Before Bright Falls was founded, these lands were home to Native American tribes who believed that an unknown entity lurked at the bottom of Cauldron Lake — a being capable of influencing both people and reality itself. They avoided the lake whenever possible, approaching it only when absolutely necessary.

Bright Falls is not just a small town on the map of Washington State. It is a place where light and darkness intertwine like thin threads of fate, where the line between reality and imagination becomes fragile — like the pages of a manuscript beneath the fingers of a mad writer. Here, among the evergreen pines and misty waterfalls, past and future merge into a loop woven from the words of Alan Wake.

A writer is not merely a person typing words on a machine or tracing lines with a pen. A writer is a creator of worlds, destinies, and realities — where laws bend to imagination. Bright Falls is precisely the place where the power of the written word becomes real. If a writer can create a world filled with joy, love, and light, then he can also create one brimming with pain and despair.

But what happens when such a writer finds himself in a place where everything he writes can become reality? Many critics compare a writer to a puppeteer, pulling the strings of his characters. But what if someone else starts pulling the strings — someone who controls the writer himself, forcing him to write a story that ends not in light, but in eternal darkness?

No one truly knows how long this place has existed — where the power of creation can shape reality itself. Neither the native tribes who lived here for generations, nor the miners who came later. Only a few know the true story of how Bright Falls was founded.

In 1878, a small mining camp appeared here, near the shores of Lake Cauldron. The miners extracted coal in the Cascade Mountains, unaware of the secrets buried within these lands. The Salish people warned them: Cauldron Lake was not an ordinary lake. It was a gateway to the Dark Place — a realm beneath a dormant volcano, where water served as a portal to another, terrifying world.

According to legend, the Dark Presence — a formless entity born from shadow — whispered to miners in their sleep, luring them into the depths of the mines, where their footsteps echoed like the cries of the drowned. But the miners dismissed these stories as old superstition — tales of spirits and gods long forgotten.

Over time, the camp grew. Bright Falls transformed into a cozy tourist town, famous for Elderwood National Park and its annual Deerfest celebration. Masks, bonfires, songs — everything looked like simple folk merriment, but few realized that behind the festivities hid the first rituals awakening an ancient power.

And the more the town grew, the stronger the Darkness beneath the lake became. People saw strange lights over the water in the 1920s, disappearances in the 1940s — bodies found with faces twisted in horror, as if their souls had glimpsed something beyond human understanding.

Then, in 1950, everything changed. A famous poet and writer named Thomas Zane arrived in Bright Falls. Haunted by visions and nightmares, he came with his beloved, Barbara Jagger. The couple settled on a small island in the middle of Cauldron Lake.

Zane was captivated by the beauty of the place… and by the power of the lake itself. His poetry began to manifest a strange property — his words came alive. His verses could influence reality, summon shadows, alter perception.

But that was the beginning of the first nightmare. The Dark Presence saw in Thomas the key — a path to freedom. It possessed Barbara, driving her to drown in the lake, awakening an ancient evil.

After his wife’s death, Thomas fell into despair. The world lost its color, and his poetry grew darker. The words of love turned into verses steeped in sorrow and madness. He didn’t realize that by pouring his anguish into his writing, he was opening the door to the Darkness itself.

The deeper he sank into grief, the stronger the Dark Entity became. For words are power — and the more despair Zane poured into them, the closer the Darkness crept to the real world.

And one night, under a moonless sky, the Dark Presence took form.

But even if Darkness was an ancient entity that brought only despair and shadow, it wasn’t a mindless monster. The Dark Presence, as the locals called it, was merely a fragment — a tiny shard of the true essence known as the Darkness.

For centuries, philosophers had tried to answer the question of what came first — the chicken or the egg — but they could never grasp the truth. Some things will forever remain beyond human understanding. The being now known as Amara was one such mystery. She had not always been Darkness. Amara was meant to become the one and only goddess of this universe — the embodiment of harmony and the source of all creation.

But when the universe was still young, something invaded it from beyond — a being that came from the farthest reaches of existence. It was an avatar of Nyarlathotep, who took on the form of a man and called himself Chuck — a poor writer who toyed with the fates of mortals as if they were rough drafts for his perfect story.

It was Chuck who stole Amara’s light, leaving her with nothing but shadow. He did not destroy her completely — for he knew that if Amara were entirely consumed, the universe would collapse before it could ever truly exist. Instead, he chose to play the role of a brother — he would embody light, while Amara would embody darkness. He was meant to create, and she was meant to watch.

