u/Dastartist

SUPERIOR, WI 1944

“Thank you,” the man said, taking his visitors pass from the receptionist.

“You’ll be seen courtroom two,” the receptionist said, eyes down on the signed paperwork copies she was handing to the man. It was nearly five and her time to go home.

The man gave a nod, then proceeded to the room as directed. When he entered, he found the room empty. He’d come an hour early, so he certainly hoped so. He stood directly in front of the pews lining the back of the room. He paced the room back and forth, like a lawyer about to deliver the killer blow in the oppositions argument. What he planned to say raced through his mind. His plan was… unorthodox to say the least.

As if jumping forward frames in a projector, the room was suddenly filled with chattering citizens and a judge, a small, gray-haired bespectacled man in a dark-gray suit sat in the seat usually occupied by a judge. The man realized he wasn’t really sure what to expect of this hearing.

“The room will come to order!” The suited man, a town councilman said, hammering a gavel on his podium. Maybe this wasn’t so far off from what he was expecting.

“Today, the city of Superior, Wisconsin has assembled to hear what has been referred to as a “geographical proposal to lift the hearts of men”… Oh goodness… from a Mr. William Lorem.** **Mr. Lorem, we do appreciate your attendance today, but in your proposal, we ask that you avoid the use of flowery language like this,” the councilman said, waving a stack of papers at the man. “Is that going to be an issue?”

William was quick to respond. “No, sir. Not at all.”

Almost no one in the room could hear him.

“Please, step up to the microphone,” the councilman requested.

MILWAUKEE, WI 1943

“This is ridiculous!” William sat against a decorative wall in the school’s common yard, lap decorated with papers and a stack of books at his side. He’d been attempting to complete an assigned writing project, but the rules of said project were severely affecting his productivity.

“What?” His friend Maxwell Fordham, leaning against a tree, turned to face his friend.

“This whole system!” William gestured with his papers and knocked his books to the ground. “This isn’t what writing is supposed to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a history major, right?” He was correct. History majors clearly had no concept of writing major papers with lists of requirements.

“Right…?”

“Imagine if someone told you there was exactly one way you could teach history,” William began. He then realized he had made a mess and began organizing his books into the neat pile they once had resided in.

“Well, that’s kind of in the nature of… history. It’s events that happen in a very specific ord-“ Maxwell was cut off by William returning to his idea.

“Okay, okay, that’s not what I meant. Imagine an artist. Imagine if they only let a painter paint in photorealism… or a sculptor only sculpt busts! Writing is an art, but with all these rules, they’re turning a creative process into a checklist!”

SUPERIOR, WI 1944

The councilman repeated himself, snapping William out of his stupor.

“Mr. Lorem? Please approach the microphone”.

William realized he hadn’t taken the steps yet, so he did.

“Is this better?” William said into the microphone, immediately triggering feedback.

“Yes, thank you,” the councilman said, cringing at the noise. He pushed his thick glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

“Please, if you could introduce yourself in your words, then give us a brief overview of what it is you’re doing here,” the councilman was the furthest thing from interested, but he spoke for the sake of the stenographer.

William rolled his right sleeve. It was the third time. For whatever reason his right arm would continue to unroll while his left arm stayed rolled.

“Yes, sir. My name is William Lorem, I am 21 years old, and I am… was… a junior at Milwaukee State Teacher’s College. I am here to solve an issue on both of our parts”.

William was aware of the towns shipping history and how due to the war manufacturing in the area and as a result shipping had almost vanished. The towns once thriving economy had collapsed worse than a decade prior.

“And what might a city have in common with a former college student?” The councilman asked. He’d read Williams proposal, but he again was looking out for the stenographer.

“Oh, no. These are two separate issues, a sort of ‘two birds with one stone’ type of scenario, if you’ll allow the expression.”

William had yet to reveal his true intentions behind the hearing. The audience was in for a shock.

MILWAUKEE, WI 1943

“That’s kind of how college works. They give you rules and you choose which ones to break,” Maxwell had always been a level-headed guy, but that was not what William needed in the moment.

The conversation had now traveled to one of the school’s many corridors after classes had let out for the day.

“It’s absurd. You overwhelm someone during such a formative time in their writing journey, and you might just discourage them from writing as a whole,” William walked ever so slightly faster than Maxwell, so he turned and walked backward so he could maintain eye contact with him.

“ Okay, what would you suggest as an alternative?”

The required speech classes were beginning to kick in. Maxwell knew the look on Williams face and sighed preemptively.

“Writers… and creatives as a whole need a place where they can create unrestrained…”

SUPERIOR, WI 1944

“A haven for the creative spirit,” William’s thought was finished by the councilman reading from yet another paper.

“Yes sir,” William replied.

MILWAUKEE, WI 1943

“ How exactly would you plan on doing that? Maxwell asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

William sighed.

“I don’t know”.

