Vacation Rental: Arcadian Vineyard Cottage

“Find your serenity at this bucolic cottage in the countryside! Experience the simple pleasures of hand-picked produce, right in your own vineyard sanctuary. Bathe in the peaceful quietude of the traditional way of life— there are no neighbors for miles! Just you, the sun-soaked grapes, and scents of petrichor. Isolated— tranquil and still. You’ll be dying to linger by the end of your stay. So stick around a while, we have a place just for you! (Plus, a little wine and cheese never hurt anybody.)”

This was the ad that compelled me to spiral up and down agricultural roads, searching for my long-overdue escape from reality. Was it trying too hard? Absolutely. But who didn’t enjoy wine and cheese?

“Sign me up.” I whispered to no one, striking the keys of my laptop with determination, and finalized the booking. An extended weekend getaway— that was all my vacation time afforded me, and Lord, I needed it. My mind and body were begging for leisure, screaming like rusted hinges.

Here I was, lost. Of course. Because God forbid one thing in my life goes smoothly. The GPS had lost signal hours ago, leaving me in an expanse of grey nonexistence. Everything looked the same out here.

“I’ll continue following this road and magically end up where I’m supposed to be.” It was wishful thinking on my part. I thought, even if sarcastically, I could make it so. My mind was in vacation mode by this time— delusional with misplaced optimism.

The path only became more rugged, and I trudged on in the dated rental car. Despairingly unfit for backcountry roads. Coming to a stop at the first fork in the road, I sighed and pulled over. Jabbing at my phone in an attempt to make the bars reappear… nothing. Dead zone.

“That’s just great.” I had a habit of talking to myself, if only to fill the silence.

BANG!

In an instant, my soul abandoned me, then slammed back into my body. A craggy hand occupied my window, the source of the noise that nearly stopped my heart. Attached to the hand was an equally craggy old crone. The woman's blank face snapped into an inviting smile, as if putting on a mask. Almost too quick to notice. She pointed downward, and I took that to mean she wanted me to roll down the window.

I was wary of strangers, but what other options did I have? It’s not like anyone else was coming to my rescue. Cautiously, I wound the window down a few inches. Its un-lubricated mechanism protested in the same way my brain had been screaming: Something is wrong. Like a hot stove, I wanted to put my finger on it, but couldn’t.

“My apologies, you startled me.” Soft words came out tentatively, yet polite. “Could you direct me towards the Arcadian Vineyard Cottage?”

I dug into my booking app and hunted for the listing. My mind raced as I was confronted with a white screen. I chalked it up to having zero service… never mind the fact that I had saved the listing for offline viewing. That should not have been possible. Glitches happen, right?

“Hello, dear.” Her voice carried a slight southern twang, sickly sweet like rotting fruit— honey, laced with something rancid. I told myself it was just my nerves— already frayed and intolerant, as her wry smile revealed mottled teeth. “I would be the owner of said cottage. Visitors often get lost ‘round these parts. I saw you coming up the road from the mother-in-law's suite.”

Something malevolent danced behind her eyes.

“If you’d like, I could hop in and direct you the rest of the way?”

The woman looked like what was once a farmer's daughter, turned hippie— raven hair greying with age, Bohemian fashion sense, and bare feet coated in dirt. Unique, to say the least. But her mannerisms contradicted the image. Too rehearsed, too forced. A contradiction that made my spine reverb like iron chains.

Looking at the surroundings and then back to her, she must’ve read the confusion in my expression. I hadn’t seen any houses for miles. There was nothing but expansive fields of crops, expanding in all directions. How had she seen me when this was my first time seeing her?

“It’s just over this hill, dear.” Her smile was alarmingly wide. Still, I had no reason to doubt her so far.

“S-sure… uh— hop in?” It came out more like a question than an affirmation. My eyes flicked from hers to the car unlock lever in an uncomfortable silence that stretched too long. I willed my body as it yelped: Wait. Stop. Maybe my gut knew something my mind couldn’t come to terms with. I should have turned around— gone back, chalked it up as a loss, and spent my long weekend off at home. But I didn’t.