Folk horror town in the 1920s in Appalachia.

The Gloaming at Blackwood's Hollow

In the hollow where the coal dust settles like soot on a shroud, the buildings of Blackwood’s End lean against one another for support. The air here is thick with the scent of pine needles and sour mash, vibrating with the incessant, rhythmic chirping of cicadas that never seem to sleep. In this tight cluster of timber-framed shops and low-slung porches, the 1920s have arrived only in the form of electricity that flickers and hums with a malevolent life of its own. Every shadow in the block seems to have a weight to it, and the residents watch strangers from behind screen doors with eyes that reflect the moonlight like a predator's. Between the hardware store and the apothecary, a narrow alleyway stays perpetually damp, even in the height of the summer heat. This is a place where folk religion and desperation have fused into something old and hungry, lurking just beneath the veneer of a quiet mining town.