An hour or so later, I left the house again, heading up the hill to check in on my grandfather.
Abraham Sands had been in an increasingly bad way for years, which was hardly surprising for a man in his early 90s. Dad’s messages had hinted at his growing disconnection from reality, his confusion. Now he was more or less bedridden, with a hospice nurse trying to keep him comfortable as he faded away—much like the town and most things in the high Appalachians.
Abraham’s house sat at the top of the same hill as my father’s, perched on the side of the mountain that shielded Deep Springs from the outside world. Modest, but enough for him, and before, for his two sons and my grandmother. For me and Levi, it had always been a second home, especially when Dad was off on expeditions. Back when my grandmother was alive, there were always beans, cornbread, and greens simmering on the stove, ready for anyone who might drop by—us, my parents, folks from town who’d grown up alongside Abraham, even the mayor or the chief of police. My grandfather was a hub of activity in town, just as his father had been before him.
As I turned into the loop road in front of his house, I thought of him with his pipe—a churchwarden he’d crafted himself as a young man. I could almost see the ghost of the grandfather of my youth, seated in one of the now-rusty metal chairs around the cliffside deck, gazing over the steep drop to the river and the patchwork of farms on the hills beyond. A regular Bilbo Baggins in the Shire, enjoying his golden years.
The house itself was worn, as decrepit as the man who owned it was becoming, but still shadowed by the love and nostalgia I felt for it. The pang of twenty years lost beat at me as I stepped across the deck to the side door of the white building, under the faded red roof, that for all the world looked like a rusted ship hull sitting on bricks.
Taking a breath that held the faintest trace of pipe smoke from the annals of years before, I knocked on the door, waited a few minutes, and was met with a surprise when it swung open.
I knew my grandfather’s hospice nurse, I’d gone to school with her. Anna Caplan.
“Oh my god, Judah?” She asked, looking up at me from her diminutive 5 foot height. The next thing I knew I was stumbling backwards as she hurried to give me a side hug. “Oh my god! Are you ok? I know things are crazy, I’ve been just trying to keep it from hitting Abe’s ear.” she glanced inside, and satisfied closed the door behind her. “I didn’t want to stress him too much until we knew more.”
I gave a tired look. “I don’t know much I’m afraid, it doesn’t look great, but I’m hopeful. Dad’s a pretty resilient guy.” Anna nodded approvingly of my charitable nature on the situation, and pushed open the door again
“I guess you are here to see Abe. You picked an ok day for it, he’s not been that aware today, but he’s not screaming at the walls or anything, so that’s not for nothing.”
I blinked at that, I hadn't realized he'd gotten so bad.
Abraham Sands, the patriarch of my family looked at me with glassy eyes, tracking the movement from the door in the odd juxtaposition of someone that wasn't entirely there, and a predator tracking prey. One foot in the door of death with his failing body, but the other in something, primal, maybe this is the sort of manifestation of the caged and trapped animal that some men become when death knocks. Maybe this is what dying of old age looks like.
"Judah? Judah my boy, you've come home" he rasped, his voice dry and strained like a man parched and half jerky after dragging themself through the desert. I crossed the room and nabbed up the water cup that was set next to his bed, quietly noting the Vanderbilt University logo printed on the side and holding it up to my grandfather's lips. I glanced back at Anna, who was checking linens in the closet. "I didn't realize Vanderbilt did at home care."
She nodded at me. "They do, but that's not what this is. I'm my own practice I guess you could say." she smiled as she set fresh sheets at the foot of the medical bed. "The joys of being an entrepreneur I guess. The medical equipment-" she had caught my eyes flicking to the high dollar medical monitoring equipment that was attached to Abraham, "Is actually courtesy of your father. I don't know where he got them from, but they are newer than what I've had access to before, and he just gave them as "Payment in kind" to the practice. But yes, Vanderbilt is my alma mater, I just ran out of branded insulated cups, so that's one of mine." She laughed, a laugh that seemed as hollow as Abraham's physical form, one that hid self-consciousness and doubt. "All the high tech medical equipment, no money for the frivolities."
She continued puttering around the living space, what I recalled to be Abraham's living room, his large cabinet TV, a hallmark of my memories of the home, covered in knick-knacks of my grandparents had been replaced with an electric hearth next to the old woodstove, with a flat screen mounted high to the wall above it for my grandfather's comfort of watching it in his bed (It was Wheel of Fortune, I didn't even know Wheel of Fortune ran at 1pm).
The weathered old velveteen fabric couch, smelling of pipe smoke and years of tobacco and home cooking smells had been removed to make room for the medical apparatus around the room, converting the space into an ad hoc hospital accommodation.
Anna noticed me again, looking around the room. "As different as it is from when we were kids, "
I recalled periods where me and Ryan couldn't go anywhere without finding Anna nearby. She'd been the new kid in town, and as children are wont to be, several of our peers took every opportunity to try to improve their social station by reducing Anna, before me and Ryan took care of it in high school. After that, she'd take supper with my grandparents with me, Levi and Ryan, she'd come down to the river with us, or go trekking through the hills on grand adventures. Come to think of it, she was kind of nurse and caregiver to our little quartet as much as she seemed to be now. It's amazing sometimes how much nothing changes despite everything having changed.
"It's not much of a medical accommodation, but it works for him. It's best to keep his surroundings at least similar. Keeps him grounded during his... bad days ya know?"
I didn't. Not really at least, but I nodded anyway.
"He's been getting stuck on topics the last several days. Probably a week before--" She saw my confusion. "Word travels fastest in small towns remember? I know all about what happened on the trail, second, third, fourth hand at least."
Her words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with unspoken implications. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could form a thought, a low grumble came from the bed.
