Route 20's Friendly Neighborz

You ever wonder if a whole piece of land could kill itself? A single road, or a forest maybe, that goes so ignored it becomes lonely, and its spirit simply ceases to be, leaving behind a husk to fester and mold.

U.S. Route 20 is the longest running stretch of road in America, running coast to coast from Oregon to New York. It passes through through the continent like a cut, and from it bleeds innumerable streams of asphalt that become the circulatory system of America.

But this vein that I live on, right off Route 20 in the cold hills of nowhere New York, its been dead for longer than I've been around. The moment you turn that right corner you'll know it.

The air feels numb, like a limb thats been cut off from its blood supply, the sky full of light but always grey, the beautiful pale face of the dearly departed, so close to feeling alive but nist certainly dead.

You gotta understand though im no victim, this road ain't some hellish wasteland, I've lived here by choice for 26 years now, it's easy to remember because I moved in new years day 2000. Everything off about nowheresville is only sentimental, at least to most. Like sleeping in someone's deathbed, the uncomfortablitly is strong, but only as much as you let it be.

It was just me, coming up from Florida to live the quite life in a grand old farmhouse, not exactly the ideal life of most 20 somethings of the day but I think that might have been why it was such an appealing offer. But im not here to get into the whys and whens of my home, maybe one day if it starts tuggin' at me like what I wanna talk about today, but Im not sure I'll be able to find the words for it all

Today I felt like talking about the first neighbor I had in nowhere off Route 20, in all retrospect he really was just a wild animal, but I can't help to hate the bastard in the back of my heart.

I guess I should start with the noise. One thing I always hear city people talk about is getting out of all the noise pollution and into the quite country.

 Its true ninety percent of nights go dead quiet, but the problem with back roads is when the occasional car does come by, its always in the dead of night, and they're always going breakneck speed. Every night, im awake just enough to see the headlights fill the dark like lightning, and engine roars of thunder before fading into the distance, a half second storm gone by.

There's a rule of ones on this road, and it stays pretty consistent for about an hour or so along this stretch. Every one second you'll see tree, every one hour you'll see a home, and every one minute you'll see roadkill.

Deer mostly, but never whole, a hood or two missing, flown off who knows where. Sometimes they'll be torn in half, dried blood dripping from the snout and eyes.

Occasionally a racoon or a fox, the rarity of which made it more upsetting when I'd see em' though I don't think it really began to effect me so bad until Chleo

Ya see' I had a cat when I first moved in to my home here, she lived in a little heated room in the barn and kept the mice out, which was good because to be honest in those days I never planned on doing any kind of real farm work anyway. She was an old grey lovebug, owners said she was 19 already which is archaic for a cat.

But she owned the place more than I did, in the mornings I'd see her taking her morning stroll in the fresh fallen leaves, early sun bouncing off her forest green eyes. I guess you could say she was really my first neighbor, but she really was the only family I had, even if just for a little while.

She would greet me when I came out, a soft meow every morning, and a loud mewl goodnight as we parted to our separate homes. She'd gone mostly deaph, but always could tell when I was approaching, never got frightened or surprised.

 I felt safe enough to let myself get attached, the old lady, she had lived a long life and I was just there to be a part of its end, and she was there to be a part of the beginning of my new life here. Whenever the day would come we'd have to say goodbye, I would be there to make her feel comfortable, warm, in this dead little vein we shared.

I suppose I still was able to do that, be there for her at the end, but If I had just brought her inside...

Im not sure she would have liked that, she had a soul of the land, being locked away inside wouldn't have been any kindness, I know that more than anyone. But it will still always eat away at me, im okay with that, it's part of her memory.

Same night as always, the flash and roar of the gasoline powered storm raged long enough to wake me up for a moment, before fading into the night. I woke up late, too the day slow, and went outside to a particularly warm day in these parts for an autumn afternoon.

I wished she had just been dead already, it would have made everything so much easier. But her back legs were mangled, and every meow sounded like a desperate " ow"

I wrapped her gently in my best blanket, and she passed in my arms, I don't remember how long it was. But im sure she had been there all night and morning, it was the only time I'd heard a car pass.

I wanted to hate the damn driver, I wanted to hate them so badly. But I'd grown up taught not to hate anyone, and to be honest I don't know what I would have done had I found them.

