William Royden

When Grandpa's house came into view, I couldn't move any further.

I said nothing.

I would tell according where we were and why it was so ridiculous that we should be here, only after he'd completed whatever task he had in mind.

I wanted to hurt him somehow, to make him feel utterly foolish.

I would let him look around, and then I would explain to him that his instincts were completely wrong.

I would even keep taping so I could document his wrong turn.

But deep down, I feared that something very awful had gotten too close to Grandpa's house, and that courting had tracked it down.

Grandpa's old truck was gone and the house was obviously empty.

He'd probably gone out for groceries or to visit a friend.

He still went out a couple of times a week despite his old age.

After looking at the house briefly and at the wide acreage surrounding it, which was bordered on all sides by woods, Cording turned his attention to the old horse stable my grandfather had essentially left to rot decades ago.

Cording opened the rusting gate that separated the backyard from the grassy lot on which the stable sat and went through it.

I followed him.

It was as if he was being led by a scent or a sound that only he was able to experience.

Cording went into the horse stable.

He lifted the lid of an ancient wooden storage bin and hesitantly looked inside it.

There was nothing in there.

Then he moved to the other side of the short wall.

I saw some old furniture left sitting in the dirt for years, nothing more than a home for spiders, and then noticed, even before courting did, a tall wooden stick rising out of the dirt to waist height, having been jammed into it, standing freely.

A small photograph had been taped to the top of the stick.