He sounded defeated, but he was lost in thought. Maxwell was used to his friend’s crazy ideas, but based on His facial expression, he could tell this idea was in a different echelon of crazy. Or stupid. It was difficult to tell. The look would come back to him several times over the course of the next few days, but something would click… or break… on August 3rd, 1943.

SUPERIOR, WI 1944

“We’ve all heard testimony of your unsuccessful college coup and your subsequent expulsion. I trust those days are behind you?” The councilman looked over his glasses at William. The frames were still aimed at the podium in front of him, the top of the stack of papers there on being William’s mugshot.

The councilman took a sip from the mug in front of him. His coffee had practically iced over. It has been a long day and he was struggling to understand why this ex-college student was standing in front of him at all, let alone why he was the last person on his agenda for the day. He’d have a word with his aide after this was over.

“Well, sir, I’ll have you know this was not a coup, but rather a petition of the governing bodies of the school for a necessary addressing of grievances,” William was very careful to not mention the room of hostages the “addressing of grievances” had involved.

“Half of your followers had guns. There were enough to be legally considered a militia,” the councilman knew the details.

“Semantics,” William said under his breath.

“It seems, in fact, that quite a few of your followers are here today. Welcome to Superior,” the councilman nodded in acknowledgement to the guests in the courtroom.

“Well, sir, I would call them moreso my supporters, rather than followers. I am here for a purpose. A purpose they also happen to endorse.”

“I see… and what exactly is this cause?” The councilman asked. He knew, but this time he wanted to know what William thought he was doing.

“Well, sir-“

“Just get on with it,” the councilman cut him off.

Every “Sir” that left Lorem’s mouth compounded the councilman’s conclusion that his “Politeness” was heavily rehearsed and incredibly disingenuous.

WAUKESHA, WI 1943

It was raining. As it had been for what seems to be weeks. All over the state, the only weather William seemed to find was rain. After being expelled from school, William found something to do with his free time. If he thought writers deserved a place of their own, he’d go out and find it. His sabbatical took him across the state, from Kenosha to…

“Superior,” William shouted into the phone. The booth only did so much to muffle the downpour on the other side of the glass.

Maxwell had taken his time off from school to better himself. He’d taken local classes, read books. Learned skills. At the moment he was reading a book on woodworking in his parents living room. Then the phone rang.

“What?” Maxwell asked William over the phone. He could barely hear him.

The book slid off its perch on his
knee and fell to the ground as he repositioned himself to hear.

“That’s the haven,” William shouted back. The rain wouldn’t let up for another hour, but he had a lot to deliver over the phone.

SUPERIOR, WI 1944

“Hold on, Hold on. What do you mean ‘Superior is the haven’? Are you intending on repeating your college rebellion here?” The councilman asked. He wouldn’t let the man be caught up in his reverie without knowing exactly what he meant by that statement. This in particular was not in his file and the wording made him nervous.

“Well, sir-“

“Are you or are you not intending on committing an act of terrorism and governmental overthrow in the town of Superior, Wisconsin?” The councilman demanded an answer.

“No, sir. But I noticed you had an issue. And I think we can help,” William had done his research and was ready to unleash documents and charts upon this unsuspecting councilman.

“We don’t need a cult taking over the town, thanks!,” A man shouted from the back of the room. A cult. The councilman had debated using the word, but at that moment he was glad he hadn’t. The room exploded. Countless citizens began debates with Lorem’s followers. Lorem turned and began attempting to calm his followers, but that only seemed to rile them more.

“THROW THEM OUT! THROW THEM OUT! THROW THEM OUT!” The crowd began to chant. “Order! Order! Everyone back to your seats!” The councilman shouted over the crowd, smacking his gavel on the podium.

Mr. Lorem, facing the councilman, stood in silence. The councilman couldn’t tell what he man was
thinking, and it scared him. Before things escalated, he recognized cooler heads would prevail with rest. He knew all would be better off in the morning.

“We’re going to call a recess on this hearing until tomorrow morning!” The councilman shouted over the crowd. “And it will be closed to the public!”

The crowd was aghast. They didn’t know what Lorem was planning, but if it concerned their town, they thought they had a right to be there to hear about it.

“Bailiffs, clear the room,” the councilman requested. Two officers entered and began to slowly clear the room until the councilman and Lorem were the final two, eye contact still firmly held.

“What now, councilman?” William asked in a flatter, deeper voice than he’d been using previously. It took the councilman by surprise, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your followers will have to wait outside with the public,” the councilman responded.

“I understand. I will see you bright and early,” William almost sounded robotic in his response. He was about to turn toward the door when a bailiff returned to the room.

“We’ve got a call for you out here, Mr. Lorem.”

William followed the Bailiff to the hallway, where he pointed to an office lined with windows.

“Call’s in there.”

William entered as instructed, closing the door behind him. The phone sounded as though it had been ringing for some time. He was surprised the call hadn’t dropped.

“Hello?” William lifted the receiver and asked the unknown caller.

“Welcome one and all to the happiest place in the Midwest!” One voice said.

