In August of 1911, several young men and women visiting from Boston vanished in Gods’ Hollow. Considering Gods’ Hollow, and the violence and strangeness associated with it, the disappearances of these strangers was not surprising.
Unfortunately, since they were from Boston, the state took an active interest in attempting to find their remains. The bodies were discovered close to my land, each corpse having been crushed and mangled. Only through the clothes and personal effects, as well as several distinguishing marks, were the dead identified. No one understood how the dead came to be in that particular condition, and while the scene was thoroughly investigated, no satisfactory conclusion was ever made.
Once the police were finished, I made an inquest of my own and found a small bridge, a half-mile from my farm. Near it, in a rough shelter built of fallen trees and large stones, was a giant. When I approached the structure, the creature came out, ready to do me harm.
I, however, was not ready to fight him. I was there, I told him, to investigate the deaths.
The giant, known solely by the name of Evers, informed me of how his dinner had been interrupted by the strangers, and how they had assaulted him as he attempted to retreat to the safety of his home. I saw the bruises and cuts on his thick skin and saw the pistols near Evers’ firepit.
Who can blame him for defending himself? I could not.
I was merely impressed that he didn’t eat them or use their bones for his bread.
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