Yet again, I’m posting this while most of the people in America are asleep. Ha, classic Claire...
We are officially here in Oregon, just outside of Infected Town, in the little motel. I know, it took a bit longer than I expected to be able to leave San Francisco. Blake had a hard time getting days off work and I loved exploring the city.
I started getting restless a couple days ago, though. I really wanted to get back to the town. I had dreams about it, like it was calling me. In the dreams the sun shone brightly and everyone was smiling - and not in a forced, monstrous way. There was laughter and the people felt like family. You know how, in dreams, if you meet your brother or parents, they might not physically look like them, but you know they’re your family? Like that. It felt lovely in the moment, but when I’d wake up I’d feel sick, unnerved. Lied to. The town is no good, so why is my subconscious trying to make it seem positive?
Anyway, I started pressuring Blake to get going, backed up by Heather, who is interested to see whether or not I’m making shit up. I thought about just driving back there by myself, but I’m also not an idiot. Finally, Blake got some days off, and we set off when schedules allowed.
People keep asking for the town name, or coordinates, or some details as to where it is. I really don’t feel comfortable telling you. I apologize for that. For one thing, I’m currently here and I don’t love the idea of a bunch of strangers knowing my exact location (however friendly and awesome you seem over the internet). For another, I don’t like the idea of endangering people who try to visit the town. I regret even bringing Blake and Heather into this, even though I told them about it before I knew how serious it is. And, to be brutally honest, part of me wants to be the only one with access. At least until I get some answers. I feel like a shithead for it, but that’s the truth. Sorry, really I am.
We didn’t get to the town until after it was dark, and everyone was tired from the long drive. Heather wanted to just stop at the hotel, but I was eager to do some exploring. Blake, voice of reason, said it was too fucking dark, don’t be reckless Claire. We compromised by taking a drive into town, with the understanding that we wouldn’t get out of the car.
“Shit…” Blake said, as soon as we crossed the bridge, leaning forward to get a look at our surroundings.”You weren’t fuckin’ kidding about that watched feeling.”
It was true. Prickling up the back of my neck. Eyes from all directions. I glanced at Heather in the backseat. She’d gone completely stiff and pressed herself right up against the window, eyes darting in all directions.
I pointed out the apartment building to them as we drove past it, hoping Blake would want to stop and check it out. He didn’t. I looked up to that third floor window, the one on the right that had been filled in on that little note. It didn’t look any different from the others. I slowed the car to a crawl, craning my head to look at the building.
A movement in a window on the fourth floor caught my attention, but it might have been my imagination. I squinted. Was someone standing by that window? It was hard to tell in the distance and the dark, but for a moment I thought I saw a shadow move behind the moldy glass…
Suddenly Blake yelled and grabbed the wheel from me, yanking it hard to the right. Heather and I screamed as we were jerked by the car’s movement. We were only going maybe 15 mph but I slammed on the brakes, my heart pounding.
“What?! What?!”
Blake laughed in relief, slumping back into his seat, passing a hand over his face. “A cat,” he said, still laughing. “A fucking cat just shot across the road.” He rubbed his eyes.
Heather smacked the back of his head and admonished him on pulling the wheel from the driver. I punched his shoulder gently. He argued that without his excellent reflexes we would have hit the kitty. I was very glad we hadn’t. Heather, half-joking, asked if the cat looked moldy or weird-looking. Blake said no, he was pretty sure it was just a regular cat. I assume it’s feral, since we haven’t seen any people whatsoever. We got to laughing nervously as we continued our drive.
I think I mentioned this in one of my previous updates, but many houses that we passed had their doors hanging wide open - gaping holes into dark interiors. It was a chilling image, the mockery of a safe, welcoming community. “Come in,” the houses seemed to say.
I could feel Blake getting antsy beside me, his fingers twitching. He has the explorer’s bug, too, and these residences were so easy. You could just stroll right inside and pick through the remains of people’s lives. Didn’t even have to force a door or climb in a window. Easy. And curiosity was killing me.
I turned on a side street I hadn’t driven down before, looking for lights or signs of human presence. Nada. In one side yard a laundry line stretched between the house and the fence. Clothing still hung on it, ragged and weathered by the elements. Dusty cars were parked in dusty driveways - one had the hood up, a collection of tools scattered on the ground. Kid’s bikes lay on lawns. All the grass was either dead or knee height.
