#linnton

Checkpoint.

NEW PHOTO.

Two friends were driving along the highway when they came across a sign for a town called Linnton. They decided to stop and check it out, something about it drawing them in, though the town itself seemed normal.

Quiet all around, indeed, it was a ghost town. There were empty apartment complexes and empty homes. Empty stores and office buildings. An abandoned Wal-Mart and small grocery stores. The two tried going inside, but found the doors locked. Peering inside: no lights, deserted, unstocked shelves.

″C'mon, let's try to break in!″ One of the friends suggested. The other shook their head.

″We might get in trouble.″

″By who? This place is dead.″

The friend shrugged, not having an answer. They moved on, walking underneath the underpass of a bridge. On every wall and pillar was graffiti, not unusual.

″Kilgore lives!″

″2 and 2 equals fuck″

″Catch me in another town″.

As the two friends looked around, they noticed a stream and a kid crouched down, running their finger through the water. The two walked over to approach the kid, but there was no kid in sight. The two never turned around, nor blinked, yet it was as if there had been a shared hallucination. Both of them wanted to remark that the experience was weird, when one of the friends' phones rang.

After digging the phone out of their pocket, the friend answered.

″Hello?″

On the other end was the sound of a woman laughing hysterically, as if she had just told a very good joke. The laughing would not stop. The caller ID said it belonged to someone named Wanda Kitt. Though the number itself was not on display. The friend hung up and for a few seconds, it felt like the laughing could still be heard.

″Must have been a prank caller,″ the friend remarked.

The other friend checked their phone. ″I don't have signal here.″

Neither of them gave it much of a thought, and walked on. Just a few blocks over was city hall, and much to their surprise, the doors were not only unlocked, but open.

″Do you think someone's in there?″

No sign of life, but an open book, in the middle of the halls. White pages of a phone book, with a name staring at both friends – Wanda Kitt.

Up the stairs of the city hall interior came sand, trickling down, filling the main hall. It stopped trickling down once it covered both friends' feet.

Both friends could hear the sound of radio crackling. From somewhere, not even a few feet away, the faint sound of a song could be heard. One of the friends was able to make out such words as ″fine day for fishing when the fish stop moving″ and ″can you find love between the emptiness?″ Each line heard was reminiscent of 40s show tune music. One friend suggested it was more like the lounge music of Frank Sinatra. Neither friend could decide which it resembled more of, but both friends heard.

They went searching to investigate the noise. Walking closer to wherever the sound was growing louder. There was a door off to the side in the building, one neither friend swore they saw before. One opened it. Inside was an empty room, save for a closet. As soon as the bolder of the two opened the closet door, the sound stopped; no radio or anything that would have seemed to produce noise. Inside the closet, in fact, was outside. Under their breath, the less bold friend muttered something about Narnia.

While walking back outside and deciding although a little interesting, there was nothing of note in this abandoned town, the two passed by a shop window with several TVs. Each television turned on at once. Text filled each screen. 'Inclement Weather Alert'. Lines and lines. Then the text changed to 'Return to the car. Both of you.' The two blinked. The message disappeared. All the television sets were off. They looked into each others' eyes and nodded.

Back on the road, the topic was fixed on Linnton, the settlement that would not escape, even after they made their way home. Each of them went their separate ways, but told others of what they encountered. Word of mouth spread and others tried to retrace their steps and find Linnton to no avail. Soon word died down, with only trace mentions every now and then. Those who tried to find it came up empty handed.

However, Linnton, the dead town, lived.

After near silence on the subject, whispers were heard in cafes. Zines made of the mysterious town. Tourists saying how they found a strange and empty town. Yet again, people tried seeking it out, but those who sought it came up empty handed yet again.

Those two friends stopped trying to seek Linnton out. Their minds were always there already. They had no need to venture far. Each friend would go about their day, no matter where they were, in Linnton. In the office, the computers were a reminder of the television screens. There were occasional flashes of 'Incliment Weather Conditions'. At a convenience store, that old time song would crackle on, just brief enough, before being replaced with the latest hit song.

Those who have witnessed Linnton have often spoke of their encounters. How it was just a little off, just off enough to want to tell someone about it. How some have seen fish fall out of the sky, only for it to be a sunny day not a moment later. Others have seen newspapers fly through the wind, and when one takes a glance at the paper, it's for a town hundreds of miles over, and a date several years from now.