“I came to know the darkness, for that is all I have left between myself and freedom…”

I wondered what was different as I thought and rethink every solution that crossed my mind. Avoiding fate was a mistake reserved only for great heroes and gods, In stories long forgotten and ruined by each iteration as they were passed down. My grandfather told me of tales so impossible that they would seem truthful if I knew what awaited me hand in hand with my destiny. I was consumed from an early age by stories and myths, my father took a special interest in that after my mother disappeared. He resolved to introduce me to the other side of my family. Dating further back than even the Romans, but as muddled as it was, I hadn’t met them before that summer. My father began the week simply with what to do and what to avoid, but structure devolved quickly to old stories yet again. My great great grandfather was an explorer, but not in the traditional sense. He was a collector of special things and knowledge that he believed to be more important than life itself. He was always away until The Great War broke out and he decided that by leaving for the United states, he would be spared a wretched fate.

After a decade of searching and recording the many stories of man after nearly a lifetime of work, he built Sinnhoffer Halls as a lodge, for all to come and visit… well the ones he deemed even worthy of stepping over the threshold into its carved onyx and marble pillared vestibule, to regale him the details of their latest discovery or retelling of a folk favorite. Not a single person could tell me how he managed to build such a place or even what he was searching for that led him to abandon his first son overseas. The staff as well as my Aunt said his money came from old textiles and metal working, but they may have been gullible, but I remained skeptical.

It was my first visit to Sinn house that I remembered the most clearly after my years of cramming my head full of useless facts in a grace period of educational prowess, but after some concentration and a few stories from my relatives, it was a given that I would return to the childlike haze, and in moments turned to a focused recall of my favorite and unclear moments of my 6 year old self.

It was my first summer outside of Utah, but looking out the window periodically the scenery still held some of the tell tale signs of the desert with rough sagebrush and lone road, still not what I was used to, but in Utah it felt as if you could throw a stone and only hit a dried and cracked surface of dirt long after a storm with no wind to take away its jagged edges. As much as I would have liked to play the adult in the situation and stay awake for the entire drive, I admit I fell asleep as often as a roadside marker passed my window; none of them gave me a single clue of where I was until it all faded away. I remember stopping at a roadside rest stop to my father placing his rough and calloused palm on my knee before saying.

“Atlas buddy, time to wake up, let's get something to eat.”

With nothing more than a tired mumbling coming from my mouth I was helped out of the car as my leg had fallen asleep and apparently deeper than I had been. I was astonished by the number of stars I could see after my father carried me into the small diner across the street. I was lost in their shine and even further confused as to how the day had passed me by. The sky which was bright with the sun held high above our heads beading through sporadic clouds and now the moon was up and smiling. I couldn't help, but stare in amazement at the sight before me. Growing up in Utah had its challenges amongst which was light pollution, but nothing could prepare me for the overwhelming amount of stars stretched before me, casting their wondrous glow from the heavens onto the earth. I think that was the last time that I truly felt alone, but in a good way. My father stepped across the threshold of the diner. I was blinded for a moment; the fluorescent lights were shining a fury on my unadjusted eyes, but quick to forgive my intrusion into the faceless domain. My father sat me down and took his place in the seat parallel to me. Only a few patrons were in the freight car sized diner; The waitress, cook, a teenager with an unusually stuffed backpack, and a man we would come to know as Marcus. The waitress came by, my father ordered himself a coffee with a donut and ordered me a bowl of oatmeal with bacon on the side to share. Although the waitress wasn't talkative, she didn't need to, her eyes spoke ahead of her and stature to match; She was here to work, not make friends with the travelers she would never see again. She would open up in time as we stopped there twice a year, until she passed away due to an untreated tumor slowly growing, even as early as this memory I suppose. Food was served in a matter of minutes, the taste wasn't great, but the cook was kind enough to assume I would want chocolate chips. I didnt notice for a bit until my dad stirred in some half and half he also used for his coffee. After a few more bites, I looked out the window into my own reflection’s gaze, and finally I turned to my father.

“Where are we Dad?”

“We are just a few miles away from Dallas.” my father replied and followed with a light sip of his coffee, he continued “ We are almost there, about 5 more hours should do it. Better finish up, we got a lot more road to cover.”

 I resumed my stare out the window, only to see the reflection of one of the patrons pulling up a chair to the table. I turned back in a flash, nearly jumping out of my skin, wide eyed, I stared at the man.

“Can I help you?” My father, a patient man, spoke politely after obviously seeing me a bit frightened. 

