Jake
The closer I get to the house, the worse I feel.
I notice it the moment I turn onto the winding drive that marks the entrance of the property. The car’s tires slide on the muddy, rutted road, and the frame of the vehicle is so low that I swear I can feel my fillings rattle as I maneuver down the potholed path. For once in my life, I actually regret owning such a fancy ride. This wouldn’t be happening in a truck or an SUV.
Cypress branches close in overhead, blotting out the sun with feathery leaves and twisted, mottled wood. The trunks churn on either side of me, grotesque in their stature. Thick underbrush creeps into the road. For a moment, it feels like I’m all alone in this wild place.
Dread mounts in my gut as I navigate the familiar turns of the drive. I have a terrible thou