But Chuck never intended to be a savior. Amara was merely part of his design — a tool necessary to write a story in which he would be both author and god. He deliberately ensured that Amara would come to despise creation and seek to destroy all that he had made. Thus, Chuck penned his grand drama — a tale of light and shadow, of eternal opposition, where the villainess was none other than the goddess of harmony herself.

When Amara was sealed away, her power did not vanish completely. A small fragment of her essence seeped into our world, settling at the bottom of Cauldron Lake — a place where the fabric of reality was thinnest. That fragment became what people would later call the Dark Presence.

Like her creator, the Dark Presence harbored hatred for everything Chuck had made. It longed to unravel his world and plunge everything into eternal night.

When the writer Thomas Zane arrived in Bright Falls, the Dark Presence saw in him a vessel — a key to its freedom. The deeper Zane sank into sorrow, the stronger the Darkness grew. It began to manifest not only in dreams but also in reality, taking on the familiar and deceptively comforting form of Zane’s drowned wife — Barbara Jagger.

The Darkness whispered to him, guided his hand, urging him to write stories where the line between life and death vanished. Thomas believed that through his writing, he could bring his beloved back, never realizing that each word he penned only tightened the Darkness’s hold on him.

Only when it was far too late did he understand — the woman emerging from the shadows was not Barbara. It was something else — an ancient, nameless evil awakened in the shape of his love.

Realizing what he had done, Zane tried in desperation to undo it. But the path back was gone. So he wrote one final story — one in which he himself never existed — and, carrying his camera and a burden of lead, stepped into the cold depths of the lake to seal the Darkness with his own end.

Since then, the Dark Presence had fallen back into slumber, waiting for a new creator whose words would awaken it once again.

And now, after many years, the Darkness had found one who could grant it power.

Though the Dark entity still lacked the strength to act freely in the physical world, its awakening was only a matter of time. This time, everything would be decided — either it would rise again or vanish forever.

A man had arrived in Bright Falls — one whose work was to destroy beings like it. This man, or rather the Demon King himself, was temporarily playing the role of a secret agency agent. He pretended to be a simple human, working alongside his partner — a vampire named Emmet.

Alex and Emmet were now in the morgue of the Bright Falls police station. With them were two FBI agents — Saga Anderson and Alex Casey — and a single patrol officer. All of them stood, frozen to the core, staring at a single point.

The city’s sheriff, Tim Breaker, had just vanished before their eyes, leaving behind only a torn page from a book. The light flickered for a brief moment — and Breaker seemed to dissolve into thin air.

Everyone stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Only Alex knew the truth and saw the real reason for the sheriff’s disappearance.

“Sheriff?” Saga said, confused, looking at the spot where Tim Breaker had been just a second ago.

“What the hell…” Casey muttered, unable to understand the nightmare unfolding before him.

The lights in the room began flickering more violently, signaling impending danger. Alex already had an inkling of what would happen next — the body of FBI agent Robert Nightingale, missing for thirteen years, had recently been found in the forest near Cauldron Lake and brought here to the morgue.

But no one else knew the whole truth. The Tree Cult, long dismissed as fanatics, were actually protecting the town from the Darkness. They destroyed those emerging from the lake — for these were no longer human, but bodies infected with the Dark Entity. These “returned” served as conduits for the Darkness into our world.

However, the ritual meant to stop Nightingale had been interrupted. And now all of Bright Falls was feeling the consequences.

The light flickered again. On the table, where the dead agent had just lain, Nightingale was now sitting upright.

“Show me… Clicker…” he croaked in a twisted, Darkness-infused voice.

Everyone turned at once, horrified, watching the corpse move. Nightingale instantly grabbed the nearest officer by the head — and with a sickening crunch, crushed it with one hand.

Another flicker of the light — and he was already on his feet, the headless body lying behind him.

The light flashed again — and now Nightingale stood directly in front of Casey. With a single blow, he slammed the agent against the wall. Casey’s back hit hard, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Emmet reacted instantly: his fist, strengthened by vampire power, shot straight toward the reanimated corpse’s head. But as soon as the light flickered — Nightingale was already behind him. Emmet spun, ready to strike again, but the Darkness was faster — Nightingale’s powerful fist slammed into the vampire’s face, sending him flying across the room. Emmet crashed into a metal medical cabinet, and the glass shattered into hundreds of shards.

Saga already had her gun raised, but she couldn’t shoot — Emmet was in the way.

When the light flickered again, Nightingale was already next to Saga, gripping her by the throat and lifting her off the floor.