Its funny to think about honestly, because I guess in a way I did meet them. Because it wasn't no damn car that killed Chleo, it wasn't a car that killed any of the animals around here.

Because I should have known better, blood doesn't flow through dead veins, only disease hunts here.

I couldn't sleep the night I burried her, I couldn't cry either. I sat on the porch alone, with waterlogged eyes, and I remember the distant city lights of Rochester serving as my stars, the only light out there until Harvey showed his ugly face.

I spent an afternoon once trying to think of some wacky cryptic name for that thing, Vroombal cat, the streak, stupid crap like that, but I could never remember whatever the hell I came up with. I eventually settled on just calling him Harvey Danger.

I suppose I have no proof he was the sole artist of every viceral gore pile of bone and gore than lined the road back then. Even today I still see em more than anywhere else, but it stopped for awhile, after that night. And it was made head to toe for killing just like that

It was the first couple sparks half a mile down the road that caught my attention first. It followed along the powerlines that trimmed the edges of the road, filling the deep maw of darkness with sparkles of blue fire.

Climbing over the porch fence, it drew me in, curiosity being a part of it but also worry I was about to have a power issue, the wind was strong out here and had blown down a powerpole once before. The low hum of electric energy however, began to become a fizzle.

I strained my eyes to see the silhouette that flashed into existence with every electrical pop, low to the ground, my first thought was that a deer or something had gotten zapped.

But as the flashes became more frequent, the form became more clear. It was a panther, way bigger than I'd every thought they would be and I already thought they were bigger than was the truth typically is. And it was alive.

When the engine roar started, I quickly flicked my head back and fourth, looking for the car that must have been heading this way. But cars don't come down this road.

It was Harvey, best I can figure he used the energy from those powerpoles to wind up whatever muscles he had in there. Because Harvey had wheels, natural flesh and bone wheelse behind his three huge sets of legs, lined with claws that tore up the asphalt like wet turf.

Every flash of lightning he sucked out of that pole made his mucles convulse, a loud crack like thunder coming with each turn of those blood caked wheels, bones diss and re locating as tendons wound them up like a top.

Thats the best I can figure it anyway, coulda just been magic for all I know. But I know he had been doing this every night long before I had moved in, and he always took a piece with him, always.

I just took a single step across the white edge line, just a toe crossed. I wanna say it was so I could get a better look, but there was a compulsion there, a small one. And the moment the toe of my boot hit that black road, thats when Harveys tendons let loose, and those wheelse started spinnin'

Believe it or not that was the eye of the storm, the second I hit that road the electrical flashes stopped, same with the mechanical noise. I was standing there in the road, in the dark, in the silence.

Till' another blue-white flash came, then silence, tha another, each one coming closer and closer down the road towards me, carrying that Harvey's dark silhouette and that rumble with it.

Each flash growing more frequent, the crackle hissed like shattering glass. I was transfixed, for a moment. The humming of thunder, the rumble of a natural moter, the blazing of electrical fire, I reckon thats how he hunted. He only needed to go fast, he only needed to take whatever pieces he could grab, because deer don't run from headlights, they stare.

But I ain't no deer, I did something Harvey never saw before, I ran back too. Tearing myself from the sight I ran, across the road, only a short distance. Just like an oncoming car, he got to me faster than he appeared to be approaching, Im lucky im human, I got myself outta that trance just in time.

I swear it souned like tire screeching, when J dove for the other side of the road, he twisted to grab whatever he could of me. The squal of muscular brakes slammed my ear drums, that and the adrenaline distracted me from the toes he took off me in his desperate drift to get something in return for the calories he burnt.

I was his last meal though, the bastard just couldn't adapt to a moving target, not one that moved like a person. Ol' Harvey Danger flew off the road, slamming into a power line with te force of a one ton engine powered panther. I can't say I remember much, passing out from the adrenaline high shortly after making my way back inside. 

But I remember the flames, and the viceral cries of a hellcat burning out of existence. When the power company finally came the next day, they never found a thing except glassed ash.

It's been 26 years since I moved out to nowhere, and this is the first time I've said a thing about the neighbors that have come and gone. Not out of fear of being called crazy or anything like that, I really couldn't care less. I think it's something like what they say about abusive relationships, how once you get the confidence to feel like you're the master of your own life you can begin to come out about it more, maybe I'll start being able to do that more in time, because I think it'll feel good to be the master of this land again