My name is Miles Hall. Damn, I didn't expect to myself in such deep shit in a little town by the lake. The only thing that let me sleep at night was a pistol by my bedside. Smith-something-Wesson MP, issued by my police department. I was supposed to return the thing, but I was in a quick rush out of Detroit. Never liked those bastards once they began eying me like some damn snake. That 'innocent until proven guilty' bullshit didn't help me one bit, not to a city where almost anyone could be a criminal. I certainly wasn't... well, at least I never got charged for any felonies, even as a kid. That was my definition of a 'crook.'

I drove around Michigan, and even into Indiana, enjoying sights and getting wasted. I was pretty sick and got drunk at a few bars, wondering if my work even mattered at this point. It seemed like old memories of my mum had come back, as well as those of my dad dying and that house fire... it wasn't a nice sight, and I was sure as hell pretty disappointed after five days on the road. Key marks were evident on my car door, and my car smelled like stale beer. I figured if I didn't get somewhere to stay immediately, I'd end up resurrecting my old mum in the backseat of my car. Sure as hell didn't need the smell in the first place, and my bank account wasn't going to fill itself up with money soon.

Eventually, I came back to Michigan. Didn't know why since I was rejected by virtually the biggest city on the block. I just figured there was some shady town by the lake, which could probably settle my mind down... for some reason. Maybe supernatural forces were at work, maybe I was just drunk again and took a U-turn back to hell. It was probably the latter, but at least the drab town of Haven Marine didn't hurt my eyes from a distance. Haven Marine was a strange name for such a town. For one, it was a haven at first, with a lake cabin proving cheaper than my old, run-down flat. The community was nice, and I could maintain contacts with friends back at Detroit. Heck, I was even in line for a possible job working as an officer again. But, for two, it seemed less like haven as rumours became news. You didn't hear about monsters in the night, you would see the monsters of the night. If you were lucky, they'd find your remains in your own house. You also wouldn't have government officials visiting the area and claiming to be crude FBI agents... I knew, from that day forward, that I was in for deep shit. Nothing ever came easy for me, so why would life give me a break?

Every night since I moved to Haven Marine, I would stare at my ceiling, wondering... just about anything with my life. My room smelled like fresh water, and I could hear trees rustling with the occasional gusts of wind at night. The glass windows didn't seem to exist, though strong winds bending them reminded me they were there. I was supposed to buy some curtains about a month ago, so that I could actually lie on my side and not see shapes in the dark night. My neighbour (a doctor in... I guess cardiology) complained about the shapes in the forest too, buying his own curtains and shutting his trap up. I figured I ought to just look up at the plank ceiling and go to bed, rather than spending money on some curtains. At least you didn't get shot at, if you looked out of your apartment window in Haven Marine (that really did happen... well, because I pissed off some jackass thief the other day in Detroit).

Things got worse in the morning. While mornings were notoriously horrible, I didn't imagine my morning getting worse than that.

It was Friday. And I still hadn't found work. The sun burnt my frickin' eyes, the blinding effect made worse by the reflection of Lake Michigan. I had turned sideways and towards the damn lake during my sleep. I just realised at that point I couldn't keep forgetting to buy curtains, or I'd go blind within two weeks. Groaning, I shuffled around in my bed and faced opposite from the lake, preferring to get sunburns to my back rather than blinding my eyes. I sniffed hard, breathing out as I figured I'd be out of money soon. I had groceries to buy, curtains to put up, and a mortgage to pay off. Nothing ever came easy.

"Nothing ever comes easy." I declared in a raspy voice, clearing my throat and swallowing my spit. This wasn't Detroit, and therefore I couldn't spit anywhere I wanted to. As annoying as that was, it saved me a lot of time in cleaning hours. "Oh boy..." I rubbed my face before reaching out for a cup on a wrinkled box. Vivid as my vision was, I could feel the cup and grabbed the rim, bringing it to my dry face...

"Fuck." It was empty. I was thirsty. That didn't go well. Sure enough, I left my bed as the sun cast a shadow on all my box furniture. Yeah, that was how much money I had. The cabin was new though - polished walls, warm indoor climate, and charming windows. If only I could have real furniture, then I'd stop tipping over boxes and spilling clothes everywhere. So, I lifted blankets off myself as I did just that - in the mangled mess of clothes, I'd find the usual wear that would suit me, since I'd be too busy looking for other clothes. Blue, green, red, my eyes couldn't tell the difference once blinded by the damn sun.

Usual things to do in the morning: have breakfast, go outside, relax, maybe find work, get back home, go to sleep. What I did was instead: go outside for breakfast, fight an impossible fight, get work, get back home, go to sleep. I'll now demonstrate.

Outside, trees still rustled, albeit not as much as last night. I had a small fenced lawn outside, and so did the other cabins around here. My lawn was like Mother Nature's stubble, and everyone else'. "Morning, Doc." That was a nickname given to the doctor next door. I would walk out into a rather cold atmosphere, with a black gravel road begging to be driven over. My car was the same as always, having a few nicks and being a sedan from around the start of the 21st century. Doc wasn't outside, tending to his sunflowers. Fearing the worst, I jumped the fence and rushed to his door. His cabin was identical to mine, though you could tell it was much older than mine.

The door was locked. I was just beginning to knock on it when I saw Doc walking by his cabin to his car. Of course, I had worked in the police force, and... well, naturally, I was paranoid. Doc didn't notice me at all, as he left for his clinic in his Ford. I looked down and ruffled my hair, sighing at my actions. I swear to God I would've kicked the door down, just to make sure he wasn't dead. When I thought about things as I skipped the fence back to my own car, I realised it wasn't just paranoia as a police officer. It was also the paranoia of knowing something was out there, killing people in unimaginable ways... the more we tried speaking out about it however, the more blank our rumours get. Something was definitely covering up the current situation.

Since my head would probably try to link the US government with aliens sooner or later, I figured it would be a good idea for some breakfast. On the way there, I could try to visit the police station for some work. I needed money soon for just about everything, after all.

Within minutes, I hit the road with my gun in the glove compartment, driving off and appreciating the landscape... it would be deceitful later on.