Bayside Backstory - Welcome to Pleasantville

Bayside City – just your typical sunny oceanside neighborhood.  One would think anyway. Home to The Vanderbuilt, the city’s most posh dining destination where social influencers brush shoulders with the social elite, where townies come to write their next big hit for the big screen.  Where parents come to hide from their kids, where the nannies do the same.  It’s where the ex-frat, ex-military, current cops come to down the finest bottles of whatever their favorite poison is… on the city’s dime, one might add.  Where herds of sexy twenty somethings stop after endless sun, surf and sand.

But most importantly, its where slogs like me come to work day and night to afford to live amongst the socially delusio— superior.  I’m Belle.  I’m here to show you around.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  Belle, don’t be such a downer.  I’m not, I promise you.  But while everyone is picking their favorite selfie filter, there’s something legit sinister going on here.  No, I’m not talking about the deranged serial killer on the loose or the fact that the entire city is on a witch hunt for them.  That’s not what keeps me up at night.
You see, no one can quite figure out Bayside’s history.  How old the original city is.  Who its founder was.  Sure, the Vanderbuilt family came and developed things, tore down the slums, imported some palm trees but did they know who they were buying the city from?  Some of us were here long before them and wonder ourselves.

You see… come in closer.  I really shouldn’t be telling you this. Plenty of us have no idea how we got here.  I know… what are you even talking about Belle?  I’m serious though.  We were just here.  Our entire lives, homes, cars, medical records were all just here but our memory of any of that – woosh.  Now, there are those who travelled here, some passing by and liked the view, decided to stay types.  But for those like me, who just… I don’t know, appeared, things aren’t so simple.

I don’t know how you got here, and I won’t pry.  But I will tell you, everyone who appeared isn’t as open as I am.  No one wants anyone to know.  I don’t entirely know why.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we can’t leave.  Oh yeah, the appeared… we can’t leave.  We get to the city’s boarder and its like hitting a wall.  You know, if walls could wrap their slimy hands around your insides and yank you back.

I know I said I wouldn’t pry, but if you don’t remember anything before this moment right now or maybe you do but you have no idea how you got here, don’t try to leave.  Landed myself a week at the clinic last time I tried.  People claim its witchcraft.  Some think its voodoo.  You look close enough, you’ll see them practicing.

Some claim the Vanderbuilts are actually the Ayles family, one of the most notorious witch families that have ever existed.  The ones who cursed us to this city.  You know, if you believe in that sort of thing. Some really believe that they’re either reincarnated or just returned.

​But what would I know?  I’m just your neighborhood bartender.  But if you think the city’s perfection isn’t just a façade.  You’ll see, it’s one hell of a good cover.