Welcome to Adams Town

The server walked away, leaving a small box of matches on the table. I picked it up, examining it curiously. The design on the matchbox immediately caught my attention—a shield with an intertwined arrow and a shotgun crossed over it. Something about the emblem felt odd like it carried a story I didn't know yet.

Before I could study it further, my father quickly snatched it from my hand. "I hope you're not picking up bad habits. Are you smoking now?"

"What? Are you crazy?"

"You're seventeen, I won't judge. You're almost at the age that you can do whatever you want." Harold said, with a smirk.

"Are you being serious with me?"

"Not really. I'll kill you myself rather than letting the nicotine do it." After his comment, we both stared at each other and burst into laughter.

Suddenly, the music in the bar shifted from country to pop, and a woman near the jukebox started dancing, drawing quite a bit of attention from the people around her. The scene turned lively, and a few people began cheering her on.

"That looks like your type of girl, wild and unrestrained," My father said, taking a sip of his beer.

"Ha! I'll say the same thing to you. You're the only one here getting compliments from the walking corpses in this town."

He laughed, but his expression quickly turned serious. "You think it was a bad idea to move here?"

I could sense that he was looking for reassurance. Moving here so suddenly, without really knowing what we were getting into, was unlike him. Usually, he'll analyze every option and take his time making decisions. This felt rushed, and I could tell he was questioning it, wondering if we'd both end up regretting it.

"Let's give it a couple of weeks and see how it goes."

He eyed me curiously, a sly grin creeping back on his face. "I bet you a hundred bucks this new laid-back attitude of yours has something to do with a hot, mysterious neighbor?"

"No... Well, maybe. It's called being open-minded, Dad. You should try it sometime."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Sure, sure... but I'm keeping my eyes on you, Mr. Open-Minded. Let me know if I need to buy you some rubber hats."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious. It's better to have some and not need them than need them and finding out you don't have any."

"You watch too much reality shows."

"You got me there, kiddo."

Emma approaches our table with our plates in her hand. "Two house specials, Big Bear Burgers. Anything else I can offer you?" she asked, setting the food down in front of us.

My father immediately grabbed a handful of fries and popped them into his mouth. "No thanks. Everything looks good."

Emma leaned in close to me, her lips just brushing my ear as she whispered, "I'll be in the back taking a break if you want to take a shot of Bliss with me. No charge." She gave me a seductive smile before walking away, leaving me slightly stunned.

My father watched her leave before turning back to me with a smirk. "Dang, this is serious," he said, taking a bite of his burger. "You're going to need a bath when we get home."

"Why?"

"Your stench is driving them nuts. What did she say to you?"

"She invited me to Bliss out in the back door."

"What in the hell is that?"

"I think it might be the drug young people use for recreation around here."

"Forget it, you're not going anywhere with that hot, good-looking server. Let's finish eating. We need to get out of here as soon as possible."

I sighed, understanding the protective side of my father. The meal itself turned out to be surprisingly good, almost normal considering the strange atmosphere of the place. We stood up from the table and made our way to the register. As we approached the counter, a woman with numerous facial piercings and a rather hostile expression greeted us—or, more accurately, glared at us.

"What's up, Normies? What can I do for you?"

"Just paying our bill," Harold said.

She expressed annoyance, tapping a few buttons on the register. "Table 18?"

My father nodded, keeping his distance away from the counter, unsure of the unusual interaction with the strange lady.

"It is $63.50. Cash only please." Harold takes a $100 bill from his pocket and places it on the counter. "Please, keep the change as a tip for Emma."

The cashier snatched the bill and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Sure, no problem," she replied, smacking her gum loudly.

The lady makes the transaction, with an apprehensive stare fixed on Harold.

"Do you want your receipt? Or do you want to keep contributing to the slaughtering of trees?" the cashier asked.

We walked away from the counter without bothering to answer her odd question. I glanced at my dad, noticing the tension in his face. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, just a little freaked out by Pinhead over there," he said with a laugh, trying to shake off the strange encounter. "Well, that was different. What did she mean when she called us 'Normies'?"

"It's a form of slang, Dad. My friends use it to refer to someone who’s considered 'normal.' Normies don’t do anything extravagant or rebellious, things that would set them apart from regular people. The cashier, with all those piercings, probably doesn’t consider herself 'normal,' or maybe she thinks you're too conservative to fit her idea of what’s normal."

"Huh, well, I guess I'm just a 'Normie' in her world." My dad said, turning the key on the ignition. "And what's wrong with speaking proper English?"

"You are an old man; it might be challenging for you to understand the way how young generations interact."

Adams Town has been a total waste of my time. I never understood why my mother insisted on coming back here, to live in this strange, unsettling place. It's isolated, far from any other cities, tucked away in the middle of the mountains. And the people here? They don’t make it any easier to feel at home. There's something off about them, something unwelcoming that makes the town feel even more suffocating.

"Have you decided what you'll do for work here in Adams?" The question slipped out of my mouth almost as quickly as it crossed my mind. Harold stayed silent for a few moments, his eyes focused on the road before he reached over and turned on the radio. The abrupt deflection irritated me instantly.

