Small New Hampshire towns each have their own personality. Branford Falls is no exception. Our Main Street is that of an idyllic, magnificent village. Scraping the surface a bit exposes the variety of personalities and problems found in every small town. However, during one particular Christmas season fifteen years ago something horrible and impossible scraped back. Hard to believe then. Harder to believe now.
This novel which I simply call Branford Falls, when first conceived, was intended to be a tongue in cheek fantasy with a horrible realism drifting through it. It was intended to be fun for its inhabitants. I live there, so I began writing it to poke fun at them as they would expect me to do. As it grew without their knowledge, something else began to happen in our little town. Folks began to say silly things such as, “It can’t happen. It’s impossible. It can’t happen here. So why is it happening?”
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