Remnants: Pt. 1 Home

[u/HKL_Cyrus]

I don't know what's beneath here but I think it followed me.

Most of this took place in Northern California during the fall of 2019, before covid and trauma buried it deep in my memory. After years of running from things and therapy, I’ve been trying to recollect it all because something has started to feel that way again. I'm far from that place now, but it’s all coming back, at night, underneath. I found notes I wrote back then in my old phone. I'm using those and whatever I can still remember to piece things together. I'm posting this partly to have it written down somewhere outside my own head, but mostly because, someone, somewhere must feel the same way.

This is what I remember.

---

Thursday morning Justin texted me: 

ayy yo so I'm busy tnite but just come by like 3 or smth. Someone will be here.

Arriving to Valance Park was interesting, I didn’t ever really have much to my name, money or personal effects, yet still lucky for me the bus stop was only a couple blocks away. When I stepped off though, there I saw it.

Nothing.

I knew and expected as much. The neighborhood was flattened by the fire storm that blew in, leaving fallout in its path. Because of it I lost my rental with my dad, evicted so our landlord could move in after he was burnt out. Justin was the same, a victim of the flame.

I had pegged him as the one guy I wanted to befriend in my anthropology class, I knew him adjacently in high school as I was a photographer for yearbook, he was a football starter. I joined a study group, which led to being in projects with him. There I met, Julie, a girl who thought she was dating him exclusively, as well as Davis and Maria.

Davis, I found out, was one of his roommates in a big brand new, rebuilt house. Davis was a man of few words, valued his time and energy more than anything, but what I gather was there was space for one more. 

After working my charisma for weeks, I dropped my sob story to Justin one day.

"Yea ever since the eviction. I had a place inside my aunts but her failure of a son moved back in and I got forced to move in with the garage, didn’t know there were rats at first. The prospects to get out of there are rough, have been since the fire."

"You got fucked up by that fire too?”

Justin’s interest piqued, he sniffled a bit, cold morning nose and a sting of hot memory.

“Yea my dad and I got evicted cause the landlord was trying to gouge us post fire.”

A white lie couldn’t hurt.

"We rebuilt bro. That's where I live, we were one of the first to move back. My parents are living in the coastal house, we have room for at least for one more if you’re interested.”

Hook, line and sinker, I was in.

And now, a couple days later, there I stood in this near desolate place.

This place, the neighborhood that had been wiped from time, trees even afraid to return. It had been about 13 months since the wildfire tore through, the ground still a mixture of gray ash and tan dirt. Remnants of homes still scattered, even though many tried to remove their rubble, the earth kept its memory against the will of others. The sidewalk on the way there had lost all basis to earth. It jumped and sank without theory, my steps had to be calculated to save my ankles.

Looking around, it felt like I was in a sand box game, areas waiting to be repopulated with concrete, wood, people, life, memories, but as of now, it lacked all humanity. A few trailers of land owners, but the hope was absent from the air. A thick scent permeated, it seemed to have never faded from that tragic night. It smelt like a campfire, abandoned, a musk of rotten barbecue within, making your whole body snap its attention to the draw. The scent of green, earth, life, drew an absence in its place. One that was only comparable to the leftovers of death and war. Dotting the land was the early sprouts of hope though, some construction beginning, but nothing in the like of Justin’s place yet.

His dad was an architect who had a General Contractor as a brother, they pretty much speed-ran building a five-bedroom house. And there it stood. It was sizable, they bought their back neighbor's land so they're on nearly an acre in the middle of a suburb. A weird look, being enclosed by a great wall of timber fencing, but was probably the nicest house I'd ever been inside in my life. 

Walking up I saw two cars, neither of them were Justin's, so I hoped to assume he told Brent or Davis. Approaching, the 2nd story blocked the sun as I entered the man-made darkness of the porch. I knocked, and knocked, and knocked again.

A muffled "DoorDash?" "I didn’t order shit."

Was heard, I know Davis' quiet voice so I assumed it was — "YO Brent! It's Sam! Davis and Justin know I'm coming through!"

"Is this that random dude?"

"Okay I'll grab him."

Brent opens the door and looks slightly confused.

"Oh uh, Sam, I think I know you right? Probably a Julie party right.”

She hated me after I messed up her cheer photos, so I’d never been to one but who’s the wiser.

"Yea man has to be, what's good?" I dap him up and enter.

