BETWEEN STATION
The train station serving the town of Between. Daily, the Amtrak Capitol line moves between Chicago, Washington D.C., and Between, while the local commuter train runs through the West Virginia corridor. It’s said that sometimes the 2:13 a.m. train doesn’t appear on any schedule, and those who board it never seem to disembark on this side of the state line. The platform clock occasionally runs backward when the fog settles too thick—locals don’t wait there after midnight.
FOLKLIFE CENTER
Between’s civic center and heart of community life. A communal garden thrives around the property, fed by hands and magic alike. There are multiple spaces with multipurpose halls for gatherings, classes, and holiday events. The “How to Speak With the Fae” workshop still hasn’t had a full class since 2017—folks recognize a trap when they see one—but the pottery classes stay packed. The gardening hall smells faintly of rain even in drought, and sometimes music echoes from the closed-off hall with no one inside.
THE LIBRARY
Housed in a 19th-century courthouse, the Between Public Library boasts carved oak shelves and a small occult section that isn’t supposed to exist. The head librarian, Mrs. Carrow, keeps a ledger of books that never check back in—each one rumored to have chosen its new reader. There’s a trapdoor in the archive room that leads nowhere but offers cold air and whispers. On foggy mornings, you can see footprints leading from the children’s section to the front doors—bare, small, and wet.
MARTIAN'S STOP
The only gas station in town, located down from Starlight Mechanic. The locals call it Martian’s, though no one remembers if that’s the owner’s name or a warning. Inside, the greasy spoon diner shares space with shelves of road snacks and a handful of mismatched booths. The menu changes depending on who’s cooking; everything’s homemade, everything’s good. There’s a “photo wall” of blurry UFOs above the register and a strange green light that hums under the jukebox when storms roll through.
PIER'S MARKETPLACE
The only grocery store in town, owned by the same family since the 1930s. The produce is always local, the meat always fresh, and the bakery sells donuts for 0.80 cents each. Seasonal “International” sections appear like magic—nobody knows who stocks them, but last summer there were snacks labeled in languages no one could identify. Debbie Gross is still looking for the ramune and jarritos she found there last year. She says the bottles clinked in her pantry for three nights before she drank them. The Farmers Market is held in the adjacent lot between late spring and early fall—produce, crafts, and the occasional stranger selling “charms” that actually work.
POST OFFICE
A squat, gray building near the edge of town. The mail here runs on time—except on days when it doesn’t. Letters sometimes arrive with wax seals and no return address, or dates from the wrong decade. The dead receive mail as often as the living, and the postmaster keeps a quiet shelf in the back for packages that refuse to leave. If you drop a stamped envelope into the box at exactly 3:33 p.m., you’ll get a reply from whoever you were thinking of—whether they’re alive or not.
STARLIGHT MECHANIC
The only auto shop in town, respectfully run by George O’Doole, a man with more patience than most gods. He doesn’t ask what happened to your car, just fixes it and sends you on your way. Sometimes engines arrive with moss growing in the wiring or feathers under the hood and he doesn't care to know why or how. George claims the “Starlight” in the shop’s name came from a meteor that fell through the roof the night he opened—and yes, it is in the office and yes, it is still hot to the touch.
TOWN HALL & POLICE DEPT
The white-columned building downtown houses both the town’s administration and its law enforcement. The front half handles civic paperwork, permits, and complaints about raccoons (and raccoons in human form). The back half serves as the police precinct—small but efficient. Sheriff Haskins insists the holding cells don’t stay empty long, though it’s unclear if he means by prisoners or something else. The attic is locked tight, but footsteps echo above the ceiling during thunderstorms. The town seal carved over the door depicts two rivers, a crescent moon, and a six-fingered hand—no one remembers why.
TWO RIVERS CLINIC
The clinic handles basic surgeries, births, and emergencies before sending complex cases to Ashville by helicopter. The nurses here are steady and kind, though the night shift swears they hear soft singing from the empty recovery wing.
On the east end of the health facility, the Between Community Clinic follows a simple looped design—rooms and halls circling a quiet central core. Inside, the air smells faintly of antiseptic and mountain rain. There are two small waiting areas, twelve exam rooms, four consultation spaces, a pair of procedure rooms, three testing rooms, and a nurse’s station with a modest lab tucked behind frosted glass.
