A quiet mild-mannered man by day, Jon Watters soon learned of the existence of another, more explosive personality that broiled beneath, waiting for the right time to emerge upon the world, like an 18-foot crocodile poised inches below the African Serengeti’s edge. Wildebeest wild nights would succumb to the thousand-psi bonecrush his vice jaw could inflict upon the good times. Tiers.
All would love Tiers in his heyday, except for three: Watters himself, his faithful Jenn and the State of Massachusetts, all of whom were charged with pacifying the warpath of this tornado wrapped in human form. Years passed, and the appearance of Tiers shone fewer and farther between, until many regarded the very existence of Tiers as myth, the stuff legends are made of. Soon even these fables were forgotten and none uttered the name “Tiers” anymore.
And all was right in their quaint Hanover town…
But little did Jenn, Watters or the Great Bay State know, this–the emergence, the emergency rooms, the James Taylor concerts and so on until He finally retreated to the recesses of his mind–was part of the wily Tiers’ plan, from the beginning. He would strike at the perfect moment. A moment created painstakingly by the effect of a long drawn out plan… when all the world was convinced that He did not exist.