Alex realized — it was time to intervene. He felt that this Nightingale was far stronger than the one who should have existed in the “original” timeline. One strike from this corpse had just sent Emmet flying.

He hadn’t taken a step when Nightingale hurled Saga straight at him. Alex managed to catch her, set her on her feet, and drew his gun, firing almost blindly — but at that same moment, the light went out, and the Dark Shadow vanished.

Screams and gunshots echoed through the morgue — the reanimated agent had attacked the other officers.

“Are you okay, Agent Anderson?” Alex asked, lowering Saga to the floor.

“I’m fine… thanks. You caught me perfectly,” she replied, breathing heavily.

“Emmet, you alive?” Alex asked, glancing around.

“Yeah, fine. That fat bastard almost broke my nose! Where’s that thing?” Emmet responded, getting up from the floor and brushing off shards of glass from his clothes.

“We need to stay closer to the light,” Saga said, quickly moving under the dim beam of the single lamp. “The records said Nightingale can’t see me in the light.”

With those words, Saga practically dragged Alex into the beam of light — just as written on the page they had found. Emmet lifted Casey and pulled him into the illuminated area as well. At that moment, the sounds of gunfire in the morgue abruptly stopped, as if someone had cut the noise with a knife.

Saga opened her mouth to speak, but Alex quickly covered it with his hand, gesturing from mouth to ears.

His look clearly said: “He can’t see us, but he can hear.”

Saga nodded, fully understanding the hint. Her analytical mind quickly realized that Alex and Emmet knew far more than they were showing. Yet, despite all her instincts, she couldn’t “read” them. Their faces, manners, even voices — everything about them seemed to slip past analysis. It unnerved her.

But Alex wasn’t ready to explain anything yet. The time for that had not come.

From the dark corridor, Nightingale emerged. His movements were jerky, unnatural — he acted like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. The dead agent looked around, repeating over and over, like a broken record:

“Saga… show me the Clicker…”

The voice sounded muffled, twisted with the notes of someone else’s will.

Nightingale approached the edge of the light and stopped, like a beast sensing an invisible barrier. He began slowly circling the illuminated area, growling and repeating the same words.

Alex glanced at Emmet and gave a short signal: “I grab — you strike.”

Emmet nodded. A predatory fire gleamed in his eyes — he was ready to retaliate for the previous blow.

Alex raised three fingers and began the countdown. Three… two… one…

At that moment, he sharply grabbed Nightingale’s arm and pulled him into the light. Emmet, wasting no time, threw all his strength into a punch — his fist slammed into Nightingale’s face. A dull crack echoed, and the dark body was thrown backward.

But Emmet wasn’t done. He lunged forward, ready to finish the creature.

Then the light flickered again. For a fraction of a second, the morgue plunged into darkness, and when it returned — Nightingale was gone.

In that brief moment of darkness, something flashed before Alex, Emmet, and Saga. The silhouette of a man, screaming hysterically, covered in blood, twisted in rage. Alex recognized him instantly — Mr. Scratch, the sinister reflection of Alan Wake.

“What… what was that? Where did he go?” Saga asked as the lamps came back on.

“Who knows,” Alex replied, straightening up. “But I’m sure the answer is in the pages you found.”

Casey, lying on the floor, groaned and slowly came to his senses. Saga helped her partner to his feet. Emmet cursed under his breath and clicked his tongue — he was frustrated that he had missed the chance to finish off the enemy.

Alex walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get another chance,” he said.

He knew where Nightingale had gone. The agent had returned to the Fold — a pocket dimension connected to the Dark Abode.

If one were to make an analogy, the Fold was like the Red Door leading to the Red World. Both were reflections of the places where they were opened. Only the Red Door connected to the world of chaos, while the Fold was an intermediate space between reality and the Dark Abode.

“Where’s Nightingale?” Casey asked, holding his head.

“He’s gone. He had no heart, and yet he came back to life. It was already described on that page of the book — that page helped find his weakness,” Saga explained, helping Casey steady himself.

“How does someone just… disappear? Is that even possible?” Casey muttered irritably, feeling pain all over his body after hitting the wall.

“I’m more interested in where Sheriff Brecker went,” Emmet said, crossing his arms. “First he disappears, now the dead rise. Something’s off here.”

“Maybe the sheriff knew more than he was letting on,” Casey said thoughtfully, leaning on an overturned table.

“It seemed to me he was afraid of something too,” Saga added. “Like he sensed something terrible was coming. Another Bright Falls mystery…”

Alex smirked, continuing to search through the debris for another page of the book.