“Lorem Falls is a quiet town of just under two thousand people,” a woman’s voice said.

Then came another.

His own.

“Consider the town of Lorem Falls a haven for the creative spirit!”

Finally, the voice of his brother-in-law, Nicholas Winterbower.

“Knock and the door shall be opened unto you.”

“Who are you?” He asked, hoping someone would break through the voices.

“Your destiny. We have much to discuss,” The caller said over the phone, each voice that composed its message sticking out slightly, like straws of a straw hat.

William paused for a moment, then hung up the phone. By the time he returned to the courtroom, the councilman had left and the lights were turned out. Outside, the councilman packed his briefcase in the back of his car. William exited the courthouse just as he closed the trunk.

“Councilman!” William shouted as he exited the building and approached the desperately tired man.

“Yes, Mr. Lorem?” The councilman sighed.

The councilman turned to face him, his desire to get home clearly expressed in the bags under his eyes.

William began his final argument.

“Sir, I just wanted to let you know that Lorem Falls is the future of American creativity and it will come to pass. Destiny wills it so”.

“Mr. Lorem, you make no allies attempting to input a sense of superiority over others with your vocabulary and certainly not with delusions of grandeur”. He had just about reached a breaking point with the man in the courtroom. Now he has visions of some sort of manifest destiny for northwest Wisconsin?

“Sir, I don’t think you hear my words.”

“Oh, I do. That is why I am here to stop you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” the councilman was tired of Lorem and his antics.

“I’m sure you will,” William said with what the councilman could only determine as menace. Was that a threat? He couldn’t be sure, but the confidence with which William brushed past him to his car was astounding. He watched, then turned back to his own car. He opened his door and turned the key in the ignition as William pulled out of the parking lot. He’d had a long day and was ready to head home.

William returned to the courtroom the following morning to find a crowd gathered outside. Camera bulbs flashed. A woman screamed. He parked and pushed his way through to get a glimpse of what they were looking at. The councilman’s car. Still parked as it had been the previous night. Dead. It was the driver’s seat, however, that caught people’s attention. As William reached the front of the crowd, the phone call he received suddenly made sense. The councilman’s suit lay in the seat. Empty. As if he had been pulled out of it. Raptured even. An idea sparked. William turned and left the crowd. He had no further opposition and he had a phone call to make. His brother-in-law, Reverend Nicholas Winterbower, would certainly have something to say about someone being raptured at the town hall.

After a two-month hiatus, court proceedings would resume. Victory for William Lorem Would be swift.
Explanations for this would be varied, as all future proceedings were closed to the public. Some say William gained new support, namely the reverend. Others say government officials wanted to avoid his bad side, given the fate of their predecessor. Regardless, Lorem Falls would be officially annexed
from Superior, Wisconsin in October of 1944. By William’s passing in early 1972, he would receive thirteen phone calls like the one he received in that courthouse. It is unclear if he ever found the caller.

Sleep must’ve hit me like a brick. I don’t remember walking back to the motel, but I woke up to Jamie pounding on my door. I had no idea what time it was or what time I’d gotten back. I opened the door to let her in. As I did the largest involuntary yawn I’d ever had came to me.

“What time is it?” I asked.

She then proceeded to pull a map from her pocket and tell me exactly what I predicted she would the night before. She wanted to go to -

“The Richardson Inn? You wanna check out the haunted house in the town people disappear in?”

“Yes.” She was so set on this plan. I could tell by her posture. I still wasn’t over the gas station changing before my eyes.

“Y’know what, I’m out. Back to bed I go,” I said, turning back. I flopped on my bed and covered my eyes with my arm. Apparently I’d done the same with the Uncle Sams in the room as they were now all blindfolded by duct tape covered in “H” insignias.

“You’d let your girlfriend go out into the woods alone? To a scary abandoned house?” I could tell by the tone of her voice she was giving puppy dog eyes. I wouldn’t look. That’s the solution. Just don’t look and she’ll go away. She didn’t go away.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” I said, sneaking a peek at her from under my arm.

“I mean…”

“Fine. But the second things get weird, I’m out.” I said, as though the entire time we’d been in this town hadn’t been weird.

“Yay! Thank you! I love you so much!” She ran to the bed and peppered my cheeks with kisses as though I’d just proposed. This girl knew how to get me.

I pushed myself from under her and stumbled my way to the door. I opened it and looked outside. The snow was back. Just as I feared. A snow-covered haunted house that by the time we got there might not even exist.

Twenty minutes later, my suspicions would strangely be proven correct… though not in the same way I’d expected.

Maybe I was sleep deprived, maybe I was being precautious… either way I thought the best use of my time would be to send messages to my loved ones.

“To my mom and dad, I’m sorry for being such a disappointment… I promise I had so many plans to make you proud… I miss you-“

I attempted to send the message, but apparently it was harder to find a bar of reception than another person. The message immediately failed to deliver.

“You are so dumb,” Jamie shouted at me.

