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Wind skated across the lake's murky surface, mist flying. Wind chimes banged into one another, an inharmonic chorus of bells and whistles. The scent of mildew lingered in the atmosphere. The mid-morning sun leaked through the tall, fern green trees where the warm ribbons of light danced through the air like spotlights. Perched upon my bike, a cerulean blue bike with milky white streaks across the handles, I felt like I could fly, peace driving through my soul as fast I drove through the corridor of trees and rocky pavement.
Finally, I reached maximum light after pedaling my way into an open land, surrounded by crops. The area was dusty with serenity and drenched in a colorful aura. As my Adidas started to go even faster though, I felt my legs transform into a gelatin-like goop, and I began to decelerate, my face veiled in sweat. I was a windup toy whose spring was beginning to loosen up.
I halted in the middle of the country road and sashayed my bike to the corn bordering the street. I craved for the cool flavor of wintry ice water trickling down my arid throat, but before I could even imagine the cold, watery sensation filling up my stomach, I detected something in the distance, a farmhouse maybe. It was shady and high, but it was quite a hit and miss spot to put it in, behind an army of corn in the middle of the field. This caused curiosity to flicker in my mind.
Being the "Sherlock Holmes Investigator" that I am, I decided to explore the lone structure. I plunged my bike into the swarm of corn and elbowed my way through the prickly cornstalks like a weedwacker, the stems jabbing my sensitive skin. As I got closer and closer, I could easily recognize some of the characteristics of the house.
There was no driveway, instead a pathway of pebbles leading to nowhere in particular, just a random spot in the corn-strewn field. A faded sign that leaned to the side like the Leaning Tower of Pisa stood weakly next to the pebbly pathway. It read The Rixey-Cabot Inn, though in no way did I get "hotel" out of the house. A rotting wood archway encircled the front porch. Windows dotted every inch of the beige paneled home, almost all filmed over in dust, fingerprints, and cracks. The roof was a dark mahogany, smooth like liquid, but reeked like decay. I overheard the long grass and cornhusks sway as the wind flowed, whistling through the cracks and holes of the house. I walked up the three steps, a creaking noise each foot movement I made. The dark wood door was practically hanging off it's hinges, and I was fearful that it would just soar off if I even breathed on it. I slowly unlatched it, dust escaping the home in the form of a smothering, gray cloud.
Inside was no more pleasant. A dark and gloomy atmosphere conquered the home. On the right of me, warm gray walls enclosed a group of harmonizing sofas and chairs, all printed with light green leaves and flowers on a faded pink background. Standing next to the stairs was a filmed over desk with papers and a typewriter placed on top, with The Rixey-Cabot Inn painted on the front. This place was obviously not a hotel, but a bed and breakfast maybe? That still didn't explain why the place was empty though.
There was no television in sight, and the scent of rosemary swiveled up my nose the very second I noticed thr dead plant in the corner of the room, next to the cobweb-covered, old-fashion styled bookcases that acted as a back wall.
Next to the book shelves, I spotted an archway, which seemed to lead to a dining room. Money-like green diamond wallpaper and a long pale wood table below black and white pictures consisted of what I saw from here. Under the pictures were labels, with names like Kelly and Jason Judge, Delilah Santini, Steven and Isabella DeMarco. The stairs weren't extraordinarily tall or beautiful, taupe wood that rotted and creaked, looking as if it led up to a jail cellar.
On the left of me, there was a long, pitch-black hallway that said fear to me. I could see wallpaper with a diamond pattern like in the dining room, but this wallpaper was a mustard yellow, as if I could squeeze it out of a tube and eat it with a medium-done burger. Against the walls were dark colored cabinets and racks of seasonings like paprika and oregano, an obvious sign that it was an outdated kitchen.
I stepped more inside, where I heard a crinkle. I gazed at the floor, where under my foot, was a crumpled up paper with, in big and bold font, the words HEALTH INSPECTOR on it. Reading those words. I suddenly noticed the many mousetraps scattered across the floor, half of them ensnaring the remnants of dead rats.
"Ew..." I groaned, treading backwards until I inadvertently reached the stairs. "Whoa!" I yelled as I fell rearwards, my feet banging against the wooden steps. My feet throbbed, and my body was pulsing red like a human heart.
As I wearily stood up on my bum ankles, the harmony of my sister singing out odd noises played through the field. Finally, reality caught up with me and I realized it was my phone, playing Rachel's special ring tone.
"Hey, Mom wants you to come back. We're gonna go home in a couple hours and you need to finish packing," Rachel ordered as I answered the phone.
"Okay, okay," I barked, rubbing my right ankle. A twinge was running through it.
"Be back soon." These were her last words before she hung up.
I slid my phone back into my pocket, and turned around to stare at the old bed and breakfast. I wonder what it would be like to stay at the old Rixey-Cabot Inn. Maybe someday it would be replenished and shine like it probably once did. As I sauntered off back into the corn, I then remembered something. Isn't there a Cabot-Rixey B & B just down the street from our neighborhood? I grinned at the thought.