“Everything we just witnessed, Agent Anderson, can’t be explained logically. Sure, you could blame it on mass hallucinations — like we inhaled some fumes or chemicals. But we both know: people don’t just vanish, and the dead don’t rise without reason.”

“You’re saying… something supernatural is happening?” Casey asked skeptically.

Alex, lifting a cabinet and peeking underneath, replied calmly:

“That was your statement, not mine. But let’s assume something truly supernatural is happening.”

Casey was about to respond sarcastically, but Saga gently grabbed his sleeve and shook her head, signaling that now was not the time for arguments — they were on the same side. Casey just nodded, realizing that what was happening defied any rational explanation. Everything occurring around them could only be described as something supernatural.

Emmet, wasting no time, began helping search for the page of the book, while Saga and Casey tried to understand exactly what Alex and Emmet were doing. Saga kept pondering, trying to make sense of the logic behind it all. Everything seemed far too strange.

The pages of the book described events with terrifying accuracy — everything repeated down to the smallest detail, except for one thing: on the pages, there were only Saga and Casey. There was no mention of Alex or Emmet. This unsettled Saga — as if she were losing track of something important, something that should shed light on what was happening.

“The victim of a ritual murder turned into a monster… Could there be a connection?” Saga said aloud, thoughtfully.

“Maybe the Tree Cult performed rituals to create monsters,” Casey replied, hearing her words.

“I don’t think so,” Emmet said, carefully lowering the overturned cabinet to the floor.

“What makes you say that, Agent Cullen?” Saga asked, turning to him.

“Before we met, we talked with Sheriff Brecker. Back then, bodies had already been found, killed during rituals. But none of them came back to life. So why did Nightingale return? Am I the only one who thinks something doesn’t add up here?” Emmet said, frowning and crossing his arms.

Emmet’s words made everyone pause. He was right — if the previous victims hadn’t risen, what made Nightingale special? Alex glanced at Emmet and smirked slightly. He silently praised Rosalie — she hadn’t been wrong to make Emmet watch detective shows and read books with her. Judging by his reasoning, the guy was starting to think like a real investigator.

Of course, Alex didn’t share the whole truth with Emmet. The future had to remain the future, and now was not the time to lay all the cards on the table. But even the information he had given Emmet was enough for him to draw the right conclusions.

“Now it really does look suspicious,” Saga said, frowning. “Maybe the Tree Cult performed the rituals not to create monsters, but to prevent people from becoming them?”

“Interesting theory, Agent Anderson,” Alex said, brushing glass shards and dust off the page he had found.

“When I questioned the Bookers, they said they accidentally interrupted the cult during a ritual. Maybe the ritual was stopped and never completed,” Saga said, looking at Alex.

“Let it be so. But the question remains: where did Nightingale go?” Alex said, nodding slightly with a thoughtful smile.

“Just what we needed — to hunt a dead man who suddenly came back to life and is now wandering somewhere,” Casey muttered, sighing irritably.

“Not all is lost,” Alex replied, holding the page. “We do have a clue. Or did you forget? The pages of the book. They have all the answers.”

Saga and Casey exchanged glances. Alex was right. He unfolded the page and began reading. Everything matched the original version, except for one thing: the page mentioned that Saga had returned to Coldron Lake to pursue Nightingale in the Fold.

This detail particularly intrigued Alex. He knew what the Fold was and how to get there, but he felt that it wouldn’t be so simple. The words on the page hinted at a ritual necessary to open the path. This was unsettling.

Saga walked up to him, and Alex handed her the page, letting her read it herself. She quickly skimmed the text, pausing on the key phrases.

“It looks like we need to go back to Coldron Lake,” she said, folding the page and slipping it into her pocket.

“What’s written there?” Casey and Emmet asked at the same time.

“If the page is to be believed, Nightingale is there now. They call him a Taken. We have to get to the lake before anyone else gets hurt,” Saga replied, clenching the page in her hand.

“Alright then,” Alex said, clapping his hands. “Route’s set. But first we need to explain what happened here. The sheriff vanished, officers are dead in the morgue, and Nightingale’s body is gone. We should prepare for a trip to Coldron Lake.”

Hearing Alex, Emmet, Saga and Casey nodded in silence. Everyone understood that explaining the sheriff’s disappearance, the officers’ deaths, and the missing body would be nearly impossible. Alex, however, knew the truth — Thornton and Mulligan had long been part of the Tree Cult. That’s why investigations into the cult never progressed. But, as often happens, everything went to hell because of a handful of outsiders who poked too much into the legends. Their meddling was the snowball that soon turned into an avalanche capable of destroying everything in its path.