“I am so precautious,” i replied, looking down at my phone and attempting to resend the message.

I didn’t know what we were about to face, but I wanted all my “T”’s crossed and “I”’s dotted.

“Well, hold off on your will and testament, it’s just up ahead…”

Jamie stopped in the middle of what she was saying. I couldn’t see past her due to the foliage and snow, so I caught up and looked with her at what should have been the Richardson Inn. It was a parking lot and an empty field. Trucks and cars from multiple decades decorating a gravel patch and an empty field of snow.

“It’s a parking lot…” I was right. The hotel, like the legacy of Mark Piernik… was gone.

The two of us wordlessly approached the vehicles and began to examine them. All different manufacturers, all different ages. Some of the vehicles no longer in production and as far as I could tell very valuable if they weren’t under a blanket of snow taking on water damage.

Jamie continued examining the vehicles and found one that belonged to one of the podcasts she’d listened to to first hear about Lorem Falls. It felt like an eternity ago even though it had only been a few days. In the distance at the edge of the field I noticed a placard on a metal spike. Ice from the last rain had frozen over the sign making it difficult to read. I approached and slowly chipped away at the frozen water until I could read what was underneath.

SOLD: GIZA COMPUTATIONAL SERVICES

“Jamie? We need to get out of here!” I called out to her, eyes still locked on the sign. There was no way they hadn’t seen us.

We both took off running. Down the rows of cars. I caught sight of a camera strapped to one of the trees and in an effort to be out of its sights for as long as possible, I redirected us toward the empty section of the field. Maybe the cameras were just keeping an eye on the cars? How was I to know?

I realized in my thinking I’d lost track of Jamie.

“Caleb?” I heard her voice but I wasn’t sure where from. She sounded winded. I then noticed a hole in the snow where she’d fallen in. I rushed to the edge to see if I could help her out.

“Yeah?”

“What is this?” She asked, still trying to regain the air in her lungs.

“I don’t know. Are you okay?”

“I will be,” she said, slowly getting to her feet. She slowly ascended the stairs. I met her about 1/3rd of the way down. Once she was back at ground level, we took off running again. I deliberately slowed to keep pace with her.

“Camera,” she pointed to another camera strapped to a tree. No escape from Giza.

We reached the edge of the field, we began weaving our way through the trees until we reached a different section of road. I will admit at this point I was thoroughly turned around. Though I had just taken the entire stretch of Richardson Avenue the previous night, I’d gotten turned around. We took the road northeast when I thought we were going southwest, and suddenly were at another parking lot. This one was empty. Almost empty.

“There’s no way,” I said, eyes locked on the one truck on the lot. My truck. How did it get here? Did the mechanic leave it here? As certain as Jamie was she saw the pickup truck in her dream, I was certain this was my truck. I felt the handle, then pulled. The door was slightly out of frame, leading to a bit of a “pop” when it opened. Mine. I’d whacked the door on a friends pickup the year prior.

The door opened and the interior light turned on. The battery wasn’t dead. That was good. The keys sat on the console. It seemed like bait. I paused, but then Jamie got in.

“Does it have anything in the tank?”

I tired the key. Nothing. Two times. Nothing. On the third time, the truck roared to life. A full tank of gas. It most certainly was not full when we reached the library. No vandalism. Fixed tires. A full tank of gas. Keys inside. The ignition sucked, but that’s nothing new.

Sweet, sweet heat. One thing no one could say about my truck was that it lacked heating.

“The tires are new, the paint is gone… and the tank is full… I just don’t understand why it’s here.”

“So, what now?” Jamie asked, rubbing her hands together and sticking them to the vent.

I looked to the gate. A 1980s themed lizard mascot, missing a head and covered in snow, stood over it.

“Well, we’re already here.”

I paused for a moment debating what to do next. The gates were open. I figured why not just drive through them. An empty lot in a town where no one was ever around… I figured we had nothing to lose.

The property was empty. Just like the Richardson Inn. We drove the span of the property. One square mile. Nothing. Not a promotional poster, a piece of a missing roller coaster… nothing.

I turned back toward the gate just as a pair of headlights approached the gate.

“Turn your headlights off!” Jamie shouted. I did. I ducked, then pulled her down. I hoped that they wouldn’t notice the truck had moved positions… whoever it was. As it passed I heard the familiar engine sputtering of the tow truck.

“Was that the mechanic?” I asked, sticking my head up to watch as it disappeared from sight.

“I told you he was up to no good! Where could he be going? There’s nothing that way.”

“He was probably calling someone-“

SMASH!

The passenger and driver side windows both smashed inward. Everything beyond that point came to me in flashes.

Men in black uniforms.

Me kicking to try to get out of their grasp.

Jamie being pulled away from me.

I yelled for her.

A truck door slammed shut.

An office. Empty.

Then… nothing. I woke up in the woods. At first I thought they’d let me go. I wish.

