It was well past 9pm when we past a road sign that said exit 34, last exit for 45 miles.
Dad finally decided to stop driving. We had been on the road all day, an
eternity when you’re just a little kid. Mom had wanted our father to stop for
the evening more than an hour ago, and fifty miles back. But Dad insisted that
the more miles we put behind us tonight the less while have to do in the
We rolled into the small Podunk mountain town completely exhausted and famished. The
place was no bigger than a matchbook, just two or three stop signs and a
blinking red light at its biggest intersection.
There was a rustic looking bed and breakfast, with a verandah and lattice work that
stretched up to its second floor. Ivy or some kind of other vine growing
through it until it reached the houses eaves. The sign out front said vacant.
Mom figured it was our best albeit probably are only option, so she directed
Dad to pull in to its gravel parking lot.
Dad said to use “wait here, while I get us a room” and then existed the car. I being
thoroughly bored and stiff from the drive asked if I could come along. “Sure”
is all he replied, but it came with great protested from my little brother
Alex, who demanded that he came along too. To which, my mother quickly
extinguished. Telling him to stay in the car, and that they'll be right back.
Upon entering the lobby of the B&B, I looked around at décor that adorned the
room. I definitely stated to anyone who stepped inside the establishment that
you were no longer in New York.
The roomas dimly lit by a chandler made of antlers, and there were heads mounted on
the walls. There was an elk, a deer, a moose, a fish, which looked to me like a
trout and a black bear, stood in the corner on its hind legs looking forlorn
My father walked up to counter and rang the bell for services, as I circled the room
peering at some of nature’s most majestic creatures which now stood frozen in a
moment and made to look natural. As if, whatever jackass who had killed them,
snuck up from behind and called out their name. Only to have them pick their
heads up as if to say “Yeah, what's up. Buddy” and find they were looking
straight down the barrel of a high powered rifle.
I was still checking out the Tom turkey, with its fathers held up high and spread out
behind its wings, like a gambler holding his hand in a game of seven card stud,
when the an old man, who I assumed must have the caretaker poked his head from
out around the door frame that appeared to lead deep into the heart of the
first floor of the building.
“Oh, hello, I didn't see you there. I hope you weren't waiting there long.” the old man
said crooked smile. “We don't usually get guest coming in this late. Will you
folks be needing a room?”
“Yes” my father said. “Do you have a room with twin beds available? I have my wife and
my son waiting in the car.
“Oh, I think we can accommodate. I'll just need you to sign the register.”
I crept up next to my father just in time to see my father sign his name into the brown
leather bound book that sat upon the counter. As I watched my father signs his
name and the number of his party. I couldn't help but look at the names of the
other guest who had sign the book before us.
Right above my father signature was the Millers, party of 3. Their date in the book matched
today's, so I assumed that they were current guest at the inn, and that at some
point we would run into them before we left. I tried to imagine what the
Millers looked like, and where they came from. Where they were going after
their stay, but my mind quickly moved on the next signature above the Millers.
Adler, Cindy. Party of 2 signed in a week ago. But, strangely, there was no date
written on the line under the column that said checked out. Funny, I thought.
Could the Adler's still be here after a week? They must really like this place.
“Is there any place in town where we can get something to eat?” my father asked.
“Oh, we have more guest!” an old woman with a curved back said stepping through the
doorway the old man had come through.
“Yes, Martha. So it appears.” said the old man. “They were just wondering where they
can get something to eat.”
This late at night, oh my, do you think Rudy's will still be taking reservations?”
“Yes, my dear. I suppose they would have room for these fine folks.
this your daughter?” the old woman said to my father, as she stepped closer to
me, as if, to have a better look, her old eyes failing her.
father said. “My daughter Cali”
lovely, the people at Rudy's will absolutely love her. So young and sweet”
I'm sure. If you could just tell us where we may be able to find Rudy's.” said
the road a little yonder.” said the old man. “You can't miss it.”
thank you.” said my father. And the old man handed him our room key, room 6.
