#locations

I quickly walked through the cabin, making sure everything was nice and tidy, just right. I’ve gotten pretty good at getting the whole cabin clean in less than a day. After a quick alignment of the magazines on the coffee table, the place was perfect. Penny would have been proud.

The body hasn’t even gone cold and the police already called for her. The desperation in the officer’s voice on the other end of the line was a far cry from the usual belittling tone she’s met with. “Solomon’s Hotel. Body fitting all your criteria. Please be quick.”

02-10-2012

The police radio buzzed with static. “We got a double homicide reported at city lake. Any units in the area go check it out.”

People always have pondered what another intelligent being would be like. They’ve always theorized that these beings would be light years away and that us, humans, would be dead a very long time before we ever made contact with them. Other people say that they have already met them after being abducted and experimented on. Then some will say that we are the only intelligent being there are or ever will be. Well, I can say one thing for sure and that’s no one was right. We were all so very wrong…

I was on a business trip about a year ago and I had to drive from Denver to LA. It was a long drive and I was growing tired of the road, so I stopped at the Holiday Inn hotel that was nearby. I walked up to the desk and rung the bell. Just seconds later, a man came out from the back room. "Hello sir, my name is John Shelby," the man said, "How can I assist you?" "I'm looking for a room," I replied, "Are there any available?"

I watched as my father coughed and wheezed himself into an early grave. Every breath sounded as though his lungs were densely packed with small stones. He lay on the floor, naked aside from a thin blanket, and did only two things: cough and sleep. By spring, he had found his way deep within the West Virginia earth. My daddy was a coal miner, like his daddy, and his daddy before him.

Melinda hated driving at night. She did her best to avoid it. Short trips to the store if she just realized she ran out of tampons or had nothing for dinner after getting home; that sort of thing happened now and then. But she did her best not to go out after dark unless someone was coming to pick her up. So, naturally, she found herself on the longest drive of her life tonight, with no moon, few stars, swirling clouds above her, and acres of forest on either side.

There resides a local legend in Salem, Alabama. One tucked far away in the corner of rural America, far off the beaten path, and far from even the middle of nowhere. A legend that rears its head only once a year: Pope's Haunted Farm.

I huffed and puffed under my breath as I stared into God’s Mouth. I felt like the Big Bad Wolf ready to interrupt the innocent little pigs as they hurriedly fortified their makeshift homes. I grinned at this thought and then turned my head to look for Margaret. She was a couple of feet down the hill from the entrance of the cave, holding a walking stick close to her petite breasts. “Hurry up!” I called down to her. I turned back to the cave, still grinning. An old, rotted sign outside read…

They say that these woodlands contain the path to paradise itself. It has been a long way to reach these mythical gardens, my knees are scraped and bloodied from the various thorns nipping at my legs along the path. Snakes and sirens were attempting to seduce me with their hypocrisy, but I refused to heed their calling. I was a pure at heart, unspoiled by all temptation and evil.

“What’s up with her, Sammy?” Steven grunted, puffing on his half-burned cigarette.

I didn’t really like either of the sons-of-bitches. The only problem was I was married to Ed. At thirty years old, I’d gone from Sharon Wilson to Sharon Wam. I know. Changing to such a silly last name was only an awful beginning to an awful marriage. Unlike me, Ed didn’t like going out much. He much preferred to drink at our little house on East University Street. The married months weren’t kind to us. Ed’s curly golden hair was always a mess, his good-looking face hindered by constant anger.

I was driving down the highway to nowhere; I call it that because I haven’t seen a single thing for the past 3 hours. I was getting quite tired; I was bound to come across a rest stop eventually. Instead I stumbled upon a large metal gate with lanterns lit in the distance; I parked my car outside the gate and got out of the car. It said something above the gate but I couldn’t make out the words because they have faded away. Beyond this gate was a mildly lit building, it looked like a hospital…

-DATE CROSSED OUT-

I was seven when I moved into that house at Ashbrooke Lane. At least that’s what my parents tell me. My recollection of that time is vague. I have memories of the big tree on our lawn, running round the garden with the boy next door, and I remember sitting on the living room floor playing with my He-Man figures. But my most vivid memories are of the recurring nightmares.

Hands raised above his head, none could bear witness to his holy tunic. Dust filled light peered from the stained glass windows, blocking the view of the not yet holy. I could make out his holiness’s silhouette and his robe’s red shine from the ethereal glow. The floor became wet with the tears of those who stood at the pews, hands raised as did their holiness. Their eyes were a squint, but their teeth would break under the pressure of their smiles. Some reached for it, some hid from it, some…

It was 2:31 a.m. exactly; I remember that from glancing at the clock on my nightstand just before I grabbed the revolver from beneath my mattress. My girlfriend, Ashlyn, was startled by some noises she’d been hearing from the kitchen, so she woke me up to check it out. “Cullen, there’s something in the kitchen!” I remember her whispering to me, like whatever it was would hear us. I let out a sigh, and, not sure what to expect, I crept downstairs, my weapon ready.

Late one night about ten months ago, I found myself rushing my daughter to the hospital. I remember the morning. What time I woke up, the food I ate, and the sound of my girl’s voice yelling “See ya, daddy!” as she ran out the door to catch her school bus.

There was three of us that night; James, Daniel and I. We had spent an entire month planning our Holiday in the Hoia-Baciu Forest. We've read stories, upon stories regarding the paranormal shit that has occurred within the locality, and we somehow considered it a fascinating idea to venture out there as a camp-out experiment. I was nervous nevertheless, but it didn't intimidate me whatsoever, and there was also three of us. Nothing could go wrong... as I thought.