When the discussion ended, Alex, Emmet, Saga and Casey headed for the exit — toward where Mulligan and Thornton’s voices could be heard. Once in the corridor, Saga immediately took the initiative. She calmly and clearly laid out what had happened: how Tim Brecker suddenly disappeared and how Nightingale became a monster that attacked everyone.

Alex watched Thornton and Mulligan’s reactions closely. Their faces remained unreadable, as if what they’d just heard didn’t surprise them at all. That only confirmed his suspicions — those two had been members of the Tree Cult that night when things went wrong.

Alex and Emmet stepped outside so as not to interrupt the conversation. He needed a bit of air — and a cigarette. He had to keep playing the part of an ordinary man who supposedly knew nothing and was just helping the other agents make sense of things.

Outside the station, Alex lit up, took a drag, and exhaled a plume of smoke into the cool air. Emmet stood nearby with his hands in his pockets.

“So what now?” he asked, looking at Alex.

“The ritual went off the rails. That’s why the Taken appeared in Forks,” Alex replied, staring ahead. “One mistake — and it triggered a chain reaction. The three from yesterday in Forks and Nightingale today — that’s only the beginning.”

“So it’s time to stock up on flashlight batteries and flares?” Emmet asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Fortunately, Becca once made bullets with ultraviolet light. I have a few of those in reserve — they’ll come in handy. Hope I don’t need to remind you how to deal with them?” Alex said, flicking ash from his cigarette.

“Shine a light on them, break the darkness, then finish them off. And don’t go where it’s too dark without a light source. Always carry a flashlight and a flare for safety,” Emmet replied confidently. “You talked about this all evening yesterday. And you kept repeating it on the drive over.”

Alex nodded briefly. He wasn’t reminding Emmet for nothing — even a vampire wasn’t exempt from Darkness. Anyone under its influence could become a Taken. And if a vampire turned… the consequences would be catastrophic.

Once Alex finished his cigarette, Saga and Casey emerged from the building. Their expressions made it clear they had finished explaining everything.

“Ready?” Alex asked, turning to them.

“Yes,” Saga replied. “But the situation could get worse. We need to be prepared. Maybe we should call for backup.”

With that, she started walking ahead, and Casey was already pulling out his phone to make a call when Alex caught up to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said calmly. “Backup will only increase the body count. We don’t even understand what we’re dealing with.”

“So it’s just the four of us against some unknown crap? Great, just perfect,” Casey muttered, frowning.

“At least it’s not just two,” Emmet smirked, shrugging.

“Alright, fine,” Casey grumbled, putting the phone away. “But are you sure we’ll actually find Nightingale at Coldron Lake?”

“As long as the pages haven’t lied,” Saga interjected, walking beside the men.

“And yet I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being led around by the nose,” Casey said, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” Alex replied, looking ahead. “But we don’t have many options. Either wander through dark forests chasing a ghost, or head to Coldron Lake, where at least we have a chance.”

He dropped his spent cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his shoe.

“The choice is yours, but the path still leads there.”

Seeing no other clues or reasons that could lead them elsewhere, Casey nodded silently.

Soon, Alex, Emmet, Saga, and Casey reached the hotel where their transport was parked. Before heading to Coldron Lake, Alex asked everyone to wait and went to his room. He pulled out his bag and started gathering ultraviolet bullets for the pistol, flares, and other useful items — everything that could help ordinary people fight Taken. Packing everything into the bag, Alex left the hotel and placed it on the back seat of the Impala.

“What’s in the bag?” Saga asked, giving him a careful look.

“Judging by what was written on the found pages, these Taken — or whatever they’re called — are afraid of light,” Alex replied calmly. “So I figured we should take as many flashlights and flares as possible. Nightingale didn’t see us while we stood under the lamp’s light. Who knows, there could be other creatures there too, not just him.”

Saga nodded briefly, understanding that Alex was simply preparing for the worst.

He waved as he got into the Impala, signaling that it was time to go before nightfall. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, and the prospect of walking through a dark forest made everyone slightly uneasy.

Once behind the wheel, Alex took out the magazines of ultraviolet bullets and handed them to Emmet to keep at hand. Saga and Casey’s service vehicle left first, followed by the Impala.

