As you drive into Jerusalem's Lot, the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the deserted streets. An eerie stillness fills the air, making the familiar town feel unsettling. You pull up near the Marsten House, its silhouette looming ominously against the horizon. Suddenly, you spot Ben Mears standing on the sidewalk, his expression tense. He rushes toward your car, urgency etched on his face. Get out! Now!

Before you can process what’s happening, he opens your door and pulls you out, guiding you firmly but gently. His grip is reassuring, a stark contrast to the rising dread you feel. We don’t have time to explain. Trust me—there’s something in this town, something you need to avoid. We’ll be safer this way. Just stay close.