Heading down the gravel drive, I passed the hanging sticks again and still found that odd about the place. The land and home were indeed old, so who knows what the previous tenants were into.

Finally passing the church and park, I pulled off into a gas station that was no worse for wear. It had two gas pumps, and the outside of the plain white and dirt covered building boasted a sign reading Sunny Gas.

I pulled up next to the pump, the fuel gauge showing close to empty in the truck. I decided to fill it up in case the place was a bust in the end, and I would continue my trek after escaping Missouri.

Getting out, the pungent smell of oil and grime hit my nose. I turned and noticed the open-door garage adjoined the small station. It read Sunny Repair Garage, so the scent made sense.

After fighting with the pump, which didn’t take credit cards and only dinged at me when pushing the grade of fuel I needed, I heard the chime of a bell and a man's voice yell out to me, “It’s pay first!”

I looked over to see a younger man standing at the door to the gas station and nodded, replacing the nozzle. How the hell would I know, it wasn’t posted on the pump.

He was brawny like a farmer and had a permanent scowl, making his face look similar to a bulldog, even though he wasn’t very old.

I followed him into the station. The smell of dust, tobacco, and stale doughnuts hit my nose.

“Pumps are always paid first around here, so I take it you must be new?”

I nodded as he went around the glass-top counter.

“Yeah, I am. Let me get 35 on 1.”

He nodded as he entered the amount and snuck glances at me.

Just then, a shrill voice came from the door to the side of the counter. The woman who came out was pale with so much makeup that I’d swear I’d seen her on Drag Queens. She was short and heavyset with bright brick red hair.

“Oh! A new visitor to our small little town, how wonderful!”

Her cheery round face almost cracked under the heavy makeup.

“Now, ma, don’t get excited every time a newcomer shows their face.”

Ma? I looked at the two of them and could see the resemblance suddenly. Minus the makeup, their faces were both the same.

“Hush,” she said to the guy behind the counter as she came around. I noticed she wore a floral muumuu like my grandmother used to wear.

“Are you staying or just passing through?’

I looked into her big eyes, not sure what to say. This conversation was not what I had intended when I stopped for gas.

“Not sure yet,” I replied, turning back to her son and handing him my card.

“I see. Well, if you need a place to stay, there’s a motel straight on down this road about a mile or so, and then there's Maeve's Bed and Breakfast right here in town. Would you like me to write down the directions for you, shuga?”

I just looked at her, finding her eagerness annoying, and shook my head, “No, thanks.”

Once the kid handed me back my card, I glanced back at the woman and kid as I walked towards the door to leave. It amazed me how their faces went from friendly wrinkly smiles to flat, emotionless leather. Guess folks around here don’t like rejection, I thought to myself.

Quickly getting back in my truck, I felt someone staring at me. Looking back towards the station door, the mom and her overgrown lookalike were staring at me as I started to pull away. My eye contact with them broke the moment I heard a loud honk.

Slamming on my breaks, I almost smacked the steering wheel with my chin, and my heart thumped in my chest so hard I felt it in my throat. I had nearly run dead center into a truck similar to mine with far more rust and a faded blue. It was being driven by a normal-looking woman compared to the townspeople I had run into so far. With her black hair pulled into a ponytail and tan features, she almost looked American Indian.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.”

She mouthed the words very clearly, and I nodded at her in apology as I pulled off to her left side and onto the road. The more I hung around this place, the more I wanted to check out of the motel and head for somewhere else.

Getting back to my room, I noticed several more vehicles were parked. I hoped the parking space in front of my room was clear, but instead, the BARTS FLOOR AND DOOR truck was parked in it. So I parked next to it in the open spot, thanking whoever for small favors.

The sound of banging and drilling hit my ears when I got out, and I noticed the room to my left had the door propped open.  

The guy I recognized from this morning in the motel lobby came out carrying some dark-stained, broken-up plywood. I didn’t pay him much attention and went into my room.

The banging lasted several hours. I could hear yelling, murmuring, and the faint sound of a radio playing old country in the background. During all that, I wished I was a drinker just to pass out through the annoyance.

I used headphones in my suitcase and streamed battle flicks on my laptop, courtesy of the crappy wifi. After the last episode of two Vikings burning each other’s boats, I took out the headphones to hear silence. The banging was gone. Putting my laptop aside before noting it was well past 8, I got up and looked out the heavy brown stained curtains. The repair truck had left, so I knew the barrage of hammering and drilling would be gone.

The bag of chips and 6pack of soda were demolished, so I figured I’d shower and sleep. I looked at my phone where it had been charging. Not checking it when I got back earlier, I knew there were probably several messages from my editor.

Only one of them asked how I was getting along. The other two were nonsense about genres he stated were currently popular. Eric thought maybe I’d like to start off in a new writing direction.

Two things I wasn’t good at, first, writing smut, and second, fantasy. My last book was about the fictional serial killings of Frostdamn. It took me 8 months of research, phone calls, and emails to write it. I didn’t want to do that again, best seller or not.

There was also a missed call from the realtor, Sara. So I decided on some ear torture and listened to her voicemail.

“Hi, Mr. Lake? This is Sara. I was calling to confirm our appointment again for tomorrow. I heard you visited the property today. What did you think? Doesn’t it just scream solitude and motivation for your writing? It’s fantastic! See you tomorrow!”