I immediately sense that a disembodied Cecil has been waiting for this day, excited and giddy to see me. He has invited all his Sasquatch friends and a myriad of supernatural little people that he once introduced me to when I was a kid. I am blasted by their ethereal scrutiny and eerie frequencies as I step out of the car to take inventory of my inheritance. My whole body feels their eyes and begins to throb like a bee sting. My forehead prickles with a cold sweat.
I walk gingerly and take pause on the cobbled path, overwhelmed by nostalgia. Several barn swallows shatter the spell as they suddenly dart from beneath the house’s eaves and swoop at me in angry defiance. I have disturbed their peace. They cackle and shriek, making an all out effort to drive me away. I wave my arms at their bomb runs and duck under the sanctuary of the porch, there I turn and momentarily chuckle at their antics of persuasion.
The porch boards have separated and have been rubbed raw, but easily take my weight without a moan. There is a padlock on the door to which the court has granted me Cecil’s ownership key.
Inside, though a thick patina of dust has accumulated on the floors, the place looks mostly at peace and undisturbed. There are patches of swallow and pigeon poop on some areas of the walls directly beneath their nests, but all in all, I feel a wave of gratitude that it has not been ransacked by transients or teenagers with a lust for breaking and entering. I think its condition speaks (continued at https://www.conversationswithsasquatch.com/conversations-with-sasquatch-the-beginning.html )