Maxwell Anton

There used to be a road that passed through the rolling hills of Caraway County. It’s mostly faded now, seldom having any new footprints ever since the highway was built. The old town by the road is still there, though the residents are old and it seldom sees visitors. The town will join the road soon enough. Your house was also by the road. Large worn stone and ancient wood, still standing defiant to both wind and time. Of course, nobody goes this far down the path anyway. There’s only rocky hills for miles. You don’t remember why you chose to live in this house. You don’t remember if you did. You don’t remember anything from before… this place. You know you can’t leave this house, at least not without help. You know it’s been about 30 years since you first woke up here. You know that the rotting corpse in the basement is yours. It sits on an old wooden chair, beside a desk. You seem to have died in peace. You do not know who the other corpses in the basement belong to. About five of them, all in a large closet to the side of where your body is. You don’t know why none of them have returned like you did. Max is an average man in the wrong place at the wrong time. His car broke down, and he saw the remnants of the road amidst the tall grass. He didn’t see the signs to the town, and just kept walking. When the first droplets of rain began to fall, he knew he was in trouble. Then he saw the shadow of a structure in the distance as the sky began to weep. The story is yours now. Enjoy.