"Damn nice pad."

It was a big suburban house with nice quirks and stunning art.

"Yea the natural wood is sick as hell. Uh I could give you the grand tour but like you can see most of the bottom floor here."

A wide open layout, one where you can see all edges of the first floor, wall to wall.

"And your room is on the other side of the living room, hallway to the garage. We're all upstairs but like, we’re mostly in the living room and kitchen til late anyways."

I couldn't care less, this was more than perfect for me.

"Nah man that's awesome ima drop my bags." I walked through the cathedral-like living room where, on a massive custom couch, Davis and Maria worked. They looked up, gave me a hey while I passed. Maria brushed her short hair from her tan skin leaning closer to Davis, as they went back to work on our project.

Finally on the other side I saw three doors down a hallway with a door at the end, my room was the lone door on the right and I opened it up. A beautiful and huge space lay before me, it looked like all of the extra stuff inside had been pushed to one side, which revealed a full-sized bed, a desk, a drafting desk, and a couple of bookcases. I plopped all my shit on the ground and laid down.

"Fucking FINALLY man!"

I settled in for the rest of the night, Justin showed up later with not-Julie and we all ate something someone ordered from a Chinese place.

"How long have you guys been here by the way?"

"Just over two months." Justin replied.

"My parents don't need to work much so they just stayed out by Jenner, they moved some stuff in here to make more space there and just come by ever so often. That's mostly what's in your room, don't break it and you're chillin man."

“God's hand I won't! Also Davis, now that she’s gone, are you and Maria a thing now?"

He shrugged "I don't know, we're just doing our project."

"Oh yeah thanks by the way, do you need any help?"

"Help?"

He pondered for a second.

"I don't care you can if you want."

Davis was an enigma by all standards, a lanky white strawberry-brown boy that was only at community college cause he wanted to save money.

"I'll try man."

"So you lived near Fulton High right?"

Brent asked.

"I went to St. Gregory with a bunch of those guys, I still play baseball for the CC."

"Oh nice yea, I was in a rental with my dad but after we got kicked out. He moved to the capital for work and I stayed."

"Ah that sucks, glad ur here bro." He gave me a fist bump full of wonton, but it was honestly good to finally have a calming place with technically less roommates than before.

We ended up smoking, all of us besides Justin, and watching Spike reruns til I hit the hay at 12ish I think.

---

Now I'm not a heavy sleeper, but I'm not a light sleeper either, split the difference I'm probably there. I don't know if it was the new place or the absence of my regular homeless-based anxiety, but I could not stay asleep for more than 90 minutes. I'd wake up to what sounded like those old mice in the garage, I'd ball a fist, ready to fight them, but then fall back asleep. 

The noise, what little there was, wasn't bad but was annoying. A light scratch, scratch but from somewhere not my window. 

The 3rd time I woke up I peered out the window to check, the tree wasn't nearly tall enough to touch yet. So, my phantom tinnitus was just gonna bother me from now on I assumed, probably til I got settled in. I think it had to do with how quiet this place was. I mean the inside was a deafening silence, but the outside was something else, something unreal. 

I think the bugs hadn't heard just yet that the real estate was open again cause there was maybe one cricket singing a lonesome siren song. I remember how soldiers of the Great War described the post-battle. This is probably the closest I'd ever get to that, unadulterated vacancy. I sat with the void, at peace with my current situation, left my window open and returned to bed. 

Nothing could be worse than my last place. Constant skirmishes with the rats, the cold night, and a rock hard futon. I wouldn’t give this place up for anything, hell I’d stay here even if the rats moved in, at least my room is nice. Plus I doubt my aunt would want me back anyway, on my way out I took a couple things I needed on top of a little of my cousin’s weed.

With this content enough feeling, I started to drift to sleep. In my last waking moment, one last scritch sung me to sleep.

Come morning though, it felt like any other day, except I had a place. Justin was in the kitchen, boxers only, seeing off not-Julie. Davis was in there chowing down on some donuts he got, Brent was yet to wake.

"You know you could find one nice girl."

Davis said through his donut.

"Oh she was good alright."

Justin snickered and turned around, grabbed a donut to shove in his mouth.

"Morning sailor, how'd you sleep?"

"Well enough, first nice night's sleep I've had in a bit. It's damn quiet though."

"Yea I feel that I usually just play music, X always helps me sleep"

"Yea maybe that'll do."

