Mason:
Mid October, barren fields surround us as Ants From Up There scratches the CD player inside Aubrey’s car. The only warmth I feel is from my hand, sitting inside the notebook I was supposed to fill. Aubrey and I were driving to Live Oak’s pumpkin patch, the largest in the state of California. We were on assignment to investigate strange happenings in the area. Since the beginning of October, more and more missing people’s reports had been rolling into the police department. Suddenly, the car broke down.
Aubrey:
I split off to find help. The backroad was lit by nothing other than the low-hanging moon shining off the creek. I had no choice but to keep walking. My first sign of civilization came about a half-hour in. It was an old sign with peeling paint that read “WELCOME TO THE UNCANNY VALLEY. ENJOY YOUR STAY.” The town was empty, with nothing except the odd tumbleweed. A gas station was tucked behind an abandoned cathedral. I went into the station and a strange man stood behind the counter, with a fawn-printed hat covering a gash on his forehead. He let me borrow the phone, and gave me a bottle of Coke. I called Mason to meet me in the Valley. The strange man explained how he used to be a mechanic and could hopefully fix whatever’s wrong. He would be able to take us back to my car in the morning, around 4 a.m., and offered to let us eat at his wife’s diner. It had not been updated since the 1940s, and that was apparent through not only the tacky vinyl decor, but the menu. Ambergris ice cream. Ambrosia salad. Gross.
Mason:
With nowhere else to go, I begin following Aubrey’s directions into the valley. A small town met me. Every building blew off dust until it revealed the diner Aubrey called me to. Inside, a waitress spun around the room in a gingham dress and filled cups with coffee. I found Aubrey. I take a seat next to her. An older man excites us with hope about fixing the car. I place an order for pie to share, mostly so we have an excuse to not converse as much as the man wants to. She and I press smiles onto our faces, trying to leave our expressions untouched by the worry for our situation.
Our forks clink together around the piece of pie before we set them down and the waitress whisks our plate away. The man led us into his truck. Aubrey and I sit side by side as the truck rolls down the heights of the valley. The strange man’s voice fills the space, though vastness continues outside. Aubrey and I return his conversation but as my hands skate over the pages of my notebook, my mind drifts off and watches his deer print hat bob back and forth.
Aubrey:
It was a gloomy morning. The strange man was speeding back to my broken down car. A family of deer was running alongside us. Four of them, and they were catching up. The largest one jumped out in front of us, prompting the strange man to hit the breaks. It was walking weirdly. Not a limp, but a glitchy walking pattern. It had glowing eyes and I assumed it was rabid. The Strange Man grumbled about them, how the deer had been whistling. Something was off about this place. The strange man promptly dropped us back at the car, and Mason and I sat inside while he twisted some nuts and bolts underneath my car. I said thank you, handed him the cash we would have used for gas, and went home. Speer Family Farms Pumpkin Patch is located in Alameda. Go there instead.