Excerpt: Not sure yet

This story begins in the town of Hampton, the southern most town in all the world. At the bottom of New Zealand, the wild Antarctic breeze blew through the streets a feeling of brooding possibility.
I came to Hampton as a small boy, stocky and timid in form and personality, sent by my parents further south for the benefit of my health in a colder climate. I stayed with my Auntie and Uncle in a small, ugly but modern house on the shores of the sea. Out my window was a view of gaping solitude, as the freezing New Zealand waters broke quickly onto the golden sands.
Hampton, compared to my former experience, was a stuffy and slow town. The families that lived there had lived many generations in seclusion from the modern world, and had slowly built on their caricatures without the binds of public scrutiny. This was mainly to do with the isolation that prevailed the town. They were further south than anybody cared to go, and lack of need or want meant their roads had never been sealed.
My relative’s house was an elderly person’s house. It smelled of anesthetic and cream corn. I spent most of my days reading the long boring books they kept in her bookcases and counting the pattern on the wallpaper. At first, the town served as no entertainment to my young and inquisitive mind, that was until I found the Walkers.