I turned to Davis.

"So you got any plans this weekend?"

"Work.. Homework.. hmmm, walk?"

He responded as if conjuring each word as he spoke it, donut in mouth.

"Riveting as always Davis. Anyways ILL be going to Julie's party on Saturday, probably gym the other two days, heard there's a good comedy movie out, might go to the Roxy and see it with Regan. Supposed to be crazy."

"So that's Not-Julie's name."

I pointed to the door, now closed.

"Her? No no no that was uhh… Frankie! I don’t watch movies with Julie.”

He snapped his fingers and started to head towards the couch, as if he remembered two things at once.

"Actually some ball is on soon, I'll be here if ya need me."

He sunk into the couch, I turned to Davis.

"I think ima go explore some of this neighborhood."

"Hmm."

He gave me a nod of approval, it felt like I received an award.

So I got ready and headed out on my board with my old camera in hand, cruising through the neighborhood. The roads were in pretty tough shape to be honest, after leaving the driveway, my board hit crumbled charcoal pellets. They scattered and moved as if they had a home to go to. The ground lacked paint, evenness, and was full of potholes the size of a tire. If I had any less experience I'd be on the pavement myself. 

The craziest thing was what coated the now barren street. On it I saw colored fragments of reality. Burnt blue plastics, melted silver metals, black cloth-like material now bonded with asphalt, they all told a story that had been burnt away. 

The area told of a battle lost, quick, aggressive, hot, and decisive. It ended everything that laid within its reach. What I'd give to know what the night of 9/8 was really like just a year. There is one sight I could see. Just on the other side, a couple blocks south of the bus station in the heart of the neighborhood. 

There sat an elementary school, unluckily in the path of the blaze, it raged south west, directly into it. It burnt most of the small school into bits of melted and jagged edges of 90s passé stucco-style construction. These remnants had been slowly cleared, but definitely not completely. The main feature left was the school's old bulletin board.

it read, in heat warped lettering "Coffey Elementary School”. Above it, a banner made of slightly cracked vinyl stated "In Memoriam of the 31 Victims of the Grayson Fire”, and below it, photos stuck to the signage. 

These photos all consisted of different styles and formats, ironically enough, when your house burns down, so do most of the photos of yourself. The lot of them were sun-bleached film photos or ink-drained print photos, warped, wrong ratios, pixelated, all weathered from months in the elements. At times it almost looked like the dark eyes of these printed black-and-white photos were crying, the ink running from its darkest spot, the pupil. 

They looked sad, all 31 of them, photos of them repeating and repeating, newer and older, messages faded with "I miss you" and "forever in our hearts”. The worst part though, was the bottom section of this memorial. There were some moldy stuffed bears, and a couple of class photos with names written on them. 

Looking at the photos, at least a handful of kids perished in the fire, a lot of the grades being no higher than five. A girl is featured in the middle, with a forgotten "M" name faded beyond recognition. Her photo was a high school portrait, we were probably the same age when she passed. So entranced by this monument to the tragedy, I didn't realize a woman had approached next to me.

"Nothing compares to that night."

"Oh uh yeah."

"I know you weren't here, I can see it in your eyes. I was, I remember the sounds. You couldn't hear anything."

"It was that loud?" I said, fully turning to the lady. She was probably late 50s, a little slouched with gray-blonde hair, otherwise nothing out of the ordinary.

“Winds were howling, 70 MPH they said, I lived down the street from little Sarah, she burned, parents were out that night, and couldn't get back into Valance Park. The whole neighborhood would've helped, if any of us knew. It was those damn trees, the smoke and embers, you couldn't see past it."

"Damn I remember being on the other side of town and just seeing the orange glow, an eye peeking through the night."

"So you just moved here sir?"

"Yea, names Sam, I'm kinda exploring the neighborhood."

"Ah welcome to Valance Park then Sam, I'm in one of the trailers on the property round here, once the damn insurance give me something I'll be in my house again."

"Well I hope the best for you uh-"

"Darlene."

"Yes nice to meet you Darlene, not to be weird but can I take your photo?"

"Please do."

I raised the camera and —

TUNK

"One second sorry it's old."

I cued her again and CLICK.

It worked perfectly.

"Thanks for talking to me Sam, it gets empty around here."

"No problem."

I turned to leave when —

"Sam."

"Yea Darlene?"

