Take any house in this town. Hell, take mine. Every inch is stained with someone’s sin.
When they find you, ask for Henry Deaver. Henry Matthew Deaver.
People say, “It wasn’t me. It was this place.” And the thing is, they’re right.
Give a man the keys to the dungeon, tell him to lock up the monster. Or pin a star on his chest. Call him “Sheriff.” Maybe he succeeds a while, a year, a decade or two if he’s lucky, but evil outlasts us all.