112 ft to Banks Ave

I kept a close eye on my phone for directions on my way to Piernik’s gas station. Total distance was about 4 miles. It put the travel time at about a half an hour, but I was tall and had a long stride. Id bet I could beat the time. I’d hoped I could beat that time. Thankfully Lorem Falls seemed to be one of the few places on earth that got warmer when the sun went down, so I wasn’t on the verge of hypothermia.

So many houses. No teens coming home late and missing curfew. No late night workers arriving home from the night shift… there weren’t even any lights on. And still no cars on the road.

N 55th - .5 miles

In the darkness, it looked as though the houses repeated down the entire stretch of road. The lack of sun made color impossible to determine. They were just blocks of siding topped with identical shingles. The windows varied slightly but all were unlit. I thought I saw one house with the lights on, but it was a streetlight reflecting in the window.

Left on Richardson Ave - 2.5 miles

Most of Richardson was empty fields. They seemed to linger from a farming town that once was. I assumed the name, likewise, was a nod to the past. As I walked I noticed a sign advertising the Richardson Inn, but I was on a mission. Plus, why would I want to explore a haunted house in a town where people disappear? The empty field seemed to imply the town of many creatives didn’t extend to architects or construction workers… past 1910.

left on E 14th Street - .2 miles

It was at this point I started to realize I was really out of shape. I hadn’t walked this far in a while. Man, I missed my truck.

Right onto 22 ave E - .7 miles

The entire road was dirt. How old was this town? Far less comfortable to walk on, but I knew I was on the verge of seeing the gas station.

Left onto William Lorem Memorial Highway - 115 feet

I caught sight of the station. The only lit building in sight. I didn’t have to worry about looking both ways before crossing the street because, of course, the street was empty. Piernik’s was an average looking gas station. Truly nothing special. A red awning with a ‘P’ Logo decorated the front. Four pumps. Gas was three dollars flat. Hard to beat. REGARDLESS, the store. No one was parked outside. Shocker. I don’t really know what I was here for… but I figured I’d figure it out when I went inside.

The inside bore a striking resemblance to the station in Minong. As did the cashier. Not in, like, a twin sense, but in a familial relation sense.

“Welcome to Harrington’s,” the cashier said, sounding bored out of his mind.

Harrington’s? I saw the map and I read the book in the library. This was definitely Piernik’s.

“Is this not Piernik’s?” I asked, pointing to the tile floor and looking around as if I could possibly be referring to another Piernik’s.

“Nope, think you’re mistaken,” the cashier began reading a newspaper.

“All right, you ever heard of Mark Piernik?”

“Nope,” he kept reading.

“And this place was always-“

He plopped the newspaper to the counter. “Harrington’s, Yeah.”

I noticed his uniform had a logo on it. The same shape, color, and font of the logo outside… but instead of a ‘P’, it was an “H”. The ‘H’ logo was repeated around the store. What was going on? I backed out of the station slowly and looked to the sign I’d passed as I entered the store. The one that displayed gas prices. It said “H”. Was I losing my mind?

I sat by the curb just outside the front door trying to put everything together. Danny disappeared in 1999. His father Mark, who I assumed owned this store, disappeared not long after. Why would him disappearing change the name of the store? And the cashier has said that it was ALWAYS Harrington’s… WHO WAS HARRINGTON?

“You doing okay, man?” The cashier asked. He’d clearly seen my near breakdown and wanted to either see if I was okay or watch the show as I spiraled into insanity.

“I have no idea,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

“So, who’s piernik?” He asked, sitting next to me.

I didn’t know a better way to explain who piernik was than to just explain… everything up to the gas station bathroom.

“Wait, you said the gas station was in Minong?” He asked. A smile started to form.

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing, it’s just you might’ve seen my brother there. He’s a night cashier.”

I looked over at him finally making eye contact. That explained the resemblance. I then caught his nametag. “Wes S.” My mind started reeling.

“His name wasn’t Ryan, was it?” I asked.

“So you saw him then! How was he? It’s been a while since we met up.”

“He’s good… I guess… is your last name smith?” I asked.

“It is,” Wes replied, looking more intently at me.

“And did you two happen to grow up here?” I asked. If these two were friends of Daniel’s, maybe I could figure out what was going on.

“Yeah, we spent the first eighteen years together in this town. Weirdly enough even when he moved away, we both ended up working for gas stations.”

“Were you friends with Bill Cherny and Tyler Pullman?” I asked.

“Yeah! Man I haven’t heard those names in forever! Do you know them?” He seemed so excited he practically jumped to his feet.

“I don’t, but umm… you don’t know a Danny Piernik?”

“No, never heard the name.”

Danny Piernik disappeared and now he just never existed. His former friends both dont know anything about him. His father goes looking for him and he disappears too. Outside of Lorem Falls. What does it mean? And what happens when you go looking for… everyone?

The drive to the library was strange. This small town matched plenty of the others I’d driven through… heck, we’d driven through a few just on the way up… but none of them were empty like this. No one at crosswalks. No one on the sidewalks. There wasn’t a single car on the road… other than me… Roads were plowed, though, so I couldn’t complain.