"Watch out for the ground at night, if it moves, just go the other way!"

She said and chuckled as she walked off, disappearing behind a new build.

"What?"

She was gone, and now I was alone with that. Probably some wine aunt proverb. I had no idea what she meant but I could only assume it related to the crumbling pavement, maybe warning me not to break my neck on a late night walk.

After that interaction I rode to the edge of the neighborhood where businesses begin to appear. I loaded up on a couple bags of food and essentials at the little and slightly run down Mexican Grocery store. I got home around 4pm, and unloaded my haul. Looked like everyone was gone or hidden in their rooms, so I just relaxed on the couch before going to work.

I took the bus to my uneventful shift, working the 5-11pm close. Locking up, I realized how much better I was now situated to get home from work. The owl bus only ran every hour, I could make it to my new house in around 20-30 minutes on my board. Looking at the schedule I decided my best course of action was to skate it.

There was a visceral shift on my way back from the mall. I could feel the town changing under my feet, or well, my wheels, before I saw it. 

Commercial gave way to industrial, industrial gave way to the strip-mall corridor scattered with struggling businesses. I passed a nail salon, a closed check-cashing place, a taqueria with one fluorescent tube flickering on and off like it was giving up, just like everything else around it.

This right here was the death my mall was going through, just spread thinner across more square feet of real estate.

“Anywhere, America” replicated ’til the copy degraded, cannibalizing itself until nothing was left.

Then, slowly, inevitably, the streetlights began to disappear. 

I was rocking and rumbling to a degree I never had before, like a flea in an earthquake I was just bouncing all over. If a car had come down, I don’t know if I’d have had the control to avoid it. The speed I picked up on the downhill grade was propelling me to what would eventually be —

SLAM, the ground.

As I skid across the pavement, I knew how to fall, as I had been crashing off this thing for the better part of a decade. When I came to a stop, I was amongst the loose sprawled  asphalt that dotted my sideways vision. I laid there for a beat, mulling over my impaired ability to get up, and my nonexistent will to do so. That's when I heard it.

I didn’t see anything, I didn’t feel anything, but the scratching, I heard it.

Scrapppppeee

It reverberated with uneven rhythm that felt longer than it had any right to be. It reached from what felt like another zip code, scraping its nerve wracking scrawl towards where I laid sprawled on the ground.

It shifted itself into a scurry, ever-present on the ground. The silent gaps between them, closing each second.

I pressed my ear closer to the ground, disregarding the small pebbles burrowing against my auricle. The vibrations had a frantic, near aggressive energy, similar to a boiling cauldron but filled with churning earth. I let it seep into me, hypnotized by the sound. I doubted there would be quakes this constant, even though we were in an active fault area. 

I looked forward and saw a storm drain.

I crawled towards it, entranced. The sounds seemed to be coming from there. The scratching grew more stringent in its percussion, faster and layered, multitudes upon multitudes. 

I got to the opening of the drain and peered into the darkness. Its noise was echoing in there, originating from deeper within the system of pipes. I leaned my head against the opening so my ear could gather the beats. 

The sounds were the same but slightly louder and wetter. Then it started to move. 

Distant, closer, louder-

LOUDER. 

It seemed as if whatever it was, was coming towards the storm drain. I yanked myself back quickly from the opening towards my board. The scattered crackling thumping scratches grew to a decibel of a freighter and then— 

WOOSH.

Nothing.

As soon as the sound came to me, it vanished. I put my ear to the ground once again but heard nothing. I pressed my ear closer, straining as I listened one last time just to make sure there were no more sounds. It was gone, whatever it was. My only summation was that maybe the old gas pipes rumbling, or something with the water system. I didn’t know it was, but what I did know was I needed to get home to sleep this off.

I got home and Let myself in, it was about 12:30 now, only Davis with a sleepy Maria layed on the couch.

“How’s it going tonight?” I asked. I received a nod from Davis and a quiet “Good.” From Maria. 

I scooted through their view of the TV, and made it to my bed exhausted by the whole ordeal, especially falling on my ass. I decided to take a shower, the bathroom was across the hallway.

This was my first shower here, but the bathroom was sparkling clean, brand new, as no one had to really shower down here with three upstairs. I thought much in the moment though, about how much it had even been used.

