Gilda's Locket
Page 8
one little lonely road to the north there? Just past Magnolia. Right up there, just up ahead, across the street and east of the gas station. Yep, that’s the one, creates an intersection there with Main. Doesn’t even look like a road, made of dirt like it is. And it doesn’t have a road sign. But it’s a road, I can guarantee you that. Just take a right and wander on down, see what you find. For about a mile or so, some of the other neighborhood streets intersect with it, pavement meeting dirt trail. But about two miles out, no other road meets up with it and it almost seems like it’s a road to nowhere. But have faith, keep on going for another mile or two and then you’ll see it. One lonely house stands out there all by itself. Two sides surrounded by empty, barren fields, overgrown with ragweed and tall grass. To the back lie those woods that seem to go on forever. And the frontage is only wild grass and the dirt road cutting its way through it all, leading up to the farmhouse, and beyond.
It’s an old two story farmhouse, almost as old as the town itself. Once it was the grandest estate in all of Knollsville, built by Hiram the first, for his wife, just after settling the town. The farm fields and the woods were all part of the massive acreage that he owned.
The Knolls still lived up there until about thirty-two years ago, when their only son, Hiram the fourth, and heir to the vast majority of their estate, split the land into parcels and sold them all off, including the once grand farmhouse. As I said, it was the late seventies, and Knollsville was beginning to prosper at the time. From a distance, it looked as if nothing would change. And Hiram was always planning, always working the angles. Even then, at the ripe age of thirty, he utilized all of his influential business and governmental connections, most of them fraternity brothers from the Ivy League school his parents had sent him to, to the betterment of himself and his bank account.
As I recall, his construction business was turning money out hand over fist at the time, and that’s why he decided to sell a large amount of the land to one of his cronies. It was some convoluted tax evasion, money making scheme, that’s too involved for me to make heads or tails of. Suffice it to say, this business partner specialized in building low cost middle class neighborhoods with shoddy materials, and selling them for much more than they were worth. I’m sure the plan included using Hiram’s own construction company for the building, doubly lining his pockets, but alas, none of it ever came to pass. And so, the land remains forgotten.
But the wooded part and what lies further up the dirt road; that’s a different story altogether. That he sold to one of his government friends. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
As for the farmhouse, it has passed hands any number of times, the last owner having been Ralph Edwards. After he died, he bequeathed the farmhouse and his antique shop to the town. It’s remained empty for three years. That is until two weeks ago. A stranger, someone new in town bought both properties, snatching them up sight unseen. Makes no sense does it? What could possibly bring someone here, now, of all times? Especially a young woman, early thirties tops? Makes one a tad bit curious. But she’s got one thing in common with Knollsville, she’s full of secrets, and secrets are what Knollsville does best.
Let’s not linger here, we’ll see enough of this place soon enough, we got to keep walking. We got a few more miles to go and my dogs are already barking. As you can see, this part of the road just about gets swallowed up by the woods. You almost can’t even tell there’s a road here. But it’s still here, and strangely enough, about a mile and a half up, the dirt road suddenly turns to pavement. True, the pavement’s pitted and potholed after so many years of disrepair. Nevertheless, it’s blacktop.
Why would anyone pave the road out here and not the rest, you say. Well, that’s as good a question as any. Soon enough you’ll have other, more important questions. Let’s keep moving, it’s only another mile or so.
Ah, here we are. This place. Recognize it? No, of course you don’t. No one would. At first all you can see is the iron fence, overgrown with weeds cradling pockets of melting snow, and poison ivy growing so thick you almost can’t see anything else. Then, your eyes naturally follow the fence to the gate and the unmanned guard shack beside it. One half of the gate hangs open, dangling on rusty hinges, the weeds ripped from the handle in order to gain entrance.
Peek through the opening, tell me what you see.
That’s it. That big, brick monstrosity right there, or what’s left of it anyway. Looks very out of place in these wilderness surroundings, don't it? It's almost as if someone plucked up some modern building from some big city and then plopped it down right here in the middle of these woods. Once, it was a two story structure, all red brick and tinted glass. Though of course, far more brick than glass. If I recall correctly, there were only four windows across the front of the building. A façade, really. A pitiful attempt to make it look less like a prison. Didn’t work.
The facility was built; you guessed it, by Hiram’s construction crew, a favor for his government cronies. Back then, I remember the building should have seemed to be dwarfed, surrounded as it was by the massive trees in an age old woods. Instead, strangely, it was the other way around. The building claimed dominance. It almost seemed like it was pushing the woods back, keeping the trees at bay. I never liked the feeling.
Most of the building is gone now, reduced to piles of rubble and ash. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was destroyed by something more than fire, the complete devastation attests to something much more violent. Almost like an earthquake. But we’re hardly in earthquake territory, now are we? Oh, I suppose anything’s possible. I was there, and I’m here to tell you, that to this day, I’m still not exactly sure what happened.
And there, hanging from that post, just to the left and in front of what’s left of the building, there’s a sign. The sign remains untouched by the destruction that wreaked havoc on the building and those housed within. It’s aged and weatherworn, not unlike me, and very hard to read, but it’s there.
“Four Winds.” Sounds like a loony bin, don’t it? I know that’s what you’re thinking. And you would be right; if you weren’t wrong that is. But close enough for now, (close is only good in horseshoes and hand grenades they say, but this time I think it applies.) Besides, you’ll understand it all soon enough.
And what’s that? Over there? Do you see the figure? At the back of the building, kneeling on the ground, hands covering the face as the figure rocks back and forth, weeping uncontrollably. It’s a heart-wrenching sound, I know. I’ve heard it before. I know who it is, soon enough you will too.
For now, it’s time to go. I always hated this place. It makes me feel creepy and sad, and I’m ready to head out. I’ve given you enough direction to get yourself around, so I’ll just be taking my leave. I’ll head on back to the highway now, back to the heart of town. This sudden thaw we’ve been having has been chasing folks out of their homes, getting them up and around to come into the diner for a home-cooked breakfast and some gossip. Folks are tired of being shut in. They’re ready for the snow to melt and the sun to rise. The diner’s gonna be hoppin'. I’ve got biscuits to bake, and the breakfast rush will be hittin' in less than an hour. Course the weather won’t last, never does. They’re calling for snow by the middle of the week, but that’s weather in Indiana, summer in the morning, winter all night. Might as well take advantage while we can.
Remember, if things get to be too much, too overwhelming, east or west on Main will get you out of Knollsville. And don’t stop for gas.