Ztrailersmaps

Anya and I stand a few feet in front of the rotting trailers, listening to the cacophony of sounds seeping through the thin door. Most of the windows are gone, now covered with colorful tarps and sheets of clear plastic. It’s almost night and the lights from inside shine through the plastic windows, casting a rainbow of colors on the surrounding trees and grass. We haven’t even seen people in almost three weeks, and I can tell Anya’s more than a little frightened of what we will discover inside. “Are you sure this is the only way?” Anya asks shakily, and I nod sadly. She takes an unsteady breath and we begin to walk up the decaying steps. Before we’ve even reached the porch, the door bursts open and an enormous man with a smile almost as rotten as the trailers is staring down at us. “Welcome,” he shouts, waving us into the room. When Anya hesitates he gives her a shove and says “Come on now, don’t be shy.” Once we’ve been ushered inside, the man shows up again and begins shaking our hands so wildly my elbow is nearly dislocated. “I’m Richard Smike, owner and manager of this lovely establishment.” He looks at us expectantly, and I realize we’re supposed to introduce ourselves. “I’m Evelyn Pride, and this is Anastasia Velkis.” He smiles at each of us, and I get the opportunity to glance at the surrounding room. An impossibly old woman sits in the corner smoking and she gives me a wry smile. I haven’t seen anyone that old in years. She’s probably only about fifty but she still looks ancient. It’s a huge accomplishment to grow that old, and I stare at her in awe. If I hit thirty five I’ll be happy. The walls are all bare bones, covered in blankets to try and keep in the heat. Candles are everywhere, illuminating the room. Those candles can’t be good in such a flammable place. If even one flared the whole place would go up in flames. Anya notices as well, and she gives me an anxious glance. “Welcome, welcome,” Smike says again, still grinning. “Follow me, this is just the entrance, inside we have all kinds of people.” The minute he pushes back a rug covering a doorway on the side of the room, noise pours out and reveals people rushing around, carrying goats, cheese, coffee tins. A lot of the stuff they have, I don’t even know what it is. Smike takes us into a room where three men sit around behind tables, their tables holding all kinds of wares. The minute we walk one of the men launches in to a spiel about his goods. “I have a keyboard here with your name on it!” He yells wildly, shaking the keyboard at me. “Not your cup of tea? Look at this, I have a purse. You want a purse!” The man doesn’t ask this as a question, he just screams at me. I’m not even sure what a purse is. Smike just waves to the man and ushers us out of the room, leading us farther down the hall to a room at the very back. It’s quieter here, less hectic, with only the occasional person walking around.