Welcome to Rayburg (1)

After a rather sudden bout of misfortune, we were glad to be met by our first piece of good news in months. Courtesy of his immense efforts, my dad was offered a job with the Washington forest rangers. Despite it being his dream job, my brother and I had gone near mad when we'd heard dad was taking the opportunity. Our mom was far less so, excited as she was now able to return to living in her childhood home, something she had dreamed of since leaving the state. 

And as for myself, I always dreamed of moving to a big city, making Rayburg the absolute last place I ever wanted to be. It looked like a ghost town at worst, lackluster at best. That, of course, didn't matter at all since we'd inherited it per Popo's —Waipo, my mom's mom— will and wouldn't have to pay much, save for what the much-needed renovations would cost. 

My mom had grown up there, in a small town with a population of only a few hundred, but only recently had she revealed that information. I couldn't ever recall hearing of it outside of her stories, so I'd searched for it across the web. Unfortunately, all my brother and I had managed to dig up was the city's official website and its general location on a map. From the looks of it, the page hadn't been updated since the late '90s, roughly around the same time she'd left. We shared a laugh over that, but the addition of its nearest neighboring town was the icing on the cake. Rayburg, as it turned out, was a hop skip and a jump away from Forks, the setting of the infamous Twilight trilogy. 

While I wasn't amused, my friends made up for that. On the day I left, my best friends —Sophia and Jaime, who I'd known since the first grade— gifted my paperback copies of books the deemed appropriate, then some. Of course, those included a few other vampire-related works of literature. Courtesy of their thoughtfulness, I now owned an ancient copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula, then a grainy copy of Nosferatu. 

Jaime had pirated it, I could tell, and Sophia was disapproving. I rolled my eyes but was still appreciative of the distraction it would offer. More so, the half-heartfelt notes they'd scribbled on the front pages. Some were serious, some riddled with inside jokes, and upon flipping through a Banana Yoshimoto book, I saw that they'd both annotated it. I wasn't one for reading, but I knew I wouldn't be able to put it down. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I'd said nothing, only tightly hugging them before getting in the car. 

Moving from Blink-And-You'll-Miss-It, Texas, to the slightly smaller Middle-Of-Nowhere, Washington, would surely take a toll on my mental health. Who better to go insane with than my new best friends, the multiple fictional characters in the novels they'd given me? Most were having an existential crisis of sorts. So instead, I hoped that maybe, like Bella Swan, I'd also run into a werewolf or some other supernatural thing while buying groceries in Forks. Unfortunately, our town seemed too pitiful to have much of anything, judging from the pictures I saw during the car ride. 

I had turned off the music to discuss the revelation. Mom only snorted in response, also musing over whether we'd be whisked into a world of angst and adventure. She was quick to go silent, returning us to a state of perpetual suffering, country music blasting embarrassingly loud from the broken radio. We sang along with the windows rolled down, mumbling random words, unsure of the lyrics. 

How I wished to be in the U-Haul with my dad and brother instead. They seemed to be faring better than us, having been the reason for every single hold-up at tourist traps. Although the road trip was initially meant to consist of just above thirty hours of driving, it ended up lasting a staggering sixty-three hours due to that. On the way, we stayed in three hotels, two decent, one not so much, and the most memorable was the ugly western-themed one in Montana of all places. It had cost far more than it was worth, complete with rats, leaky taps, and a gross continental breakfast that made Benji sick. 

My parents had bickered about the needless squandering via speakerphone, but it came to a decisive end rather quickly. Neither wanted to sleep in the car after Benji reminded them of what happened in South Dakota. I certainly didn't and shuddered at the recent memory. 

A few hours from our destination, we came to a rest stop to tidy up and stretch. I was still upset at how long I'd been confined in the car and for all the boring sights. At the very least, they could've picked more exciting places to stop at, so I could have more photos to add to my scrapbook. 

I cringed at the thought afterward, needlessly worrying if my hobbies would come across as too boring for the few other kids in town. 

It couldn't, I reasoned, figuring they'd understand. Plus, what would small-town kids even do for fun? Surely, they would do something of similar energy levels. Either that or they were all hiking freaks who loved exercise and eating pine needles. If that was the case, I decided I'd instead remain friendless. 

I didn't know what to expect as we drove through town. Or rather clusters of plants. There wasn't so much town as trees, trees, trees. Peeking out on occasion were buildings of sorts, but those became even rarer the further we climbed. Eventually coming to a stop, we got out somewhere further up in the middle of a dirt road. 

Dad promptly told us to grab our stuff. Shooting a look at Benji, I obliged. Then, with a box carefully tucked beneath my chin, backpack hastily thrown over one shoulder, I set off after them. We continued climbing for a bit longer, the effort getting harder and harder to muster up. 

"Why couldn't we bring the car?" Benji whined, shifting the box in his arms. 

"The path's too narrow," dad said, seemingly undaunted as he trudged ahead. "And we could really use the workout after eating all that junk on the ride." 

I chewed my lip as I stumbled over a rock. Typical dad, ever the health freak. It was no wonder that he was even more excited to live in the middle of nowhere than mom. 

None of us had expected the trail to be so steep. Despite my dad's cheerful attitude, I could tell that he too was struggling, along with Benji and me, to keep up. Our labored breathing was accompanied by the occasional rustle of leaves or gust of wind. Even though I despised it, the walk was enjoyable to some extent. I couldn't recall the last time we'd been out for so long or the last time mom had looked this happy. Maybe being out so far —away from civilization, fast foods that supposedly rot the brain amongst things— would help her mental state take a turn for the better. 

We released a sigh of relief when the ground began to flatten out. Coming to a stop in front of a small, split-level house, I felt relieved and terrified as I studied the house set before us. It was surprisingly modest with its appearance. If anything, it seemed as if it had been abandoned. I wouldn't say it was terrible, per se. Charming peculiarly, yet maybe half the size of our home back in Texas. No wonder we'd had to get rid of things. 

The dense woods grew sparser, with only a few trees scattered across a small clearing. Tucked away, it invoked a sort of feeling that I couldn't quite describe. 

"I know it's not what you expected," mom said, a strange gleam in her eyes, "but we thought it would be a nice starter home. The area's nice and quiet, and we figured we could fix things up together." 

The way she stared was forlorn as if she were inexplicably saddened by the sight. 

"Mom? Are you okay?" 

She cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow without giving a response. It was silent. Then I heard footsteps, leaves crackling beneath and realized we would be granted silence, but the kind where something bad could happen without anyone else noticing. I couldn't decide whether that would be an issue as we followed in after her. Both Benji and I struggled, having hauled along the boxes for so long. Finally, he set his armful on the floor just inches away from the couch. A layer of dirt stirred, causing us to cough. Cobwebs covered the old, ugly thing, much like everything else for as far as the eye could see.