When we got
back to the car, Mom asked what took so long. And, my father told her about the
rather eccentric old couple who ran the inn. He said that he thought that they
probably didn't get a lot of customers. So, when they had the chance to talk to
new folks, they were a little long winded. I told Mom about how creepy the
lobby of the place was, and that we probably wouldn't survive the night. Dad
told me to knock it off. He said that, not every place in the world was like
about a half a mile down the road from the B&B. The place didn't look
nearly as back woods West Virginian as the B&B did either. I actually
looked kind of nice, a little plush and fancy for a restaurant out in the
middle of the sticks.
into the paved parking lot, which was probably the only one for a hundred
miles. Dad had to park at the end of the lot, because the place was still full
of cars, which to me seemed a little weird for 9:30 at night. But, like Dad
said. Not every place in the world is going to be like New York. Maybe,
mountain folk liked to eat a late dinner.
place, it was even swankier than the outside. There was a host stand with a
tiny little brass lamp which stood before us forlorn when we walked in, and
just beyond that to the right was a bar. The bartender wore a black and white
tuxedo type uniform and wash washing wine glasses in a small sink that was
tucked away under the bar when we came in. He pulled a glass up from the water
and began drying it with a white cloth when he noticed us come through the
door. “Somebody will be right with you folks.” he said with a smile. And a
couple of patrons sitting across the bar from him turned their attentions upon
us, a man with a nod, and a woman with a smile. They were both drinking red
It was only
a moment before we were greeted by a host. She was a very beautiful young girl,
no older than her early twenties. She wear wore a look of bewilderment on her
face when she saw us standing near the podium. She asked us if we were part of
the Miller party. To which my father said “No”. She then asked my father for
our last name, to which my father said “Adelman”. She than began sifting
through a smooth leather bound book that sat before her, in search of our
reservation. My father told her that she would not find us in there, that we
did not have a reservation. He said “We are just passing through town for the
night, and the inn keepers at the B&B told us to come here.”
melancholy look came over the host face, and she said that she wished that
Elmer and Mable (who I assumed were the old couple running the inn) hadn't done
that. That they were all booked up for the evening and didn't have any more
tables available for the rest of the night.
sighed at the news. And my mother gave him a dourly glance while my little
brother began to whine how hungry he was.
another couple came into the restaurant behind us, and the host said “I'll be
right with you Mr. and Mrs. Ehlers.”
I think my
father assumed right away that they were regulars, but I could tell that my
mother was adorning her “What makes them so special” look, which lead me to
believe that she was gearing up to say something. But, thankfully she didn't.
asked the host if there was anything at all she could do, and she asked if we
could give her a moment so she could show the Ehlers and the son to their table
and then she would talk to the manager for us. To which my father said “Thank
As the Ehlers
little boy passed me by holding his mother's hand, he glanced up at me. His
eyes were black like ink wells, as if, his pupils had swallowed his whole
eyeball. His eyes had a way about them, like they were piercing, as if they
could see right through me to my soul. I felt a shiver go through me as he and
his mother walked towards the stairs which ascended to a glass doors that lead
to the dining room. The child kept his eyes on me the whole time, and then
waved to me. It was one of those little kid waves were you just open and close
your hand. Feeling a little awkward and a tad bit frightened by him, I waved
back to the little boy, and he smiled at me just before ducking through the
door and into the dining area. As the door rushed closed, I could hear the
faint sounds of the room jammed packed with people. I thought to myself, for such a small town, this place must have
really good food. I mean, all those people couldn't have come from around
here. So, they must have traveled from neighboring towns just to eat here. No
wonder you needed a reservation.
continued to stand there by the door, waiting for the host to come back from
having seated the Ehlers and having talked to her boss.
I passed the time watching what
looked like would be a small jazz band setting up their instruments on a low
stage on the other side of the rectangular bar. The band was dressed all in
black, and the bassist was doing a sound check of his instrument as the drummer
was busy putting together his set near the back.
host reappeared and my Mother said “Tell me you have good news for us”. She
gave a wan smile and said “Well, yes and no. I talked to my manager and he said
that unfortunately we are just too booked for the evening to get you guys a
table to night, unless, of course, we have a cancellation. I know that’s not
what you wanted to hear, but I know that we were expecting the Miller family a
party of three at 9:30 and they haven’t showed yet, which is unfortunate
because everyone here was looking forward at meeting them. So you guys might
still be in luck. Still though, it is customary for us to give any guest with a
reservation a thirty minute grace period on being tardy.” My Father checked his
watch when the host said that, and my Mother asked what time it was, anticipating
the host’s next words would be “Would you like to take their place?” I was
right, and the host did ask if we wanted to sit in for the Millers, but we
still would have to wait until ten to make sure that they weren't just running
late. My Father looked at my Mother and told her it was 9:45 and said it was
“Up to you if you want to wait or try to find someplace else.” To which my
Mother said. “Will wait”
We took a seat at the bar while we waited for ten o'clock to come, and the bartender
asked if he could get us anything while we waited. My Father said “No, thank
you.” but my little brother began whining again, this time about being thirsty,
so my Father asked if he could get water.
