18 Sep Pecan Pie

Hannah and Becca, the quintessential young couple in love. Newlyweds, or relatively newly wed at any rate, the pair would sometimes baffle their peers in their curiously optimistic pursuit of the fading light that was the classic American dream. During their initial courtship, well on through the blossoming of their relationship and well on past their wedding, the two shared what they’d laughingly admit to being a rather clichéd notion of their ideal life.

Not merely seeking the increasingly challenging goal of owning a home on a quiet street, in a quiet town, where perhaps they might even raise a family, their shared dream even came down to a colorful mailbox, a manicured lawn and of course, a white picket fence. The ideal American home, which sat beneath blue skies in a safe, clean and welcoming community, was to increasing numbers of younger people of their millennial generation, an increasingly unreachable fantasy. But to Hannah and Becca, it was not just a dream, but the dream. One they were wholly dedicated to and united in manifesting through hard work, scrupulous saving and relentless optimism.

Like all couples, married or not, they of course had their share of fights. Usually about money, with Becca often insisting that the occasional indulgence, such as a night out or perhaps a once yearly trip abroad, were essential for living a good life in the moment, while the more financially fastidious Hannah always hearkened back to their long-term goal of a life in the burbs and the importance of careful budgeting. But these fights seldom lasted long, with one inevitably seeing the other’s point of view, usually resulting in a compromise, be it a night out to a reasonable restaurant here and there in place of fine dining, or a camping trip in lieu of a far off or exotic vacation.

Their ability to see eye to eye, even when on opposing sides of an issue, almost always led them back to a happy outcome of one form or another. Though, as is almost always the case, not all was sunshine and roses, as they increasingly found their patience and dedication to their dream challenged by circumstance. Both had excellent credit, worked good jobs and enjoyed bountiful savings, however as housing increasingly became the province of investment firms and private equity, they often felt as so many of their generation do, that owning a home may actually be more fantasy than they had realized.

It was for that reason that after meticulous research into the dwindling programs available for first time home buyers, that the pair were rather shocked when following a seemingly endless campaign of applications, credit checks and various other forms of mind numbing paperwork and meetings, they found themselves approved for a mortgage for what could only be described as a dream home in a town called Avonsdale. With two stories, three bedrooms, two baths, a gorgeous kitchen, a lush green lawn with a fine old tree, a shaded patio and of course, a white picket fence, word of their approval and impending move-in date caused them to excitedly double-check with the other almost each morning just to ensure they weren’t dreaming. These feelings barely abated even days after having moved in, waking each day to the first rays of dawn as they peeked through their bedroom windows.

The house at 184 Lionscourt Lane was a picture of Americana. Spread not too close, but not too far from the equally stunning homes on either side, it radiated deep senses of home and comfort with every new piece of art or furniture they acquired. Having moved from a rather small one bedroom apartment, it took some time and careful shopping to fill the at-first vacant spaces, but soon once enough seating and accoutrements had been brought home, a housewarming party with their closest friends, families and new neighbors finally let the notion settle, that the dream was now their reality.

It was at this very party, while their friends and siblings and parents mingled, each congratulating and complimenting them on their home, that Hannah took notice of something. It was something she’d thought of in passing in the initial days after the move, when she and Becca had toured the quiet cul-de-sac, meeting the neighbors. That being for the most part, almost all of their neighbors were either young people in their twenties or early thirties as they were, or at the eldest, somewhere in the earlier parts of middle age. All, she would find out, except for one neighbor who lived just across the street, caddy-cornered to the right.

“So I’m sure you’ll find that this community is an absolute gem,” Stephanie, a blonde woman of about thirty-five or so said, who Hannah almost immediately recognized by simple presence alone to be the de-facto head of the community association. They had met the day she and Becca had moved in, offering them a homemade pecan pie as a welcoming present. “Now as you know, there is a home owners association, but don’t you worry about any of the kinds of horror stories you usually hear.” she said with a laugh.

“So there won’t be anyone out in the lawn with a tape measure, making sure the grass is the right height?” Becca joked as she stood at the makeshift bar laid out upon the center aisle of their kitchen. She handed a vodka gimlet across to Stephanie who smiled and nodded her thanks.

“No, nothing like that. Really it’s more party planning committee meets neighborhood watch. Just…keeping the community together, you know?” Stephanie replied, sipping her drink. “Ooh, BANTI BANTI BANTI, this is fantastic!” she exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Becca replied, unsure of what banti meant, but gracious all the same.

“Neighborhood watch, huh?” Hannah asked curiously. “Is there a lot of crime here? It seems really quiet in general.”

“Oh no, honey. It’s really more for just lookin’ out for one another. Last spring, Gus over there,” Stephanie said, gesturing to a man in the next room who stood laughing as he conversed with Becca’s parents about something apparently quite funny, “well he was out of town for a work trip, and wouldn’t you know it, his house nearly caught fire when some fault in the electrical system began smoking. If it wasn’t for Gil, that’s my husband, if it wasn’t for him being out on the watch that night, well I don’t know what could have happened?”

“Oh, was everything okay?” Hannah asked with concern.

“He had some smoke damage and had to get his breaker box replaced, but that was the worst of it. It could have been a lot worse.” Stephanie replied.

“I’d say so.” said Becca.

“Other than that, no real crime to speak of. We get the occasional stranger or prowler sometimes, but usually it’s quiet as can be. We have a text group, so when anyone sees anything out of the ordinary, they let everyone know so we can watch out together.” Stephanie said as she took another sip from her gimlet. “This is really good, Becca, you’ll have to show me the trick to it!”

Becca chuckled a bit. “Just, vodka, lime juice and ice. The trick is to get it so it’s just a little green. Not too much, or it just tastes like bitey lime juice.”

“Do the police patrol here often?” Hannah asked.

“Oh no,” a gruff but jovial voice said from behind her. “We don’t call police here.”

“Gil, now you stop.” Stephanie said with a teasing chuckle. “He’s always going on about how he’d handle things if something happened. Truth be told, I bet if anything bad happened here, we’d all be so shocked we wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I’d know what to do.” Gil said confidently with a broad smile as he stepped up to the counter. “That’s just the Marine in me. Always be prepared.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the motto for the Boy Scouts, honey.” Stephanie replied. “If he starts going on and on about the marine corp, you just go ahead and tell him I said to shut up.”

Stephanie grinned teasingly at him as she handed him a small glass of whiskey, to which he responded with a look of wounded mock offense.

“Not a whole lot goes on here,” he said following a hearty sip of the amber pour. “At least nothing to worry about. There’s a sign at the entrance to the street that says the street is closed to the public at dusk and most people tend to respect it. Our little corner of town here isn’t technically incorporated into the city itself, actually. So in general, we’re left pretty much alone to manage it as we like. Sometimes we’ll get a stranger on a walk with their dog or something, or maybe some kids on skateboards, but that’s about the extent of it.”

“Honestly, it’s the quiet here I think we like the most,” Becca said, looking to Hannah who nodded eagerly in agreement.

“Also, I couldn’t help but notice that everyone here is so…young. I mean, the place we lived before was a whole mix of families and retirees. But here, it seems like just about everyone is around our age.” Hannah added. “I also couldn’t help but notice, there don’t seem to be many kids in the area.”

“Well, there aren’t. Most of our kids are grown and moved on. For those of us who had them anyway. I guess in a way it’s a happy accident. Get to live around peers without too much hassle or noise, you know. But you’ll understand that better once you’ve settled into your place here. Are you two planning on having any yourself?” Stephanie asked, curiously.

“We’re thinking about it. Either surrogacy or maybe adopting. This does feel like a great place to raise a family.” Becca said with a nod from Hannah. “I did notice though there is one older neighbor. We tried inviting him to the party, but it was weird. He looked out through the window but just didn’t answer the door. Guess he’s a private type, yeah?”

“Oh, that’s old Roy Camden. If you ask me, I think he’s been here since the Earth cooled,” Stephanie joked. “Yeah, he’s kind of an odd one. Harmless as can be, but likes to keep to himself. In fact, I barely see him leave his house most days. But, to each their own.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Gil said, raising his freshly topped off whiskey.

