About a week ago, all four of my children and my daughter's boyfriend were involved in a serious car accident caused by another driver. Thankfully, they all survived, but they each suffered serious injuries and have a long recovery ahead.

Right now, my focus is on getting them through these first hard months. I’m still here, and I’ll be getting projects wrapped up and new work moving forward as soon as I’m able.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everyone's patience and understanding. It means more than you probably realize. Thanks for sticking with me and I will get things moving as soon as I can. 

The fields lie quiet now—rows of corn, long dead, lean brittle in the wind. The soil is cracked and pale, its richness stolen by drought and the hands of men who asked too much of it. But the land remembers. It remembers the blood spilled in its hollows, the prayers whispered in its woods, and the stories etched into its hills. It remembers the people too—those who dug into its veins for coal, who tilled its dirt with calloused hands, and who broke themselves against its unyielding beauty. And the land is speaking again, though its words are not kind.

In the hollows of Appalachia, where fog rolls like smoke, a man digs up bones that refuse to stay buried. On the edge of a New England fishing village, a woman sees lights in the waves, blinking like eyes. Across the dust-stricken Midwest, scarecrows walk the fields at night, their movements stiff and unnatural. And in the swamps of the South, the air is heavy with the sound of chains rattling beneath the water.

The Great Depression has stripped America to its bones, and in those bones, something stirs. The land, hungry and forgotten, has called forth its stories one last time—a reckoning woven from the soil, the rivers, and the ruins. This is not a world of legends retold; this is the land itself rising to remind its people that it has never forgotten them.

The doors are about to close.

This is your last chance to step inside The House at the End of the Lane—a bleak, surreal haunted house TTRPG steeped in dread, decay, and whispered regrets. Inspired by House of Leaves, The Haunting of Hill House, and Silent Hill, this is not just a game—it’s an experience—a eulogy written in dust.

Thanks to your incredible support, we are close to funding this strange and beautiful project. But there's still time for one final push—

 One more guest. One more story. One more secret waiting to be uncovered.

If you’ve been watching from the shadows, now is the time.

If you’ve already backed—thank you. Spread the word, invite your friends, and let’s make sure no one is left behind.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/363163316/the-house-at-the-end-of-the-lane

We’ll leave a candle in the window.

Games from the Back Porch – Live at 9PM Eastern

Pull up a chair and hang out with the Kids in the Attic crew tonight at 9PM EST for our first Games from the Back Porch live chat on Discord!

We’ll be talking tabletop games, behind-the-scenes projects, upcoming releases, and whatever else comes up while the porchlight’s burning. It’s casual, creative, and just a good time with friends.