“I slow down for a minute to tug on Zach, who’s stalled again in the middle of the road. We’ve passed out of the main part of town. It’s dark, with no streetlights, and the houses, crouching in overgrown yards, are dimly lit or shuttered and empty. Massive trees, with thick leafy branches and hanging vines, cast shadows that seem to move with a life of their own. Bats swoop overhead, and the occasional scuttling noises make us both jump; but something else, beyond the obvious creep factor, is fr...eaking Zach out. He did try to explain when we were a few hours into the weed, but I couldn’t follow his logic then, and now I’m no longer interested. We’re going to find Miss Bertie’s house. End of story. I stop in front of a white picket fence. I can see a blue wooden house behind it. These are the only two clues we have, beyond rambling directions from various locals. I look to Zach for confirmation. “You said you’d know it when you see it, Zach. Is this it or not?” “Oh, man.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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