"Are you going to ignore me again?" I asked.

He sighed deeply, still avoiding eye contact. "I have my reasons for not wanting to talk about it. We have enough to live comfortably for a few years, at least, before I decide if I want to go back to work. How we're going to pay the bills shouldn’t be your concern. Your mother and I have it all figured out. There are some things we need to go over before we move into the house. Some things your mother didn't want to tell you until you were old enough."

"I believe I'm old enough. You can start talking now if you like."

"Perhaps. Let's get in the house and I will explain it to you."

I thought I knew my parents, but it was becoming clear there were parts of their lives they'd kept hidden. Secrets I hadn't been part of. For the first time, it felt like I was a stranger in my own family. As we pulled up to the house, I immediately noticed something off—the lights were already on.

"This is strange," My father said, glancing at the illuminated house. "Stay in the car. I'll go check it out."

My father walked towards the front door. He paused for a moment, looking down at something—a note taped to the door. He took it, reading its contents quickly before heading back to the car.

"There is nothing to worry about. Margaret took the initiative to drive to the utility office and requested that the service be turned on today."

"That was nice of her."

"Indeed." My father agrees, turning off the engine.

"It's getting a bit cold out here," my father said, glancing toward the old tree. "But your girlfriend is still sitting in the same spot."

I immediately noticed the silhouette of a woman sitting on the trunk, shrouded by darkness.

"I think you should go and say good night."

I stepped out of the truck and made my way toward the tree, glancing back as my dad disappeared into the house. He gave me one last look before shutting the door, leaving me alone with the figure under the tree. As I got closer, I realized something unsettling—the woman sitting on the overgrown roots wasn’t Mel.

"Well, hello there. It seems the fawn was curious enough to come and check out the sleeping lion." The strange woman said.

It was immediately clear she wasn’t Mel. The woman stepped forward from the shadows, her pale face catching the moonlight. Her eyes shimmered like diamonds, intense and unnervingly cold. In her hand, a cigarette rested delicately in a long silver holder, its scent far from the usual tobacco—something sweet and strange.

"Have you come to serve me?" She asked.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

"Well then, who did you think I was?" There was something magnetic about her presence, making it difficult for me to simply walk away, even though my instincts screamed that I should.

"Mel."

The woman laughed. "Honey, you need mature women to take care of you. Mel is just a child."

"I only came to say good night to her. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to return home." I said, wanting to end the encounter. However, the woman was not finished with me or our conversation.

"So, you are the new puppy?"

"The new puppy?" I asked confused.

"Oh, gosh," The woman laughed. "You have no idea what Adams is, do you?" She took one last drag from her cigarette before flicking it aside. The embers glowed faintly as they hit the ground. "I’m going to leave it to your imagination, puppy. But if you ever need a real woman to suffice your needs, I’m just one phone call away."

Feeling unsettled by her words, I nodded politely and quickly turned around making my way back home. Finally, I was able to step into the house for the first time today. As soon as I walked through the front door, I was amazed by the interior of the house.

"This isn't too bad," I said, pleasantly surprised.

I notice all our bags stacked neatly in a corner of the receiving room. The first thing that catches my attention is the breathtaking grand staircase, which exudes an impression of opulence. The intricate craftmanship is evident, although it seems to have been neglected for years. Corner chairs, vintage Victorian couches, and an array of pictures adorn every inch of the receiving room.

"Wow, this is really not bad."

The staircase to the second floor showcased carved wolves adorning the wooden banisters. The red velvet walls are adorned with several paintings depicting different individuals, giving the impression of a timeless piece of art that never ages.

I entered every bedroom upstairs, but there were no signs of my father. The silence in the house gave it a haunted vibe, and filled me with dread, as I walked back down to the receiving room.

"Dad?"

For the past ten minutes, I had been yelling for him, searching every corner of the house, but he was nowhere to be found. My worry turned into panic as I reached the kitchen, where the door stood wide open, its lock broken from the inside. My heart raced, each beat pounding in my ears as I slowly walked toward the door. What I saw next made my stomach drop—a trail of blood leading from the kitchen to the back porch.

I desperately wanted to believe the blood had already been there, that it wasn't his. But the fresh metallic scent of the blood told a different truth, a far more terrifying story. My instincts screamed at me to retreat, as I cautiously stepped back into the kitchen, checking behind me to ensure I wasn't being watched. With adrenaline surging through me, I sprinted back to the receiving room, rummaging through my pockets to grab my cell phone, my hands shaking as I fumbled to call for help.

My hands trembled as I struggled to unlock my phone's screen. Something had clearly gone wrong while I was engaged in a conversation with that mysterious woman outside by the old tree. Panic began to consume me as I managed to dial 911. After a brief moment, the operator answered.

"911, what's your emergency?"

I struggled to gather my thoughts; my words caught in my throat as fear gripped me tighter.

"Hello, are you there?" the operator asked, concerned.

"Yes, I'm here. I need help. My father..." I paused, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. "My father is missing."