Chapter 2: Pepin, Wisconsin
As my dad’s buddy pulled his car and us into Pepin, my heart literally got caught someplace between my throat and stomach. Coming from such a packed city, Pepin was a real shocker for me. To the left, all I could see was a lake. Don’t get me wrong though. It was a lake of mythical proportions and I had the feeling if I dived deep enough into it I would find beasts of the imagination. More interestingly, woods surrounded the town. These were the type of woods, which only storybooks could offer. Was it just me or were there eyes peeping among the trees? Listening closely, I could have sworn I heard a sadistic witch ritual ricocheting among the barks. The village was strangely isolated and gave off an odd glow—well, maybe the moon had something to do with this. Pepin kind of held me in awe. It seemed so impossible that such a quiet town could exist in the time of cell phones, jeans, American Idol, and Britney Spears. My mouth was watering from utter astonishment and endearment. It really was.
Finally coming to my senses, I decided to observe the reactions of the rest of the lot. My father, of course, had a smile as wide as Bayonne, New Jersey plastered upon his face. It made me jealous. Why hadn’t I inherited that aura of good will? Damn genetics! My mom was the real criminal though. Even though there was a view worth dying for just a centimeter of glass away from her, she had chosen to spend the car ride soliciting and advertising makeup with her wretched cell phone. It was near midnight! God, I hated cell phones. I never was a phone person. Well, I never really had anyone to call and even if I had I would have wanted to communicate face to face. Yes, I’m quite old-fashioned. I’m surprised I haven’t been burned at stake yet.
Brittany had to have retained the most priceless and shallow expression—no joke intended. She looked so dumbfounded and miserable. Her eyes were glassy and seemed to be searching for the next outlet mall, cineplex, or coffee house. I could almost read her mind. She seemed to be imploring in a tone fit for royalty, “Ummmm…where in the world am I supposed to go hang out in this hell-hole? Where are my beloved skyscrapers? Must I live among trees? I’ve never been much of a happy camper. Dear New York City take me back. Please God, take me back!” Oh the drama. She looked tearfully into my eyes expecting some sort of sympathy, but I merely shot back a callous, blank stare. I can really be a jerk at times. I swear.
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires was almost deafening in the silence as we were pulled into the driveway of a house that gave off more of a cottage feel. We bid farewell to our distinguished driver and stood staring at our house-to-be for a few, strangely slow seconds. Finally, my father—the leader of our cult—, of course, took charge and suggested, “I think our luggage is extremely tired from the hardships of travel. It really, really, really wants to get unpacked and relax. You know me, I’m all about the rights of inanimate objects.” Gosh he cracked me up sometimes. He’s cracked up everyone in this world at some time or another. Heaving the luggage into the house, we stood in what I supposed to be a darkened, empty living room.
All I remember of that night is staring out of the window of my designated bedroom while unpacking. I’m a heck of a multitasker. I really am. Actually, I think teenagers nowadays are born with that trait. Lucky us. I could actually see stars hanging among the heavens. A feeling of insignificancy spread through my body. It was an odd feeling—knowing that you were a mere speck of dust on the surface of the universe. Damn that made me morbid.
The whole night, I could hear my family arguing among themselves just past the shut door of my bedroom. I caught onto phrases like, “This move better change things for him. We’ve left behind our lives for Echo. This is all for him. We’re living in the freaking woods!” Boy, oh boy, did that increase that feeling of morbidity I was explaining. What if Wisconsin turned out to be just like New York City? Would I fail my family again? I don’t know how, but I just knew Pepin had something to offer me. God knows where this something was lurking, but it was there. I could have sworn I felt it. Nerd telepathy anyone?
When I did manage to catch some shuteye, my dreams were filled with the peering eyes and gruesome voices I had imagined in the woods. They were calling me silently—magnetically. They had a story to tell and some history to reveal. Yet, when I got close enough for investigation, they simply and mysteriously vaporized into thin air and I was left waving my hands in the dark as I jerked to actuality. People claimed there was a fine line between illusion and reality. I wondered how much truth this held. I really did wonder. Instantaneously, I recalled a relevant observation. The old Chinese sage Chuang-tzu had once said, “Once I dreamed I was a butterfly, and now I no longer know whether I am Chuang-tzu, who dreamed I was a butterfly, or whether I am a butterfly dreaming that I am Chuang-tzu.” So, philosophically speaking, I could very well have been living in a dream. That thought creeped me out completely and with it I slowly drifted into a senseless sleep.
I woke up quite early the next morning, which was quite strange for me. After all, my mom called me nocturnal since I literally worked best at night and slept no earlier than four in the morning. What can I say? Nerds just liked doing their homework and all that jazz that late. The daytime was for observing. I was a brilliant observer since I had nothing better to do. Seeing that everyone else was still miserably knocked out, I decided to venture out into Pepin and get some lonely enjoyment out of the meager week of summer vacation I had left.
The broad daylight and sounds of wildlife dazzled my eyes and ears as I swept down the steps of our new home. After walking for a couple of minutes, I entered onto some sort of tourist street. Here, restaurants and a few random stores were sandwiched together in every which way. I didn’t like this aspect of Pepin—I liked the secluded parts—so I bustled on until I came upon a very administrative looking library. Yes, leave it to me to have found the library in one shot. The marble floors of it echoed beneath my loafers as I groped my way into the local history section. I picked up a really old, neglected book entitled The Forgotten Myths of the Village Elders. Immediately, I checked who had last taken out the book. I’ve always needed to do that. I don’t know why. Maybe I just liked knowing there were other people who read and escaped in between the lines—who wanted to transcend past the norm of thought. Some person named Elizah Crawford had held the book in her hands about half a year ago. I wondered if she had enjoyed it.
Perusing through it, I came across an extremely thick chapter on werewolves. Apparently, Wisconsin was the state that held the greatest tally of werewolves in the nation. An outlandishly large number of sightings had been recorded here, but nowadays people had forgotten the supposed legends. Wisconsin parents now utilized the old stories as catalysts to put their misbehaving children to bed at night—since the werewolves would “eat them alive” if they didn’t obey. It was so sad how fantastical myths and legends were stripped down to the print till they were merely bedtime stories. It really was sad. I stared down onto a yellowed page of the book, which had a sketch of a werewolf embedded upon it. Its yellow eyes seemed to be full of anguish—like those of a pharaoh’s whose empire and rule had ceased to exist. I too felt my body being meshed into an almost melancholic state so I shoved the book back into its insignificant, dusty place on the library’s shelf.
Trying to rid myself of that wretched feeling, I kept running out and past the library till I reached the edge of the woods. The scary part of it was that I wasn’t even looking where I was going. I simply let my feet drag me wherever they willed. The woods wanted me for some reason. The branches of the ominous trees lurched in my direction and seemed to want to pull me in amongst their ancestors. Right beside me, the lake pillaged and hissed for me to accept the invitation the woods were offering me. I don’t know why, but I caved in and followed. What did I have to lose anyways? Boy, oh boy had I been naïve a year ago.
