There is a town in America that most maps barely mention. A town nestled between infinite forests and peaceful roads, where the wind whispers through the trees and the nights are lit by a pale silver moon. Its name is Rothswood. Rothswood is known as a serene place around the world. This is the kind of community where everyone knows each other's names. Where the diner serves the same coffee every morning and the streets are silent well before midnight. A place where nothing seems to happen. Or so many think.
Because towns such as Rothswood have a history that predates peace. They have history. History is buried beneath church foundations, concealed in forgotten journals, and murmured in legends passed down through generations. People commonly refer to stories as myths. However, myths are odd things. They never come out of nowhere. Every folklore, ghost story, or whispered warning starts with the truth. A point in time when something unthinkable occurred, and those who observed it could only understand it via dread.
So they dubbed them monsters. They talked about animals that walked in the dark. Vampires drank blood beneath the moonlight. Witches manipulated nature to their will. Wolves who were previously men. And hunters who devoted their lives to eradicating them. Of course, most people have long since stopped believing these stories. After all, monsters do not exist. Not in calm, small communities. Not in quiet places like Rothswood. However, the truth is even more unsettling. Because monsters have always existed here. They walk the same streets. They breathe the same air. They hide behind familiar faces. And sometimes... They return home. The year was 2007. The night was tranquil. The moon hung low over Rothswood, illuminating the village in pale silver light.
Everything seemed peaceful. But that night, something ancient started moving again. A vampire returned to the town he had wanted to forget. A girl unintentionally held the blood of a centuries-old secret. And somewhere in the darkness, the echoes of an old legend sounded.Because some stories refuse to be buried. And, under the moonlight... Rothswood was about to commemorate its horrors.