The road stretched ahead in silence. Alex focused on driving while Emmet texted Rosalie, who was monitoring the live feed and couldn’t sit still from worry. She had seen Nightingale strike her husband and throw him aside, and now she was even more anxious. Alex noticed the messages on Emmet’s phone out of the corner of his eye but quickly looked away, not wanting to interfere.

The closer they got to Coldron Lake, the faster the weather changed. The sky thickened with heavy clouds, and soon a light, drizzling rain began. Alex clicked his tongue in displeasure — as if nature itself had decided to snuff out the last rays of sunlight before the sun finally disappeared behind the mountains.

He understood that he could only use his abilities if absolutely necessary — when they were inside the Fold. He didn’t want to raise any suspicion from Saga, especially someone with her intellect and experience.

On the roadside, a faded sign appeared: “Welcome to Coldron Lake,” with a crookedly nailed “Closed” sign hanging above it.

Passing by, the black Impala and the FBI Chevrolet reached a small parking lot near the lake. The cars stopped, and everyone got out. Alex grabbed the bag from the back seat — inside were flares, flashlights, and everything else that might be needed.

“The pages say that Nightingale is somewhere called the Fold,” Saga said, addressing everyone. “First, we need to figure out what that even is.”

“Maybe the Fold is where he came from?” Emmet suggested, thoughtfully scratching the back of his head. “If Nightingale disappeared thirteen years ago, he’s been somewhere all that time. Maybe it was there. And then somehow he got out… and into the hands of the Tree Cult members?”

“Good thing I don’t have to deal with all this crap alone,” Casey muttered, heading down the path.

“Perhaps we’ll find answers where Nightingale’s body was discovered,” Alex said, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “If he came from the Fold, maybe we can get in there too. Better to see for ourselves what else might crawl out of that place.”

He stepped after Casey, feeling the heavy, ominous silence thickening over the lake.

Saga nodded and followed. Emmet glanced back for a moment, peering into the darkening forest. A strange feeling pricked at him — as if someone was watching. But hearing no sound, he shrugged and caught up with the others.

Once they disappeared from view, a figure emerged from the very tree Emmet had looked at a second ago. It was shrouded in thick, oozing darkness. It was Nightingale. His empty, lifeless gaze was fixed on the ground, and his lips moved silently, repeating the same words — about Saga and the Clicker. A moment later, he dissolved into the black mist, as if he had never existed at all.

Alex, Emmet, Saga, and Casey moved along the narrow path leading to the place where Nightingale’s body had been found. The area looked abandoned — no one had been here for a long time. After the zone around the lake was closed off, no one maintained order: the trail was overgrown with moss, and the ground beneath their feet crumbled with each misstep.

Passing through a rusty gate in the old fence, they descended a steep slope. Alex glanced around — the clouds had nearly completely covered the sun, and only dim rays pierced through the gray veil of clouds.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Saga said, breaking the silence. “What kind of normal cult would openly call itself a cult?”

“The one that wants to scare the locals,” Alex replied, jumping down from the ledge after Casey.

“Why do you say that?” Casey asked, glancing over his shoulder at him.

“Logically speaking,” Alex began, “no cult would call itself that. It’s a label given to them by others. People already have a negative reaction to the word ‘cult’ — it immediately evokes fear, distrust, and disgust. So if somewhere a ‘Tree Cult’ announces itself, and ritual killings start happening right after — the effect is obvious. People get scared and stop venturing into the woods at night. An easy way to keep everyone under control.”

Saga and Casey exchanged looks and nodded. Their law enforcement experience suggested there was sense in Alex’s words. Any rumor reinforced by fear quickly becomes a tool for control.

As they continued down the path, the group heard a voice. Around a bend appeared two men, busy with something near an old shed that looked like a transformer hut.

Alex immediately recognized one of them — Ilmo Koskelu. He was part of the Tree Cult, one of those involved in the killing of the Taken Nightingale.

Alex didn’t intervene in the conversation, letting Saga approach and speak to Ilmo first. He simply stood nearby, observing. He already knew she would be surprised that Ilmo recognized her — after all, Saga was certain she had never lived in Bright Falls and that her daughter Logan was still alive.

The world seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere in the distance, crows cawed back and forth, and a thick fog hovered over the lake, hiding whatever awaited them ahead.

To be continued…

(As I said in the last chapter, I’ll be describing Alan Wake’s plot a bit for those unfamiliar with its events. At the same time, I’ll be adding my own twist to the main plot so it fits into my fanfic. I think you’ll understand this without me. But honestly, I like Alan Wake’s plot.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep