Ten years ago, I was a stupid 18-year-old kid who was living with his parents in Flagstaff, AZ. We moved almost every three years due to the nature of my dad's work; and so I got to see most of the country.

It was a Tuesday in November my mom said we were packing up the apartment and moving to Seattle for what was going to be another year and two months. I had a small, 300cc motorcycle at the time (I think it was a V-Star, but I could be wrong) and decided to hook a GPS and use the time to go on a ride across the West Coast. My mother didn't like the idea, but I knew I'd be safe due to personal experience and knowing when and when not to ride. Besides, it would be a three day trip and I'd get to see all sorts of neat stuff along the way.

I notified my job that I was going to transfer, threw on my saddlebags, and a day later was on the road. I managed to make it all the way through western Nevada (in order to avoid LA traffic) and stopped prior to taking the I-5 into California. That evening I stayed in a Day's Inn that had a parking spot specifically and an extremely comfy bed. After breakfast and a talk with the locals, I crossed through Reno into western Cali. From there It was only four more hours until I reached Oregon.

Luckily, I had time to spare, so I wanted to take some backroads and discover what this dank, damp state had to offer. It was fall, and there was a deep chill in the air. Riding through it sent shivers down my spine like nothing else; November's weather in Oregon is almost identical to that of Pittsburgh during that season. It makes you want to curl up in a ball and sleep for a decade, only to wake up and repeat the process all over again.

Eventually, I grew tired enough that I wanted to find somewhere to stay and managed to see a sign advertising a "Green Hills Hunting Lodge", on the side of the road. It was accompanied by a long, steep hill that took me what felt like an hour to climb. Though, when I reached the top I was greeted by a large and gorgeous cabin that looked like it was specifically made for weddings - like something ripped out of a fairy tale. Bewildered, I parked my bike, took off my bags and threw a tarp over it which was secured by bungee cords. I walked inside and met a Korean woman who was working the front desk. She spoke perfect English but had a very distinct accent, in which she explained to me that I could choose my room due to an "abundance of vacancy". Cool right?

I choose Room 31, as the entire building was all on one floor that evening. She handed me a key with the tag "31" attached via a key ring and tells me to have a good night. I throw all my stuff down and head to the bathroom to wash up after riding for an entire day. The room itself looks like a cabin and is absolutely beautiful. The floorboards are all real wood and even the shower has the same natural wood as a tub surround. I take a shower and then head to bed and realize that the mattress is incredibly comfortable, and make myself cozy - only to realize something is off. It's not something obvious, but I knew there was some sort of oddity about this place. I push it to the back of my mind and fall asleep.

The next morning I wake up to find the walls went from a natural brown to a deeper grey, as if they were stained overnight. This wasn't a result of natural lighting vs LED, the room was without a doubt a different color. I shrug if off and get all my stuff together, making sure everything is still where I left it. I head out of the room to find not only had the wood changed color, I was on a second floor that previously didn't exist. The light from the morning sun wasn't permeating the windows of the cabin, and there was no one in sight. I started to freak out, nearly having a panic attack because this wasn't right. Thankfully, there were stairs that I dashed down as fast as I could and made my way to the front desk and rang the bell once - twice - three times. I was breathing heavy and knew I HAD to get out of there. No one was coming to check up on me after about ten minutes of waiting, so I dashed out of the doors and into the lot.

I ripped the tarp off my bike and looked back at the lodge. It wasn't the same lodge. This was a broken down, abandoned, dirty building that looked as though it was about to be condemned. I didn't want to ask any more questions and rode off as fast as I could. That place still haunts me even to this day.