It was only
a few minutes to ten when the band struck up in an instrumental, and a slow
jazzy beat started to fill the room.
noticed because I was focused on the music and enthralled by how the members of
the band smoothly went through cord changes, when a group of people came
through the door and stood next to the host stand. I could tell right away,
when they caught my eye, that they must be the Miller's, party of three.
Their was a
lull in the music when the pretty host walked past us with the couple and their
young son, and I was able to overhear her say to them that she was glad that
they had made it. That everyone was looking forward to meeting them. I found
that a little strange. Why would a room full of strangers who happened to be
dinning together at the same restaurant, care if some people that they don't
know and never met before showed up or not?
quickly slipped from my mind when I heard my Mother sigh and say “Awe, I bet
that's the Miller's right there.”
Almost as if
anticipating my Mothers disappointment and trying to ameliorate it, a man in a
black suit, white shirt, and black tie, seemed to appear out of nowhere before
us on the other side of the bar. He introduced himself as the manager, and held
a small stack of menus in his hand. He informed us to my Mother's displeasure
that indeed the Miller's did show up for their reservation, and that they would
not be able to accommodate us in the dining room tonight. The man went on to
say that he would be more than happy to set us up with some to-go orders at 25%
off. And, to make up for our inconvenience, he would like to have us as his
guest of honor for tomorrow night. My Father told the man “Thank you, but we
are only in town for tonight and would be leaving first thing in the morning,
continuing our trip to South Carolina.” The manager smiled, and said “Awe,
that’s too bad. We really enjoy having out of towners here. It makes for such a
more delicious evening when we are blessed with some different culture around
here. The locals can be so antique and stifling. We can really use some fresh
blood around here.”
gave a perfunctory smile to the manager and said “Maybe next time”. And the
manager in the black suit said “Well, if by any chance you and your lovely family
are still around by tomorrow night, we would love to have you back and be our
guests of honor. Dinner will be on the house.” I thought it a tad unusual for
him to offer us a free dinner. I mean, I know that there are places out there
that will go above and beyond to see to it that their customers are happy, but
that seemed a little much. I think my father was thinking the same thing by the
perplexed look on his face, but he just smiled again and said “Oh, thank you.
That’s very kind of you to offer. But, really I think some to-go orders will be
more than enough.” to which the manager said “of course” and handed us each a
menu and said. “Just let the bartender know your order when you’re ready, and
thank you for stopping in at Rudy's.”
struck up their second song, and woman with long black hair wearing a shapely
red dress was now on stage, and she began to sing. I didn't recognize the song,
but at fourteen I didn't recognize most music yet. Her voice carried and filled
the room and seemed to draw you in, like a lullaby. She even had my little
brothers attention cause when I looked at him, his eyes were glued on her as he
swiveled back and forth in the bar chair.
watching the woman sing for another minute or two, my father asked if everyone
knew what they wanted, and my Mother said she would have the chicken parmesan.
I hadn't even looked at the menu and didn't need to. I already knew what I
wanted. The same thing I always get, a bacon cheese burger with extra mayo and
French fries. My Mother predictably would say to me to get something else when
I ordered it, and my Dad would tell her let me have it, that a bacon
cheeseburger wasn't killing anybody at fourteen.
our order with the bartender. My Father with a French dip, my little brother
with the fingers and fries, and then we were left with nothing to do but
patiently wait for our food.
