Fallendrift is a city at the beginning of industrialization. Factories rise beside older neighborhoods and gas lamps burn over streets perpetually damp from rain. Coal smoke hangs over much of the city, trains come and go, and blacksmiths still repair wagon wheels and shoe horses.

The wealthy live well, the poor do not, and most people know there are certain streets, buildings, and stories best left alone.

But five years ago, something beneath Fallendrift was uncovered. Much of the city was destroyed. Many died and even more were driven insane by what they saw. And for a time, truth was impossible to ignore.

But cities rebuild and forget.

New buildings replaced old memories. Witnesses became drunks, eccentrics, liars, or those simply ignored. Horror turned first into local history, then rumor, then something parents mention only when children ask why no one lives on a certain street.

Life went on.

Then on a particular clear, cool evening at thirteen minutes past midnight, every clock in Fallendrift struck once.

Even those without bells.