“You’ll drink to anything,” Stephanie teased.

“I’ll drink to that too!” he replied.

Becca smirked at Hannah, handing her a small shot of tequila, raising one herself. “And so will I!”

Stephanie raised her own glass, now half empty. “Well let’s add to that a cheers to formally welcoming you to Lionscourt. I’m sure you’ll absolutely love it here and will find your place in no time.”

The four shared a laugh before toasting to one another. The final part caused a shared look of brief confusion between Becca and Hannah, but it passed as soon as their drinks went down. The party continued on for some few hours more, before gradually winding down the ways they’re known to. As neighbors and friends and family all shuffled one by one or two by two out in staggered goodbyes, each warmly welcomed and congratulated the pair in their own time before departing into the night. Soon, Hannah and Becca sat upon the sofa, just ever so slightly buzzed, happily full from the plethora of house warming dishes that had shuffled in hours ago and generally in a state of bliss and contentment, feeling entirely at home in the ways they had dreamed for years.

Once the motivation to rise and shamble up to their bedroom finally overtook their post-party relaxation and the infectious nature of an end-of-the-night yawn passed between them, the pair mutually agreed that they could clean up tomorrow at some point. The remaining leftovers were already put away and only various cups and bottles, cans, glasses and plates littered the tables and countertops, non running risk of spoiling. Shuffling upstairs, the brushed their teeth one after the other, with Hannah lazily collapsing into bed with a satisfied groan.

As Becca set about clicking off the light and pulling closed the curtains hung upon the windows, she paused as a curious sight caught her attention. Off across the street and just to the right, upon the small farmer’s porch that shadowed the front door from the street light, a faint, pale figure stood, looking up at her in the window. At first, she felt a startled gasp begin to wind up within her chest, before she recognized him vaguely as their absent neighbor, Mr. Camden.

Though he was too far to make out any defined expression, something in her was certain he was staring right at her, not menacingly, nor intrusively, but intently in a manner she couldn’t quite figure out. She returned his gaze for a moment, before cocking her head to the side slightly, offering a small wave to the old, pale man. He continued standing motionless, until after what felt like an eternity, he afforded a quick gesture, which could have been a wave himself, before turning silently and walking back inside.

The sight was a curious one to Becca, to be certain. But between the growing beck and call of her warm bed and the intensifying weight of post-party fatigue, she simply shrugged before pulling the curtain closed. Turning, she slid from her day wear and as her now deeply sleeping wife had, effortlessly slid into bed, enveloped by both the luxurious down comforter and the sense of peace that came from truly feeling home at last.

* * * * * *

The following morning, Becca awoke to find Hannah already up and tending to the remnants of the previous night’s festivities. All was nearly sorted as she sauntered down the stairs, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Though still early in the morning, she was somewhat surprised to see Hannah as bright eyed and bushy tailed as she was.

“You’re up and at em, today.” She murmured as she made a b-line for the coffee machine, a fresh pot sitting black and steaming and wholly inviting.

“Well, I start the new job today and thought I’d get a jump on the day!” Hannah replied cheerfully as she placed the sugar bowl before Becca who had taken a seat at the center island.

“Oh that’s right. I keep thinking it was Saturday yesterday.”
“Nope!” Hannah chirped. “That was Sunday. I’m actually kinda nervous.”

Becca reached across the counter, taking her lady by the hand reassuringly. “Don’t be. You’re going to be the best thing to ever happen to…uhm, uh…” she paused, struggling to remember the odd, hip name to the company.

“Ba…” Hannah began.

“Bar None!” Becca finished, cutting her off in the perpetual hope that it might sound like she remembered on her own. Which she almost never did.

As part of their strokes of incredible luck leading to them landing the house, Hannah had added a sweetener when she was offered and accepted a position as a staff photographer for a local website and magazine, focusing on in-town food and entertainment. Though she had no plans to abandon her own part time freelance work, the sense of security she found in such a regular position seemed like it was an article of fate, destined to support the new life the two had moved into.

“Look at you! You got it!” Hannah said slyly with only the faintest hint of sarcasm.

Becca had begun working remotely as a writer during the pandemic and then never felt either a need or desire to return to any form of brick and mortar workplace. Often she felt almost spoiled to the point of guilty next to Hannah, as the nature of setting her own hours and working in her own creative field as a consulting copy writer, editor and when she could manage it, e-book and novella author, sometimes didn’t feel like work at all. Yet as her wife did seem to like the structure of a regular job, she chalked such up to their work lives being complimentary as opposed to “different.”

Hannah smiled as she loaded the last of a stack of plates into the dishwasher.

“So what are you grand plans for this gorgeous day?” she asked, looking out through the bay window of the adjacent living room at what was indeed a beautiful sunny morning.

“Well, it’s only about a mile into town so I was thinking before getting to work I’d take a walk down. Get to know the area a little better.” Becca replied, pulling up a map of the area on her phone.

“You could drive. I mean, you make payments each month on a car you hardly use.”

“I could. But that’s no way to get to know a place. All cloistered inside a metal box, no real sense of what the place smells or sounds like. Cars are just for getting where you need to go.” Becca had never cared much for driving, preferring the sort of exploration a casual stroll could afford that modern conveyances simply couldn’t match.

“And where do you need to go?” Hannah teased.

“I have no idea and I guess that’s the point.” Becca replied smiling as she sipped her coffee.

Hannah raised a playful eyebrow, as though she wanted to quip back with something, but then with a smile decided not to.

“Well, enjoy your random rambling round residential real estate and return rewarded right and rested.” she said, grabbing her purse from the counter and kissing Becca on the cheek as she walked toward the door.

Becca paused and cringed slightly. “Aliteration?”

“Anytime and always, my awkwardly adorable amore,” she teased again, knowing her wife cringed as much at such as she did at iPhone pictures taken vertically. An artistic tete-a-tete the two had played at since Becca’s first date selfie with the two slightly offended her photographers eye. “See you when I get home!”

“Love you,” Becca hollered as Hannah stepped out the door.

“Ditto, you dashing delightful dame!” she replied as she finally left.

Becca had to chuckle slightly at, if nothing else, her love’s dedication to such a horrible literary device. Shaking her head she, drank deep of what remained of her coffee and rose from her seat. Shuffling back up to the bedroom she picked out a pair of shorts and a light shirt, knowing the day was likely to be a hot one, and then slipping on her well worn walking shoes, made her way back downstairs.

As she was about step out the door, her eyes were drawn again to the house across the street and to the right. Mr. Camden’s house. Though odd, she hadn’t found the old recluse’s behavior, either peeking from his window without answering or the unusual moment on his porch the previous night all that off putting. Just a bit strange. She and Hannah had dealt with strange before as life in apartment buildings often affords such in droves, yet she had always found that beneath what appeared on the surface as strange, harmless idiosyncrasy and usually a friendly neighbor was what awaited a friendly greeting.

After a brief moment’s pause, she returned inside, back into the kitchen. Digging through the small stacks of plates and back yard buffet trays the others of Lionscourt Lane had brought to ply them with more food than they could possibly hope to finish, she finally settled on a mostly untouched plate of pecan pie that she thought would make a welcome, if not merely inoffensive offering to her new neighbor. In her experience, there was little better than food to put awkwardness or uncertainty between people to rest.

Heading out the door and locking it behind her, she strolled down the short walk, through the white picket fence, the latch to which stuck for a moment requiring a bit of graceless struggle, before strolling down the sidewalk and across the street. As she strode, pie in hand, with the sunlight flickering down through the leaves of the old trees which lined the street, there was an honest moment of suburban cliche her writer’s brain couldn’t help but cause her to notice. However now well into what she was assured was adulthood, though she always had her doubts, she lifted her chin and smiled a bit as the thought that perhaps such cliches as neighbors bringing neighbors pie to say hello were cliches for a reason.

