It all began in the water, pure speed, inducing a tidal wave like wake that blocked out the sun. A town thrown into pure darkness where a blind tumble over the curb was a daily occurrence. Walking into the bookstore thinking you were there to pick up a rotisserie chicken for your family dinner happened more than once a sunday and getting to the bank before close was about as easy as mowing your lawn with a plastic fork. 

A sudden crash and the sun poured across the town once again, only to notice Dookie Marchand had been thrown from his jetski to his eternal slumber. His wake was more of a ceremony of bugs as the townspeople had gone back to their daily lives. Every few Sundays a loud roar reminiscent of Dukey’s jetski rumbles through the trees, sending chills down people’s spines dreading the day that he will wake. The Wake will rise!