The Friday after Thanksgiving I was set to visit my sister and her family in a cabin she had rented in West Virginia, about 90 minutes from where I live. I got the address well in advance and plugged it in to my GPS that morning. An hour into my trip I found myself in the Sleepy Creek Wildlife Management Area of West Virginia. The roads were horribly unpaved and rocky, and especially rough on my low-to-the-ground 12-year-old car.
It was an odd place, really. There were lots of hunters and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling a little vulnerable in my Thanksgiving brown sweater.
There was a man-made lake that was so low that stumps of the trees populated the view. I did some research when got home and learned that this area is managed by clear cutting. I suppose that is what gives this area it’s unnatural look.
It may have been the weather, or the fact that I never did find my family and turned around and went home but this place creeped me out a little bit. I’m pretty sure if I had stayed any longer I would have ran into Jack Torrance