As we pulled into the library, my eyes immediately went to the camera by the front door. Call it paranoia, but I say it was a healthy dose.

“Look! There’s another one,” i tapped her arm and pointed to the camera.

I knew Giza wouldn’t care about me, but if they saw Jamie in town, there’d be trouble.

“Put your hair up,” I leaned to the backseat, I knew I had a few hats lying around. I grabbed the first I could find and handed it to her. “Put this on.”

She then proceeded to point out that I’d given her a hat with a literal target on it. Second option: a plain black beanie. Much better. She then expertly tucked her long hair into the beanie in as good of a disguise as we could muster with no prep time.

We exited the car and did our best “we’re not the ones you’re looking for” walk as we entered the library.

After a brief exchange with the librarian, we found our selves on our way to the Town History Annex.

“Anything we can find on Mega Mountian, Giza, The Aeldrigh… any of it can help,” I said. While we were there I figured I’d also look into the name Piernik. If they owned a business in town I was willing to bet their names were somewhere in that selection of books.

The annex was relatively small, only containing two bookshelves and a single table.

“One shelf for each of us,” I said. Jamie would take the faster approach of pulling a book immediately off the shelf and beginning to read. I took the approach to completely clear the shelf of books and form them into a pile beside me.

Hour 1. Three books. Mostly useless. Geographical survey told me the town used to be associated with cargo shipping. Abandoned cranes and storage crates still sat by the shore on the north end of town.

A book titled “An Annotated History of Superior, Wisconsin” took its name very seriously. It was written and published in 1944. The original text ends with mention of some sort of drying up of the shipping business. The annotations, however, mention a man named William Lorem, who petitioned the town government to essentially give him half the town… and it worked. So, in other words this town has been weird since the beginning.

Book three was a water sample analysis. I barely read it.

Hour 2. One big book of town geneologies. The name I was looking for showed up at the tail end. Daniel Piernik - born January 25th, 1991. A red pen had added his disappearance date as his date of passing. Above that was his father, Mark Piernik. The man who’d been to that same rest stop bathroom before me. His name wouldn’t return in my search for another two hours. He owned a gas station on the northeastern edge of town. That was all that I thought would be mentioned of him until I found a newspaper archive. Specifically the newspaper dated August 8th, 1999. Danny’s parents had taken out an ad in the paper offering a reward for information about their son. Same general information as the missing poster until I reached the very bottom. The names of the friends he was playing with. Tyler Pullman, Bill Cherny, Ryan Smith, and Wes Smith. I wondered if any of them were still in town.

“That’s it?” Jamie said, eyes locked on one what looked to be the last of her books.

“What’s it?” I asked.

“Giza Computational Services was founded by Adam Whittaker in 1996. It was dedicated to his father, Michael Whittaker, who disappeared in the nearby woods two years prior,” she read. “That’s the only mention of Giza in ALL these books. Did you see anything?”

“Nothing about Giza,” I replied. It was true. There was a shocking lack of anything useful. “So he loses his father in the woods, then starts a company that is CURRENTLY trying to keep people out of the same woods… Interesting…”

Between the two of us, that was all we were able to find. We headed for the door to see what we could find at our next stop for the day, Mega Mountain. It was only after we exited the library that I realized that would not be such a simple task.

I’ll admit my reaction was a tad dramatic, but I’d saved for YEARS for my truck and seeing all four tires slashed and the front windshield vandalized, I just about lost it.

“LEAVE” in bright red spray paint. After my initial panic, I was MAD. Who could’ve done this? Who knew this was our truck? Were we followed? My fear started to creep in, but before we could do anything I had to relent and do the one thing I wanted to avoid. Rely on a local business.

“Garret’s Auto,” the gruff voice of the mechanic, I assumed Garret, answered over the phone.

I informed him of my dire situation and he said he’d be by the library momentarily.

“Who would’ve done this?” Jamie asked as she snapped a photo of my car for the insurance company.

“I have a guess,” I said as I returned my phone to my pocket. Giza had to be behind this. We were getting closer and they were trying to intimidate us.

We planned to head back to the hotel after the mechanic arrived. When he arrived about ten minutes later, I could tell Jamie’s emotions shifted. Something adjacent to fear was emanating from her.

“Caleb… that’s the truck,” she said. I wasn’t sure what she was referring to as I hadn’t caught sight of the tow truck yet.

“The pickup truck? Yeah, got here just in-“

She informed me that the tow truck had apparently been the one chasing us in her dream on the way into town. Of course at the time I was hesitant to believe this, but NOW I wished I’d listened.

Garret exited his truck and greeted me with a “you Caleb?” I was partially distracted by the drooping cigarette in his mouth.

“Yes sir,” I replied when I snapped to attention. “This one here’s mine”.

I said that as though the obviously damaged truck didn’t stand out like a needle in a haystack.

