Secret Eyes (5)

Traveling atop the huge expanse of granite was a little like exploring another planet, maybe even the moon. Small water filled craters sprouted spindly moss-like growth and pale green lichen made a soft carpet of irregular patches across the cratered rock. From the top, we looked down on Notch Road and saw the center of town with little ant-like people scurrying about. On the opposite side, huge fir trees fanned out and over Mineral Peak, like a green blanket. On the east side sprawled wide expanses of old cow pasture with uneven tufts of vegetation, ancient cow pies, and broken fencing.
I wish, to this day, I’d never turned west. Of course west of Pancake Rock squatted the old abandoned farmhouse that belonged to the old abandoned cow pasture. Even from way up there I noted its deserted state of disrepair. True saw it too and pulled out his sketchpad. Hives materialized across my arms as I watched his pencil fly smoothly over the contours of that old farmhouse.
I sometimes speculate that if it hadn’t rained that day, I could have talked True out of investigating that place.
In fact, when rain pelted our bare arms with increasing ferocity and True said we’d just go inside to find a dry corner until the rain let up, I didn’t even argue. I scratched at my itchy wet arms, grabbed my bike and followed him inside the barn.
Broken warnings echoed from just behind my ears. Bad floors . . . Strange things . . . Danger . . .
We leaned our bikes against a rusty old tractor that hunkered inside of the weathered barn, and then raced through the rain onto the house porch. It creaked like an old lady’s rocker.


Continued in the next post

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Secret Eyes (5)