Prologue
"The third horseman rides a black horse
and carries a pair of balances."
It was an unusual autumn morning to say the least. Mr. Glover of 26 Lake Street, a great big burly man with too much belly and two very tiny feet had passed his wife in the kitchen with a thank you kiss to her soft, honey cheek and headed off to work without having had breakfast. In another household a man by the last name of Lahey had just finished his own breakfast and wished his son a good day on the first day back at school. Now, to you and I these everyday occurrences might seem futile and mundane, but these events were only a drop in the large ocean that was the mysteries and supernatural that would soon plague the town, and to this town called Beacon Hills, if things were to again become futile and mundane in the next second- it would be too late.
[...]
Here we go.