“I’ll get it towed over to the shop… Will say I don’t see it being fixed tonight given the influx of cars from the holidays. We’ll give you a call.”

“Sounds great,” I replied. It wasn’t, given there WERE no cars in town and I really didn’t want to have my car sat on and not fixed as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to upset the man far bigger and likely stronger than me. I handed over the keys and Garrett, I assumed, took the truck and drove away. I had this strange feeling of sadness as I watched it go. It felt like I might never see it again.

We walked back to the hotel. It was about a mile, but the cold made it feel so much worse. Despite being nearly frostbitten I still couldn’t stop thinking about how scared Jamie had been when the tow truck arrived.

“You’re sure you saw THAT car in your dream?”

“Every detail down to the dice hanging on the mirror,” Jamie responded. She was looking off into the distance.

Was my girlfriend psychic? I’d never heard of someone, outside of tv shows, having visions of the future. She didn’t seem like she’d ever experienced something like that before.

We reached the motel grounds a few minutes later.

“I can go get the coffee tomorrow if you want.” Jamie offered. What she neglected to consider was the security camera I pointed out this morning.

“Mmm… how about no,” I immediately shot back. “Security cameras, remember?”

She then proceeded to offer to get coffee AGAIN… but this time with a British accent. I figured we’d figure out coffee in the morning. I kissed her goodnight and she made her way into the night. Just as I heard the door close, I heard a storm break outside. I stood up from my prone position on my bed and reopened the door just as Jamie stepped inside the main office. Her room was right next to mine, so I followed her to make sure she was okay. I could hear her conversing with the receptionist before I even reached the door.

“Welcome to the Out- “ The Receptionist paused in the middle of her almost pre-recorded spiel. She must’ve stopped when she noticed me enter. “Are you two just looking for a friend or something?”

Jamie was sitting by the door. She looked up to me and asked if I was okay. I guess I was expecting her to be injured. I was relieved, don’t get me wrong, just thrown off a bit.

Jamie half interviewed, half interrogated the woman and learned that there was a second hotel in town. I hadn’t seen it on the map on the way in or this morning so I was intrigued.

“The other ones closed.” The receptionist said. More business for her, I suppose.

“Huh, I didn’t catch that online.”

“You probably wouldn’t,” the receptionist placed her magazine on the desk.

“Why’s that?” Jamie asked.

“Have you never heard about the Richardson Inn?” She asked. At the mention of it she almost sounded… dare I say giddy? She sounded like she’d been itching to tell someone about this abandoned, off-the-map hotel.

“So, the Richardson Inn opened in 1932. The owner, Arnold Richardson, built the entire place with his bare hands. Previously, he’d been a riding trains around the country, then when he came to town he joined a construction company. With what money he built a three story hotel in the middle of the Great Depression is anyone’s guess. It opens 1932 and reviews are stellar. Everyone loves the Victorian-era architecture and matching period furnishings. It’s a constant source of inspiration for historical fiction writers looking for the perfect ambience. But then there’s the local children. Kids are gonna be kids. They do a little ding ding ditching, they teepee the hotel, he proceeds to steal their bikes and set spike strips to pop their tires. Might have popped a few car tires in the process. The kids retaliate by throwing rocks through windows. They go back and forth until he dies in 1985. Kidney cancer. It would be sad if he hadn’t become such a miserable miser. A real Scrooge type. His funeral was so small it was canceled before the hearse arrived. His son, his only living family didn’t even show up. He did, however, take over the hotel. The local kids hear a new Richardson has taken over and assume he’s just like his father, so they try taking revenge by escalating and setting a small fire in the backyard. It burns one third of the hotel to ash. The fires contained, thank goodness for Loren falls rain, and he being reconstruction shortly thereafter. It’s around that point he and the residents start to notice things.”

“What kind of things?” Jamie asked.

“Power tools disappear. Guests report seeing strange figures in the hallway-“

She kept listing signs, but that one caught my attention. I wonder if that was the same kind of figure I’d seen.

“People thought it was Arnold back from the grave to wreak havoc on the locals. The strange occurrences reached a fever pitch on New Year’s Eve ‘94. At the stroke of midnight, as far as anyone could tell, everyone in the hotel, staff and guests, disappeared off the face of the earth without a trace.”

My mind went back to the gas station bathroom. It sounded like what had happened there.

“Sounds like whatever happened there might be related to the other disappearances in town,” Caleb said.

“Oh definitely. I think that place is the core of the issue. If there is, in fact, an issue.” She reopened her magazine and began reading.

“What do you mean?” I asked. He and I were both confused.

“I mean in a town full of writers it’s hard to tell what actually happened and what they say happened. Whether it’s the truth or just some story.”

What did that mean? Was she living in this town completely detached from the disappearances? How was that possible? Or was she referring to the ghost story angle? I wasn’t sure.

Jamie brought up the Aeldrigh and the receptionists eyes lit up.