“I think I know you, it's been a few years, but I recognize that tattoo.” The man in a gruff and deep voice from years of smoking cheap cigarettes and congestion from a recent cold.

I looked to my father for comfort, the stranger was wearing an old camouflage coat in a nearly disgusting green and a few black stains clinging to the edges, but how could the man see a tattoo, I only knew of one on my father, but it was over his heart, one he had tried to explain to me, but failed on numerous occasions. After a moment of inspecting himself for anything that would resemble a tattoo, and in his confusion the man turned to me, “I was talking about the boy.” He slowly turned his head to my father now in doubt. He looked at my forearm and scoffed, “That's not a tattoo, that's a birthmark.”

“I think I would know a tattoo when I see one. Where is the woman you came with last time.”

My mind was in disarray, like most children would be. I felt my “tattoo” which I knew as my birthmark had been there since before I can remember, it was curved, wide at its center, and pointed at its two ends like a crescent moon.

“Do you know my mom?” I said interrupting the vexed stare between my father and the man

“I only saw her a few times, many with your father here. I wanted to thank her, every time she stopped here she would give me a bit of cash, I was homeless for a few years, but thanks to your mom, I have a house, not too big, and a job. I can’t pay her back for the kindness, but I can give your father this.” He reached into the deep pockets of his dusty jeans and pulled out a necklace with a pendant of a crescent moon and placed it on the table. 

“She dropped it when she was last here, and I figured she would come back sometime, but maybe you will see her first. Well I have to run, but stop by and say hello my store is on-”

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My father waved off the man in an awkward manner, and gazed at the necklace until the waitress brought the bill. Then we left without another word after leaving a tip and dropping the necklace into his shirt pocket. After a few hours of balancing boredom with a few songs playing through the radio that both my father and I knew the words to and my giggling interrupting when my father forgot the words only to make up his own in their place. We had finally arrived. The beauty before me was immaculate, perfectly trimmed hedges and a garden filled with flowers on both sides of the path on our approach to the ornate black gate. As I gazed at the gate sparkling from the morning dew, something caught my eye from the corner, a face coming the hedge, smiling joyfully and a small wave before swiftly retreating behind the hedge’s luscious green leaves just as my father turned to look at me with a half hearted smile on his face.

“Alright Buddy, you ready to meet your other grandpa?”

I could hardly sit still, my heart was racing in my chest. I have only heard of grandpa Ralph from mom a few times about his passion for art and the many sculptures that now decorate the halls of Sinn House. The gate parted with a creak to reveal the true majesty of my waking nightmare soon to come. We were greeted at the front door by my Uncle Al with open arms which I less than gracefully accepted and was promptly lifted into the air. He gave a hearty laugh and welcomed both my father and I. 

“Wow you have grown, haven’t you? Last time I saw your photo you were barely up to your dad’s knee, but now look at you.” He said with a wide grin. 

“How was the trip down?” Uncle Al continued as he stood up to face my father.

“Same boring roads, but decided to drive through the night, much less traffic that way.”

“Good, I’m glad you finally took my advice. Now, have you guys had anything to eat? Melissa just finished making breakfast.” 

“No we ate a few hours ago, thank you though.” 

“Are you sure?” Al said quizzically, “Hash brown, chocolate chip pancakes, and plenty of tea… also coffee; I never really figured you as the tea type.”

I looked at my father with pleading eyes, excitement clearly leaking from my form.

“Alright, go on ahead and no tea or coffee for him. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” My father said, giving a begrudging look to my uncle. Although it was good fun, I could see the look of annoyance in his quick glare, but it didn’t strike me as odd. I followed my uncle to the kitchen, dropping my bag to the floor in pursuit. The smell was heavenly, a sweet and lightly smoky aroma filled the air. The very moment I saw the kitchen, I began the search for Melissa. She wasn’t family like Al, but she was very close to all of us. At the time Al and Melissa were married, but I had seen her on a few occasions when I was younger when my uncle came to Utah to go skiing and would crash at our house with Melissa when they were dating. I ran up to her with such force that I nearly knocked her over. 

“Oh hi Atlas! I was wondering when I would see you today.” She exclaimed.

“Hi Aunt Mel, can I have some pancakes please?” I said nearly begging.

“Sure, go sit down and I’ll bring it over.” She said, a smile cracking its way across her lips.

As soon as she brought them over, I devoured those pancakes as if they were never on the plate to begin with.

My father walked into the kitchen when the last bite brushed past my lips. Melissa and Al were cleaning the cooking utensils and their plate.

