Secret Eyes (6)

The house windows held enough grime to make peering through them quite a chore. Before I could rub myself a clean spot, True was turning the front door knob. I pretty much stuck to his heels from then on. The house smelled bad, rotten and decaying like punky old wood you’d find in the forest. Inside it also reeked, but a different stench, more like urine and old wine.
The interior of the house was not what I’d expected. Instead of emptiness and desolation, it was completely furnished with old-fashioned flowery furniture. It looked as though the folks who’d lived there had gone out to tend the farm one day and never came back. Dirty dishes still littered the kitchen table. Old food on them would have long ago been devoured by rats, mice, and insects. Mouse droppings littered the floors and open surfaces. Our shoes crunched over the debris as we walked about. Cobwebs shrouded the rooms with an eerie filtered light.
“Bernie, look, it’s like I said before – what happened to the people who lived here?”
I could only shrug. Who knew?
“Something must have happened, they’ve been gone for a very long time. Should we check the other rooms in case they just up and died here?”
I nodded and we carefully creaked our way through the old farmhouse looking for clues to its abandonment. I breathed a calmer sigh when no bodies or skeletons turned up. All of the bedrooms were empty with neatly made beds – moth-eaten and grimy now – but in their day they had probably been neat. Old homemade quilts and braided rag rugs gave me an inkling of the way homes may have looked about twenty to thirty years ago. The room reminded me of old photos that my mother had, photos of my grandmother’s house when she had been a girl.

Continued in the next post

With your purchase of a Nick Jr. Total Access Pass, you will receive a free mousepad.

Secret Eyes (6)

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

Bags department

Secret Eyes (5)

Secret Eyes (4)

No one gave us any lucid reason for the many deserted buildings in West Ellis. All we got were ramblings about the general unsoundness of the structures.
Round about this time, True was getting so exasperated by the evasive answers we received, he decided that we should just go in those houses and get some information on our own. Hives bubbled on my arms at the prospect.
After reaching his decision, True didn’t talk about the empty houses for a day or two. I hoped he’d forgotten about the plan or maybe had been talking big for my benefit. Should have known him better.
One Saturday, we planned to bike up Notch Road to Pancake Rock. John Mister told True how to find the rock and he wanted to sketch it for his ever-growing collection of small town drawings. The rocky ledge was supposed to be round, flat and resting on an outcrop of smaller rocks like a stack of pancakes. John Mister’d said we could climb to the top and see a good bit of West Ellis from up there.
Sure enough we found the strange rock formation in an old cow pasture at the top of Notch Road. I wandered around it looking for a way up as True sketched. Circling the huge rock, I noticed a stunted birch growing up and over the backside of the rock. It made perfect handholds for easy climbing. In five minutes I was on the top shouting down at True. Later, when he showed me his sketch, I noticed that he had penciled me in on the top of the giant flat rock. Both of my thin arms stretched toward the glowering sky.

Continued in the next post

Creepy Books

Secret Eyes (4)

Secret Eyes (3)

One thing that amazed True most, as we peddled over little used dirt roads looking for new areas to explore, was the amount of abandoned homes we found. In the years since I’d met True, we’d never seen a home become abandoned. The houses we saw seemed to have been already vacant for years. I remember at least a half dozen scattered though out our town. True just couldn’t fathom why they were there at all. Questions, more questions.
“What do you think happened here, Man? Did the people just up and move out? Was it maybe a family that went bankrupt and couldn’t afford the payments? Maybe they were old folks who both died at the same time. Why hasn’t someone come around to take care of the house? Somebody, somewhere must know something. Wonder if there are dead bodies still inside? Maybe there are skeletons or old valuable coins . . .” On and on went the questions until I started scratching at my hives some more and wondering if True would simply bust with frustration about those poor deserted places.
I had no answers. Any adults we talked to about the deserted houses couldn’t be bothered to really tell us anything useful. True used to sit and draw the houses on a sketchpad he always carried with him. He’d show the drawings around town and ask the same questions he’d pumped me with. Seemed nobody could tell us what became of the people that belonged in those homes.
“Thar treacherous places pigeonholed wit termites and bad floors. You younguns stay out o’ thar.” Or . . . “Dangerous spots, strange things been known to happen round them ole deserted properties. Strange things indeed. You boys stay outa there! Don’t go messin around in them shoddy places now, hear?”

Continued in the next post

Early 10% off holiday sale on all concert memorabilia items at Wolfgang's Vault! Use promo code: EARLY through November 24th.

Secret Eyes (3)