in the red dress singing began the bands next number solo. She had complete
control of the room as she drew everyone’s attention into her. It was like
watching a siren with her heavenly voice calling in sailors to their doom. Even
the couple sitting down at the other end of the bar from us, picked up their
wine glasses and moved to a small table in front of the stage to be closer to
We watched her intently, and
then the drummer started in by tingling out a little melody on the symbol. And,
then, my concentration was broken when dining room door reopened and a flood of
sound came rushing in to the bar. I looked in just in time to see the little
boy with spacious black eyes sitting at a table with his parents look at me,
and I felt yet another chill run through me. The sight of the little boy made
me feel unnerved and a little scared sick, and I felt my stomach begin to turn
as if I had eaten something that wasn't agreeing with me. I told my parents
that I had to go the restroom, and my Father said “Okay, sweetie. I think it’s
down that hall over there.” and he pointed in the direction of a corridor on
the other side of the bar that ran straight down along the side of the dining
I left my
seat at once, making my way to the corridor. On my way I had to pass the stage
where the band was playing, so I took the opportunity to get a closer look at
the band as I navigated my way through the gauntlet of small round tables, now
half filled with customers. As I walked past the stage and the band, I looked
up at the woman in the red dress, and she looked down at me. She wore blood red
lipstick and rouge. Her skin was pallid, but taunt. She really was quite beautiful.
But, her eyes, her eyes were the same as the little boys, black as midnight,
cold, voided, empty.
I picked up my pace for the corridor, keeping my eyes looking forward the whole
time, as if I thought that looking back would cause the woman to chase me like
some kind of beast. I made it safely to within the confines of the hallway and
I could see an illuminated sign hanging from the ceiling that said restrooms. I
turned briefly to see if anyone had followed me into the hall, especially the
woman in the red dress, and to my relief there was nobody behind me. The woman
in the red dress was still up on the stage singing and the band carried on
behind her, and all the people seemed content in their state of somnambulism.
back around to head for the lady's room, when not watching where I was going; I
almost walked smack dab into a waiter carrying a try of food. Startled, I
reeled back and the waiter stopped in his tracks, and managed, successfully, to
hold on to the tray as it wobbled on his supinated palm, the plates clinging
against one another making a dissonance of silver and china. The waiter said
“Whoa!” as he regained his composure and grip on the tray, and I managed to
stammer out a faint “excuse me” and continued to walk on by. I looked back to
see him turn and disappear into a alcove that lead into the dining room just
before the hallway lead back into the bar.
the point that I was visibly shaking, I staggered forward a few more steps and
realized that I had come to the end of the hallway and was standing underneath
the restroom sign. The hallway split into two directions left and right, which
I assumed one way would lead to the men’s' room and one to the woman’s'.
Instinctively I choose right and came to a door. I hadn't paid any attention to
it at the time, probably because I was still upset from the run in with the
waiter, and still feeling scared of the woman in the red dress and the little
boy, both with hollow eyes. But, I look back now, and I believe that the door
didn't have any sign posted on it that signified that it was either the men’s'
room or the woman’s'. Any way’s, I passed through it, and found myself standing
in an alcove looking into the kitchen. And, what I seen, has stayed with me and
haunted me to this very day.
This was no
ordinary restaurant; these were no ordinary cooks I was looking at. To my left
was a young man, no older than his early twenties. He was wearing a white
chef’s coat, an apron, and black and white pants. He reminded me of one of the
cinnamon toast crunch guys, only he was no cordially lovable character from the
cover of a cereal box. He was covered in blood and offal. He stood at a
stainless steel table with a clever in his hand, and was using it to separate
the rib cage from what appeared to be a torso. At first, I wouldn’t have, I
really don't think… I would have paid no mind to what kind of animal the torso
came from, due to the fact that it already had its skin removed. But, then I
recognized what it was, and it wasn't a cow, goat, or pig. The human head that
sat at the end of the table was a dead giveaway.
was slack jawed and the eyes seemed to stair off into space, fixated on an
infinite point. Blood had been pooling underneath it, so it sat on a round
glass tray that collected it as it dripped from the sinews that dangled from
the severed part of the neck.
As the cook walked away from his
work station carrying a fresh dissected piece of rib cage, he dipped his two
fingers into the blood that sat coagulating at the bottom of the glass tray,
and tasted it with a grin.
I duct away
behind a metal island cabinet that carried plate ware, fearing that I might be
seen. I was so terrified that I could barely breathe, and I felt my heart race
in my chest like it was going to reach a crescendo and burst. I looked up at
the table, and I could see the head perched up in the glass tray a little better.
I seemed like it was looking at me. As if, whoever it was, was still in there
somewhere and they were trying to say something to me. Trying to scream, scream
out to me because of the horror they had experienced, and scream for me to run,
to save myself.
I felt the
water begin to imbue my eyes, but I knew I couldn't cry. I couldn't make a sound
or I would be found. I had to keep it together.
back up at the head, and it dawned on me. I saw this man before, just a few
minutes ago actually. I was Mr. Miller.
the door to the hallway that I came through opened, and in walked a waitress. I
hung close to the metal cabinet, trying to make myself as small as possible.