As she mounted the short few steps to Camden’s farmer’s porch and approached the door, her eye flitted briefly to the side window. Though she could not say she saw the curtain flutter a bit, something in her mind was certain it had. Regardless, as she squared up to the front screen door, behind which the same imposing heavy red wooden front door sat, she took a breath and pressed the old round doorbell button sat darkened and worn beside it.

She waited a moment. Then another moment. Though she hated to pry, she couldn’t help but hear the sound of shuffling feet and the creaking of floorboards within. Not necessarily at the door or even approaching it, but just within all the same. She paused a moment longer.

“Mister Camden?” she said in a voice that wasn’t quite a shout but definitely not a whisper. “Uhm, hi. I’m Becca. I’m your new neighbor. My wife and I tried to stop by the other day but…” she wasn’t sure how to articulate the curtain peeping followed by the non answer, let alone the previous night’s staring. “Well, but last night we had a housewarming party with the neighbors and…”

Suddenly a series of creaks neared the door and a following series of clicks suggested that a series of locks were being unlocked. Her explanation broken, she merely stood there, pie in hand, awaiting whatever came next. Then next, the red inner door swung open and an old, pale man with a wispy white beard stood behind the half height screen of the outer porch door.

“How many showed up?” he asked without pause or greeting, in a rather raspy voice.

“Uhm…” Becca was a bit stunned. “Uhm, how many…”

“Your party? How many showed up?” he asked, an odd mix of concern and interest in his words.

“Uh, I think almost everyone? I don’t know. It was a pretty full house and I wanted to…”

“So they accepted you?” he asked.

“I…I mean, I guess, yeah?” she practically stammered in reply.

The old man at the screen nodded, looking off as though something more interesting had entered his mind.

“Okay then,” he said.

“Yeah, they told us all about how people here are…I don’t know, tight. And they told me about the neighborhood watch,” she said, almost with a chuckle, remembering Stephanie and Gil both taking opposing sides on the weight and nature of the thing.

“Did they ask you to join?” Camden asked with a strange sense of urgency.

“Uhm, no. No, they didn’t. Just said it was to keep watch for…house fires and prowlers, I guess. I uh, brought you some pie.”

The old man regarded her with a curious look. One which wasn’t quite suspicion, but bordering on it from the line between it and ordinary curiosity. The moment felt oddly tense, but Becca couldn’t exactly say why, aside from the intense gaze and the still remaining door between them.

“Good. Good. The watch isn’t for newcomers. Did you say pie?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Yeah. Pecan pie. There’s a slice missing. I couldn’t help myself.”

“That happens to be my favorite.” The old man said.

“Well, I’m glad I picked it then! There are stacks of plates and pies in my…”

Before she could finish her sentence, the old man quite deftly flicked the lock latch on the outer door, pressed it open, reached around and took the offered pie, just before pulling the door shut and locking it once again. The speed with which he moved was impressive, not only for an older gentleman as he was, but in general. Becca’s hands remained poised momentarily in the shape of the covered aluminum pie tin that had just inhabited them.

She continued, “fridge. So I thought, maybe since you didn’t make it to the party…”

He cut her off, not rudely but still abruptly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your party. And also sorry if I seemed a bit odd on my porch last night. We don’t get many new neighbors here, especially these days. So I appreciate your kindness. Can I ask though?” he asked, stopping as though that were the whole question.

Becca waited, sure there was more to the question, but that perhaps the old man’s thought has slipped. This however was undone by his rather intense and persistent gaze, his eyes a deep and icy blue with the clouding of cataracts only just beginning to show. She nodded, as though granting him permission to continue.

“Why are you and your…wife, here?” he asked.

Confusion washed over her like a brief wave. Was this some kind of old codger regressive thing? An old man not understand that two women could love each other and make a home together? Perhaps it was more the conventional ‘old ways’ ideals that any change, even something as simple as new neighbors, could be too much for minds quite set in their ways.

“Why are we here?” she repeated.

“Yes, why are you here?”

“You mean at your door?” her confusion deepened with every syllable.

“NO, I mean why did you move here? This country is so big, why did you move here?” his agitation was clearly growing, yet something in a brief flutter of his eyelids and momentary break in his hawkish glare told Becca he rather regretted the slight outburst. He did not apologize, though as his head hung down just a bit she could tell he’d almost meant to.

“Well,” she decided to let it go and offered a weak smile as she continued. “It’s a gorgeous house in a lovely neighborhood and…it was in our price range.”

The old man nodded, still a tad hangdog and no longer meeting her eyes.

“That…that it is. It’s always been beautiful here. Even after… Well, thank you for the pie.” he said humbly.

“You’re very welcome,” she said slowly. “And I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“No, no. You didn’t.” His tone was suddenly conciliatory. “It just isn’t often new people come here. I’ve been here for a long time and I suppose I just don’t deal with change well. Never have.”

“I understand,” Becca replied. “My dad was always like that too. Always liked things to stay how he knew them. Whenever they’d changed the coca cola logo years ago, he actually started drinking Royal Crow, saying they knew the value of consistency.” She added with a forced chuckle.

“A man after my own heart, I suppose. At any rate, thank you again. I’m sorry for my outburst. I’m sure you two will…find your place here at Banti.” he said with what could almost be called a smile.

“Banti?”

“I mean Lionscourt. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. But I’m sure you’ll find your place within the community soon enough. I have to go though. But thank you again.” Camden said as he somewhat slowly began to step back and close his door, a wordless signal that the conversation was done and he’d like to return inside.

“You’re very welcome. Sorry again if I bothered you.”

“It’s no problem. Well, goodbye.” he said, now somewhat abruptly closing the front door entirely.

The whole interaction had been a bit confusing. As she walked, Becca chalked it up to the  nature of seniors, of which Mr. Camden was clearly in if not approaching the higher echelon of being. Yet it was his comment about finding her place that rang like an off tune bell. Stephanie had said the same the night before and the coincidence of it just seemed odd.

Most likely, it had to do with the whole home owners association party planning group, as with the exception of Mr. Camden, everyone she had met there thus far, all part of the group, seemed very tight-knit and enthusiastic about their bonds as neighbors and membership within their loose ‘association.’ If the company remained as pleasant and the food as consistently good as it had been last night, she could very easily see why. It was a stark departure from the apartment life she and Hannah had become all too accustomed to and maybe again, that was the point. Perhaps finding her place within their ranks was precisely what joining a real community was like.

Her stroll took her to the end of Lionscourt Drive where she turned right and leisurely continued down Two Streams Road, the only road into town. To turn left would bring her to a rather abrupt dead end, where as she’d seen already, the trees a small, shady enclave with the mouth of an overgrown trail, roughly wide enough for a car or truck and likely some municipal access road sat in it’s center. She made a mental note to take a short hike down it soon, just to see where it lead. Looking to the corner of the street, she saw the same handmade ‘private drive’ sign she and Hannah had noticed in passing, but had never really looked closely at. Below the big emblazoned words “private community,” she read the smaller text spelling out that Lionscourt was protected by a community watch and that trespassers were not permitted after five PM.

Most curious was the final line, stating that violators would be dealt with to the “fullest extent.” Usually such sentences ended with ‘of the law,’ but upon this one there were no references to such, nor any of the legal code one usually finds citing whatever laws made such no trespassing signs legally binding. She briefly wrote it off as an oversight as the sign itself was hand made and in all likelihood, neither official or legally binding in any real respect and shrugged as she turned and headed down Two Streams Road.

Along each side towering pines waved slightly in the breeze while affording a pleasant shade from the bright sun shining in the clear blue sky. That same breeze brought with it a rather lovely scent of wildflowers and weeds that seemed to dominate the forest wall. While driving in and out of Lionscourt, she hadn’t quite noticed the degree to which things changed between the neighborhood and outer roadway.

