The House off Hwy 666

by Kevin Kinkade

(This is a true story. The names were changed to protect the innocent.)

The trip from Austin to the Gulf Coast is about 3-4 hours long. I drove there in an old '64 Chevy pickup truck with a black, female timber wolf named Cynea who alternated between leaning on me with the weight of her entire one hundred pounds or laying across the seat leaving no room at all for me to sit. She panted incessantly so that I was covered in wolf saliva by the time I arrived. I turned off the main highway and noticed the street sign. An old rusted white sign with the words, "HWY 666" embossed in black letters named the road. I turned off to look at the sign. There were bullet holes as if someone had used it for target practice. I wanted to take a picture of it but the camera was buried under a pile of stuff behind the front seat so I promised to stop on the way back. A promise I would not keep.

I'd gotten an email from my friend Leslie. She had been asking me to come see the house she lived in for some time. It was an historic landmark and she and her boyfriend Russell were the caretakers. They told me that it was haunted and since I was a psychic, they wanted to see what I could "pick up" if I spent the weekend. I followed the directions and made the turn down the long private road that led to the houses. There were two of them that were origial and a couple more that were transported in from the coast. They still had the "beach vibe" which I picked up when I drove near. I could smell the ocean, feel the sea breeze. (To be continued tomorrow, when the author has time to finish, 1/23/09