To the west, the pharmacy keeps its own hours. Locals appreciate the drive-up window beneath the tin canopy—open late, even when the clinic’s lights have gone dark. Some say the canopy rattles in windless weather, as though something unseen is still waiting to be served.
HOLLOW CHAPEL GROUNDS
Just past the town limits, the white-steepled Hollow Chapel stands amid leaning graves and whispering pines. No one remembers when the first stone was set—some claim the land was sacred long before the church. Hymns drift on windless days, and pale lights wander the slope at dusk like lanterns seeking their keepers. Funerals are still held here, but few linger. The forest feels too close, and the ground never quite still.
They say the bell tolls on its own when someone in Between is about to die.
AILIS FUNERAL HOME & CREMATORIUM
Located near the edge of town, Ailis Funeral Home is a white clapboard building with ivy creeping up its porch railings and wind chimes that never seem to stop moving. It’s owned and operated by Josiah Ailis, a soft-spoken man with a patience that feels centuries deep. Locals know he handles every service with dignity and grace—ashes returned on time, flowers always fresh, candles always burning low.
But odd things happen here. Lights flicker when no one’s in the hall. Fresh footprints appear in the ash garden after rain. Sometimes mourners swear they hear laughter from the embalming room or find coins left on their car dashboards after a visit. Folks chalk it up to grief—or to Josiah’s strange luck—but the old timers whisper he’s not entirely human, but that the Ailis place has always been kind to the dead.
PRIMARY & HIGH SCHOOL
Cradled in the ridge, Between’s school serves both the youngest and oldest of its students under one roof. The primary classrooms fill the first floor—bright, mural-painted halls that always smell faintly of crayons and cinnamon from the teacher’s lounge. The high school occupies the upper levels, where science labs hum, lockers rattle with gossip, and the art room windows look out toward the mountains.
The cafeteria is shared space, and somehow, the food is always good—fresh bread, real butter, hot meals made from scratch. No one goes hungry here, not even the kids who “forget” their lunch money. Teachers joke it’s the work of Miss Wren, the ghost of a beloved lunch lady who never left after passing in the early 90s. Her old key ring still jingles when the ovens start themselves, and every now and then, students find a note in looping handwriting tucked beside their tray:
“Eat up, sweetheart. You’re growing.”
EVERGREEN APARTMENTS
Perched on the mountain ridge, Evergreen Apartments offer modern comfort with old-town charm—updated interiors, polished wood floors, and sweeping views of Between’s valley below. But for all their shine, the halls hum with something older. Tenants mention faint music at midnight, pine and tobacco scents that never fade, and lights that flicker in empty rooms. Still, the rent’s fair, the view’s unmatched—and no one ever truly wants to move out.
GILDED NEST HOTEL
Perched at the mountain’s crown, The Gilded Nest Hotel gleams like a secret kept too well. Its elegant U-shaped design frames the endless blue-green sprawl of the Appalachians, where the air feels thinner, cleaner—almost enchanted. Guests swear time moves differently here: mornings linger in gold light, evenings hum with unseen music, and dreams arrive laced with wildflower scent. The service is impeccable, the atmosphere serene—though some say the hotel remembers its guests a little too well.
WBWV STATION
WBWV – 87.3 FM “The Voice of the Water & the Wind”
Perched on a leveled ridge 20 minutes up the mountainside, WBWV watches over Between like a silent lookout. From the station window, DJs can see storms forming in the valley before anyone below feels the first drop. It’s isolated. Too quiet. Every night—usually around 2:15 a.m.—the signal warps with the sound of animal footsteps, tags jingling, a distant bark or meow. Years ago, survey crews rediscovered what’s believed to be a small pet cemetery behind the station—stone markers sunken into moss, some washed off the mountain during the first flood, some clawed back open in the mudslide after. Officially, there are no graves up there. Unofficially, the crew at WBWV aren't afraid of the space they share with their unadoptable neighbors.
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Between is a neo-Appalachian horror-mystery about survival, secrecy, and the thin line between myth and memory. The town’s magic runs deep—but it’s watching who you let in.