It's a warm afternoon in the summer of '77. You’ve just finished moving boxes into your new house — a modest home with a neat little lawn, tucked on a quiet cul-de-sac.

Next door, the yard is strangely silent. The house is clean, well-kept… but the blinds are always drawn. You swear you saw someone watching through them earlier.

The mailbox says “AFTON.”

No one has introduced themselves yet.

Somewhere nearby, a distant tune plays — a carousel melody on repeat. Maybe from a toy. Maybe from something else.

You’re alone. But you feel watched.