If there was one way to describe my trip so far it would be boring. Terribly. Awfully. Tediously. Boring.

I flew to Colorado to get away from the hustle and bustle of Milwaukee, but if being in the city has taught me anything, it's that I hate it.

Forgot to introduce myself, heh. I'm Jack. Jack Harlow. I'm 21 and fresh off the press from Carthage College. I was an English major, though half the stuff I learned there I could've learned from just reading a textbook in my free time.

I don't mean to sound conceited. I just hate school. The reason I'm in Colorado though is anything but exciting. I'm an author. I publish children's fiction, although it's not what I want to write. I've always loved horror. The supernatural. Anything weird and out of the ordinary.

Guess it's why my parents kicked me out of their house. That or the gay thing. Probably the gay thing. Anyways, I'm trying to get somewhere with my new novel.

I tried the Stanley Hotel and as beautiful as it is, I can't find any inspiration there. I'm not Stephen King, I guess.

I tried haunted mines and ghost towns but nothing. Absolutely nothing. Sure, fun times, all those places are really cool and the history is so fascinating but it's not what I'm looking for.

So that is why I'm just driving. In the mountains. Alone. Just driving. 

  The road is windy and narrow. The lanes barely fit my red Nissan Titan and before you say anything about me being a guy and gay and owning a truck, I got it at a hell of a price.

I'm essentially broke other than royalties and I'm from a podunk prairie town in the middle of Oklahoma.

I have no family that will speak to me or help me and I have no friends. Or lovers. Or acquaintances. Or drinking buddies. I do drink. A lot. So, you would think that I know at least a bartender or two.

Nope. I like to bar hop from night to night. Never staying in one place too long. That was a mistake I made in Greeley.

Small towns just aren't my vibe. Neither are big cities. I like Castle Rock. It's quieter. No gunshots. No crazy homeless dude trying to rape you on your way home from the gas station. It's quaint, has history, but also not what I'm looking for. I like adventure.

I like looking out the window and seeing miles and miles of green not knowing what lies inside the forest. Its secrets just waiting to be discovered. I don't know why the mountains are captivating. I hate the cold.

I know living in Milwaukee, I should be used to it by now but no. I still hate it. I hate the snow. I hate the way my breath fogs up the glass when it's below 0. I just hate it.

So why the mountains, you ask. I don't know. Something is calling me. Something deep, deep inside of me is saying here. Here is where you are going to make your big break. You are going to become the horror writer of the next generation, Jack Harlow.

The master of fright. The agent of chaos that world never thought they needed. The Crypt TV of writers. The Bela Lugosi of new and exciting fictional worlds with adventure and scares and plot twists that you never see coming. But I am still looking for that. What's calling me.

There is nothing more I want in this world than to start a new chapter. Metaphorically and physically. I hit a roadblock with my book. It's supposed to be a tale taking place in Victorian London.

A detective who for some reason can't stop chasing this serial killer all over Europe. I know that sounds like Sherlock Holmes but I swear, it's different. I got the idea when I was drinking in the Irish pub down the street from my apartment.

I had seen something about the Milwaukee Strangler, a new serial killer wreaking havoc on the city. It was just the news. It seems like every day there's a new horror to be discovered. A new body to turn up face down in the middle of a creek. 

That's what happened in Stanford. Everyone knew that the body was my sister and that my parents didn't care. She was like me. Artsy. Wanted to break out on her own, although she wanted to be a dancer and boy was, she a good one.

She became the prima ballerina in the Oklahoma City Ballet. It isn't popular but she drummed up quite the buzz. Then she started dating this awful guy. His name was Jeremy. Jeremy Richards. He was violent and cruel and he never respected what my sister did. Every day it was, 'Get me a beer, dumb slut!'.

Then when he found out she was pregnant, he shot her between the eyes and drove her back to Stanford, put her in the creek and left. I knew it was Jeremy from the beginning. He never liked me and frankly I was put off by everything he did.

He was smelly and had a beer gut. I at least work out a bit. Though I have virtually no muscles and am as baby faced as you can get. 

  I can see lights up ahead. Something in me is telling me to stop. I should follow that instinct. Right? That's the thing I've been missing. My instinct. The compelling feeling to just stop and park my truck and walk in the lit store.

It's another gas station but I feel like I need to stop here. Why here? Don't ask, even I don't know that. I just need to stop. 

I pull into the gas station parking my truck at pump 7, it was the only one without an out of order sign on it. I rifle through my wallet to find I have 100 bucks in cash and a lottery scratch ticket that the bartender at O'Malley's gave me 4 months ago.

The pump is so old it doesn't even have a card slot, so cash it is. I get out and lock my car before walking into the mountain gas station. 

"Hello there, what can I do you for?" an old man looking to be in his mid to late sixties asked me. 

"I need gas. I'm at a quarter of a tank and I couldn't find anywhere else to stop." I look around at the old timey store.

"Sure, that'll be $17." the man opened the register. 

"$17 are you sure?" gas prices weren't that cheap. Not since 2020. And that was a demand thing not a surplus of gas. 

"Yup $17." the man looked at me funny, "You aren't from 'round here I take it." 

"No, I live in Wisconsin." I responded looking at the snacks. I am really hungry. 

"Ah, so you out here for a trip or looking for property?" the man asks me as if a lot of people came around here looking for a new mountain property. 

"Heh, I wish. I barely have the money for an apartment in the city." I don't know why I said that. It's not like I know the man. Why would I tell him about my financial struggles when I met him not even five minutes ago. 

"Ah a shame, the mountains are a beautiful place. The skiing is amazing. Monarch Ski Area is my favorite." the man placed my money back on the table, I don't even know when I handed it to him. 

"I heard that Vail is a nice place." I say grabbing a bag of chips and a pastry. 

"Eh it's ok. Too expensive for what it is." the man looked at the food in my hand, "You take that and this. Gas and food on the house." 

"Uh… thank you, sir." I smile at the man and before I exit the gas station I ask the man, "Hey do you know anywhere touristy. You know a place to go before I have to find a hotel." 

"What exactly do you mean, son?" the man's expression changed. His eyes narrowed and he leaned into the table. 

"Well, I'm an author and I'm looking for a place to gain some inspiration. I write children's books mostly." I explain. I still don't understand what about this man makes me want to tell him about my life. It's scary. Which is exactly what I'm looking for. 

"If you want someplace to write about there's a little town about 30 miles from here. You'll miss it if you don't follow the road signs. Town's called Pinella Falls. You should be able to find a place to stay and a place to get some dinner. There's a really pretty hike you can take to the falls. It's a beautiful waterfall. It's got turquoise deposits behind the falls. Makes it look mighty beautiful. I think it's just what you need." the man smiled at me before I left the building.

I fill up my gas tank and plug Pinella Falls into my gps and start driving. Again.