Working Title: The Vault House
50k Goal Reached: 29 November
Final Word Count: TBD
Where you can find Ana'Gia: Website/Twitter/Facebook/Blog
The Vault House
The sign a few miles back read Killany Pointe but it wasn't like the hundreds of others I'd passed on my long and tiresome journey from my home in Canada to a place I hadn't seen in nearly 15 years. Those signs had been green and white, freshly painted and installed by some municipality with connections and resources to make things happen for the dwindling populations of their small towns. The one for Killany Pointe showed years of weather wear and neglect, the paint peeling beneath the force of the wind, clinging to the tattered remains of the splintering wood. After all of these years, and unlike those other signs, something about the placement of the letters still doesn't sit right with me.
I tried not to think about it as I continued my journey to a place I vowed to never return. Yet, something about that sign kept invading my mind. I knew what it was, the space between the "Kill" and the "any" an obvious indication of events long past in this place I once spent my summer vacations. The average passerby of the sign probably overlooked the intentional gap between the words, but I knew the truth, or at least a part of it.
Continuing down the freshly paved road surrounded by fields stretching out beyond the red glow of the horizon, I crossed the newly installed bridge. I crept passed the driveway leading to the home I'd claim as my own once everything was said and done. I hadn’t intended on stopping but like a moth drawn to a flickering flame I found hands turning to the side as I pulled off of the main road. My gaze locked on the massive structure standing like a tomb off in the distances. During the spring and summer months, the foliage gets so thick that only those who know the house exists ever pay attention to the darkened spot hiding among the trees dotted with new leaves and shrouded by canopy of moss. As fall approaches though, and the limbs give way to the bareness of winter, the place hidden from unsuspecting eyes reveals itself.
I climbed from my vehicle and lean against the roof of the car. The draw of the darkened house in the distance is undeniable. It’s almost as if it’s beaconing me, calling me home after a long trying absence.
"Stay away from that house young one. It is not for you."
The trance of the house broken, I turned to find an older woman perched in a rocking chair on the porch of the house across the street.
"Excuse me?" I reply before checking both directions and darting across the street.
The woman raised her obviously weary body as I approached. I’d been away so long most people this town had forgotten that my Nana had a daughter, much less a granddaughter gut the closer I got the greater the woman’s unease. She stopped at the top stair of the porch to meet this visitor to their humble town only retreating when I’m close enough to see the fear masking her face. When I stop at the bottom stair, the distance between us no longer allowing her mind to convince itself that I wasn’t who she knew I was her mouth dropped open.
"What's wrong with the house?" I asked, keeping the minute distance between us hoping not to scare her any more than she already was.
"You're one of them..." the old woman managed. “Stay away from me... You must leave this place...Now..." Backing away she rushed into the house slamming the front door behind her.
For a moment, I watched the woman watching me through a tiny slit in the curtains to the right of the door. First the sign, now this woman, this transition was getting more interesting and scarier with each breath. Realizing that the woman wasn't coming back out, I retraced my steps, crossing the street to stop at my vehicle.
Again the foreboding structure captured my attention drawing me in with some unspoken chant. The blaring of a horn jerked me from the spell. I jumped pressing my body against the car to keep from being hit by a vehicle speeding down the main road leading into the heart of Killany Pointe. I really need to get moving. With one last glance I climbed into the car, started the engine and pulled out onto the now deserted highway to handle some business before becoming reacquainted with my new home.
The little town of Killany Pointe was much like I remembered it. Open fields still line the newly paved stretch of road from my grandmother's home to within city limits. My Nana had said that recently the town had begun to awakening from centuries of shush and seclusion. A large area of granite stretched from one end of the town to the other and beyond and it brought in big business. If you can call quarry blasting at all hours during the day, bull dozers and dump trucks tramping through this once peaceful oasis big business.
I hurried past the construction entrance of the largest quarry in town and took a left at the first of three traffic lights. The line of shanty town buildings on Main Street comprised of a post office, drug store and grocery store which carried everything from fresh fruit to a hefty stash of old man Wilkerson's moonshine appears deserted though this is the height of after work shopping time. Still I continue down the narrow two lane road with parallel parking spots in front of the sparsely populated buildings making up the court house-jail-city hall complex.