The forests of Wyoming are a marvel of a natural feature. A beautiful mountain landscape, shown in colors manipulated in such a way that only mother nature could. A scent of pine will fill your nose, an almost intoxicating kiss of the senses. The wildlife is a beautifully stunning, even from a safe distance. The occasional gentle running of a nearby creek could lull one to sleep, it’s glistening ripples gently flowing into the gravel. The thick foliage and towering trees lower the light to a gentle, yet safe level.
These thick forests are beautiful, and ever since I’ve been a child, not a day has passed where I haven’t walked through these, and my awe at natures beauty has never dulled. I never stay the same path, I simply let myself wander through, occasionally leaving some sticks in an ‘X’ shape to mark my path. It is a sobering reminder that feels safe, like you can do anything, like no one is watching or judging you. It was on one of these walks through the forest that I found something curious.
From afar, It looked like a long series of boulders, with every step I approached the walls, I began becoming more and more sure it was some sort of rock wall, one that when it was likely in it’s prime, would have been 9 feet tall. Beyond this wall was an even more puzzling sight, A series of 2 story homes, built in a circle, as if it were a cul-de-sac. However, instead of branching off some other road, it was just a circle of homes, not connected to any sort of homes, not connected to any sort of city provided utilities. Typically, when stumbling upon the wrong side of a neighborhood, I would walk away, leaving every resident of it to their lives, however, it hadn’t appeared as if anyone had lived in these homes for at least 70 years. The circle of pavement in the center of this neighborhood was in pieces, entire chunks of it seemingly upturned.
I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the surreal, eerie sight before me, I pushed myself up on the rock, walking through and looking up at the windows. A dark, reflective material lined the inside, similar to window tint used on cars. I stood in the middle of the asphalt circle, spinning in a circle, staring up at the houses that, while decrepit, were still standing robustly. It was only at this point that I had realized, every single house’s dimensions, down to the backyard, appeared exactly the same. Same windows, same doors, same backyards, all that appeared to deviate between them was the color of paint on them.
I had to knock on a door, see if there’s anyone who could tell me anything, anything at all about the sight that was lying before me. I walk up to a door of a house, it’s vibrant red paint fading and peeling over the years. I let out a knock in the rhythm of “Shave and a haircut”, loud and intentional. The cold metal of the door ringing out, it sounds like solid steel. It was at this point I looked down and noticed something interesting, the deadbolt was simply a solid brass knob, no keyhole present. After waiting about two minutes, I reach for the door handle, expecting a locked jiggle. This however, was not the case, instead it spun around, as if it were simply placed on some ball bearings.
The sun was on the horizon, I couldn’t stay here longer, I had to get home, feed my dogs, take a shower, and get ready for work in the morning. I need to know what the purpose of that is, I need to know just what is going on there. Homes such as those don’t assemble themselves after all. I am home safe now, and the moment is stuck in my mind, playing on loop. I know I must go back at some point soon, I’ll keep you updated on what I find.