“It’s so weird,” Heather said. “Like everyone just up and left at once.”
“Maybe the town was evacuated,” Blake said, then affected his voice into something vaguely North Eastern. “‘Coal fire still burning underground, you know? Breath enough of those fumes, oh, bound to kill ya.’” I laughed. He’d quoted one of the horror movies (and games) that had bonded us when we first met. I love that shit, but I doubt mining fires or Red Pyramid Things have anything to do with this place (luckily).
“We should leave,” Heather said shakily. Scaredy-cat. Sighing, I agreed and took a right turn, then another right to go back the way I’d come. Upon rounding the corner, however, I slammed on the brakes again.
Two people were shuffling down the sidewalk away from us. Out for a stroll, maybe... at eleven at night. One of them had a sweatshirt on over a dirty dress, the hood pulled up over her head (I assume it was a woman). She was barefoot with pale skinny legs. The other person was a tall, dark haired man in a leather jacket. He had his arm around the girl’s shoulders, huddling her close. They moved very slowly.
It didn’t take them long to notice us. The man turned when my headlights hit his back, saw our car, and pulled the girl quickly with him, heading towards the shadows between the houses and trees. I didn’t see much of his face, and none of hers, shadowed by the hood.
She limped along, jerkily, almost as if her limbs weren’t cooperating or her legs were numb, but she clearly wasn’t moving fast enough for him. Just before reaching the treeline he scooped her into his arms bridal style and ran away. He was a spry one.
I drove around the block, trying to intercept them, but they didn’t come out again. Blake firmly refused to go look for them on foot in the dark, and I knew he was right. We don’t have weapons. They might. Heather demanded we get out of the town for the night.
I headed back towards the bridge, mind buzzing. Who is living here? Are they transients or someone we know - Jess, Liz, Alan?
I saw enough of the place on this drive through to quell any suspicions that this town is still functional. It’s not. It has all the trappings of abandonment, except it isn’t old and there are still people here. I’ve heard of people staying in evacuated towns, out of desperation or pride or a combination of both. I find the concept unnerving.
Nothing of note happened on the way back to the motel, except this: I opened my window shortly before crossing the bridge. I was confident that we were home free and I really wanted a smoke. It took me a moment to notice anything was off, but Blake sensed it almost as soon as I did. He rolled down his window, too, leaning his head out.
Yes, the air smelled like mold. We knew that before. But what I hadn’t noticed on my previous visit was how quiet this place was. I stopped the car on the bridge and we listened. No insects chirping, no window blowing, no rustling of the countless trees around us or gush of water from below. For a moment I felt like I was sitting in a vacuum.
Then Blake put his hand on my hand, glanced back to Heather, and whispered “Go,” with an intense look in his eye. I accelerated.
When we got back to the motel and got settled, Blake and I met for a cigarette in the parking lot. Heather was taking a shower in her and Blake’s room, which he said was a good thing.
“I didn’t want to scare her,” he said. “She’s really freaked out by this whole thing. She’s not sure she wants to go back.”
“Well, we are, right?” I asked. He smiled.
“Of course, Claire-tron. I’m as interested as you. But I don’t think you should tell her what I’m about to tell you. And I don’t want you flipping your shit, either.”
“Well I am one to flip my shit.” This was an example of “sarcasm.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. Then he got all Blake-nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and looking everywhere, with kind of an angry or intense expression. I demanded to know what was up, what had him so jumpy.
“Okay,” he said. “So when we were stopped on the bridge, listening? I looked at the railing. You know, of the bridge. And there was something, like, on it.”
“What something?”
“It had to be some kind of plant or something. Some kind of moss. But it freaked me out because what it looked like… was a hand. White hand, really boney, holding on to the railing. Like someone was hanging off the side of the bridge.”
That gave me chills. We hadn’t seen anything dangling from the bridge on approach, but we hadn’t been looking and the angle might have prevented it anyway. I told him I was freaked out to even go to my own room, and he shrugged.
“I think we’ve been reading those fucking stories to much. They got in my head. It was probably just a tree branch.”
“A hand shaped tree branch.”
“Crazier things, right?”
All the same, he stayed up with me when Heather fell asleep and we wrote this. So that’s where we are. Mold. An abandoned town that’s not quite abandoned. People dangling off bridges. It just keeps getting weirder.
We’ll keep you posted.
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Credits
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