Earlier today, I went out on a drive. I didn't have any particular destination in mind, I just wanted to get out of this house for awhile. Somehow, I wandered onto Thomas Street, and parked outside the home of Matthew Wilcox.
I remember going to that old, Victorian house every few weeks and playing with the other kids while the parents did... Back then I always thought they were just doing adult things. Now that I know what happened in those woods, I really don't have any idea what they did while we were locked away in the playroom upstairs.
Us kids, we were all so innocent. We never really cared what was going on around us, as long as we were entertained. Sitting around with toys, playing Tag, acting out Power Rangers episodes... Never once imagining that our parents were involved in a death cult revolving around a goddamn otherdimensional abomination lead by that son of a bitch Wilcox.
Even when I was young, I knew there was something off about that man. Something about the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his eyes darted as he glanced around... Yet, something about him drew you to him. His commanding voice could get anyone to do nearly anything. His beliefs were so absolute, his speeches on them so full of conviction, that you couldn't help but start nodding your head in agreement. As a child, I thought he was terrifying, and I thought he was a leader. Hell, I thought he may as well be a god.
But Wilcox was just a man. Now he's a dead man. And there I was, just sitting outside of his home, considering going inside to "look for answers".
I knew it was a bad decision, but I needed to take a look. I opened my car door. I got out. I took one step forward, then another, then another...
And then I saw the smoke beginning to pour out the windows and the cracks in the doors. The heat started rising as I stood there, watching in shock as the fire slowly grew and consumed that old home, all those memories, before my very eyes. It wasn't until the entire house was aflame that I thought to call 911.
The police asked a few questions before letting me leave. Nothing serious, just what I was doing in the area at the time. I told them a sanitized portion of the truth, that I used to know Mr. Wilcox and was coming for a visit. They let me go without too much trouble.
What gets to me is that everything in that home, any answers there may have been, are nothing but ash now. Who knows what I could have learned about Wilcox's death cult, if only I had wandered by a little sooner...