Page 12 of Fall I Want
Who?
Julie
Nice try.
He has been lingering in the back of my mind for the last two weeks. I know I said I never wanted to see his chiseled face again, but I search for him in crowds. With a single glance, that man buried his asshole self into me, and I can’t shake it. I can’t shake him because he’s the man of my dreams in the goddamn flesh.
But he was a jerk and lied about my coffee. I don’t understand why and I want to know.
I grab the little notebook Julie gave me and have successfully written a haiku per day, noticing Alex has taken center stage. Fuck, I’m doomed.
He’s under my skin
Haunting me like a damn ghost.
Floating in my mind.
Islide out of bed and put on my workout clothes. After I shove my phone into the deep pocket of my leggings, I stretch. This is the only time my mind is clear, and I need it.
Once my earbuds are in, I wrap the bear spray holster around my waist and leave. Whoever invented this running belt is a genius. I’ve only had to draw it once while out in the early morning.
Music floats out the wide-open glass doors of Vinyl Vibes, a new and used record shop I live above. It smells like lavender incenseand old paper. Classic cars slowly cruise the main drag with their windows down. The locals love being outside in September, especially as the temperatures continue to fall.
I cross the street toward the trail, watching leaves rustle across the sidewalk. After the breakup, I cried every day as I ran. Then, one day, no more tears fell. But sometimes I pushed so hard my body wanted to break as much as my heart. Running told me I was still alive. I knew I’d survive when I felt like dying.
Once I’m at the base of the mountain, I start my smartwatch. If I keep a steady pace, I’ll be home well before dark.
It’s two miles each way, and I do this three to five days per week. It makes me feel good, a mental reset of sorts.
My feet are light under my body and I keep my focus forward. I won’t stop until I’m at the top, breathing in the clean air and taking in the view from the lookout. At night, it’s a typical make-out spot.
With little effort, I pick up my pace, passing a few walkers on the wide path. At the halfway mark, the trail turns into a single track that weaves through the dense forest. The cool autumn breeze brushes against my cheeks as I listen to my kick-ass playlist packed with up-tempo songs.
I push harder, wanting my thoughts to vanish. It’s almost like I’m in a trance as my attention skirts over the rays of sunlight reflecting through the branches, painting the ground.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, after an uphill run, I’m at the top of the lookout with burning lungs. I stand with my hands resting on my head, taking in the view of the distant mountains and gondolas that are carrying people to the resort. Some dark clouds loom to the west, but they might dissipate before making it here.
As I try to cool down, a few tourists stop me.
“Excuse me, can you take our picture?”
“Sure,” I tell them as the woman hands me her phone.
There’s a sign that shows the elevation at the lookout point andthe three of them stand beside it. They look exhausted. I remember the first time I hiked up it at eleven years old. I thought my heart would explode because it’s a constant uphill climb. Going down is easier.
I take several pictures in different orientations for them then hand her phone back to her.
“Thank you,” the lady says, and I give her a smile. When I glance over the woman’s shoulder, a flicker in the distance pulls my attention away.
“No problem! Have fun!” Then I focus upward.
The lights are glowing in Hollow Manor, the black mansion that’s rumored to be haunted by a woman and her two children. All murdered by their father, who disappeared soon after. It’s eerie to see the house lit up. The yellow lights in the windows are like eyes.
I stare for a few seconds then blink hard to confirm I’m not imagining it.
In my younger years, I was obsessed with the lore of Hollow Manor and researched the place until I was blue in the face. I tried to find as much information as possible but always fell short. Many locals believe the owners of the ski resort covered up the truth because they were related to the family. I’m unsure if any of that is true.
What I know is the house and land have been registered to a management company since it was built. The yard is always landscaped and the driveway is shoveled and cleared during the winter months, even though no vehicles have ever been seen coming or going. Not even maintenance workers or lawn care. It’s a mystery.
