Gina Ranalli - House of Fallen Trees

“It’s not that bad, really,” Rory said. “Just needs some fairly minor repairs throughout the house. New paint in every room. It’s mostly the road up that needs the most work. No one has used it in something like thirty years so it’s completely overgrown. A bunch of trees have fallen across it that need to be removed. Stuff like that.”

“That’s why it’s hard to get to, huh?”

“That would be why, yep.”

“Could be a benefit once we open the joint though,” Saul said. “If you want privacy, it’s definitely the place to be.”

“Yeah,” Rory agreed. “You won’t find anywhere more private than in there.”

“Sounds like the perfect writer’s retreat,” Karen said, voicing her earlier thoughts.

She saw Rory look in the rearview mirror and exchange a glance with Saul. Then he said, “Well, when we’re all settled and open up, you’re more than welcome to come stay with us.”

“Be quite a trek from New York, though,” Saul said.

“Boston,” Rory told him. “She’s from Boston.”

“Right. Boston. Hey, I was close. I got the coast right.”

Rory looked at Karen briefly. “Everyone out here thinks the whole East Coast is New York. You’ll get used to it.” She laughed and reached for a water bottle for a sip. Saul had made sure each of them had received one before vacating his house.

“That’s okay,” she said, recapping the bottle. “When people back East think of the West Coast, it’s pretty much just California they’re thinking of. California and earthquakes.”

As they drove, the more woodsy their surroundings became. The houses and businesses became fewer until there were none visible from the road.

Saul leaned forward, poking his head out from between the front seats. “Spooky, huh?” Karen nodded, watching the trees as they sped by. They seemed to grow taller and thicker the further they went, just as the day around them grew more gloomy, a thick white fog settling across the land.

“The incline isn’t enough to notice,” Rory said, “But we’re climbing in elevation.”

“Is it always like this?” she asked.

“Only about nine months out of the year,” Rory replied in such a tone that Karen was unsure if he was joking or not.

“Wow,” she said.

“Just be thankful it’s not raining,” Saul said. “Yet.”

Karen knew the Northwest was known for its drenching winters, but she didn’t mind the rain as much as most people did. Most days she found it soothing and enjoyed writing while listening to the rain and wind pelting her windows and roof. She also liked going to sleep to the sound of rain, but she was uncertain of how she’d react to months upon months with no sunshine in sight. She supposed even the biggest rain lover might find it tedious and depressing after a while.

“They say the Northwest has the highest suicide rate in the country,” Saul said.

Rory groaned. “Don’t go telling her shit like that, Saul.” To Karen he said, “In case you haven’t noticed, Saul is a bit of a gloomy Gus.”

“Hey, it’s a fact,” Saul said. “The world can be an ugly place, especially when people are involved.”

Karen kept her mouth shut, uncertain of how to take that statement. Rory shook his head in dismay. It was clear he had heard it all before and was getting bored with it.

They traveled in silence for several miles, the woods around them growing in density, the fog not dissipating in the slightest. After a long while, Saul spoke from the backseat again, his voice low. “You should tell her about the house, Rory.”

Rory frowned, shifted in his seat, and said nothing.

Karen silently counted to ten before asking, “What about the house?”

Sighing, Rory leaned forward, clicked on the radio. He searched the airwaves for nearly a minute trying to find something that wasn’t static. Frustrated, he snapped if off again. “The house has a bit of an ugly history,” he said abruptly, waving his right hand dismissively. “Ancient history. Nothing to worry about.”

“Unless you ask some of the locals,” Saul put in.

Glancing over his shoulder, Rory’s eyes shot daggers into the backseat at his friend. He faced front again, his expression grim. “Yeah, some of the locals can be a little whacko sometimes.”

“Whacko how?” Karen asked.

“They believe in curses,” Saul said. “For starters. They never wanted anyone to buy that old house and they’ve been giving Rory a lot of shit for it. I’m surprised they haven’t tried to burn the place down, actually.”

“They probably would,” Rory stated. “If they weren’t afraid the whole forest would go up with it.”

“Most of them won’t even go up there.”

“Well,” Karen said. “You said it was a long hike.”

“These aren’t the kind of people who are afraid of long walks in the woods,” Rory said. “They just hate the house.”

“Even though none of them are old enough to have even been alive when…when what happened, happened.” Saul was starting to sound a little spooked himself. “They just know the stories their grandparents told them.”

Karen waited patiently to hear the stories, but both men had fallen silent. She chewed her lip for a while before blurting, “Well, what happened?”

Rory cleared his throat and said, “Good job bringing this up, Saul. Appreciate it.”

“Hey, I was just making conversation,” Saul replied.

Karen said, “You guys are gonna make me run around this tiny town asking the locals about it? What, is it supposed to be haunted or something?”

“Or something,” Rory said. “It’s the guy that built it back in 1866. He was…a little…how should I put this delicately?”

“He was a sick bastard,” Saul jumped to the rescue. “Really fucked in the head.”

“Well, that was delicate,” Rory groaned.

Karen laughed. “Sick, huh? Like, how? Sacrificing virgins? Goats? Praying to the devil? Thinking he was the devil?”

Rory glanced at her sideways.

She shrugged. “Hey, I write fiction and I’ve seen a lot of horror movies.”

“Well…” he replied, before trailing off.

“Kind of,” Saul said. “I mean, something like that.”

“A devil worshipper?” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice. “That’s all you got for me?”

Neither of them responded as the Jeep approached a crossroads and Rory made a left turn.

“It’s all nonsense,” he said at last. “Just a bunch of folks telling ghost stories to keep their kids from wandering into the woods to smoke weed or get laid or whatever it is that kids do these days.”

“Drink beer,” Saul added helpfully.

“Yeah, drink beer,” Rory repeated, turning his head towards Karen and nodding in agreement.

She thought about this for a moment before responding. “But, Saul said they’re giving you a hard time for buying the place. That sounds like more than people just wanting to put a scare into their kids.”

“I don’t know,” Rory said, sounding frustrated. “Maybe they think opening the B&B will give the kids a destination.”

She nodded silently, but didn’t believe him. She knew there was more to the story than what Rory was telling but decided to let it go for now. She didn’t want to upset the guy and besides, she was only here to check out where her brother had been; nothing more. She had no real notion of actually estimating the value of the old house or anything like that. She couldn’t have cared less about Sean’s handwritten will, to the point where it never even occurred to her to ask to see it. All she wanted was to feel close to her brother one last night, put the nightmares to rest, if that was possible. See through his eyes if she could.