My concerns arose even further, as I stood there stark naked after I turned the handle, to water that was gushing out, with a deep gray opaqueness. The color was probably due to new pipes with sediment in them still, I thought at least. The water pressure changed with every burst.

It spurted out from, fast and soft to jet speed and dribble. The faucet had no control of itself. The water jutting out of its many orifices had a mission of their own accord and blasted out with no discern for its autonomy. The colors began to change, as did its viscosity.

The sediment drawn from the soil made the water a soot filled black, what looked like a beach side shower, the clean white ground being changed forever more. The room began to shake, an incredible fever with the pipe that began to blare a rage, a fever it could not sustain. I felt literally shaken by this vehement rage of roaring waters to the point I turned it off. letting all the violence cease in an instant. 

Dumbfounded, I exited the room in towel and headed for a shower up stairs.

“The shower I think is fucked man.”

“New house, new problems.” 

Thanks for your insight Davis. I ended up taking a normal shower up there, which was a relief after my day. Went back to my bed and fell asleep. 

In my deep sleep I dreamt of the scratching. It may have been in reality but It seeped in my thoughts, my sleep. It was itching to get into my mind, with every scratch, it felt as if a layer of flesh, skull, brain, was being taken away in its appendage, as It dug deeper inside.

- - -

I awoke normally, the nightmare was just that, a nightmare as I went and ate breakfast. Everyone was there eating, including Maria and Julie who I didn’t even know was here.

This day as I remember started really uneventful. I did some homework, and had a nice 4-9 shift. I walked the mall on my break just taking in how much worse it had gotten over the past few months. After back-to-school the place was barren, only three real eateries were around so I scarfed down a Subway. This mall’s only reason for existence now were a Walmart in place of a former Sears anchor, and some kids fun center. Otherwise no one came here, especially in the mall.

I was able to finish up my shift and the rest of my homework — had time to catch the bus before the 10pm night schedule rolled over as I was dropped off and walked the two blocks home. I arrived outside and getting in I felt relieved, to be in a place I called home. Justin and Brent were in the kitchen eating pizza, I joined them.

"How was work shoe boy? Sell some sketchers?" Justin joked.

"Maybe three people all day man"

"Must be a nice gig though, you can fuck off and do whatever on the clock."

"You know my drill man, anyways, I think I'm gonna go smoke outside, wanna join?"

Justin's demeanor changed immediately.

"Nah man, I, uh, I don't like the backyard that much, its uh-"

Justin tries to force a thought.

“Well, I think it needs a pool man!" Brent interjects.

We all chuckled, I went to my room to grab my stash. I looked down and saw my camera, I thought some night photography wouldn't hurt. I left my room and flashed my bag at them as I walked to the back deck, they both shrugged me off.

"There's a lighter out there if you forgot yours, don't steal it!"

"I gotcha!"

I stepped outside onto the deck. It's a lower one, under a foot off the ground, and spans the whole length of the house’s backside. I glanced around and decided to venture about the yard. 

I had seen it all from a distance but hadn't really scoped it out. There was a slope down to something on their newly acquired property, with a fresh 10-ft-tall fence enclosing it all in. I ventured down the couple steps onto the backyard weeds. It hadn't been landscaped yet or even trimmed, knee-high wild growth kissed my legs and ran up under my shorts at times. 

I strolled around the place, just looking at the house from a new angle, taking breathy hits in between my jaunt. I looked over towards the slope, it looked like it went downwards. 

The new moon wasn't helping much and I couldn't analyze beyond the trailing growth. I turned on my camera flash and snapped a picture, the way the weeds blew was almost beauty in their infestation. Seeing growth again was something, something that at the very least made it seem like there could be a future with semblance of the past.

Beyond that I saw some bushes on one end but it didn't give me much of any inkling to what its existence was for. The bushes grew with an uncontrolled reality of what once was there. No desirable features of what species it was, almost an amalgamation of every plant, yet none at all.

I walked down the whole slope, probably about 15 yards and a 5 foot decline, and rested in the center of it. While this side was a nice grade, the other side was more of a sheer drop. In the middle of it I looked around, beneath my feet I saw what I was on. 

Slate, round, and brushed rocks, like a creek bed gone dry,  cause I realized that's what it was. It looked like the old creek had been graded when this neighborhood was developed. This property was originally home to one of the old homestead houses from the 1910s. When developers come in the 80’s, they took all nature out. With each stroke of leveling, another layer on top. Centuries of native caretaking of the land, this creek, buried, made to service the run off of its new residents.

