I didn’t start Route 666 knowing it would become the beginning of a series.

At the time, it was a question more than a plan; about what happens when a road stops being just a road. When a place accumulates enough history, enough belief, enough unspoken fear that it starts shaping the people who pass through it.

I was less interested in shock than in proximity. In how evil doesn’t always announce itself, but waits until it’s close enough to feel ordinary. Familiar. Easy to ignore.

That book taught me something important about horror: it works best when it feels rooted. When the threat isn’t abstract or distant, but tied to a location you could plausibly drive past without noticing anything wrong at all.

Looking back, Route 666 wasn’t about answers.

It was about opening a door and realizing it didn’t close behind you.

Some roads only matter once you’ve already started down them.