The weather has gotten worse since I have started to write this. I am now currently typing this under a tarp, the sounds of the rain pattering upon my sides and head.  The wind is growing stronger, and the sound of thunder can be heard over the crashing of waves upon the near by cliffs. I also think I can hear  a fog horn or weather siren, but there should not be anything like that in this region.

Continuing where I left off, I rode the ATV into the woods to find where I assumed the old road would have been. Travel was slow and complicated. The turf of dead orange leaves and pine needles made traction terrible. Going down hill was like driving a truck on snow. The large old oaks and pines stood scattered about, with great vines hanging from them like nooses. Lighting was dim due to their thick foliage of slowly dying leaves. The hills in the region were like that of the decrepit roller coasters I had just visited earlier in the week, constantly going up and down. I was sure I was going up more than I was going down though. I was casually climbing higher and higher upon this treacherous mound.

I was certain I was in the right location. If there was a road here once, it must have been torn and buried for over fifty years. 

I felt like I might have been the first person to have entered these woods in over a decade. The tree litter upon the ground was thick and untouched. It was as if all wildlife had evacuated from here. I could only hear the motor of the ATV and the sound of its tires crunching the dead branches. No birds calling out. No animal scurrying under the covert of dead plant life and vines, or running up an oak for safety. 

It was while slowly riding into a large gully and realizing that there was an absent of life that I nearly drove into the fence. I wrenched the steering of the four wheeler hard to avoid the sudden obstacle of the man made wire. The small vehicle turned onto its side with a loud, metallic snap. That sound caused me to shudder for I had heard it before. I stood up, unharmed from the fall, just a few feet from the fencing. Fencing that was not oxidized or old. Looking back to the four wheeler, I saw what I had feared. An old bear trap was clamped upon a rear tire, which was  now flat. 

I carefully reached over for a fallen branch. With it, I made sure it was safe to walk back to the ATV. I then circled around the four wheeler, securing a ten foot radius. I jumped when another trap snapped upon the branch just six feet away. And another at an additional six feet. The place had been trapped.

Looking back to the fence, I realized it was not just another barbwire fence for keeping out livestock. It was razor wire. Four rows of wiring spread a foot apart. The thought of what might have happened if I had not toppled over when I did caused another shudder to run through me. Looking in both directions, I could not see an end or turn as it stretched out through the large coulee I was now in. There was something on the fence about twenty yards away. With the branch in hand to make sure I did not step on any of the hidden bear traps, I went to see what it was.

It was a metallic sign, painted white with bold black letters.

WARNING

DO NOT ENTER
TRESSPASSERS WILL BE KILLED 

There was nothing else written on it. Nothing saying ownership of the land, or that it was private property. It was simply saying that if you enter, you will be killed. I have heard that warning before, and only once did the threat turn out to be plausible. Still, the fact that the fencing must have been placed out here within the last ten years worried me.

I would have turned back and gone home since this was not exactly what I was being paid to research. However, Tony was waiting for me. My phone had stopped receiving a signal several kilometers back, so I was unable to call him. I regret not taking the boat with him, but I am not one for the sea. I get sea sick easily. 

I went back to the fallen ATV, and gathered up my backpack. After procuring a better suited hiking stick to ensure the safety of my feet and legs, I went to the nearest tree to which the wires had been secured. Standing back for safety, I snipped the bottom two wires. Both wires snapped out with a loud twang for they were laid out so taunt. 

Thankful that my hand was not hit, I crawled under the deadly wiring. I found two more bear traps as I went up the incline. Ever since crossing that fencing, it felt like I was no longer alone in this wilderness. I told myself that it was just my imagination from reading that sign, but the sense of being watch was heavily weighing upon me. As soon as I was over the hill, I headed  eastward. I hiked for little over an hour, twenty minutes past my designated meeting time with Tony, when I hit another steep slope leading me higher up the mountain. I could now hear waves and smell the ocean in the fall breeze.

 The trees cleared away for the open air as I stepped out upon the cliffs facing the ocean. The light of the early afternoon shining dimly from behind, but brighter than it was within the dense woodland. I must have been about a hundred feet above sea level, looking down at the waves crashing into the cliff side. To the south, I could see what must have been the bay I was looking for about a kilometer away. 

As I approached the bay, I noticed that a blanket of fog was dissipating from out of it. Even closer, I could feel the air grow warmer, even though it was in the late fall. I got to the edge of the cliff overlooking the bay, and there it was. New Lordsking.

