Borrasca

                                    

                                              
   	 	 	 	  
                          


                          
 	It's a long story, but one you've never heard before. This story is about a place that dwells on the mountain; a place where bad things happen. And you may think you know about the bad things, you may decide you have it all figured out but you don't. Because the truth is worse than monsters or men.
                          
 At first I was upset when they told me we were moving to some little town out in the Ozarks. I remember staring at my dinner plate while I listened to my sister throw a temper tantrum unbefitting of a 14 year old honors student. She cried, she pleaded, and then she cursed at my parents. She threw a bowl at my dad and told him it was all his fault. Mom told Whitney to calm down but she stormed off, slamming every door in the house on the way to her room.
                          
 	I secretly blamed my dad as well. I'd heard the whispers too, my dad had done something wrong, something bad and the sheriff's department had reassigned him to some little out of the way county to save face. My parents didn't want me to know that, but I did.
                          
 	I was nine so it didn't take me too long to warm to the idea of a change; it was like an adventure. New house! New school! New friends! Whitney, of course, felt the opposite. Moving to a new school at her age is hard, moving away from her new boyfriend, however, was even harder. While the rest of us packed up our things and said our goodbyes, Whitney sulked and cried and threatened to run away from home. But a month later when we pulled up to our new house in Drisking, Missouri she was sitting right next me texting viciously on her phone.
                          
 	Thankfully, we moved over the summer and I had months of free time to explore the town. When Dad started his new job at the sheriff's office, Mom drove us around the city commenting on this and that. The city was much, much smaller than St. Louis but also a lot nicer. There were no 'bad' areas and the entire town looked like something you'd see on a post card. Drisking was built in a mountain valley surrounded by healthy forest land with walking trails and crystal clear lakes. I was 9, it was summer and this was heaven.
                          
 	We'd only been living in Drisking a week or so when our next door neighbors came to introduce themselves: Mr. and Mrs. Landy and their 10 year old son Kyle. While our parents talked and drank mimosas, I watched the Landy's lanky, red-headed son hung out in the doorway, shyly eyeing the PS2 in the living room.
                          
  	other kid in the neighborhood our age: a skinny, quiet girl named Kimber Destaro. She was shy but friendly and always up for anything. Kimber kept up with us so well that she quickly became the third wheel on our tricycle.
                          
 	With my dad at work all the time, my mom consumed with her new friendships and my sister locked in her room all day, the summer was ours to take and take it we did. Kyle and Kimber showed me where all the best hiking trails were, which lakes were the best (and most accessible by bike), and where the best stores were in town. By the time the first day of school rolled around in September I knew I was home.
                          
 	On the last Saturday before school started, Kyle and Kimber told me they were going to take me somewhere special, somewhere we hadn't been yet – the Triple Tree.
                          
 	"What's a 'triple tree'?" I asked.
                          
 	"It's a totally awesome, totally huge treehouse out in the woods." Kyle said excitedly.
                          
 	"Pfft, whatever, Kyle. Come on, you guys, if there was a freakin' treehouse you would have showed it to me already."
                          
 	"Na-uh, we wouldn't've," Kyle shook his head. "There's a ceremony for first-timers and everything."
                          
 	Kimber nodded eagerly in agreement, her dark orange curls bouncing off of her tiny shoulders. "Yep, it's true Sam. If you enter the treehouse without the proper ceremony you'll disappear and then you'll die."