While Lionscourt’s street and curbs and even the sidewalk were all immaculate in both structure and cleanliness, the outer roadway was in a curious state of disrepair. For starters, there was no sidewalk, but merely thin strips of dirt that melded into the rather broken edge of the pavement. Along with the occasional pothole or webbing cracks within the pavement, the underbrush to either side beneath the pines was lush and overgrown. Furthermore, while Lionscourt was evenly but fully lined with houses and yards, Two Streams had no structures to speak of for easily half a mile and barely any road signs or even marker poles. For a moment, she felt as though she were walking some old dusty trail from some depression era Steinbeck novel, feeling as though she ought to be carrying an improvised satchel strung to the end of a stick over her shoulder.

She chuckled slightly at this as she continued on. After perhaps twenty more minutes, the forest began to thin and the occasional small house, usually spread upon a larger patch of cleared land would be found. Most had either gardens filled with sunflowers or floral and decorative plants, or small patches of actual crops growing such as corn, tomatoes and even eggplants. Passing the last of these sporadic properties, Becca even stopped a moment to admire some well manicured topiary sculptures which lined the outer bank of a long, rich lawn leading to a small blue house.

Soon after though the real, more dense neighborhoods began to spring left and right from Two Streams Road, all newer developments with houses colored all the same and constructed nearly as identically packed together like sardines. They were the kind of neighborhoods where the view of the average bedroom window was either at the wall of, or neighbor’s own bedroom window of the house to either side of it. She’d always found such layouts rather repulsive in their attempts at creating an image of luxury housing while affording those who lived there very little in the way of actual property to call their own.

She and Hannah had looked at some in their hunt for a home, but always found them as uninspiring as they did unaffordable. As she passed the second or third of such upper middle class egg crate communities, she reflected again as to how lucky they had been to find what they had. She smiled at the thought and turning right once more, now onto Main Street, the main drag into the quaint downtown area where most if not all shopping or meals out would be found, found herself once again on a genuine sidewalk.

It was only another ten or so minutes until she found herself in the picturesque downtown Main Street area one tends to imagine when the word small town is mentioned. With no structures higher than three stories, the long standing red brick facades of the connected blocks of storefronts, cafes, restaurants and other assorted businesses were lined by wide, concrete walking areas, many with outdoor seating set out for patrons who sipped coffees or snacked on local fare. The scents of fresh baked goods, roasted coffee, flowers and clean air all swirled together and Becca was instantly glad to have made her short trek.

Yet as she strolled the sidewalk, she couldn’t shake the feeling that people were looking at her strangely. A pair of old women sitting beneath a parasol in front of a small bistro, clearly enjoying a midday cocktail and a light snack, both paused in their conversation as she approached. The pair looked at her with what felt like a mix of suspicion and concern. Not universal, but as she scanned the area, she noticed others doing the same.

A younger couple across the street carrying shopping bags out of a shop. A middle aged man in a suit on the corner near the old bank building. A bearded, somewhat portly guy driving by in a pickup truck. They all seemed to pause and regard her with the same wordless mild consternation. She briefly worried that there may be a bigoted streak to the area she and Hannah had not been aware of prior to arriving, but shrugged it off, deciding to simply ask Stephanie or one of her new neighbors about such later on.

She paused out in front of what was clearly the town’s main tavern, a place called McCools. The scent of bar food wafted out from an open window and she couldn’t help but find it appealing. Checking her phone, she saw it was well past noon and after a brief consideration decided perhaps a burger and a beer might be just the thing, as breakfast felt like it had been ages ago and she was growing rather hungry. Popping in through the heavy wooden door, the wafting breeze of the ceiling fans were a welcome change from the persistent sunlight and with her eyes adjusting to the dimmer interior, she took an open seat at the bar and scanned the small menu.

Standard fare. Burgers, fries, a mac and cheese plate and fish and chips among other offerings. Nothing out of the ordinary for such a pub. Ordering a draught beer and putting in an order for some sliders, she looked about at the various photos and assorted knickknacks common to townie bars that hung upon the back wall. Looking to her right, towards the wall beside the front door, a pair of old men in ball caps sat, eyeing her with the same curious look the smatterings of townies outside had, each muttering quietly to one another and then looking away as she offered them an attempt at a friendly smile.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said to her left, surprising her slightly. Though there had been an open can sat before a seat two down from hers when she first bellied up to the bar, she had not seen anyone there. Looking now, a younger man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties sat before it.

“Ah!” she stammered, slightly startled.

The man smiled and offered an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. I just, we don’t see many new people here. I just wanted to say hello.”

There was nothing in his tone to suggest the standard bar room pick up bullshit she and Hannah would often have to endure when out at bars or clubs from men who looked like this. He had darker hair, almost to his chin and an equally dark close trimmed beard. Instead, a curious sincerity seemed to impress itself upon her as he spoke.

“Uhm, it’s fine. Uh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.” she said composing herself once more.

“Ah, yeah. I was in the bathroom. Are you new in town?” he asked, sipping from his open can.

“Yeah,” she said after a brief pause. “My wife and I just moved here.”
The man smiled again and raised his can in to her. “Well, if no one else has, let me be the first to welcome you both to Avonsdale. I’m Aaron.”

She paused another moment before offering a cheers with her own beer.

“Well thank you, though our neighbors couldn’t stop. Had a bit of a housewarming party last night. It’s really nice here.”

“Don’t think I’d want to live anywhere else.” Arron replied. “Where abouts in town are you guys? The apartments just behind Main are generally pretty nice.”

“Lionscourt, actually.” Becca replied.

Aaron’s brow rose and he offered a nod, as though impressed. “Now that is a nice area. Really private though.”

“It really is,” Becca said. “Really quiet, kinda but not too far from everything. I like it.”

“Oh yeah. I meant more…I don’t know.”

“More what?” Becca asked, intrigued.

“I just mean… Well, it’s kind of a known thing around town that the people there don’t really care for outsiders.” Aaron said.

“How do you mean?”

“Just, well there’s that sign at the end of the road saying no trespassing and the like. But unless it’s like, the mail man or garbage collection or something like that, gives off a strong kinda NIMBY vibe. Beautiful spot, but I remember when I first moved here I took a drive around and ended up just driving down the street and I swear, it was like everyone had eyes on me. It was a little strange.”

Becca considered this a moment. “Well, isn’t that like all suburbs in America these days? You’re either from there, or you’re the stranger danger we always hear about.”

Aaron laughed to himself slightly. “I guess you’re right on that.”

“I kinda noticed something similar here actually. Downtown, I mean.”

“How so?” Aaron gestured to the bartender, who replaced his now empty can with a fresh one.

“Well like, when I got into town, as I was walking down Main here, it was like a bunch of people were just kinda staring at me. In fact,” she glanced briefly over her should to the two older men at the table. “Those two even were just kinda glaring at me when I came in.”

Aaron peeked over the top of his can quickly at the two before returning his attention to Becca.”Uh huh, yeah, those old codgers. I wouldn’t worry about them. They pretty much live here and I think the sight of new people makes them territorial. I wouldn’t worry about them.”

“Yeah, just was a little weird. It was like a half dozen random people staring at me like I was an alien or something. This place doesn’t like, have a problem with LGBT people or anything, does it?” Becca asked, just as her sliders and fries arrived.

“Avondsale? No, not at all. At least from what I’ve seen.” said Aaron. “It’s likely just that you’re a new face. People around here don’t tend to see too many of those on average. I’m sure it’ll be fine once people get used to you.”

Becca raised an eyebrow. “When I find my place here?” she asked.

Aaron was a tad confused at that. “Uhm, sure, that’s one way to put it. I guess.”

“It’s just something I’ve heard twice now, from my neighbors. The H-O-A…”

“Oh!” Aaron said, his brow raised and a slight smirk crossing his face. “There’s one of those, huh?”

Becca laughed. “I don’t think they’re like that. It’s more of a party planning committee.”

“Like in The Office?” Aaron joked and the two had a decent laugh at that. Which was poorly timed as Becca had just taken a bite out of one of her sliders.

“I guess,” she said, trying her best to finish her bite before speaking. A mouth still full of greasy mini-burger and white bread. Without the distraction, she’d have thought it actually pretty good for the price.  “Not as dramatic though. I’ve got a fridge full of amazing leftovers and pies from last night.”

