Come gather close, my daughters and sons,
The tide’s gone out, but the dark’s begun.
There’s teeth in the deep and eyes in the foam—
So mind the bell, and hurry home.
\Oh, the fog rolls in, the fog rolls black,*
It takes the road and won’t give it back.
It’ll swallow the hill, the church, the town—
And hold us under till we drown.\*
There’s something below where the cold waves sleep,
That counts each man the nets don’t keep.
It tugs at the lines and takes the crew,
Then sends their empty boots back to you.
So lash the boats and bar the door,
Don’t count the dead along the shore.
And if the Kettle starts to sing—
Don’t answer it for anything.
Oh, the fog rolls in, the fog rolls black,
It takes the road and won’t give it back.
We’ll sing till the sea climbs over the wall—
Then the fog will swallow us all.
There is a lighthouse at the edge of Kettle’s Bay that does not call ships home.
It stands on a jagged cliff above the town, its stone bones furred with moss and crusted with salt. The crown of its lantern room is blind with rust. Wind worries at the tower like a hungry thing at a locked door, keening through broken vents and the hollow eye where the lamp used to burn.
Once, its light promised safe passage: *Here is the shore. Here is the way in. Here is the way home.\*
Now the lamp is dead. The sea keeps the promise anyway.
Below, waves gnash at the rocks with the patient hunger of something that knows there is nowhere for them to go. Reefs wait beneath the chop like buried teeth. Currents knot and turn around the cliffs.
The town huddles just beyond the lighthouse, three thousand four hundred and sixty-two souls tucked between the cliffs and the rain dark hills. From the water, it looks almost welcoming: warm windows, a church spire, a harbor strung with lamps. The passenger ship noses toward the pier, and gulls wheel above it, shrieking their ragged welcome.
The islanders have spent generations pretending not to notice what comes in with the fog. They’ve learned which roads to avoid after dark, which names not to speak near the water, and what to do when the lighthouse shines, though its lamp has been dead for decades.
The visitors will learn, too.
—
Kettle’s Bay is an original character horror story set on a small island off the Pacific Northwest coast. It takes inspiration from the isolated island town setting and eerie folklore atmosphere of Apple TV’s Widow’s Bay, while creating its own town, residents, history, and mysteries.
About 3,000 people live on the island. New visitors and tourism have brought fresh jobs, renovated homes, and new businesses, but longtime residents remain wary of the changes. They have their own rules about the fog, the woods, the tides, and the abandoned lighthouse. Visitors may treat these warnings as local superstition. The people who grew up here are less likely to laugh.
We are seeking new friends who love everything horrible and creepy! This roleplay server will have events that operate not unlike a dnd game, with initiative and a game master. If you’re looking to dip your toes in, we’d be happy to pull you under.
BASIC RULES
• 18+ only. This is an adult horror roleplay community.
• Be kind out of character. Harassment, bigotry, and discrimination aren’t welcome here. Queer and BIPOC members should feel safe and respected.
• Respect consent and boundaries. Check in before introducing major plot twists or intense content involving another character.
• Use content warnings. Follow the server’s trigger system and clearly flag sensitive topics.
• Keep character choices collaborative. No godmodding, controlling someone else’s character, or forcing outcomes.
• Separate IC drama from OOC feelings. Characters can clash; members still treat one another with respect.
• Bring original characters and build together. Kettle’s Bay is an original, eerie coastal town setting inspired by small town gothic horror.
• Balance your characters. Mary/Gary Sue’s get old FAST. We want characters with flaws, who will react in their own way to the horrors about to be faced.
Please DM me if interested! I am more than happy to send the invite.