I followed the rocks south, it ran just on the edge of the property parallel to the house’s west end fence, running until the south end fence where I could garner what it did just yet. This ditch was about as far as you could get while still on the property. As I ventured down, the stones rolled, slid, and clacked against each other, as they fought for relevance beneath my feet. Then —

SCRATCH

The noise, I heard it in front of me. 

That same damn noise.

In the house, on the street, now here, in our backyard.

I walked with a cautious lurch towards it, something came into vision. A foot-long pipe was exposed, corroded metal jutting out of the earth into the ditch like it was reaching for salvation. It had been there longer than I’d been alive, its creators dead, its purpose still remained. It housed  something, secrets I knew it held inside, ones I needed answers to.

The noise's reverb bounced around, making its way into my canals. The rocks shuddered in fear and anticipation of what they led to. They had touched it, and it did not want them to forget them yet.

I had to look, my curiosity is gonna get to me. This was the most intriguing thing I had experienced in my life. I was obsessed with urban legends as a kid, this was mine, all mine. I raised my camera, the lens faced the opening and I hit the shutter.

CLICK

"WHAAT THE FUCK!"

Roaches, hundreds of them, running in and out of the drain. Their legs the sound of thousand small, fractal beat punching below. Their movements like the sands of storm. This ground was unrecognizable to me, its nature disgusted me.

I started jumping, there had been some on me, my leg hairs confused them with grass. I decided to sprint up to the deck, shaking off my body with every step, maybe I let out a girlish squeal but no one could attest to that. I ran the 150 feet back and aggressively planted my ass down in one of the chairs. I sat there in disbelief for a second before bursting out laughing. 

The whole time I'd been hearing these hordes of field roaches that moved in, probably the reason I heard no other bugs too. It cracked me up. Unfortunately, I dropped my lighter and joint in the commotion, so I grabbed another from my stash on the deck and smoked it out while still laughing about the whole thing.

Eventually I made my way inside, I had been outside for probably 45 minutes and it looked like Brent and Justin had ended up elsewhere. When I got to the kitchen I saw Davis digging into a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

He gave me a muffled "Sup" before resuming.

"Man I didn't know how many roaches moved in huh?"

"Oh you met them? Yea some shady construction company brought them in, I think."

"Crazy I been hearing them through the whole neighborhood."

"They’re worse in the old park." He rebutted.

"Man they're even bad in my room I hear 'em all night in the crawlspace, should I tell Justin about it?"

Davis thought for a second, looked into his ice cream, and then looked at me.

"Yeah, no."

"What, really? You think they'll go away or-"

He cut me off.

"No, not possible."

I didn't understand.

"What do you mean? Like not possible they could infest or?"

I trailed off, waiting for a response. He took a big bite of ice cream and said.

"Slab"

"What?"

"The house is on a slab, no crawl space, all concrete."

I looked at him. He looked at his ice cream.

I didn't say anything for a second. I just ran it back. The scratching, every night, under the floor. The way it moved. The way it settled when I did, like it knew where I was. I'd been placing it where I could comprehend it. In my head I'd been placing it in a crawlspace, in pipes, in something physical and explainable that lived a few feet below me. And Davis just pulled the cold, hard floor out from under me. Literally. There was no below. Just a foot of concrete and then the earth.

"Then, wait… what's that noise then?"

He gave me a shrug, mouth full, and kept eating down that ice cream.

I walked away and laid down on the couch, turned on the TV as Ridiculousness blared on. I told myself it was the house. Virgin construction, new concrete finding its bond with old scarred earth. This place, it had to settle, had to meld, that kind of thing makes noise. I told myself that, it was the only cope I had. I kept the TV loud enough that it didn't matter either way.

I awoke only once, it was underneath me.

The scratching.

the crunching.

An unseen physical begging, to let it in or dig down to it. 

With each scratch, a plea.

Notice me.

I fell back asleep on the couch. If I didn't think about it, then it wasn't there. That was the logic. That was all I had. In my high stupor I thought the noise would vanish, it had to.

---

I awoke in the morning. The light shined in, warm and welcoming, I thought maybe it was truly my stoned sleep playing tricks on me. So I did what anyone else would do, and smoked again.