“Pies? So it really is as Stepford as rumor has it.” Aaron said, again swigging from his can.

“Not that bad. But it does look like something out of a Rockwell painting sometimes. But all in all, I like it there. I think Hannah and I are really settling in.”

“Hannah?”

“Oh, that’s my wife.” Becca said, holding up her left hand to show her wedding band.

Aaron looked briefly at it and smiled.“Right! Sorry. I should have placed that.” he said.

“No worries. So, are you married?” Becca asked, seeing that Aaron sported a band of his own.

“Uh, well. I was.”

“Oh, divorced?” she asked, slightly worried she’d scratched a sore spot.

“Widower, actually.” he said, his smile fading a bit, but persisting despite the obvious pain the answer carried.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine. It was years and years ago, now. Kinda thing that just…happened, you know? One day she went out for a walk and just never came back.”

Becca paused. Nothing felt right to do or say in that moment.

“I know what you’re thinking, but she was declared legally dead years ago. Julie wasn’t the type to just take off like that and there was so much going for her and us, that her just vanishing…well, after a while the reality of things just sort of makes itself apparent.” Arron said, his smile persisting but again falling deeper into a matter of show than genuine expression.

The two sat in silence as Becca continued to peck at her small bar meal. She knew all too well how adding weight to a light conversation like that could spoil such and felt a bit guilty for opening a door such as that. However Aaron rebounded quickly enough.

“Anyway,” he said, his honestly charming smile returning in full. “Ancient history at this point. How are your sliders?”

“Oh!” Becca replied, happy to have the shift in conversation. “Honestly really good. Usually sliders are kind of a let down, you know? But these are great. Fries too.”

“Yeah, that’s Avondale in a nutshell. It can leave you thinking there’s nothing for you here, but once you give it a try, you’ll find it’s pretty damn good all in all. You know, this place is actually kinda ancient in a sense.”

“How so?” she asked, picking once again at her fries and ordering a fresh beer.

“Oh well, there was a time, maybe fifteen years or so ago, this whole crew of archaeologists or…anthropologists or…I don’t know, some kind of ‘ologists’ came through looking for ruins or burial grounds or something. Ended up finding evidence of little villages that pre-date almost anything else in the region. Bone and tool fragments and that kind of thing.” he said.

“Really now?”

“Oh yeah. In fact, that little Lionscourt area was a big time dig site for a while. Right up until some developers came in and shouldered the science nerds out. There was this whole huge court battle over it. Eventually, the real estate people won and that was that. And now…you’re here.”

“Well,” Becca said, raising her freshly poured beer. “Here’s to being here now, I guess.”

The two offered one another cheers and as she picked away at her plate and enjoyed another beer after that she’d just ordered, the conversation carried on. Aaron had been a nearly lifelong resident of Avondale as she’d learn, having moved from Philadelphia with his parents when he was just a toddler. As halves of hours turned to a handful of hours, other locals shuffled in, ordering food and drink, some sparing Becca a curious glance and others not even noticing.

In the midst of a chat about their professions, with Becca learning that Aaron worked mostly odd on-call shifts as a maintenance professional for a nearby apartment complex, hence his mid-afternoon bar trip being an after work sojourn, her phone rang out with the familiar tone of a text message. It was from Hannah.

‘You still exploring?’ it read. Looking at the time, she was surprised to see it was nearly five PM already. Her tiny burgers were gone and she’d finished the remainder of the fries with her new friend some time ago. She’d indulged in another beer, with Aaron sipping from the same cans he’d ordered when he’d arrived.

“Oh, shit. I actually need to go.” she said.

“Well hey, let me give you lift. It’ll be dark out by the time you get back otherwise and with the way people drive around here, a walk even down Two Streams could be a gamble. Plus, you’ve had a few.”

“But, you’ve been drinking.” she replied, eyeing the can in his hand.

He smiled. “Non alcoholic. I kinda fell in a hole after Julie and had a kinda…problem for a bit. I come here for, I guess habit. It’s nice to be out, even if you’re stone sober. Plus, every time I don’t drink when I’m here, is another sign I’ve moved past it.”

She cocked her head, wondering at this. In the back of her mind the notion of a charming male stranger meeting her at a bar and offering to give her a ride was something that typically didn’t sit right with her. The sort of thing true crime stories started with. But there was an earnest and sincere quality to Aaron she couldn’t deny. Perhaps in an age of stranger danger, she’d actually made just a friend.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” she said.

“Nonsense. It’s ten, fifteen minutes tops? I should head home myself anyway as my shift hours open up again soon.”

She thought a moment, but then decided that if one couldn’t trust in a small town like this, where everyone apparently knew each other, there was little point in having moved to one. Let alone, trying to make friends. So, she agreed.

* * * * * *

Aaron’s car was modest, as was everything about him. The simple, bright red Dodge Neon was parked just up the street along the sidewalk. As she walked with him to the car, she noticed the glances of strange distrust those upon the street would have immediately faded as they saw her walking with a fellow local. Perhaps she was finding her place after all.

As they drove, they spoke more of their careers and backgrounds, with Aaron taking a charmed interest in her story of how she and Hannah had met. A wistful look came over him, which she could tell was centered on his late wife, as the two rounded the corner off of Two Streams and onto Lionscourt Drive. Pulling up, she thanked him for his conversation and his kindness in not being a murderous psychopath on their drive.

He laughed. “Anytime. Always happy to make a new friend and…not murder them.”

“Care to come in and meet Hannah?” she offered.

“I would but I really need to get home. I’m fading and need to sleep. Some other time though.” he replied.

“Sure. Maybe we can have you over for dinner.”

“That’d be nice. Just text me later in the week and I’ll let you know.”

“Cool.”

And with that, Becca climbed out of the small red Neon and headed inside. Shifting the car into first, Aaron slowly rolled off down Lionscourt. It had been some time since he’d made a new friend, partially on account of the town so seldom seeing new people. His eyelids hung heavy as he neared the end of the street and his warm bed was all he could think of.

But then, he saw her. There, in the middle of the road stood a woman. Blonde, a little older than he. She stood with a broad smile and waved for him to stop. In the waning light of the early evening, he could see that though she grinned, there was something akin to disappointment or even resentment in her eyes. Coming to a stop, he watched as she walked intentionally towards his driver’s side door. Rolling the window down, he peered up at her curiously as she approached.

“Can I help you?” Aaron asked.

She looked at him, silently for a long and drawn out moment before speaking finally.

“Hello sir, were you aware this is a private community?” the woman asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I am. I was just dropping a friend off.” he replied, his mind preparing for some manner of obnoxious ‘I’d like to see the manager’ energy.

“And you understand we don’t permit non-residents here after five PM?” she asked, seemingly ignoring his first answer.

“I…do. Yes, ma’am. I believe there’s a sign right there,” he said, gesturing to the sign which sat at the corner behind her.

“That’s right, there is! And what does it say below that?” her tone was oddly chipper but in an obviously false way. She seemed to seethe as she spoke.

Aaron had to take great pains to not roll his eyes and looking over to the sign, he grimaced slightly. “I understand, ma’am. I was just dropping off one of your neighbors. There’s no need to involve police or anything. I…apologize for…”

She cut him abruptly. “What does it say?”

Again, he forced down an urge to roll his eyes at her. He was far too tired for these sorts of Karen games. However, always the polite lad, he read. “Violators will be dealt with to the fullest extent,” he said.

“That’s right.” she replied.

A split second later, too quickly for him to notice, let alone react to, his passenger side door was flung open and large man dressed in black, moving with surprising speed for someone his size, slipped into the passenger seat and jabbed a tazer into Aaron’s ribs. The shock coursed through him mercilessly causing him to freeze up and convulse in the driver’s seat, before a heavy and weighted fist slammed into his head. Then, all was black.

* * * * * *

“So, you made a friend?” Hannah asked, half mockingly and half sincere.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool. Guy’s been through some shit, but he was honestly the only person outside of this neighborhood who seemed to be, I dunno, cool. I told him we’d invite him over for dinner sometime. That cool with you?”

