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Tucker’s first memory of terror sparked when he was just a boy. Most of his life had been spent in innocence and blissful unknowing to the terrors that hid just behind a locked door. He knew where it led, at least his father would tell him if he asked. Down to the basement, he would say to Tucker, but you don’t want to go down there. There’s nothing but spiders and sticky things down there.
Luckily, Tucker only thought about the door, and what secrets were kept behind it, during the summer. His family had a house on the edge of a lake. Every year they would strike off for their summer camp, once the weather turned warm. In the time since they had built the house, new construction seemed to be popping up all around the perimeter of the lake. The shoreline became a constant hum of
