later he came upon a clearing, totally unprepared for what he saw. He'd imagined log walls and a ramshackle stoop, but certainly not this. It looked like a cross between a toadstool and a short, fat silo, and he wondered what kind of a man would choose to build a home like this.
As he moved closer, he caught glimpses of gray, mossy concrete among the tangle of ivy and wisteria blooming all over it. He wasn't sure if it was a house he'd come to or some kind of woodland hideaway abandoned by elves, although there was no such thing as elves. Still, the solitude of the place appealed to him. After a slow, careful scan of the area to make sure he was alone, he moved forward.
A few stray vines had fallen across the front door. As he drew near, he reached up, grabbing them with his fist and giving them a yank before tossing them aside. It occurred to him that the place might be locked, but when he turned the knob, the door opened.
The air inside was stale and the room was dark, but he remembered the woman had said the power was still on. He felt along the wall for a light switch, then gave it a flip. With illumination came an odd sense of deja vu, which, to Wes, made no sense at all. He'd never been to West Virginia, never mind inside something like this. But still, the feeling remained, even growing stronger as he moved from room to room.
One side of the kitchen was round, following the contour of the outer wall. The cabinets were unique, with leaf-shaped cutouts on all the doors, while the counters were unusually low. When he checked the refrigerator, he saw it had been turned off, so he switched it on high for a quick cool-down, then moved toward a door on the opposite side of the room.
Inside was a small pantry, with a rather large assortment of canned goods still on the shelves. He wondered how far it was from here to a town and knew that if he stayed he would have to find some work.
He thought about his retirement checks, which were being deposited into Aaron Clancy's bank account, and frowned. If he pushed the issue to claim them, he would have to go to court to prove he was sound of mind. Not only did he not want to deal with the lawyers and the shrinks, he wasn't so sure he could prove he was sane. Life still rattled him on a daily basis, and he didn't want some do-gooder deciding he needed to be locked back up.
He closed the pantry door and moved back into the living room, found a set of keys on the mantel that fit the front door, and pocketed them before exploring the single hallway and the doors at the end of the hall.
When he opened the door to the room on the left and walked in, it felt as if he'd walked into a cave. Even though the ceiling was domed, it was low, and he had to duck his head to keep from bumping it against the light fixture. From there, he turned to the bed. It appeared to be of normal size, but was less than a foot off the floor.
This was getting weirder by the minute.
He set his duffel bag on the floor and then opened the closet. The rods where clothes would be hanging were so low that Wes knew his shirts would drag the floor. The other door led to the bathroom. He was almost afraid to look, for fear the bathroom fixtures would be minuscule, as well, but to his relief, the facilities were of normal size, although the showerhead was much lower than normal.
He walked back into the bedroom, and as he did, noticed a picture on the dresser. When he picked it up, the way the house had been built suddenly made sense.
It was a picture of the woman, Ally, and a small, older man, obviously her uncle Doo. He had long white hair with a beard to match, and was standing with one hand around Ally's waist and the other holding a cane. Wearing overalls and a blue, long-sleeved denim shirt, he looked no different from any man in this part of the country might look—except for the fact that he couldn't have been more than four feet tall.
Uncle Doo had been a
As he moved closer, he caught glimpses of gray, mossy concrete among the tangle of ivy and wisteria blooming all over it. He wasn't sure if it was a house he'd come to or some kind of woodland hideaway abandoned by elves, although there was no such thing as elves. Still, the solitude of the place appealed to him. After a slow, careful scan of the area to make sure he was alone, he moved forward.
A few stray vines had fallen across the front door. As he drew near, he reached up, grabbing them with his fist and giving them a yank before tossing them aside. It occurred to him that the place might be locked, but when he turned the knob, the door opened.
The air inside was stale and the room was dark, but he remembered the woman had said the power was still on. He felt along the wall for a light switch, then gave it a flip. With illumination came an odd sense of deja vu, which, to Wes, made no sense at all. He'd never been to West Virginia, never mind inside something like this. But still, the feeling remained, even growing stronger as he moved from room to room.
One side of the kitchen was round, following the contour of the outer wall. The cabinets were unique, with leaf-shaped cutouts on all the doors, while the counters were unusually low. When he checked the refrigerator, he saw it had been turned off, so he switched it on high for a quick cool-down, then moved toward a door on the opposite side of the room.
Inside was a small pantry, with a rather large assortment of canned goods still on the shelves. He wondered how far it was from here to a town and knew that if he stayed he would have to find some work.
He thought about his retirement checks, which were being deposited into Aaron Clancy's bank account, and frowned. If he pushed the issue to claim them, he would have to go to court to prove he was sound of mind. Not only did he not want to deal with the lawyers and the shrinks, he wasn't so sure he could prove he was sane. Life still rattled him on a daily basis, and he didn't want some do-gooder deciding he needed to be locked back up.
He closed the pantry door and moved back into the living room, found a set of keys on the mantel that fit the front door, and pocketed them before exploring the single hallway and the doors at the end of the hall.
When he opened the door to the room on the left and walked in, it felt as if he'd walked into a cave. Even though the ceiling was domed, it was low, and he had to duck his head to keep from bumping it against the light fixture. From there, he turned to the bed. It appeared to be of normal size, but was less than a foot off the floor.
This was getting weirder by the minute.
He set his duffel bag on the floor and then opened the closet. The rods where clothes would be hanging were so low that Wes knew his shirts would drag the floor. The other door led to the bathroom. He was almost afraid to look, for fear the bathroom fixtures would be minuscule, as well, but to his relief, the facilities were of normal size, although the showerhead was much lower than normal.
He walked back into the bedroom, and as he did, noticed a picture on the dresser. When he picked it up, the way the house had been built suddenly made sense.
It was a picture of the woman, Ally, and a small, older man, obviously her uncle Doo. He had long white hair with a beard to match, and was standing with one hand around Ally's waist and the other holding a cane. Wearing overalls and a blue, long-sleeved denim shirt, he looked no different from any man in this part of the country might look—except for the fact that he couldn't have been more than four feet tall.
Uncle Doo had been a
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