The town and harbor laid within a canyon I estimate to be about three hundred meters wide before hitting the ocean and stretching out more for the bay. The majority of the buildings were simplistic looking, square or rectangular in shape, and some two to three stories in height. In the middle was a twenty meter gap separating the buildings where the river emptied into the bay. I could not see the river from where I stood above due to the fog. I could not see the streets nor the bridges. The fog was covering everything that was near the bay and rivulet. The fog reached up through the streets and around the old square buildings and housings until it thinned out at the wall of the cliff. Further back, I could see the canyon walls slowly close in together behind New Lordsking until it was just a small twenty foot crack. As if the earth did not want the town growing any bigger.

I could see where the old fishery once stood on the far opposite side of the bay, now fallen into a heap of rotted wood and rusted metal. I could make out the board walk of the harbor docks peaking out from the fog there. I did not see any lights. I did not see any movement. The town appeared to be dead. It did not seem to have survived on its own after seceding. 

I then heard a small air horn wail out from down in the fog near where I guessed the harbor was. It was Tony signaling for me as we had planned for. I reached into my backpack to pull out my own air horn, and sounded out a shave and a hair cut. The air horn down in the mists returned its reply of two bits. I smiled just knowing that Tony was down there. I was in no mood to walk back to my car through bear trap infested woods. I walked along the cliff towards the town. The fog never thinned out as I got closer. It was just as thick as it was when I first saw it. The decay of New Lordsking got more evident as well. The buildings I could see clearly were all in disrepair. Their roofs rotting, covered in moss, and some even caved in. Windows boarded and no sign of glass remaining. With the haze laying upon its streets, it looked like a misshapen spider's web looking down above it. Then I saw the church.

On the far side of the gorge, I noticed one building that stuck out among the others. I started to also notice that the buildings on that side all seemed out of place, but from where I stood I could not make out what that was. I could, however, see that this one building was different than all the rest clearly. It looked as if it was taken well care of. Even from this far away, I could see that it was clean.

All of it was black. Where all the rest were stripped of paint over the years, this one building was pure black. It was about two stories tall, with an odd shaped steeple on the front. I realized that it must have been an old church. An old, black church. I recalled what the letter had said about the change of religion in New Lordsking. Maybe the wood was dyed or infused with mold, and only appeared all black from far away. Yet it was still noticeably in better shape than any other building. The steeple indeed looked like a bell tower of the old church school houses of the time, but something about it was off as well.

I decided to investigate this building as soon as I found Tony, making a mental note of its location. I gave my air horn can another bleat so Tony knew where I was in my progress. His response seemed to have not moved from its initial location. It was not far along that I found the remains of the old road I had been looking for. It was more like an unused trail now, coming out of the woods where it simply vanishes into non existence. Coming out of the forest, the trail turned towards where the canyon got narrow. There, the edge of the cliff was dug out to allow the road access down the side of the high cliff.  The path dug out was only about six feet wide. Barely big enough for any vehicle to go through for even back then. Walking down to the precarious trail ledge, I saw that the road's width got even more narrow as it turned down the cliff's side. I believe that the old method up and down was by mule and cart. Most likely had a bus stop at the top, and visitors got carted down the remaining distance. Main access most likely came in and out by boat.

The warmth had grown greatly now that I was within the ravine itself. It was shockingly humid within it. Beads of sweat rolled down my cheek, and slowly pooled upon my brow. It was unseasonably warm and the air moist. I took off my jacket and loosely tied it to the backpack while I hiked further down towards New Lordsking.

The trail down varied from a dangerous three feet to a comfortable five feet in width. It reminded me of the tourist trails in the Grand Canyon. Half way down, it looked like a landslide had taken out a portion of the path, leaving an eight foot gap. A landslide caused by dynamite most likely, with what I have seen on the way here. 

I looked down to see that the drop fell for about another forty feet before reaching the pile of rock and boulders that destroyed what remained of the housing it had smashed atop of. I had about twenty five feet of rope and a few climbing nuts and hexes in my backpack. Not enough to allow me to safely repel the rest of the way down, but it was more than enough allow me to get across the gap. 

The trail sank into the fog and turned onto the boardwalk of the harbor. The mist was just as thick as I feared, allowing only about ten feet of eye sight while this close to the water. The smell of salt water and decomposing sea life was heavy, burning my nostrils. The sound of the water lapping at the wooden piers rhythmically filled the air. Again, no sound of life. I was sure there was fish within the waters by the smell, but that would typically mean birds like sea gulls or falcons would be around. I heard nothing to indicate such creatures were around.  

The sound of Tony's air horn startled me to a possible near heart attack when it obliterated the silence just beyond my sight to the right of me. I blasted my horn back at him, and took delight in hearing him exclaim aloud from not knowing I was so close.

“Its about fucking time you got here,” Tony cursed at me with what might have been real annoyance as he walked into view with his normal smile upon his face. I had not seen the big guy for a few years, and he had not changed at all. Same white Miami Dolphins baseball cap, same horn rimmed eye glasses, tan khaki shorts, and I am sure that is the same AC/DC tour T-shirt he wore on the last job we had together. 

