The Incident at Blackgrove

Chapter 1: Haunted by a Memory

I am haunted. Not by a ghost or spirit, but by a memory, an experience.

Some years ago, when I was on the road, drifting through life, I found myself in a small town called Blackgrove, Oregon. It was a charming town on the Pacific coast with plenty of ocean and forest sights to see. It was sort of hidden and I had only found it because I was driving up the coast. Nestled in cliffs and trees, one could drive past it and never know it was there.

The people I met in that town were memorable and unique, if not numerous. It was a small town in every sense of the word. While not somewhere that I'd really want to settle down, it was a beautiful place to visit. This was all my first impression of it, anyway. The truth about that town turned out to be much...stranger.

When I first drove into town on a chilly autumn morning, my initial reaction and thought was that the town had a dreamy feel about it. It was as if time was different there. It didn't stand still, it didn't speed up or slow down, it was just different. It was disorienting in a pleasant, surreal sort of way. There was something off about the town, but I was attracted to it all the same.

I had originally stopped in Blackgrove (tired from driving long hours) to get gas and hadn't planned to stay very long at all. When I got out of my car to refuel, I was immediately overcome with a strange but familiar feeling. It was the sort of feeling that you get when you are somewhere new and foreign. You can feel it. It's a feeling of anticipation, excitement from discovery and adventure.

The air seemed crisper and cleaner, with perhaps an earthy scent. Though sunny, the area was diluted with shade provided by tall pines and cedars. The ground was a rich brown and red. It was as if man had subtly squeezed into a natural space as opposed to destroying everything in order to make room for himself, which is his habit. Blackgrove was a pleasant balance between civilization and untouched nature, its buildings and roads seemingly sprouting out of the ground between the trees.

As I finished fueling my car, I heard a feminine voice speaking to me from behind. "Hi," she whispered, half startling me, "sorry. Didn't mean to spook you. I didn't recognize you. You must be new in town."  I turned around to see a young woman, perhaps in her mid-20s (like myself).  She had her light blonde hair in a ponytail and was wearing a pair of overalls and a worn pair of brown hiking boots.  She had a youthful aura about her and a kindness in her face, seasoned with a weariness that I felt had stemmed from experience and hard work.

"It's alright. My name's Dakota," I replied, "I'm just drifting through."

"Dakota. That's a nice name. It's a shame you won't be staying with us longer. I was curious about you because we don't get very many fresh faces around here."

"Well, I don't know. I am pretty tired from the long drive. I guess I could probably stay the night. Is there a motel nearby?"

"Oh, yeah! You'll wanna go to Derik's place on the other side of town. There's a big sign that says 'Blackgrove Motel' just by it. You can't miss it."

"Great. Thanks."

"So...where you from?" she asked, leaning on her car.

"Just...kind of all over...you know?"

"Wow. You really are a nomad, huh? I wish I could do that. Just spread my wings and fly. Leave this all behind. I bet you've got lots of great stories." I felt bad. My disinterest was most likely quite visible on my face. Give me a break. I was exhausted.

"Yeah, um...listen, I should probably get going, so--"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm always doing this. 'Stupid Willa! Stop talking so much!,'" she said to herself, "I'll let you get back to it."