“Dogs got ’em,” my grandfather rasped, his voice like dry leaves scraping together.
Anna froze, her hands still clutching the edges of the sheet. “Oh boy, here we go,” she muttered, half to herself, her tone a mix of exasperation and concern. She turned toward Abraham, her movements careful, measured. “It’s been dogs and shadows when he’s having his moments,” she explained softly, glancing at me. “Sometimes he gets stuck on it for hours.”
“Dogs and shadows?” I echoed, the chill in my voice betraying my attempt to sound unaffected.
“Yeah. It’s always the same,” she said, stepping closer to the bed and lowering her voice, as though trying not to disturb him further. “They’re coming for him. Or for someone else. He doesn’t say who.”
I looked down at my grandfather, whose eyes were still closed but whose lips moved faintly, murmuring words I couldn’t quite catch. A shiver crawled up my spine, and for a brief, irrational moment, I felt as though something unseen was watching from the corners of the room.
“Dogs bite,” Abraham said suddenly, his voice sharper this time, startling both of us. His eyes opened, glassy and unfocused, but there was something in them—something feral and raw, as though he wasn’t really seeing us at all. “Scared dogs bite.”
Anna gave a small laugh, the sound more genuine this time, and returned to smoothing the sheets on Abraham’s bed. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much he notices anymore, but it makes me feel better. Like I’m doing something for him.”
Abraham shifted slightly in his bed, muttering something incoherent. His eyelids fluttered, but whatever lucidity he’d shown earlier had faded, leaving him slumped against the pillows, his breathing deep and rhythmic.
Anna leaned over to check the monitors, her movements quiet and careful. “Looks like he’s settled in for now,” she said softly. “This might be the best sleep he’s had all week.”
I watched him for a moment longer, my mind replaying his cryptic words. Dogs. Shadows. Scared dogs bite. A shiver ran through me, but I pushed it down. Just the ramblings of an old man slipping away, I told myself. It didn’t feel like a lie.
Anna straightened, catching my eye as she folded the last of the linens. “He’ll be alright for a while. You don’t need to stay if you’ve got other things to do.”
I hesitated, the weight of the day pressing against my chest. “Yeah. I need to head into town for a bit,” I said finally, forcing a small smile. “I’ll stop by again tomorrow.”
She smiled back, warm but faintly tired. “Good. He’ll like that. Even if he doesn’t show it.”
I stepped out onto the deck, pausing to glance back through the doorway. Abraham was already still, his breathing steady as the hum of the monitors filled the quiet. Anna busied herself tidying the room, her presence a calm anchor in the shifting tide of my thoughts. The faint scent of pipe smoke lingered in the air as I closed the door behind me. But even as the door closed, I could feel the pressure lingering on the back of my brain. Something old. Something I couldn’t quite place my finger on. For the first time, I noticed how the river below—cutting through the heart of the town—growled like a hunting animal, its roar of rushing water more alive than it should have been.
The center of town was bustling as I turned on my walk onto the main road. I was headed to the coffee shop I'd noticed with Ryan on the way into the town, both for the coffee and to see what this "Artisan Co-Op" was all about. The large metal sign stretched across the 50s-style brown brick building read "Moonbeam Mountain Coffeehouse"
Inside of the building could be called politely a cacophony of kitsch memorabilia. Posters, stickers, small trinkets like worry stones, gemstones, to larger table pieces like giant gemstone spheres, obelisks, and paintings. I grabbed a coffee from the counter and started to peruse. I owed my dad about 15 years worth of birthday presents anyway, so maybe something in here would be nice for his office. I didn't know how well the scent of freshly brewed coffee would blend with cedarwood, patchouli and incense, creating an odd heady aroma that was as comforting as it was grounding. I'd been awake for about 10 hours, and felt foolish feeling run down, however in my defense, it'd been a hell of a 10 hours. A soft hum of folk music drifted from a corner where a local guitarist strummed and sang, her voice blending into the chatter of patrons scattered around mismatched tables and chairs. Each table seemed to have its own personality: some were bare wood, scarred from years of use, while others were painted with intricate designs, one featuring what looked like a hand-painted mural of the mountains at sunset.
I sipped the coffee—a rich, dark roast with a hint of something floral I couldn't quite place—and wandered past shelves crammed with treasures. Worry stones smoothed by countless hands caught the light, reflecting colors from a nearby stained-glass lamp. A sign read: "Locally Crafted by the Hands of the Appalachians" in wobbly, hand-painted script, and a piece of slate leaned against the shelf listing the artists’ names.
Further in, the shelves transitioned to larger items: gemstone obelisks that glittered like they held secrets, twisted driftwood sculptures, and paintings of ethereal landscapes. One caught my eye: a misty forest rendered in shades of green and gold, light pouring in like it was alive. The signature at the bottom was just two initials, the letters curling like vines.
My gaze snagged on a decorative skull perched on a tall wooden stand in the back corner. It was carved with strange, geometric designs and inlaid with a striking emerald disc in the center of the forehead. My coffee halfway to my mouth, I paused, drawn toward it. It wasn’t just the artistry—though it was stunning—but something about it felt… familiar, though I’d never seen it before in my life.
Perfect, I thought. For Dad’s office. Definitely weird enough to get a comment, even from him.
I got the attention of the clerk in house, and had the case unlocked, the clerk gently passing me the skull to take to the counter at the front of the shop. I gasped as I took the skull in my arms, feeling a tingle of electric current almost coming from it. "Oh. That's wild." I said to no one in particular, moving to the desk and setting the skull down for purchase.
With that accomplished, and the skull safely wrapped in newspaper and placed in a plastic bag, I started back towards my father's with my refilled coffee and new prize in tow.