Powell River, 1975. The mill whistle keeps time. The other whistle counts.
Five boys know the rules. Keep to Marine Avenue. Do not cross the foremen. Be home before the siren. Then the dreams begin. A hallway that smells of bleach and river. A steel door stamped BOOM ROOM. Chalk tallies where no hand has touched. Every morning the proof is waiting, cold and real.
Salt circles fail. A cassette recorder hears what ears cannot. A brass payroll tag heats in a pocket. Following a map hidden in wood grain and rumor, the boys slip into the welded drains beneath the high school and find a door that breathes. Names the town forgot live down there, men taken by pulp and by ledger, and the count wants more.
The mill staggers. Fog-slick streets fill with shift lines that are not quite human. Friendship is the only thing that holds. To break the tally they must drag the haunting into the open and make the river look back, before the next number spoken is theirs.
A coastal gothic about loyalty, secrecy, and the debts a mill town pays in the dark.