Charlie wasn't wrong. It was absolutely an abandoned farm. The roof had buckled in the way that

gave the impression that the buildings were as light as a feather, like the cartoon

barns that would just lift up and away during a windstorm that you watched as a kid.

The ones where the cows would be chewing some grass, not realized they had been sucked into the

storm until they passed the barn in the sky. You start to wonder if it would be easier to just start over back at the beach town, despite

getting torn apart, because this was something else.

Shrubs and small pine trees littered what had looked once like a pasture.

There was this giant wooden, well, thing.

It looked kind of like a super heavy-duty swing set frame,

you thought, except instead of swings hanging from it, there was one massive chain.

You figured it must have been from pulling out motors from tractors or bleeding pigs or something.

You were afraid to think about it any further.

The caravan parked beside the house, an oversized blue farmhouse.

The farmer's porch wrapped around the front, but hung a bit too lazily from the structure.

It was hard to imagine the last time somebody probably had been there.

The town, when you'd pulled in, if you could even call it that, was a handful of shops,

and the last sign in one of the windows advertised 88-cent gasoline. Pulling up to the farm, it didn't appear to be much. The dirt driveway

running up to the property hugged marshland. The house stood merely 100 feet or so from it,

yet the storm that had destroyed the entire town

you had left hadn't even left an impression. Charlie smiled. It looks just like how I remembered

it. He turned to you and saw the blank stare you wore as you tried to imagine starting over

again here.

...