Freak Town

Chapter 1: Panic

"Can't we be any faster?" I mumbled under my breath.

Long rides are usually easy for me. If I like, I can even write or do rough sketches if the ride is not as head joggling as that particular one. Whoever was that charlatan who told me that my ride that forsaken town would be easy must really wanted to piss me off. It must be.

I brought my phone out of my bag to check - for the hundredth time - if there is signal. There was not even a bar, but there was a notification: one message received. I might have gotten signal when I was nodding off.

"Sid, could you grab dinner on your way home?" Paps - as I call my granddad - used to ask me of this whenever he's too tired to cook.

"Sorry Paps. I'm not coming home." I mumbled even weaker that it sounded like a long irregular breath.

"You must be a tourist." The woman who occupied one-fourth of my seat said suddenly. Although quite old, her grin was like that of a toddler. Her huge bunny incisor teeth glistened to my eye. She seemed kind. I am not though. I was not.

"Uh-huh." A lie. I had no intention of telling her, or anyone, that I was moving into the town. I made my tone as monotonous as possible, hoping that that would be the end of our conversation.

"That's peculiar." She said, which caused me to frown. I looked to see if her smile has finally faded. "Most tourist go here during summer - when the weather's more friendly. The trail up the hills can be slippery, you know." She said with an even bigger smile.

I was in the middle of nodding my head when the bus hit a rock, causing my head to bob hard like the bobblehead Pitbull in Paps' Corolla.

"You must biadke olda amdw." I didn't understand what she said, or I didn't care. My ears refused to work as my head was busy thinking.

"There's food in the fridge, mom's recipe - his favorite," I told myself.

The bus went into a wild full stop. Another chaotic bobbling of heads ensued, but that time, everyone gathered their stuff and stood up. I felt blank. Images of angry looking townspeople flashed before my eyes. I heard whispers, then shouting of curses aimed towards me.

Why am I here? Should I just...

I then realized that I couldn't move. My feet didn't want to follow my brain, and my heart was pounding hard. Anxiety attack? "Fatigue," I said in another mumble as cold sweat started tracing my jaw. I looked out the window as an effort to calm my chest. My eyes wandered around the scene before me, widening at each shift of focus. The trees, houses, and everything else was washed with a shade of marigold. Birds were flying around as though scouting for the best branch to settle for the night. No one was around except those who arrived with me. It was quiet, and sobering. I needed a minute before I was able to take everything in - the dusk sky I have never seen before, the chilling breeze, and being alone.

Since then, I was convinced that Paso Crateva is an enchanted place.

As I disembark the bus, I saw Ms. Bunny Teeth leaning on a lamp post with whom I suppose are her friends. She waved at me to come over as she did her irritating smile once again. Instantly, her friends joined her in calling me over as though I'm part of their gang.

I felt my frown starting to form. It was true magic what I felt just a moment before; then it was fast ruined by some irksome townies. "Leave me alone!" I mouthed, then I shouted the same words in my head.

I crossed the street to avoid Ms. Bunny Teeth and her gang. Then, as though I knew where I was going, I sauntered through the main street which seemed to lead to a hilly forest. Still, no one was around, but I could see lights and shadows through the windows. Many were eating dinner; some I couldn't figure out.

"That's right, just leave me alone." The first full-voiced words I uttered that day.

The marigold wash was then turning into deep marmalade. The birds continued scouting. In the far horizon in front of me, there were dangling lights that looked like marigold glitters draping the hilltops. The glitters danced back and forth, enabled by the rushing wind. "The house," I said to myself mindlessly, remembering that all I had to find the place I would stay is a picture and a key. I stole that key from Paps, if it can be called that. He threw it away, so I figured it's not stealing if he doesn't want it. Isn't it?

I almost settled to sleep under a tree when I found the house - my late grandma's house. It is at least a mile away from where the main street turned from paved road to dirt road. No neighbors, "good!" I thought. "This will be my very own hidey-hole, at least for the time being."

I was in the middle of turning the key when a realization hit me; I finally understood the reason why I was there. I then said to the door in front of me: "This place might be where I will get out of my rut, or maybe where I will rot."

I didn't expect grandma's house to be well-maintained. She was living alone, after all. It seemed like the walls were freshly painted, and I can't see any clatter save for a red sock hanging in the window. There even was faint shimmer in all the antique furniture. It was incomparable to what I expected to welcome me: dust, insects, and a bunch of stuff from many decades past.

Paps once told me that she was agoraphobic - she couldn't leave home. Many times, she tried to cross the front door, only to turn around gasping for air, then she would shut the door hard behind her. She did that for months until she finally gave up, and that's when Paps gave up too. Maybe that's the reason why the house was how it was. She imprisoned herself at home, and while longing for Paps, all she did was clean the house and rearrange everything. After that, she did all that over again.

I skipped checking out the rooms that night. All I needed after all was a soft cushion to sleep in, and a toilet, just in case. I settled for the wooden three-seater antique under the front window with flat pillows that served as its cushion. Head already in the pillow, I was pulling the blanket up when the porch light suddenly lit. I froze. The buzzing of the light bulb competed with the thumping of my heart. Panic attack!