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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Glittering_Rapier on 2024-12-25 17:57:46+00:00.

Traveler’s Log

Life’s not exactly fair, it can go from heaven to hell in a second. Picture this: you’re happily married to your best friend, you actually love your job, and you finally have saved enough money to enjoy yourself… Vivid enough? This is merely a factor in my life’s equation… Well, loose said job of thirteen years due to a random change in the position’s “requirements.” Of course, this will affect the partner. Your marriage starts to fail and your best friend becomes your biggest critic, love morphs into resentment and inadequacy latches onto every moment spent with her. “Till death do us part” becomes more of a hurdle than a bond.

Maybe this bitterness was growing between us all along, lying dormant until the swollen bubble of discontent popped. Oh, it popped and it popped bad. I always loved Miranda and I knew she loved me but love isn’t exactly absolute. At least, our love wasn’t… Through a daily dance of passive aggressive remarks and hushed insults, my feelings for her grew cold and then blazing hot. Truth be told, I hate my wife. I hate her shrill voice, I hate her judgmental eyes, I hate her unearned beauty, I hate her snide personality, I just simply and utterly hate her…

With an empty bed and a head full of doubt, my body began rejecting basic needs. I haven’t slept well since; stuck in a constant loop of waking up in the middle of the night to my own inner thoughts screaming at me. Why did you have to get married? You were happy single and now you can’t live without her… I feel sick… I feel weak… I feel ugly… I feel unhappy… Addicted to her touch like a drug, I needed to wean myself off from her poison.

Well, all of a sudden, she wanted to play hero and save our marriage… Of course, she just had to be the one. She was fine with our relationship being in ruin for months, she was fine without speaking to me for most days out of the week, and she was fine with making me sleep in the guest room for a better part of a year. But she was going to save it… The hero nobody asked for, savior of the relationship nobody wanted… Her answer for this was space, as simple as that… Space… After all that was said between us, some time apart could fix us in her mind.

Either some talentless internet therapist or one of her unbearable friends gave her the idea of a separate vacation, either or, I hardly pay attention to what she says anymore. We would “detoxify and create new memories to share with each other” or some other vapid way of describing getting drunk with strangers. Whatever… I didn’t care anymore, getting a week away from her would be good for me…

I threw some bags together out of spite, loaded up my car with the least amount of effort, and drove off into the distance with no direction in mind. I could see her waving in my mirrors… Though she shrunk with distance, her smile never faltered. Denial has taken her… When I finally stop thinking of her, that’s where I would stop and stay.

A grueling six hours into the endless drive, it was well into the night and my determination was fading. I don’t know exactly where I am but I found myself in some southern mountain town. Well, I suppose you could call a few scattered buildings a town… I don’t really know what qualifies as a village versus a town, regardless, it was rustic to put it politely.

The town’s sign was in horrid disrepair, faded beyond belief and covered in thick vines. “HOME OF MIRACLES” and a crude symbol was set in gold over what was left. Uncanny sure but I’ve stayed in worse; I’m not exactly a stranger to sketchy hostels. It was clean enough for a hick town I suppose… I am a man of my word and found my mind Miranda-less for a time. Worse comes to worst, I could just camp out in my car until morning. Maybe I could actually sleep without her lurking around, even the thought of her perfume makes me sick to my core.

Driving through the empty streets, my unease was replaced by some sort of comfort? This place just felt safe, I can’t exactly put it into words… I wouldn’t say it was charming but there was something about it… An allure, a breath of fresh air. It was odd but it felt almost euphoric just to be there, maybe I wasn’t cut out for city life after all. I need a place like this, my body needs a place like this. She’s killing me and this town felt like a cure.

For as small as it was, the roads were maze-like and one wrong turn you’d be back where you started. I feel like I drove around for fifteen minutes, passing the same few buildings until I found the right turn. A brightly lit sign labeled “HERD’S GARDEN INN: ROOMS AVAILABLE” was sloppily displayed in front of an old building on the town’s furthest outskirts. Could this be a hotel? It couldn’t be… It looked like a church, steeple and all. An old, medium-sized church shoddily renovated into a dingy inn… That’s interesting at least. The steeple on top of the building was damaged and splintered, they must have torn off the cross… They can get rid of that but not the vines and ivy slithering their way up the walls.