“Of course! We’re in a new place, with a new life. We should make friends. How is that even a question? Does he have a wife or girlfriend or boyfriend or anything?” Hannah replied.

“No. Widower actually.” Becca replied with a tinge of sadness.

“Oh, that’s so sad.” said Hannah.

“Yeah, but he seems like he’s well adjusted, if you can even be such a thing.”

“What would you be like if I suddenly died or disappeared?”

Becca rose from her seat at the kitchen aisle and strode around to Hannah, taking her around the waste in her arms. She looked her intently in the eye, a mix of light hearted mirth and deep sincerity in her eyes. She smiled.

“I would become John fuckin’ Wick, if that happened.” she said.

Hannah smiled, then paused. “Wait, wasn’t his whole revenge thing about his dog?”

“Fuck!” Becca replied. “Okay, you’re right. Sorry. Uhm…”

“I’m just fucking with you,” Hannah said with a laugh.

The two closed in a tight embrace and shared a deep kiss, interrupted only by their mutual laughter. It was a lovely moment and had been a lovely day. Then, she saw it.

In the kitchen window Becca spied a face peering in. It was somewhat shrouded in what looked like a hood, but the broad grin the interior light illuminated was wide and in the moment, terrifying. Becca withdrew, pushing Hannah behind her as the pair backed up, now both looking in shocked awe at the shadowed face grinning directly at them.

“The fuck?” Becca cried, drawing a butchers knife from the block that sat upon the counter. She held the blade out, hand canted to the side. The face only continued to grin from beneath it’s hood.

“Becca!” Hannah shouted.

Becca turned and looked down her wife’s pointed arm at the picture window in the front of the living room. There, three more hooded grinning figures, their eyes and most of their features disguised, stood with their faces at the window, glaring intently, each grinning like the first. For a moment, Becca found a deeper sense of shock as the shadowed but grinning faces weren’t smiling maliciously, as much as excitedly, as though awaiting the beginning of some grand show. Excitedly smiling, as if it was Christmas.

A loud bang came from the front door, followed then by another. Becca and Hannah braced themselves, now both wielding kitchen knives, preparing as they could to make a stand. Another set of loud bangs soon came from the back door as well. Hard, concussive sounds. The sounds of boots and shoulders attempting to gain entry. Their knuckles were white as they clutched the small blades, unsure of what came next.

Soon, the sound of splintering wood and the clatter of a latch plate resounded through the first level of the house. The pair braced themselves, readying to fight as best as they could. Three more figures dressed in long black hooded cloaks streamed into the living room, turning on the women. As they readied themselves further, another sound of cracking wood shot out from behind them as the back door gave, and another stream of black hooded figures flooded the kitchen.

The lead figure from the living room lunged at Becca and she swiped out with the knife, catching them in the arm as they brought them up defensively. Hannah attempted a similar swing towards the approaching intruders from behind, but missed, only to have her wrist seized by a powerful set of hands. Becca turned momentarily, hoping to save her wife, only to be grabbed forcibly from behind in a crushing bear hug.

As Hanna was pulled and turned about in a similar fashion, the pair felt as their feet were lifted off the ground, the intruders all moving in, gripping them tight and foisting them into the air. Neither could move, neither could fight. Both struggled with every ounce of their strength and being, but neither were able to free themselves from the teams who began to carry them like teams of stevedores out of the kitchen and through the living room towards the open door.

Hannah let out a scream and Becca a gutteral roar in their struggles, before gags were tied and silken black bags pulled over both of their heads. The shock and terror of the invasion was matched in its horror only by the crushing sense of defeat and powerlessness that overtook them. Their muscles strained and burned in their increasingly futile attempts to free themselves and the pair could feel as they were carried down their front steps and into the street. Through muffled howls and muted cries for help, hey continued to feel the bounce of multiple gaits beneath them as they were hauled away, to where, they did not know.

* * * * * *

The trek to whatever doom or destination they were being brought to seemed to take forever. A mix of adrenaline and abject terror drawing each moment and bouncing irregular shuffling motion out as though it were being played in slow motion. Soon, the steps became even more irregular and Becca could hear the sounds of crunching underbrush and the occasional snapping of twigs. They were being brought into a forest or wooded area she realized, as the footfalls that had previously pounded pavement were now muted as they fell upon soil and fallen leaves.

As they continued on, the previously silent parade soon began a low chant of sorts.  Starting first as practically whispers, it wasn’t until the trek into whatever wilderness they were heading in that the voices grew louder. First discordant and without unity, then settling to a low unified chorus

“Banti, banti, banti,” the voices murmured.

Becca froze, confusion now complimenting her fear. She’d heard this before. First from Stephanie at the party. Then, in that odd utterance from Mr. Camden. Now, voices she could hear more clearly, voices she began to recognize, were chanting the word. These were her neighbors. These were the voices of Lionscourt Lane.

After some further moving in utter blackness, bags still covering their faces, Becca and Hannah were placed down onto soft ground. Not thrown, but placed, one beside the other and forced to their knees. As hands held them in place, their own were pulled before them, coarse ropes tied tightly around their wrists. A moment later, both blinked and squinted as the bags were pulled away and the light of small campfires blinded them temporarily.

Becca turned her gaze to the side and as her eyes adjusted, in the pale light of the moon above and the flickering firelight before them, off to her right she saw the glint of something. It was metal and large. As her eyes continued to adjust and come into focus, she noticed there were many such objects tucked off in the woods some twenty or so yards away. They were cars. Cars and trucks, the closest of which, once she could make it out was one she knew. A red Dodge Neon.

She looked first to her left, where Hannah knelt, hands bound as her own were, a gag still tied about her mouth. The two locked eyes in terror for a moment before having their attention drawn again to the space before them. In the center of a small clearing sat a grand tree stump, from the top of which was mounted a large iron rod, roughly seven feet in height. Near the top, the pair could make out an upward turned hook. Around the stump, perhaps some eight or so feet away a series of small campfires sat burning, with torch handles jutting from each in all directions.

Of the nearly dozen or so cloaked figures, previously their neighbors, all but two spread out, taking places by the fires, all continuing their chant, “Banti, Banti, Banti,” in slow, low, measured voices. The two who remained behind each stood behind the bound women, their hands pressing down upon their shoulders. Becca tried to rise, but the moment her legs tensed, a firm set of hands planted her back on her knees.

From the darkness of the forest beyond the fires which lay beyond the tree stump, two more cloaked figures emerged. Between them they half carried, half guided the form of a naked man, battered and bruised, bleeding from his eyebrow. The man, who slumped and shuffled forward was dragging himself almost as much as he was being dragged. He looked nearly lifeless and a wave of fear and pity within Becca was instantly replaced with a sense of panic as the man lifted his head.

It was Aaron. The same new friend who she had seen just mere hours ago. The same new friend who owned the Neon which sat in what she could now see was a small cluster of cars and trucks in various states of abandon and disrepair. There was no denying it, beyond the blackened eye, swollen lip and bleeding brow, it was Aaron.

The two figures half led, half dragged him towards the stump, forcing him up upon it, his bound hands raised above his head and looped over the upward turned hook. Once there, they let his body slump and dangle, suspended with his feet just barely touching the old cut wood at the base. The pair who had escorted him from the darkness stepped away, taking places at the fires around him.

The voices chanting, now in perfect unison, suddenly and abruptly stopped. A dread silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the crackle of the campfires and the occasional groan or whimper from the battered Aaron. Then a voice, a familiar voice, spoke in the tone of proclamation.

“Banti!” Stephanie spoke into the night. “We bring to you this life as a token of our love! Our love for the land!”

“For the land!” the others chanted.

“Our love for community!” she continued.

“For community!” the others followed in unison.

“Our love for one another!”

“For with each of us and you!” the chorus added.

“And our love for you, Banti!”

The chant began again. “Banti, Banti, Banti,” thrice, all together, then silent again.

“And together as we come, we come with others!”

