Free House of Fallen Trees by Gina Ranalli

destinations unknown. The house itself was a sight to behold.
    Karen’s breath caught in her chest when they stepped out of the brush and there it was, looming before them like the fossil of some prehistoric colossal beast. It seemed hugely out of place here in a vast green forest, the way London Bridge must have looked in the middle of the desert.
   “Home sweet home,” Rory smiled. “Not what you were expecting?”
   “It’s…” Karen started. “It’s a ship.”
   “Amazing, huh? The guy who built it was a captain and known to be quite eccentric.”
   The three of them moved forward across a long grown-over and mostly dissolved circular driveway, Karen with her head back, gawking up at the stern.
    “Amazing is one way to put it,” she agreed. “It looks like a real ship.”
   “From the outside, it is a real ship,” Rory agreed. “But there are only a few rooms inside where the shape of the house is obvious.”
   Karen nodded, mute.
   “The guy’s name was Captain Frank Storm. Legend has it he was a pirate.”
   At this, she had to laugh. “In 1899 America? And people actually believe that?”
   “I don’t know if people believe it,” Rory said. “But I’m pretty sure they don’t disbelieve it either.”
   “Interesting,” Karen said. “And Frank Storm is a great character name. Surely it’s made up.”
   Neither man responded, already climbing up the rickety steps to the wide wraparound porch, which was built to look like a ship’s deck, the railings finely scrolled and weathered as if they’d spent many years at sea; water, wind, and sun sanding them down to a velvety softness.
   Saul saw her admiring the railings. “We’re gonna keep all that. Beautiful, huh?”
   “Very.”
   Unlocking the front door, Rory stepped aside, making a grand gesture with his hand. “All aboard.”
   Karen stepped over the threshold first, into darkness that was almost, though not quite, complete.
   “Light switch on the right,” Rory said, coming up behind her.
   She reached out, touching the wall with her fingers until they found the old-fashioned switch with two copper buttons. She had to push the top button hard to get it to depress and then the front room filled with an orangey glow, as if it had been lit suddenly by candles rather than electric lights.
   Moving into the room, Karen shivered. “A little drafty,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else. The temperature change was odd though, as it felt colder inside than it had outside.
   Rory and Saul followed her in and Saul closed the door behind them. All three of them immediately set the bags they’d been lugging over their shoulders on the hardwood floor with sounds of relief.
   “You should’ve seen it when I had to bring tools up here,” Saul told her cheerfully. “Just about broke my damn back.”
   The foyer they were in was a relatively small room, coat racks hanging from one wall, a basket in the corner containing a single twisted mahogany cane and a black umbrella, a rubber mat on the floor beside it, most likely the place where Frank Storm had placed his boots after coming in from particularly wet or muddy adventures.
   “Is all this original?” Karen asked. It certainly looked original.
   “This stuff is, yeah,” Rory said. “The place came furnished, if you can believe that. Some of the stuff was crap though and we carted a lot of it out into the little barn at the back of the property.”
   “Stable,” Saul corrected him.
   “Whatever. But Sean and I really wanted to salvage as much of the Captain’s stuff as we could, thinking it would lend an air of authenticity to the B&B.”
   “Do you actually get tourists up here?” Karen asked.
   His face fell, as if this was a sore subject with him. “Not many at this point, but that’s because Fallen Trees doesn’t have much to