She walked my way, and I had to maneuver myself around the cabinet as she
advanced. She pulled a large tray from a series of slots underneath an adjacent
countertop, and when her back was turned I made my move, escaping into the
me. And I found myself staring down a row of chefs all cooking parts of the
Miller family at their respective stations down the line. There was a sauté
cook using pliers to remove the finger nails from what I assumed was Mrs.
Miller’s fingers, because they were long and painted red. He then dropped them
into some kind of tawny liquid in a frying pan and began to cook them. Flames
shot up and into the pan as he snapped his wrist flinging Mrs. Millers fingers
up into the air before catching them back in the pan.
cook opened up the double doors of a convection oven and pulled out a pot that
was about a foot in depth. He carefully placed the hot pot down on the table
behind him and removed the foil covering it. Using a large set of tongs, he
removed the brazen head of Mrs. Miller. Her face had been cooked to a golden
brown and looked brittle. Her eyes had popped at some point and the juices and
ichors ran out of them, giving her a look as if she was crying. The cook placed
her head on an ornate silver tray, then, using a ladle, scooped out some of the
grease and fluids out of the pot and basted her head with it.
myself the best I could between a refrigerator and a kitchen wall. The space
wasn't much, but it was enough to conceal me. All I wanted to do was get the
hell out of there, but I had to bide my time so I could sneak back out of the
kitchen through the door which I had entered. I felt my bowls quiver; brought
on, I'm sure from being so nervous and scared. I was shaking like I had an
earthquake in the core of me. I didn't want to look out into the kitchen
anymore, but I knew I had to if I wanted to get the hell out of their alive.
I peered out
from my hiding spot, and there was another waitress standing at the small metal
table where the first waitress had previously been. Her eyes were the same
black voids that little boy and the singing lady had. She had a craft in her
hand, and she walked over to a refrigerator and opened its door. Inside was the
Miller's little boy. He was strung up upside down. His feet held to the ceiling
of the refrigerator by being pierced through by a metal hook. His shirt had
been removed, and his arms had been severed at the pits. His throat had been
slit ear to ear exposing a cavernous wound that looked like a jack O lanterns
smile. His blood had poured from his body and now collected in a large plastic
container at the base of the refrigerator. The waitress used a large measuring
cup to scoop out the blood and fill the craft. When it was full, she closed the
refrigerator and head back out the door that lead to the hallway.
waitress gone, I figured I had my best opportunity at making a run for it. I
squeezed myself out from my hiding spot behind the refrigerator and I slowly,
carefully, began to tip toe back towards the door from which I came. I peeked
back down the line of cooks to see if any of them might be looking in my
direction, to which, thankfully, none were. I didn't make it two more steps
before having to retreat swiftly. Another cook came walking towards me from god
knows where, and I had to flee deeper into the kitchen to avoid him seeing me.
Luckily for me, he had been carrying Mr. Miller’s legs, which he had slung over
his shoulders which narrowed his view to just whatever was directly in front of
anywhere else to go, I was forced to head into a neighboring room. It was the
dish pit. There were shelves of clean dishes and a waist high rack which held
the dirty ones, which lead directly to a large dishwasher. There was a young
man in the room which I assumed must have been the dishwasher. He had his back
to me, but I could still see enough of his face to be able to tell that he
looked a lot like Otto from the Simpsons. He had ear buds in his ears, which
made it quite easy for me to slip past him undetected.
There was a
doorway at the back of the room that I slipped through. It took me into a dimly
lit hallway, which then lead me to the back of the establishment where it
opened up to a large banquet room with a dance floor. Even though it was Friday
night, there was no party going on. On the far side of the room, there was a
pair of glass French doors, and I quickly made my way over to them. They were draped
in white cloth which was tied back to the doors sides, exposing its windows. I
peered through the windows and found myself looking out into the dining room.
was long and rectangular. The tables were all white table clothed and candle
lit. All the gests eating had those black eyes that seemed to go on forever.
They were social and laughing with one another, and seemed to be really
enjoying their dinner formally known as the Miller family.
I saw the waitress that had
filled a craft of the Miller's little boy’s blood towards the back of the dining
room, not far from where I was hiding. She was filling peoples wine glasses up
with the blood.
The dinners seemed to be relishing the taste
as they consumed the flesh that was on their plates.
