Hey hey…

Aberdeen here. Thank you for coming back to dive deeper into the secrets of Plainwood and this Sinister Earth we live in. I had planned to give a rundown of the most prominent curiosity in this mountain village, the Hand Statue on 249 Riverside Road, but I was stopped short when I encountered a torn out journal entry lying on the street, right in between houses 249 and 251. I read through it, and fortunately, there is no information that may cause myself or others to be exposed and found by… other entities out there… That works out, because I would hate to have to redact such beautiful handwriting.

Wow. There’s a certain beauty about this place that I can’t really put my finger on. I knew this place was sparsely populated, but damn, it looks like it’s been straight up abandoned. There’s a fountain in the center of the road. It looks like it’s been dried up and frozen over for decades. There’s that river again. The one that looked me back in my face I didn’t know I had. I guess it runs all the way through this area and around the mountain. It’s a lot wider here than it was in the woods. In the center of the road there’s a circular town square—which I’m calling a “town squarcle” from now own. There’s a rickety bridge connecting this area to a bigger part of town, but it’s so old, I’m scared if I even set foot on it, it’s going to poof into dust. All the houses and buildings here are scattered around at different distances and angles, like someone accidentally dropped them all on the floor and hastily set them back up. Like a line of dominoes about to fall but too spaced out to make any actual chain reaction. Look at that flag up there. It’s barely hanging on by a thread. I’ve never seen purple on a flag before. Two yellow pins crisscrossing. I wonder what the symbolism is.

But even better, there it is, in all its beauty. I wish I were an artist, otherwise I would have been able to draw it. But you all didn’t raise me to draw—you raised me to use my words.

God, speaking of using my words, I just blurted out “Freaking finally!” when I saw it. I really hope no one was listening. God, please don’t embarrass me on my first day here. Everyone’s gonna hate me already and making a fool of myself won’t help.

It’s beautiful. 249 Riverside Road. The house isn’t much to look at. It’s old, it’s rotting, it’s decrepit, I feel like even the slightest nudge is gonna knock all of it down. But up there, way up there on the roof. Brooding over me like a perched raptor: it’s the statue. The statue of the left hand. It’s slightly opened, like it’s reaching out for something. Maybe my soul. That statue is the one thing I need, though. Without all of you here anymore, that warming embrace of this sinister symbol is all I’ll ever need anymore.

Aw, that’s cute, there’s a little placard outside the house.

249 Riverside Road, “The House with the Hand Statue”

Here stands a building we wish no one dares to enter,
For it represents a constant omen of the future
And an unhealing scar of the past

Hey, all it represents for me is the promise of a rewarding present!

Artists’ rendition of N███████ A██████, the author of this journal.

Hmm… the author of this journal seems to have a naive optimism that you just don’t find in people anymore. It reminds me of my younger days, when I had the same idealistic mentalities that led me to be found, taken in, and tortured by the Sinister Recluse. The note was signed by N███████ A██████. Sadly, that is the part that I do have to redact, to keep the author’s identity private, at risk of them being found as well. The most I can do is provide an artist’s interpretation of this author.

Today, a mysterious journal from a mysterious person. Next time, we explore the surface of a distressingly brooding statue. Until then, stay aware, my curious warriors.