THE HOUSE O n the third day of camping, Shaun Harper decided he was done, even if the site was paid for the week. Day three, just like days one and two, had been unbearably hot and Shaun Harper was tired of being sweaty, tired of the heat, and done with the overall camping ambience of buzzing gnats and clammy skin. “Screw this!” he muttered, “it’s time for some a/c!” Shaun traveled simple, and so loading the tent, sleeping bag, and supplies was easily accomplished by shoving them in no particular order into his beater Mustang. It too, had seen crisper, sharper days, as evidenced by the dented quarter panel that was still awaiting repair. Some day. For this college student, the Stang, was somewhat reliable transportation as he could work on it himself, and after four years of ownership, it was a trusted friend. Camping gear sloppily stowed, Shaun did take the time to make sure his Canon camera and lenses were carefully stowed. Twenty minutes later, after an understanding and possibly envious handshake goodbye with the camp host, the Stang nosed onto Hwy 1, destination unknown. An ocean sunset drive, with the top down, sunglasses on, and warm wind flowing was instantly therapeutic. This, Shaun decided, was Life. He flipped on the radio and had his feeling of leaving the campground instantly validated by The Doors… “Yeah keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel!” Jim Morrison never sang truer words, Shaun thought to himself. This is what it’s all about! The Stang purred down the 1, with the sun reluctantly sliding toward the mountains. Top down, wind blowing, hair flowing, warm sun on his shoulders, and Jim Morrison letting it roll. The surf rolled lazily onto the beach, and gulls hovered high, riding the thermals. The combination of low sun rays and high cloud cover promised a spectacular sunset, with purples and reds blending nicely. Shaun unconsciously slowed a little, and began evaluating the drive for photo 26 TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | OCT 2016 By j. Beebs opportunities. At age 22, Shaun Harper, college senior, was a major photoholic. He loved being behind the lens, and was always looking for the next picture. Today’s sunset was just another validation that it was a great idea to leave. (Clue: There were no marks found on Eric’s body.) The highway took a sharp turn, and Shaun slowed even more, and the awaited photo opportunity appeared ahead on the right. A long abandoned Victorian house, two stories, tired and dusty, with shuttered windows loomed on the beach. It has been abandoned long ago, and over time, nature had taken back much of what had been created. The house was rickety, faded and dirty, with its cracked paint, crooked shutters, and a partially collapsed rail all giving a dying nod to an earlier time of opulence and beauty. But the timing with the sunset was perfect. The entire house, had a light purple glow, red and violet clouds floated in the background. It was amazing. Shaun pulled into the old driveway, and rolled up to a massive iron gate that loomed across the driveway. He threw the Stang in park, then reached over for his camera. His thumb instinctively flipped the camera on and he snapped a few shots of the massive iron gate, which squatted formidably in the driveway. It was strangely out of place; a massive iron gate with obsidian black fleur de lis arrowheads knifing sharply at the top of twisted iron rails that all bent unwilling to form a strange circle around an ornate “Q” in center. The detail was amazing and Shaun thought it was odd the gate was not more rusted. Dead weeds and undergrowth had piled against the gate, and there were several faded no trespassing signs, wired to the gate. Dammit. Shaun stared through the gate at the house, considering his next decision. “Ya gotta roll, roll, roll…Ya gotta thrill my soul,” the Stang idled quietly as Jim Morrison sang his solution to the problem. “Screw it, Jim your probably right. I’m gonna do it.” Shaun shut off the Stang, he sat there for a minute, listening to the engine quietly tick and the surf slide on the sand. “It’s actually a
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