“Do you guys know where Ralph is? I can’t find him.” Dad said blankly

“Yeah he is in the garden, He spends his mornings out there. The doctor said it might help with the breathing problems” Melissa replied without turning her head.

“Thanks, come on buddy.” He said. I wiped my mouth and hopped off the wooden chair and  followed my Dad to the garden; He stooped to tie his shoe and I continued on without him. The garden was huge, decorated with flowers I had never seen before, the sculptures of animals carved from massive logs of Oak. I walked and stared at them all, letting their finer detail fall away.

 I reached the center of the garden to a massive fountain with water flowing from the mouth of a colossal wolf. Nobody was in sight and I noticed I couldn’t hear my father’s footsteps on the limestone walkway. The air was still, and the birds I saw outside the garden were silent. I felt the swelling of goosebumps spread across my arms and neck. The silence sat and basked as if it was a sacred place held away for years from prying eyes.

There is something there, in the fountain. A glimmer on the surface. I took a steady step forward; one foot and then the other until I reached the pool’s edge. The feeling of being watched intensified with every step, like I was the prey targeted by the predator unseen. I peeked into the water and saw a shiny key resting on the bottom. Curiosity was certainly too tempting and I went to touch the pool when I heard a rugged and ancient voice.

“You aren’t ready for that yet.”

I swung around in a rapid whirl, heart nearly beating out of my chest. 

“You must be Atlas, I am your grandfather. Come here and sit.” Ralph said as he beckoned me towards the concrete bench. He rested his cane on the edge and sat down with the agility of a cat. I cautiously approached, still unable to hear anything, but the sounds of my footfall and the raspy breathing of the old man. He was nothing like Grandpa Rich, he seemed more stoic and less inclined to relish on the past.

“This fountain was a gift to my father from royalty and it was passed to me when he was laid to rest. It means a lot to me. What did you see that drew you so close to its water?”

I took a seat and said “ a key is at the bottom.”

“Really?” he said with a feigned interest, “let's go take a look.” 

He struggled for a moment, but quickly overcame the stiffness of his joints. He rested his cane on the grass beside the fountain and eased himself to the ground. Perching himself on his knees then rolling up his sleeve exposing the as expected wrinkles of someone his age. He plunged his arm into the pool. I could see the water, it moved differently than the water in a tub or a public pool, it was wrong. Moving slowly was all he could do in the resistance of the water; the waves and ripple disappeared before reaching the edges. He brought his hand up and quickly covered his reddening forearm. I looked in the palm of his hand only to see an old ring, with a blue gem and tarnished silver. I thought he had missed the key and grabbed the ring instead, but as I looked over the edge of the stone, the key was gone. I stood there baffled.

“This fountain is magic, enchanted to give us the one thing we want most even if we don’t need it yet, this is the last piece remaining.” He said as he dropped the ring back into the strange pool of water, and as the ring touched the water, the key from before returned to the pool replacing what was the ring.

“If you saw a key, maybe you will need it someday, but today it will rest at the bottom. Ever ready awaiting for your return. Your father is a bit lost, he can’t enter the garden unless I say so. I'm feeling a bit hungry.” He explained while trying to regain his footing to stand up. I helped the best I could, I took him by the hand on the second step toward the exit. We walked out of the garden to my father walking back towards the house. We followed behind. Grandpa ate as I answered the many questions that he would throw my way, none were particularly hard or specific. After grandpa retreated to his room with the help of both Al and Melissa, I explored the house in search of my room for the stay. Some of the halls were dusty and sheets covered the furniture. Floorboards creaked every few paces until I found a staircase with a light shining on the next floor. I ran up the stairs and saw my father at the end of the hall with an orange and flaked rusted key in his hand. I broke into a dead sprint to his side, with an entire arrangement sorted in my head only to come out as a breathless, paceless jumble of words. He shoved the key in his pocket and ruffled my shaggy hair. He knew what I needed and led me to what I surprisingly wanted, a bed. It was a little before noon and I was tired from the car trip and the mental exhaustion of conversation. I felt sleep take me quickly, but my eyes began to wander before closing. The room looked amazing, but plain in the eyes of an 8 year old, who already missed the posters of movies and video games that took up his time waiting back home for Dad to come home from work. The toys strewn about the room as if I had a personal tornado, or I was the tornado. Dreamless sleep ahead, I pondered the mystery I had hoped I would find in such an old house and if it had already started. I would give anything to have stayed home in those days and after, sure the fun was endless, but the feeling of dread was never far behind.