The Mountain Lodge

We sat next to each other on a wooden bench near a large flower pot in the courtyard rotunda, chain-smoking. Bougainvillea and green vines wrapped around the enormous concrete arches beside us. It was our fifth summer together. I was thirty, and she was twenty-seven. We had unpacked our bags two hours previously and now sat in the stillness of the late afternoon.

We were looking over the valley below when a booming wind beckoned our heads up and towards the mountain peaks on the far horizon. The trees surrounding us were scarred and chipped from the erratic weather that plagues this part of Appalachia. Some of the markings looked like enormous eyes that were watching us from afar. 

The lodge was situated in a dense wood on top of Roan Mountain, and in the past had been a rural retreat for jazz-age celebrities and new deal politicians. After arriving that afternoon, we walked through the woods to a suspended rocky outcrop overlooking the mountains and the vast range below. From my vantage point and distance, the trees at the foothills looked flat and flush with the mountain, but I knew they were actually tall, and older than the lodge itself. The Appalachian mountains were like that, said to be older than the pyramids. You could feel it. 

#

Hours earlier when we first arrived at the mountain pass at the bottom of Roan Mountain, we looked at each other in disbelief, skeptical that our old 4x4 Jeep could make the drive up the tall and narrow road. Regardless, we trudged forward, straddling rocks, and bumping around as we traversed up Roan Mountain. We passed several signs that read "DEAD END," and I began to shiver with strange coldness at first sight of the sign. 

"That's weird. This place has been around since the twenties You'd think they might make it easier for people to find" Rachel said. 

"Kentucky's best-kept secret," I said, smiling at Rachel as we bumped up the jagged path.

#

It wasn't long before an enormous gothic chimney appeared in the distance, the ground flattened, and we found ourselves face-to-face with the enormous lodge at the summit of Mount Roan

 Rachel turned to me and said, "I've never seen anything like this in my life!"

I nodded without looking in her direction, still agape from the sight of the anachronistic structure.

Each side of the lodge was built of a different material: one side bronze, one brick, the other pink marble, and the last stone - probably carved out of the range itself. I was transfixed by the enormity of the building, and I could not look away from the black wooden chimney that was so tall that I could hardly make out the black cross at the top. 

"Strange. You'd think that would be visible from the bottom of the mountain," I said to Rachel

"It was still foggy," She said, not giving my comment much thought.

We walked up to the red wooden doors at the entrance that were twice my height. I pulled the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. After trying a few times, Rachel stopped me after noticing a pair of keys and a note taped to the door. 

"HENDERSON. SKYVIEW VILLA. TAKE TRUMAN PATH."

There was a large arrow scribbled onto the note that pointed to our left. We grabbed our bags and set off to find our villa.

From the immense main building, we walked on Truman path and then through a courtyard to find our villa overlooking the mountains.

#

Anyways, that was then. Now, we found our cigarettes to be smoked down to the stub.

"Shall we go for a swim?" Rachel asked.

"Sure, let's go."

#

I stopped at the small bar before the entrance to the pool.

"Bourbon, neat."

Rachel hollered over her shoulder at me, "Aren't you coming?!" before jumping into the pool and making a sizable splash.

"Coming!" I replied

"Christ, I can't even get a drink without being nagged," I told the bartender jokingly

"We will do anything we can to make your stay more pleasant, sir," he said smiling at me while shining the mouth of a pint glass with a cotton rag.

"Yeah, try getting rid of my wife," I joked.

He smiled nonchalantly.

"Enjoy your stay."

The pool was very wide and very long. I imagine it could have fit about two hundred people. 

The bottom of the pool was green jade; its iridescence made my mind go blank, and something about its unusual depth made me want to dive in and never resurface.

We were the only ones there. We had come through a massive hall and perfectly manicured grass to arrive at the garden pool.

The attendants smiled and scurried about wearing long black pants, and buttoned-up white shirts with bowties fastened. They zoomed in and out of the building as if a large banquet was taking place. 

The bourbon went down smooth. I then turned around and ran, throwing my shirt to the side before jumping in. Rachel laughed as I swam after her. The air was musky and warm, and the cool water felt nice against our bodies, and we felt youthful.

The sky was hazy with hues of blue and orange, and two single black birds trailed the clouds, landing on the tall chimney of the estate. There was complete silence beside Rachel, myself, and the rapacious tapping of black shoes worn by the waiters. The staff did show exceptional service, and I was sure to tip them generously. The crows cawed breaking the silence, the sun started to set, and we got out of the pool.

