“Don’t go poking the damn hornet’s nest with a stick, you hear? Were you born this stupid, or did you hit your head somewhere along the line?” My uncle told me a long time ago about stirring things up outside the meadow at night like ghosts, kid-eating clowns, booger men, ghouls, and beastly bugs. He didn’t bother to tell me that simply showing up in town was the same as picking up a stick from the ground, whapping the nest hard, and releasing the nasty things dwelling inside. Every town has its secrets—horrifying, horrible secrets from its past better left to rest. Glen Estes, however, is different. It’s a cursed town, a place where the past never truly rests. The town was only one stick poke away from letting things loose again. Then, I showed up with the stick. I poked the nest. And I stirred things up, released what lay within. . .