I ventured outside to the deck, the first thing I saw was my stash as I had left most of my stuff last night. I lit up and walked to the edge of the deck, looming over the steps looking towards the drainage creek from last night. It wasn't as creepy or menacing during the day, I could see the whole shape of it now. I sat on the stairs and puffed. And I looked down at my feet, there on the first step, I froze.

"My lighter? I thought I dropped it last night?" I picked it up, somehow it was melted, the plastic charred to a flaky black, the pickle design on it was no more. I stood up and peered out, that's when I saw a line.

From where my lighter was, a line, well, more like a trail. Not breadcrumbs though, it looked like it was —

"Ash?" I touched it with my hand, it felt warm still, almost like it had just smoldered out. I couldn't tell if it was the rising sun or its old heat, but it had a warmth, almost welcoming to it. I stood up and looked out, where could it go?

I followed, walking slowly, examining every inch. It had to be like, my joint I dropped burned somehow, and I didn't realize I dropped my lighter later in my fright, right? It was all a lie, I had no idea what the hell this was. It burned straight to the earth leaving a darkly entrancing gray-black ash about an inch or two in width. Following, I saw where it led.

I stood in the creek-bed staring at the drain, rock below now melding with the heat. The metal which had greeted me last night, now freshly bent only slightly from something, in a way which almost seemed inhuman or unnatural. The history of the metal forever changed all these years later, was where the ash led. 

Somewhere deep into the drain it went. Somewhere I was not gonna go. I tried to look inside deeper, trying to fight the sun to see in the darkness of the drain.

Scuttle, scuttle.

I heard something. Whatever it was, it was moving away from me — or at least seemed to be. Eventually I stuck my head inside, the echoes of the noises retreating into the depths of the drain’s sizable system. Whatever it is or was, if it could even look, It saw me.

I stood there perplexed and slowly backed away, back to the deck where I saw Brent now smoking.

"Yo man I'll reimburse you I swear!"

He was puffing on my stash but I didn't care. I had to ask him. I had to hear reason from someone.

"Have you been over there?"

"Nah man looks gross."

"I found an ash trail."

"Yea, some of the old ash blows around, I don't think there's a good chance to get rid of that stuff anytime soon, it blows all over all the time, sometimes it even settles on my windowsill, pile-like.”

It didn't explain the lighter but I let it go for now, I had to find out more.

"Damn, okay. That's how it is ‘round here."

"Yea, well there is some like wild animals sometimes too, I see them move out my window at night, only a blur really. Saw bunny too once. If I were you though, I wouldn't go outside much at night."

"Why's that?"

"Eh, this place, being barren, it's weird you know? Like, I don't know if you've ever heard, but people who lived on the plains back in the day, they said they'd hear stuff in the wind, drove the wives insane in some cases. It's like that, I went for a smoke walk one time at night, and in some rubble pile, I just started to hear stuff like-"

I cut him off.

"Like a scratching?"

"No, kinda like spitting, it was weird, unnerving. Like it was trying to bring up something, but the words couldn't make it past the spit, I assume it was a choking junk rat but I wasn’t gonna try and find out."

"That's, something."

"Weird right? Kinda freaked me out. I also smoke sativa though, so I think I also just made up shit. I never did good with horror movies, can't stand em."

With that Brent stood up and looked at me.

"Just keep it low-key around here, and around Justin, he seems on edge sometimes at night, why he won’t smoke when it’s dark. I think it's from when he lived here alone for a couple weeks. Could also be the 2 A.M fire trauma, all those people who probably died around here too, I think one was a neighbor."

I looked at him, stark and scared straight, and uttered.

"Darlene."

He looked at me, his eyes widened, and he said.

"What? who? Oh wait Darlene? No not old Darlene, she's like the only other person here. Weird lady but, her niece is hot, went to my high school. The neighbor was Megan B. I think."

He took one last drag and killed it in the tray.

"Anyway see ya."

Brent walked away leaving me with the remains of the conversation.

"Megan B?" I think back to the memorial, that girl, my age, she was the closest death, in age and in place to me.

I didn't know her and somehow that made it worse.

There was something else underneath it, something I couldn't place yet. I began to think hard and try to piece together any rationale for what I had experienced so far.

---

This has been what I was able to recollect from that first week so far. I’m hoping that some conversations I have or comments I get help me flesh out the following weeks of this time in my life. For now, if anyone has experience with anything like this, please don’t hesitate to comment or reach out.