“How long have you been waiting?” I asked as we shook hands and was escorted to where his boat was tied up to the docks right by the mouth of the small river.

“Nearly four hours. The waters around here are nothing to worry about like all the warnings had said,” he explained. “I thought I was going to need the extra time to navigate around rocks and reefs, but the only thing that caused me trouble was the fog hiding the docks.”

Tony had already walked around the town on its north side, showing me some of the pictures he had taken. I was amazed that some of the building he took pictures of were still standing with the condition they were in. From the pictures, they looked as if a mouse could topple them. More peculiar was that a lot were covered in Spanish moss, something generally found in the south where it is warmer and humid. A ship from long ago most of brought some spores, and the unusual climate within the canyon's walls gave it a good home. 

I asked  Tony if he had been to the south side of the town and seen the black church. Mentioning of the church caused him to raise an eyebrow for he had not been to the other side. He had just found a bridge going over the brook when he sounded the air horn that I first heard and responded to. After changing my socks and a drink of water, we headed for the bridge.

The river turned out to be the source of both the warmth and the fog. I could feel its heat easily when we walked along its edge above it. The small streets were made of old brick and clay, with an old cement wall to prevent people from simply walking over the side and into the stream. I stuck my makeshift hiking stick into the water, and pulled it out to feel the temperature. The water must have been about eighty degrees Celsius. Its source must be a hot spring not too far away. The heated water entering the much cooler ocean makes what must be an endless mist within the town and bay.

Just as when I walked beyond the razor wire, I felt as if we were being watched. Like there were eyes peering from behind the cracks of the boarded up windows as we walked past. I ventured into a couple of the apartments, the doors unlocked if they had not already fallen off their hinges. They were all still furnished. There was one with a kitchen table with plates and utensils still laid out from a meal over fifty years old. I did not dare venture far within, or upstairs, for the boards felt like they could cave in under my weight. Tony did not even enter for this very reason. The man weighed a good seventy pounds more than me easily.

The only thing that seemed missing from these buildings were books. There were no books upon shelves or on tables. There were no photographs or portraits either. What ever it was that caused the people to move away, they seemed to have left it all behind except for their literature and memories. A part of me kind of liked the idea of people that would not care for any material possessions, and only take what they considered most important. Knowledge and images of their family and loved ones. Another part of me also considered the defenses I ran across to get here, and made me ponder on the idea that the towns folk were more worried about leaving behind evidence. Taking away anything that might reveal a horrible truth.

What happened here to make the people want to become its own land apart from all others, and then disappear from everything to leave behind a dead fishing harbor. Maybe I can find my answers at the church. Either way, I had found the story I was searching for and more.

We made our way through the misty damp streets, with the ghostly past all around us. The bridge Tony found was just old as the buildings, its rotting wood arching across the warm flowing water to the other side. One at a time, we slowly went across with no incident. 

I was thankful for what awaited us on the other side. Of course, I regret ever hearing of New Lordsking all together now. On the other side was what looked like an old market warehouse. I ignored it at first. I then recalled that most stores doubled as a post office. The chances that this place still had a post office after seceding seemed slim, but a lot of markets also delivered. What I wanted right at that moment was an address.

Inside the store, everything was still intact. Wood tables and shelves covered in dust and grime. Some crates with plant life growing within them in the corner. I went behind the counter where an ancient register still stood. Carefully, I looked through the drawers and cabinets, hoping that the store's owner did not take all the paper work like all the families did. I found a few papers with its writing faded away, and there it was. A small black note pad and charcoal stick. Delicately opening it, I was astounded to discover that it really was exactly what I wanted. It was a list of names and addresses. Most times, I have to work hard to get what I wanted and end in disappointment. Its a thrill when you get something this important so easy and unexpectedly. 

I gently turned the pages until I made out a name I was hoping to see among the fading marks.

 M.	Bradford   -  3 Thompson
      F. T. Butler   -  11 Button
      G. Caulkin   -  4 Vine room 2
      J. Colin   -  6 Thompson
      B. Crawford   -  9 Weathery
      K. Danwell   -  6 Jefferson
      A. Donland   -  2 Otter Trail

B. Crawford   -  9 Weathery

Benjamin Crawford lived at 9 on Weathery street. I informed Tony to keep an eye out for Weathery street while we walk around New Lordsking. Thankfully, the town used cement pole markers with the street names imprinted upon them for street signs. I put the book back where I had found it, not wanting to take the chance of it getting wet and damaged outside of the store. Best to leave it where I know where it is at for later.