#

Walking up the stairs and into our villa, we opened the window that was overlooking the mountains - an expanse below - 500 feet in length - covered in tall trees. I could make out shadows of wildlife scurrying below beneath the canopies of the ancient oaks. The other windows opened up to the woods behind us.

I jumped on the bed. Lying on my back, I looked up through a skylight in the ceiling. I fumbled a cigarette out of my pocket, and then put it in my mouth. Rachel undressed slowly and put on one of my t-shirts and some very short shorts. Rachel crawled next to me and for a while, we watched the large ceiling fan spin.

"Do you like it here?" she said

"I think it's great.  The hotel and staff are superb," I replied

"I like it, too, but don't you think it's weird we haven't seen anyone else?" She proclaimed as if she were enthused and bewildered by the thought simultaneously.

"I doubt that. We got here in the afternoon. Everybody was probably having a siesta."

"A siesta? This isn't Spain. Wouldn't that be lovely though?" She said rhetorically

"Oh we should go to Madrid next. We could stay at the same hotel as Hemingway. We've talked about that."

"That was Bayonne, and near the water. Don't you like the mountains?"

"Well, yes, but I don't know. Just saying." 

I took a few seconds to light my cigarette, and then raised my head, gazing out the window at the mountains in front of us.

"The air is thin up here," she said

"Would you like a cigarette?" I said before lighting my own. 

"Sure." I gave her one and she lit it.

We lay there for the rest of the night and smoked some more and listened to the breeze off the mountains -  the sound of cicadas high in the air. Later it became colder, and we heard the leaves rustle in the woods behind the villa. A more paranoid man might presume there was actually somebody out there in the woods, moving. Around the time we heard the crunch of leaves, we moved under the covers and slept wrapped in each others' arms.

#

The next morning I woke to find Rachel missing. I thought she must have gone to get breakfast, so I got up slowly, stretched, lit a cigarette, and looked out the window for a few moments. I wondered if she had seen the sunrise. It was around nine.

I dressed and then ventured out. There were leaves scattered around the steps.  I sauntered through the annex, taking long breaths of the cold Autumn air.

The restaurant was in the main building past the lobby, and as I walked through, all the attendants looked at me and smiled as if they knew me very well.

The lobby itself was tall and had an intricately designed chandelier hanging from its ceiling adorned with golden spheres. Above the grand entrance were two bas-relief owls on the side of each door. I arrived at the empty restaurant and asked around. None of the staff there knew what I was talking about when I asked if they had seen Rachel. She was nowhere to be found.

Panicking, I wondered what to do when I saw the same bartender from the pool walk by me. I stopped him and asked if he had seen Rachel

"Oh, yes sir, I believe she checked out. Won't you have a seat and enjoy some breakfast? It's world class sir."

"Checked out? That's impossible. You must be mistaken," I said.

"No sir, I have it on good word," he insisted.

"Perhaps you should double-check with the concierge," he said with an air of elegance.

I became angry and turned around, marching back into the main lobby. 

"My wife's name is Rachel Henderson. Your attendant mistakenly told me she has checked out. Can you confirm this?"

He slowly paged through a vintage Rolodex. 

"Ah yes! Rachel Parker checked out early this morning, around five." 

"Five? That's impossible. We were still sleeping."

He looked at me smiling, not saying anything.

"Somebody better start explaining what the hell is going on here!"

"Sir, you expressed wishes to have her gone at 5:30 P.M."

I was mortified.

"Gone! Just what the hell do you mean?"

"You told this to the pool attendant just yesterday afternoon. I have it here in my guest notes. I'm sorry, sir."

Horrified, I remembered the conversation.

I ran back to the villas, grabbed my keys, ran out to my car, and drove down that tall mountain.

In the police station, there was a bulletin board with more than 20 faded and tattered missing person reports. Many of them were over twenty years old. I told the detective that I suspected my wife had been kidnapped or murdered, or something, but she was nonetheless gone. I gave them the address of the lodge, and they left to investigate. I waited in the police station for a long while - nearly 3 hours. The beat cops and detectives moved with the same urgency as the waitstaff at the lodge, but paid me no mind.

When they did return, they looked at me as if I were a ghost or insane, and said frankly, "Sir there is no lodge at this address."