Blackwoods Bend sat directly between the Middle of Nowhere and the back-forty acres of Hell. It would have seemed normal enough, if you just passed right through on the main highway. There wasn’t much to the town itself, and if you blinked you’d miss it. There were houses scattered among the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountain system, which made up the terrain. The Barton River ran through it like an artery, and rural lands bled into suburbia. Just thirty minutes in either direction were outlet malls and modernity, but in Blackwoods Bend time seemed to have settled in the mid-20th Century, and decided that was as far as it was going to move.