We left the store, and continued towards the south on the fog filled streets. As the street inclined up towards the valley wall, the mist slowly dissipated as we got further from the river and bay. We stopped to check every street marker we past, but none were named Weathery. It was probably due to us looking at the markers that caused us not to immediately notice the change upon the buildings around us. Tony was the first to notice, giving a loud curse and jstarted to take pictures like his life depended on it. I could only stand in awe as my brain worked to try to think of how to describe what was around me.

The buildings were all still old, rotting, and falling apart. They were all still covered in Spanish moss, mold, and mildew. However, the designs were no longer simplistic as the other buildings were on the north side of town or near the rivulet. The wood was... warped? But not due to the sun and decades of weather. All of the wood was perfectly misshapen to form irrational structures. The walls on one housing bent and waved into something that I think might have been spherical, and then seem closer to an upside down pyramid when looking upon it from another angle. It was woodwork beyond anything I had seen or read about. The dimensions and angles seemed mathematically and analytically impossible, but here it was surrounding me in the forms of homes and shelters. 

There was no mirrors. There was no wires. There was no lovely assistant helping an old man in a top hat to bow in front of us before asking us for money to feed his rabbit. This was real, and it was done with non modern tools and in isolation. 

We, of course, tried to get inside. However, these doors were locked. Maybe just as remarkable as the insane designs these homes were in, the Old and Rotting wood was ferociously strong. Tony, who I have seen kick in a few doors in the past and lift the hundred pound anchor on his yacht with one hand, could not even make the door vibrate. He kicked the door along its suspected latch so hard that he threw himself back into the street from his own force. Tony has had a limp ever since, having hurt his knee. He said it was like kicking a tank. 

Another oddity that became apparent was that the buildings had no windows. The door seemed to be perfectly sealed. No light or air was getting through from underneath the door or through any cracks. Tony was getting pissed by this point, and was starting to hobble back to the yacht to get an ax. I stopped him, saying that we can try later. I wanted to see this black church first, and then find the Crawford home before night. He relented, and we continued onward.

It was not long for us to find the black church. As soon as we turned onto the final street, it was there. It was  even more foreign looking now that I saw it among the seemingly antique alien buildings.

Everything was black. Even the windows were black, and impossible to see through. It was clean, free of dust and any moss. The remaining wisps of mist seemed to also avoid the location, making it fully visible from the ground up. None of the black appeared to be paint. It seemed to be the true color of the wood itself. Looking up at the bell tower and steeple, I could clearly see what it was that seemed so strange from a distance. The typical tower had been replaced with what looked like a side ways eye. It was two curved lines crossing each other to leave an opening in the center. The bell was in the center, forming a pupil. And it was just as black as the rest. 

I wish I could say more. Sadly, I got nothing else to say about the black church. Like the sins against physics around it, we were unable to get inside. The door would not budge, the windows would not shift, and the glass was just as strong as the wooden doors. We smashed a rock into a pane, and not leave a scratch. 

It was approaching dusk when we left the street that common sense forgot. I was pondering whether or not to drop everything, get on Tony's yacht, and speed back to civilization to inform the scientific world of these things of wonderment hidden within this steamy ravine. Alas, I decided that it was best to find as much information as I can first. Someone of some form of authority had to lay out the bear traps, set out possibly miles of razor wire, and lie about the calm seas in the region to be a no sailing zone.

“I bet its just the government embarrassed to have a small community like this successfully separate from the rest of the country, and they don't want people knowing,” was Tony's answer to why the region was subtly but dangerously protected.

We quickly past through the streets, once again blanketed in the thick fog, as we tried to find Weathery street. I was thankful that it was not one of the streets that contained the geometrically perverted buildings. We found Weathery street on the north side of town. Building nine was a river front single story apartment. Looking within revealed that it was no different than all the other homes I had been in. All furniture left to be home for fungus, all books and photos taken, food left behind to turn to dust and bone. Tony cautiously entered , and was happy to find an unopened brandy bottle. I wish he had it with him now, and not left it in the yacht's pantry. 

The house seemed to not have anything of importance, with one huge exception. There was a hand drawn map of the town neatly folded within an envelope much like the one that I had found in the abandoned park. I found the envelope placed at the top of the entry door's framing. Invisible to all until you looked up while leaving. We unfolded the map to see a simple drawing of the canyon and New Lordsking. The map also continued further west along the river. According to the map, the tightly enclosed ravine opened up into a valley about half a mile past the town. Quite a big valley, too. One I never noticed on any maps while researching prior to traveling to New Lordsking. The most important thing was that it was showing other buildings on the far end of the valley. Another settlement where the people of New Lordsking might have moved to. A place that might have the answers to what has happened here long ago.

Tony and I agreed that we would travel to find this new location in the morning.