Eleanor turned. Through the tall bay window, she could see the valley. But now, the sun was setting—rapidly. Within seconds, darkness fell. But the sky wasn't black. It was a bruised purple. And the moon hanging over the ridge was enormous, taking up a quarter of the sky, its craters glowing with a faint teal light.
Eleanor had lived in West Virginia her whole life, but she had never heard of a town called Xylandra. She had checked three different atlases before she left Charleston. Nothing. Google Maps just showed a grey blob of uninhabited Appalachian foothills. 8901 quenarion court xylandra wv 68934
"You’re late," a voice said.
"Not your moon," the caretaker corrected. "That is the view from the rear deck. The front door still opens to Route 19, should you choose to leave. But the property taxes are high, Eleanor. Not in money. In vigilance." Eleanor turned
The woman smiled, a dry, humorless expression. "No cults. Just legacy." She gestured toward the stairs. "This house does not sit on land. It sits on a seam. A weak point between realities. Your ancestors were tasked with tending it. Keeping the things on the other side from leaking into West Virginia, and keeping the chaos of West Virginia from leaking into the other side." Within seconds, darkness fell
Eleanor looked at the key. It was cold, vibrating slightly against her palm. "If I take this...?"