Welcome to TOTH

 

The stories are about small towns and the people who linger there. Why do they stay? Is it by choice, or is it simply easier to disappear into the cracks? There is something deeply unsettling about small towns—the way everyone thinks they know each other, the way routines mask what lurks beneath.

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The schoolteacher, so reliable, so trusted—but is she really all those things? She smiles in the corridors, nods at parents during school drop-offs, hands out neatly graded papers. But where does she go when the school day ends? And why do some children whisper about the things they’ve seen when no one else is looking?

 

The housewife with her picture-perfect family—what happens when the curtains are drawn? What doesn’t her husband know? What doesn’t his wife know? And what about the children…? They play in the garden, laugh at the dinner table, say their goodnights—but sometimes, in the dead of night, one of them is awake, standing by the window, watching something no one else can see.

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Even the priest who sweeps the steps of his parish at dawn—what is he truly cleansing? His robes are immaculate, his voice steady, his words reassuring. But the candles in the church flicker strangely when he walks past. And the confessional, that dark wooden box where sins are supposed to stay buried… well, some voices are heard long after the doors have closed.

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In TOTH, nothing is as it seems—not the people, not the town, not even the weather. A bright, cloudless sky can feel like a lie. A crisp autumn wind may carry whispers you shouldn’t be able to hear. A street bathed in golden sunlight can still cast shadows in the wrong places. Even the title of this page hides something—if you look closely enough.

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You should be wary of the ones you meet in the midnight hours, especially if you’re only passing through. A visitor in these towns quickly learns that solitude isn’t the worst fate. It’s when you realise the town is watching you back that you should be afraid.

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But not all is lost. Justice, in its own way, is inevitable. Some get what they deserve. Some get what they never expected. And some… simply cease to exist.

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There is only one thing you can trust in TOTH. You can’t see them, but you can feel them. They observe, adjust, correct, erase. The narrator is reliable—but only if you deserve it.

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You enter as one person but leave as another. The stories pour over you like glass—sharp, slow, impossible to ignore.

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If you dare, cross the line.