Rim Road WC 297

Rim Road
WC 297

We walk Rim Road at our own peril.

An errant twig snaps under my hiking boot; birds scatter to the sky.

“What was that?” my brother asks.

“A twig.”

“No, something else,” he says.

We stop...and listen. Crickets, squirrels, leaves buffeted by Nature's exhale, the rumbling of our stomachs, and the hammering of our hearts are the sounds that jump out to greet us.

“I don’t like this,” Sammy says.

I’m scared, too, but can’t let on. He is my kid brother.

“We’re almost there, Sammy.”

The forest closes in as we approach the rotted gate. My trembling hand reaches for the latch as my grandpa’s warning rattles my every fiber. "Never go past old man Miller's gate. Rim Road will be your last destination...of this world."

“Eddie, don’t! Remember the curse!”

“Oh, that is just a silly story Grandpa George told us,” I say, but I ease my hand away.

We have come all this way on our Saturday adventure, intent on trespassing on old man Miller’s property. He has been dead for years and his house stands abandoned, but the curse remains, according to our grandfather.

“Oh, Sammy, don’t be a chicken!”

“I’m not being a chicken. Grandpa is a smart man.”

Our Grandpa George is a smart man, and not prone to gossip or exaggeration.

The two-story house stands in disrepair amongst the tall weeds. I see movement in an upstairs window.

“I think we should go,” Sammy says.

“I guess,” I say without mentioning what I saw.

“Let’s go to the movies,” my kid brother says.

“Okay, let’s.”

We turn back and head home; I lead the way, looking back every so often.

“Let’s pick up the pace so we don’t miss the matinee,” I say, as we hurry home down Rim Road.