Page 4 of Locke

One hand hung on the wheel, the other hung out the window to feel the cool breeze. The sun dipped behind the rolling hills, filled with tall trees. You could smell the fog coming in. The sun cast long shadows that seemed to dance and taunt me as I navigated the winding roads leading into Forest Falls. The town appeared quaint and peaceful at first glance, with charming houses, before I rolled onto the main street lined with old-fashioned shops—the older part of the town. But, as I drove deeper into the heart of the town, an oppressive atmosphere descended like a suffocating shroud.

It sat on my chest, like it was warding me away.

The streets were eerily quiet now that the sun had fully set. The street lights were lit, but not one person walked up and down the sidewalk. The restaurants were closed, and the corner liquor store didn’t even have a light on inside.

I stopped in front of the two-story motel connected to the other shops on the street.No Vacancyit read, not that I was going to stay there anyway. I traveled with Marlow, my black truck and trusted fifth-wheel RV, that I’ve had in my possession for more than a decade and a half.

I continued to creep down the street, the lights now brighter the further I went, and took a right at the stoplight that was blinking red like it should in the middle of the night. It appeared to be a bar; bikes lined up and down the street, and loud music played. I could feel its vibration through the windows. It shook Marlow violently, feeling the bass from the outside.

Four bikers wearing vests, which sported their club logo on the right breast, were holding beers and watching me intently from outside the bar. Their gazes never wavered, while they watched as I continued on past.

I huffed, tapping my fingers on the wheel, and shook my head. It was just a town and the happenin’ place to go was a bar; a biker bar. That’s all this was.

I cocked my head to read the signs on the road. During my travels I learned to spot RV parks, and if this town wasn’t into having visitors, I doubted they had one - or a campground - if they believed beasts roamed in the woods.

Looks like we are going off-roading.

Into the woods that the Indian man told me not to venture into.Ha! Look at me now. I’m gonna go spend the night in it. Because I’m a cheap ass.

Once I found trees spaced far enough apart, just outside of the town, I took a deep breath and began maneuvering Marlow off the main road, and onto the rugged terrain of the forest.The wheels of the RV jostled and bounced over rocks and fallen branches, causing me to grip the wheel tightly, as I navigated the unfamiliar landscape. The moonlight filtered through the thick canopy of trees, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out towards me like ghostly fingers.

Okay, maybe a little creepy.

As I finally found a clearing large enough to park, I shut off the engine and stepped outside, inhaling the crisp scent of pine and earth. The silence of the woods was deafening, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. I set about unhitching the truck; my movements quick and efficient. I’m not stupid. I may not believe in beasts and monsters in the forest, but I believe in wild animals.

My fingers brushed over the Glock on my hip when I stood from unhitching the RV. I inspected the clearing, trying to imagine how I was going to set out my space. I knew hunting this guy down would not be quick and easy. He obviously wanted to be hidden, so, I’d be here for the long haul, which meant getting involved with the locals and becoming their friend.

Ugh, friends. That means talking to people. Gross.

I grabbed the machete from its sheath in the bed of Marlow, which was tucked neatly away. I then began hacking away the branches, from my traveling home, to make space. As I rounded the truck, cutting one large branch, I noticed the moonlight reflecting over water.

It caught my eye more than it normally would. I’ve never been into nature; I’ve never had time to sit down and partake in what it offers. I’m about survival, taking care of me and what was left of mi familia.

I pushed away the brush, and stepped out into the clearing to gaze upon the large lake. How I didn’t see it before when I came barreling into the woods was idiotic of me. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings at all.

The lake was so clean, so pure, untouched and unsoiled by humans. And I had driven my truck and RV right into the middle of this peaceful spot, which had been the sanctuary of all the animals.

I groaned, threw the machete to the ground and sat at the water’s edge.

For the first time in a long while, I just sat. Listening to the sounds of nature, which was now very little since I came barreling in here. It was—peaceful. I think the moon was part of it, dancing on my skin, not knowing who I was or what I’ve done.

It almost made me feel like an angel myself.

I was far from that!

The moon did not know how much blood was on my hands, and how much more bloody they were about to become.

Chapter Two

Emm

Ididn’t sleep well that night. I felt like I was being watched through the windows of my home. Yet, each time I went to the window, there weren’t any peering eyes, or tracks below the window. The night was empty and the fog had rolled in, covering most of the moon’s rays.

With the lack of sleep, I woke early and tidied up the RV, then planned out my day. If any of the posts online about this place were correct, I was going to have a hard time fitting in, and I needed a good rapport if I was going to get any information out of anyone.

I couldn’t snoop if people were going to be suspicious of me the entire time.

As I steered my truck into town, the bustling scene overwhelmed me. The streets, previously deserted, now teemedwith an array of vehicles: cars, bikes and even pedestrians on the sidewalks. The desolate roads from the night before, where no one could be found, contrasted starkly with the vibrant sight of people going about their day. The scent of exhaust mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from nearby cafes. The transformation was remarkable; a complete departure from the eerie stillness that allowed a tumbleweed to roll through the town unnoticed the night before.

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