“Banti, Banti, Banti.”

“So that we may share together in the joy of your welcome,” Stephanie continued.

“Banti, Banti, Banti,”

“And serve you as the thankful guests unto your host and bounty!”

“Banti, Banti, Banti!”

From the shadows behind where Aaron hung immobile, a human shape stepped forward. Clad in a draping cloak of rawhide and skins, upon which dark red brown symbols resembling glyphs or runes were drawn, a thin, frail figure emerged, un-hooded, his wiry white hair, matted with mud and other mess, his face alight by the fire. As the icy blue eyes in the weathered old face turned to the bound women, Becca recognized him instantly. It was Mr. Camden. This was Banti.

“Welcome, all,” he said as his gaze moved around the circle. As he came to look at each figure, they threw back their hoods, revealing faces split in wide and delirious smiles, eyes alight with sycophantic madness. They were indeed the friends and neighbors of Lionscourt Lane. The same who had been in Becca’s house just the night prior.

Camden, or Banti, continued. “We are gathered as we do, to praise and protect, to believe and to banish and tonight, to welcome and to warm, in the cold night of modernity. The time which was, that which was taken, the time of tribe and reverence for this land. The time in which I walked with my kin and fellow spirits, now long routed and vanished. The time in which the land was me and I was the land, and in which I watched over the first of peoples. The time in which the people and their tribe preserved the land and kept the old ways, for these we gather now. And for this, I accept your bounty, so that you may keep the land for us, as for here, we have always been and here as I remain.”

His old voice was stronger than Becca recalled. Bold and resounding with something deeper and more ancient than even the old man’s appearance would suggest. The cult of Banti, the Lionscourt tribe, bowed their heads as he spoke. Then the chant rose once again.

“Banti, Banti, Banti!”

The old man looked again to Becca and Hannah, who sat frozen and bewildered at what they were being forced to watch. “I have not always been Camden. This was not always Lionscourt. Like everything else about this land, it was taken and destroyed by invasion, by infestation, by modernity. I have been the guardian of this place, I have been this place since before there were words or names or even the sound of human voices. Before forms like that you see before you even existed. And when the voices first arrived, when the first human forms discovered my realm and domain, there was in fact peace.

“The first peoples, those who called me home, lived with and lived for one another in a beautiful harmony. Epochs ago, ages upon ages stretching back into time so far you could call it forever, they lived and loved and grew with one another…until then others came. Others, believing they could claim the land.

“Then others after them. Stones gave way to club, then flint and spear, then arrow, then the others came in endless waves and tides, soon guns and fire, disease, despair, corruption of the land. The once lush and fertile soil covered in false stone. Homes, once made of the land itself, rooted in my being, now simply boxes made of land and timber wrought from other lands!

“They are not of me, and they have no place here. And so for strangers, interlopers, to trespass upon the lands of my people, to trespass upon me! There must be tribute, to make it right.”

Camden, or rather Banti, drew a deep breath as he finished. His icy gaze bore holes into Becca and Hannah, seeming to each to be looking at both of them, right in the eye, side by side, at the same time. Becca attempted to speak.

“Mrumrumurh!” she tried to shout, the gag still covering her mouth.

Camden looked curiously at her for a moment, before flicking his gaze to the faithful stood behind them, with a quick gesture to them both. Becca and Hannah both gasped for a moment as their gags were removed, with Hannah spitting the clinging fibers left upon her lips away in disgust. Becca’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?” she bellowed. “What is this?”

Camden’s expression shifted, turning almost bemused with a tint of sour knowing to it.

“You shall witness now.” he said, then waving his hand towards the others stood round the fires, each grinning as they took up the torches which sat burning within. With a glance to Stephanie and no words needed, she bowed her head and from within the folds of her robe, drew what looked to be an ancient stone blade. She approached the hanging Aaron, who continued to groan.

It took Becca only a moment to realize what was about to happen, but as a shout left her lips, it was already too late. The stone in Stephanies hand moved with practiced speed and buried itself tip-first into Aaron’s side. He howled in pain as a spout of crimson blood began to pour from him, as though the wound were itself a spigot in a barrel.

Several more lightning fast stabs punctured the man throughout his chest and abdomen, legs and into his armpits. Further fountains of blood running down his dirty and battered body, coming to drip from his toes and form pools upon the stump. With another quick gestures, one that couldn’t have even been seen by Stephanie who wielded the stone weapon aggressively, yet dispassionately, as though she were merely slaughtering livestock, she stopped and bowing her head again, replaced the blade beneath her robe and took her place beside a fire.

Hannah felt like screaming, but no sound would come. As she watched the man upon the hook shiver and slump, his lifeblood pouring from him relentless, all she could manage was a horrified gasp. Becca, though flitting her gaze to the dying form of the new friend she had met that very day, shot daggers with her eyes at Camden, who stood proudly before the man bound to the post. A boiling rage overtook her fear and horror, wishing with every fiber of her being to visit upon the old man and everyone else in attendance the same relentless cruel brutality she had just witnessed.

Camden, or Banti, maintained eye contact with her hateful gaze and a mild smirk as he stepped towards the stump. Leaning over, he swirled his finger within the pooling blood, itself seeming to congeal as it mixed with a thick ashen substance, before standing tall, his hand raised, blooded fingers held up as though about to deliver another insane sermon. He approached the pair, Hannah still locked in shock, Becca positively vibrating with rage.

“You do not understand.” he said.

“I understand that you’re a sick fuck. You all are!” Becca spat.

“But, you will,” he said calmly, as though having not paused at all.

Reaching down, he smeared the ashen blood upon their cheeks and forehead, anointing them in some grotesque manner, three lines each drawn towards the centers of their faces. An acolyte, a bearded middle aged man the couple knew as Eric from three downs down, stepped forward, offering a fold of his robe as without even looking at him, the old man reached out. Eric wiped the excess blood from Banti’s fingers, before stepping back, clutching the stained cloth and smiling as though he had been blessed by god himself.

No sooner had he done so, than did two other cultists, these being neighbors whose names were lost beneath Becca’s rage and disdain, stepped forward carrying what appeared to be old-time moonshine jugs. Lifting them around Aaron’s shuddering form, they doused him in a foul smelling and viscous fluid. Once he dripped as equally with the liquid as he was with own blood and with the mixture pooling upon the stump below, Aaron was set ablaze by the surrounding figures, with each tossing their torches down upon the unholy dais that was the tree stump.

A sick gurgle escaped from Aaron as he thrashed for a few moments, before his body went limp and hung burning upon the fallen tree. The pooled ichor mixture below soon went up itself, sheathing the now dead man in a pillar of raging flame. Yet as the light and heat of such bathed both Hannah and Becca, their minds were taken elsewhere.

“And now, you find your place.” Banti whispered just before the pair slipped away.

* * * * * *

It was a deep and rich, forested place. Enormous beasts from eras and times untold roamed throughout the thick underbrush and between the towering trees in what the women both knew was an endless expanse of wild land. Above birds and other manner of unnamed and unknown flying fauna coasted across the skies and flitted between tall tree branches. Such they knew, seeing without eyes or form at all, was a time and era before times or eras were even concepts, let alone words.

The world was young and untamed, with new species, new creatures and new monsters crawling from the depths and darkness of creation without limit. Unbridled, wild and free the land itself lived and breathed as they did. It watched as generations upon generations of life and death cycled about and through one another without end or even purpose.

As these things lived and grew and died and lived again, generation after generation, it was on one but not particular day that a new creature arrived. Brown in tone, shaggy and hairy, but not fur covered. Standing upon only their hind legs, with the top appendages wielding stone and limb and for some, even smaller versions of themselves, they paced cautiously into the wild place.

Finding for themselves a somewhat level and clear patch within the endless forest, they stopped and ate of the land. Taking down beasts and devouring their flesh. Pulling plants and fruits from the soil and gorging themselves as far as their gatherings would permit. When other beasts would attack, they would band together with their stones and thick limbs of wood and with screams and howls would set upon them, bashing and smashing, dying in droves, but never relenting as a group until the beast was felled. Then, with what broken rocks they could and with teeth and nail and finger, would carve into their fallen quarry, further feasting upon it and sharing it among their kin.

