the boys would tease him, he stared back square jawed and walked past as though he was on another planet.

Most justified it as a mixture of his parents, while others had the tendency to classify him different. And I suppose he was peculiar, but the adjective doesn't even scratch the surface about who Colin was. But before we can delve into the makings of Colin Marksmith, the accounts begin after that.

It was August 25th 2024, and Wesley Peterson was angry.