Jonas

I didn't tell her why.

She said I needed to clear my head.

When I went back to get the rest of my stuff, the place felt hollow.

No sign of anything missing or moved.

Everett's side was still empty.

Never saw him again.

My uncle Darren had a stroke the week before Halloween.

It hit him out of nowhere while he was chopping wood, and for a while it looked like he might not make it.

While my parents ran back and forth between hospitals and rehab centres, they decided I'd stay with my grandma for a bit.

Not just for a night or two, they packed my duffel and said I'd be there for a little while.

Grandma Alma lived way out in Wilburn Hollow, about an hour outside a town that barely had a grocery store.

Her house sat past the old strip mine, way back where the pavement turned to gravel and then to nothing at all.

The last sign I remember seeing was half rusted and crooked, just a green arrow pointing to Gilby Fork, a name nobody ever actually said out loud.

Alma was already waiting on the porch when we pulled up.

She had her coat on even though it wasn't that cold yet.

Just stood there with her arms folded, squinting at the road like she already knew what we were going to say.

She barely spoke.

Just nodded when Mom told her thank you and gave me a quick pat on the shoulder.

Then they were gone, a car disappearing in a trail of dust that hung in the air for way too long.

Inside, the house hadn't changed since I was little.