The walking things multiplied over time, with one after another graying, withering and passing into a sleep from which they would not awaken. Soon the band built structures, first from fallen branches, broad leaves and mud. Then soon, with passing generations, clay and thatch. Their lives came and went and came and went until one day, a stranger appeared at the border of their ever growing clearing.

It looked like them, somewhat. Walking on hind legs, arms and hands and feet and face. The only difference to be seen, was it’s eyes. Icy blue. A stark contrast to the dark browns the tribe all shared. It’s face, masculine and strong jawed, was framed by dark black hair and a short black beard.

It looked upon them, somewhat. Gazing upon the hovels they called home, the central fire upon which their meal slowly cooked upon a makeshift spit and their young each clinging to their mothers. It stood naked, body wrapped in dense muscle, tense and ready to strike.

Yet as it looked upon the man-creatures, so new yet so inevitable as it knew, it was struck by their unbreakable bond. They were many,  yet they were one. They were tribe. They were…community.

This world then turned to a blur for the minds that were once Hannah and Becca, with what would come to be called time flashing on endlessly, as humble dirty tribes became more sophisticated peoples. As this clearing grew to a village, soon did it turn into a tribe, more advanced, more intelligent, always reliant upon one another and always sharing in every spoil or development.

Soon though, others came. Just as fit to the land as they and sometimes more, until one day the original peoples were all but gone, replaced by new peoples, who likewise shared the bounty and honored the land from whence it came. These in turn were taken down by others who did the same, over and over, in what seemed like an endless sequence.

Soon, new people arrived, these with different garb to the skins of those who had repeated and replaced one another. Their means of conquest were those of fire and steel, of brutality and cunning resolve. Soon the sprawling villages were cleared and new forms of habitat were founded. Yet still, behind the furthest tree and behind the highest cloud, the icy eyes of the land itself watched and judged.

Soon pathways gave way to what would be called roads, and soon after roads to what were called highways. The ways once blazed and patterned by generations of bare human feet were once cut clear and battered down even further by the hooves of beasts brought into bondage and burden. The once Earthy homes of the people were soon replaced by rigid structures of timber and as they were, reverence for the land that once spoke, fell away.

Then a tree was felled. A grand old pine whose time within the Earth predated even those first strange upright creatures, was cut down and turned into more homes and ships and tools and weapons, without even a word uttered in gratitude to the land itself. The land, known and named by the first among the earliest people as Banti, once language had developed, which gave such bounty and afforded once a sense of real community.

The one of the land, with eyes of ice and skin of the soil, who had first welcomed these things into and upon itself, became incensed. A darkness grew within it. A hatred. A demand for just simple regard, which such creatures had such long abandoned generations past, festered within it. And so, a sacrifice was demanded.

First within the minds of those who dwelt upon it, seeding distrust and righteous disdain between them, the one that was Banti sought to cleanse itself of it’s pox. Yet no matter how deep and true it’s cause would root, more kept coming. ‘Progress’ as they defined it, simply wouldn’t stop.

It was then one day, while two youths lingered by a fire within it’s depths, the Banti spoke to the mind of one in terms against the other. The first of notions was simply such to encourage this scourge to take it’s violence upon itself. To clean the land of what had infected it. Yet as the victor in their struggle leaned back, straddled over their now former friend with bloodied stone in hand, heaving breaths and feeling the exalted sense of victory, Banti saw another way.

It felt within this one a sense, however misplaced and misled, that it had protected it’s own. It’s tribe. It’s community. And therein did it, Banti of the land, named as it was by these very same creatures, see the future.

* * * * * *

Becca and Hannah both shook before the burning man upon the ancient tree stump, who had long since passed and now only burned and smoldered, blackened and dead. Of course this had to happen. Of course this was the way. There could be no safety for the land or those upon it, without such culling and without such reverent offerings to the spirit that resided therein.

They both looked up to Banti, now seemingly younger and more vibrant than before. The once sparse and gray-white hairs that teased it’s scalp were once again rich and lush and black, as they were always meant to be. It’s beard was thick and dark as well, and it’s eyes shone with a brightness and welcoming calmness, now sated by the offering of yet another intruder. It looked down upon them with a shattering smile and spoke softly as it raised it’s hand.

“Now, you know and have found…your place.” It said.

And they knew there was no arguing. No denying. No refuting what had been shown to them in that moment which lasted ages. It, he was right. They were intruders. Invaders. They had to know their place. And now, they had found it.

It reached its strong hands, nails grown out like claws of a savage beast towards their heads. They bowed them, knowing what was to come. Their place was found and they were found. And then came peace.

* * * * * *

Hector and Eliza, the quintessential young couple in love. Newlyweds, or relatively newly wed at any rate, the pair would sometimes baffle their peers in their curiously optimistic pursuit of the fading light that was the classic American dream. During their initial courtship well, on through the blossoming of their relationship and well on past their wedding, the two shared what they’d laughingly admit to being a rather cliche notion of their ideal life.

Not merely seeking the increasingly challenging goal of owning a home on a quiet street, in a quiet town, where perhaps they might even raise a family, their shared dream even came down to a colorful mailbox, a manicured lawn and of course, a white picket fence. The ideal American home sat beneath blue skies in a safe, clean and welcoming community was to increasing numbers of younger people of their millennial generation, an increasingly unreachable fantasy. But to Hector and Eliza, it was not just a dream, but the dream. One they were wholly dedicated to and united in manifesting through hard work, scrupulous saving and relentless optimism.

It was for that reason that after meticulous research into the dwindling programs available for first time home buyers, that the pair were rather shocked when following a seemingly endless campaign of applications, credit checks and various other forms of mind number paperwork and meetings, they found themselves approved for a mortgage for what could only be described as a dream home in a town called Avonsdale. With two stories, four bedrooms, one and a half baths, a gorgeous kitchen, a lush green lawn with a fine old tree, a shaded patio and of course, a white picket fence, word of their approval and impending move in date caused them to excitedly double check with the other almost each morning just to ensure they weren’t dreaming. These feelings barely abated even days after having moved in, waking each day to the first rays of dawn as they peeked through their bedroom windows.

The house at 186 Lionscourt Lane was a picture of Americana. Spread not too close, but not too far from their equally stunning homes on either side, it radiated deep senses of home and comfort with every new piece of art or furniture they acquired. Having moved from a rather small one bedroom apartment, it took some time and careful shopping to fill the at-first vacant spaces, but soon once enough seating and accoutrements had been brought home, a housewarming party with their closest friends, families and new neighbors finally let the notion settle, that the dream was now their reality.

It was upon finally moving in, settling upon their couch and dreaming of the family they would have, that their doorbell rang. The pair greeted their visitors together, opening the door with wide and blissful smiles. Before them stood two women, one holding a pie.

“Hi!” the one with short cut, darker hair said. “I’m Becca and this, this is…”

“I’m Hannah!” the other said. Hannah held out the pie, offering it to Eliza who accepted is graciously with a smile and nod of thanks.

“We’re your neighbors, from just down the street there,” Becca said, turning and pointing gleefully to her left. “Thought we’d bring you this housewarming gift to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Eliza looked to Hector with a smile.

“Oh my god, thank you so much! Yeah, we are so excited to be here! It’s just so beautiful.” Eliza said with a loving smile to her husband. “Can I ask, what kind of pie is this?” she asked, attempting to smell it through the clear plastic lid which was crimped into pie tin.

“Oh, that’s pecan. It’s a neighborhood specialty.” Hannah said.

Becca and Hannah looked to one another with a loving gaze and smiled.

“I love pecan pie!” Hector said, adding, “It’s just like, perfect here. Kinda can’t believe we found this place.”

“Oh yeah,” Hannah said. “It is absolutely perfect.”

Becca smiled broadly as she spoke. “I am sure you will love it here. And I’m sure, you’ll find your place in no time at all.”