For a second, an ember of doubt entered my mind yet again, only to be snuffed out by a thought of Miranda. This is the only inn in town it seems and on second thought, sleeping in my car would be the death of me. I will be fine…

Opening my car door, I was floored by the cold night air. I didn’t pack anything for this climate so I hurried into the Herd’s Garden Inn. Immediately, warm perfumed air wrapped around me like a blanket. It was soothing, borderline intoxicating . Tacky wallpaper of a deep purple, embellished in gold, carelessly lined the walls with carpet the color of wine that stuck to my shoes. It was visually pleasing in its own way, though objectively hideous. A bull’s skull, wrapped in vines, was mounted over what must have been the lobby. I will never understand Southerners…

“Welcome! Cold night, ain’t it?” a cheerful voice called from a makeshift desk. It was a stout, older man with a grin as infectious as the flu. Short, chubby, and with a balding head of frizzy red hair; this man looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly. Dressed in stained and frayed clothing, he looked almost homeless. Though an oddly opulent golden bracelet bearing some sort of token shone like the sun at his wrist.

“Y-yeah, I can barely feel my fingers…” I said, forcing out a lighthearted tone through my chattering teeth.

“Well lucky for you, the Garden has just what you need! A nice room and something warm to drink!” the older man chuckled. Friendly, yes but he didn’t exactly look like he was on the job.

“That’d be nice… So, do you work here?” I asked.

That had to be the funniest thing he’s heard in years as he almost died from laughing. He had that loud, exaggerated laugh like somebody’s favorite uncle.

“Work here? I own it! Auggie McFalls, pleasure to meet you!” he laughed, clasping my hand with both of his palms in a soft and oily handshake. The stink of alcohol and scented oils clung to his shabby clothing; my eyes began to water as the scent somehow grew stronger.

“Well, nice to meet you Mr. McFalls.”

“Mr. McFalls? That makes me feel old! Please call me Auggie! The Garden is my baby, me and my sister Amelia really shaped this place up! Oh, it was so tragic before we got here… You should have seen it! Well, I always loved a fixer upper…” he chimed, eyeing me up like I was something miraculous and unknown.

“To be honest, I almost thought your sign was mistaken. It just looks so much like a-“ I was quickly cut off by Auggie’s obnoxious chuckle.

“A church? Keen-eye, buddy! Well it was, funnily enough… Millpoint Ministries was its name… Real shame, the pastor was a sour character and just decided to abandon it. A lot of false prophets out there. Oh what was his name, Donny, Danny- well it doesn’t matter. It died soon after. I couldn’t help myself when I saw such a pretty little building in ruin.” He droned on, gently running his hand across the patchy wallpaper.

“It’s definitely an interesting spot. Never can say I’ve slept in an old church before. Well, it’s been a long drive so a room would be great. As long as you don’t expect me to get up early for a sermon.” I joked, only for Auggie’s smile to die for a second. Auggie McFalls was a man who looked like he wasn’t built for a frown, an unnatural labored expression twisted his face before twitching slowly back into a smile.

Auggie put a clammy hand on my shoulder. “You know friend, I used to preach a bit at the Eternal Jubilee… It’s a church a few miles from here… Me and its pastor, Lysander Sinclair, go way back… Long, ancient history. I was one of his first followers in fact. Though I left the congregation over some… differences… We have an arrangement of sorts… I would love to set you on the right path, though. Salvation comes at its own pace. After all, we are in the home of miracles.” he smiled, gesturing to his bracelet.

“Lysander Sinclair? Like the rockstar? I thought he died of an overdose decades ago… That or beat a prostitute to death I can’t remember…” I may have sounded rude, but why would Auggie McFalls of Town No Name have connections to a Top 40-er. An especially controversial Top 40-er I may add. Holy Harem was more of my dad’s thing but I’ve heard about the scandals… Lysander Sinclair, Rico St. Wilde, Randy Raine, and Adam Swift were ousted from the spotlight, their reputations never recovered and before long nobody really remembered they existed. Not sure if the rumors were true but …

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