“Well, don’t dig too deep unless you wanna join its victims,” she tried keeping her eyes on her magazine, but it looked like she was fighting looking back at us.

“Well, thanks for the story… I’m gonna… I’m gonna go now… Good night!” Jamie said as she began to exit. The rain had slowed at this point giving us both the opportunity to leave. Jamie made it back to her room, but just as I was about to open my door, I thought I my truck might be in need of some fuel… except for the fact that I didn’t HAVE my truck. Let’s call it a late night walk, then.

My room, matching Jamie’s, I assumed, was about a decades worth of 1950s Americana crammed into about three hundred square feet. American flags. Tin signs. Old bottle caps. Uncle Sam Knick knacks. Made me want to vomit red white and blue, regardless of how unhealthy that would probably be. We’d probably want to get an early start in the morning so I immediately flopped onto the bed.

The following morning I almost forgot where I was. Oh, right, a small town in the middle of nowhere that apparently doesn’t exist, where my girlfriend sold her voice to a company that owns a theme park and also apparently wants to scare kids out of the woods. Yes. A completely normal pre- thanksgiving break.* *

‘Pre-thanksgiving… what are we doing?’ I thought to myself as I brushed my teeth. The thought continued through the only shower I’d take in that hotel and Lorem Falls as a whole. The shower was fine… a bit cold, maybe. Thankfully, the bathroom was devoid of theming, so the eyes of Uncle Sam didn’t watch my near existential crisis. Upon stepping outside, I was hit immediately with the pang of a caffeine headache. I wasn’t too excited at the prospect of speaking with the receptionist, but I had to know if there was a coffee shop in town. The temperature had to be in the teens, if not lower. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. Everything else seemed to be covered in a haze of fog.

Ding ding.

A bell chimed as the main office door opened. Joy, the receptionist, was, as she said the night before, nowhere in sight. One thing I hadn’t noticed the night before was a stand of pamphlets near the door. One such pamphlet being a map. I removed the trifolded pamphlet and snapped a picture of my guide for the trip. I immediately noticed two things. One, one of the businesses in town was called “Piernik’s”. I’d have to look into that later. The second was that a coffee shop was right down the street.

The Writer’s Loft. Jamie and I had made almost a game out of ranking every coffee shop we went to. This one, from the outside, looked like it was about to place last in terms of aesthetics. Inside was about the same.

Ding ding.

It seemed every business in town had the same electronic doorbell attached to the front door. This one practically echoed, since the entire store, minus one barista member was empty.

“Welcome to the Writer’s Loft! Are you new here?”

My ears perked up at the question. I felt like Pavlov’s dogs, being trained to spike my adrenaline every time someone mentioned me being an outsider.

“Uh yeah, how could you tell?” I asked, approaching the counter to get a better look at their menu on the wall above.

“It seems like everyone around here’s a visitor nowadays,” she said. The barista, carol, by the nametag she wore, was probably in her mid-30s. She was about a foot shorter than me, had a short, dirty-blond bob, and wore thick glasses. They seemed to be some sort of sunglasses, as they obscured her eye color even indoors.

“Really? Why do you think that is?” I asked, hoping I’d be able to get some sort of info by just playing dumb.

“It’s these disappearances. Even when someone does settle into town it’s like they’re gone within a week,” she sighed and shrugged.

“Disappearances? As in plural? That’s concerning,” I said, hoping to egg her on into giving me more information to go off of.

“Yeah, at first it was just kids, but now it seems like everyone is disappearing regardless of age,” she responded, replacing a bottle on a shelf. “Sorry, what can I get for you?”

I ordered for myself and Jamie. The cashier didn’t bring up the disappearances again, just turned and began making drinks. I turned away from the counter to get a full view of the empty store. I don’t know how they managed to do this, but the furniture that decorated the room seemed to embody various fonts.

The thin and tall like Courier New. Seats curved with rounded edges like Comic sans. Throw pillows, verging on overstuffed, seemed to recall Impact.

“Order up!” I was broken from my font trance by the barista. As I turned back to the counter I caught at the tail end of my turn a black box suspended from the ceiling near the men’s room.

“Perfect, thank you,” I said, grabbing the two cups in the provided drink holder and turning to the door. I, as discreetly as I could, snapped a photo of the box. It was a camera and I was curious. That thing looked majorly out of place.

“Of course! Come back soon!”

“If I don’t come back, I guess I found where everyone else went.” it was a bit morbid, but she got my joke.

My suspicions about the camera were confirmed when I stepped outside. I placed the coffees on the hood of my truck and opened my phone to look closer. On the side of the security camera, a logo and four letters were inscribed. The logo, an equilateral triangle with another, smaller, intersecting its right side. Below that, G.I.Z.A.

SO, my little attempt to be a good boyfriend and get my girlfriend some coffee has yielded two things. Giza computational services makes security cameras and we’re currently watching the local coffee shop. And potentially elsewhere in town. Suddenly the uncle Sam’s decorating my motel room took on a different light.