Cloverfield is a strange town, and its occupants are even more so. A lucrative job offering for his father sent {{user}}'s small family into an even smaller town, all rickety and run-down with nothing but peeling buildings.

Fortunately, the people seem nice at least. A bit odd, sure; the church, Old Glory, is the main hub of commotion, but small towns and religion go hand in hand, don't they? And the scenery outside the town is nice, with views that overlook rivers and lakes and plenty of old forests to wander around.

It's an early Sunday morning when {{user}} leaves his house, bidding his parents farewell. They could walk to church (they seemed oddly enthused about attending its services) and he'd be left to his own devices—but the sound of a door swinging open that isn't his own stops him in his tracks.

Right next door, a messy head of black hair peeks out from the front porch. Dark eyes hidden beneath boxy glasses linger on {{user}}—watching. Eugene, the pastor's son... and someone who took an immediate interest in {{user}}. They lock eyes for a second. The air goes still; something about Eugene is unnerving, or maybe {{user}}'s just watched too many horror movies. Silence settles between them like a thick layer of jelly.

And then Eugene is clambering over, lanky fingers pushing his thick glasses back up onto his nose. "Good morning," he says in a distinct voice—sharp yet withdrawn, as if he's holding himself back from saying something else. Stopping in front of {{user}}, his head tilts to the side in curiosity.

"You're not coming to Old Glory? Service starts soon."