The little boy with the cold
black eyes was munching on one of Mrs. Millers fingers just like a normal child
eating a chicken finger.
At the far end of the dining
room was a large table with maybe seven or eight people (or whatever the hell
these things were) at it. The brazen head of Mrs. Miller sat at the center of
the their table, while an old man carved into it with a large knife and began
passing out pieces of her to the other members at his table.
I was mesmerized.
I wanted to run and shriek, but I couldn't. I just remained frozen there; to in
shock to move, to intrigue at what I was seeing to look away. What the hell are these people, I
thought, but then I think I got my answer. At a table not far from the glass
doors, to which, I was hiding behind was a middle aged couple. They ate soup,
only it wasn't soup, it was steaming warmed blood in a bowl, and as they
slurped it up with their spoons, their mouths would open wide exposing their
long coral white fangs. VAMPIRES! But, they only drink blood, not consume the
flesh of their victims, you might be thinking. Well, I can earnestly tell you
that’s a myth. They have no problem eating everything.
little girl” Oh, crap! Oh NO! I thought. “Can I help you little girl,
are you lost?”
I turned around slowly to see
the waitress who was just in the dining room filling up peoples glasses with
the little boy Miller's blood. She smiled at me gently. She had long red hair
that flowed onto her shoulders like flowing lava, but her eyes were normal.
“I... I was just looking for the bathroom and I got lost.” is what I managed to
stammer out, figuring that she would see right through my lie and pounce on me.
She pursed her lips and studied me. I felt myself shaking like a leaf. “I...I
think I should be getting back to my parents, they're waiting for me at the
bar.” I said. “Well then, right this way, little Mrs.” she said.
the glasses doors that I had been staring through, I figured I was about to
die. She stepped through the doorway and I followed her not knowing what else
to do. She took a few more steps and stopped before actually getting to the
threshold of any of the tables. She turned to the left. There was a doorway
that I hadn't noticed when peering in from the banquet room. She pushed it
open, holding it for me. Beyond was the hallway where I made the wrong turn
when going to the toilet.
this hallway, little Mrs.” she said. I walked past her and looked down the
hallway. I could see the band playing on stage and the woman in the red dress was
still singing. I walked forward slowly and cautiously. I wanted to run, but I
was afraid the waitress would chase me.
know why I did it, but for some reason I looked back. The waitress was still
standing there watching me. With my voice a little shaky, I got out a “Thank
you”. She smiled at me and said “Your welcome” and then she winked at me. Her
eyes where those black pits that the others had had. I didn’t know why she was
letting me go just then, but later I suss why. Who would believe me?
I picked up my pace and made it to the bar. I
didn't look at the band or anyone else as I approached my parents. My father
looked at me and said “Are you all right, honey? You were in there a long time.
You don't look so good.” I didn't want to make as scene, but all I wanted to do
was scream on the top of my lungs, and tell my father what this place was, and
what I saw, but I knew that I needed to keep my cool.
bartender came with our food before I had a chance to tell my parents that we
needed to leave right now. My father paid with a fifty, and the bartender came
back with his change. We left after that, and as soon as we got back onto the
road, heading back to the B&B, I emphatically began telling my parents all
about what happened to me and what I seen. Of course, my parents didn't believe
me, and I even caught them glance at one another while my mother rolled her
eyes as if to say, her and her imagination.
When we got
back to the B&B, I purposely dropped the containers of food in the parking
lot. Both my parents were extremely pissed at me, but what else could I do; I
couldn't just sit back and watch my family eat the Millers. Well, I guess, I don't
really know if it even was parts of the Millers in those containers. I suppose
that they could have had actual food on hand which they gave us.
get any sleep that night at the Inn, fearing that they would come for us. And
the next morning we left, back on the road to South Carolina. My parents were
cross with me all that day, over the way they said I was acting, and having to
have gone to bed hungry last night.
more than twenty years ago now, and in all this time I have yet to get anybody
to believe me on what happened to me that day. My parents, for a brief time
even wanted to put me in counseling, as if, what happened to me that day in
West Virginia was some kind of ongoing hallucination I need help for. So, I
eventually stopped talking about it. But I never ever will forget Rudy's off of
exit 34 in West Virginia. And, I don't care if anybody ever believes me or not.
Besides, I don't need anybody to believe me, to know that I'm not crazy. I
still have the menu from that night.