*At 1,200 tornadoes per year, the United States is the undisputed champion of this weather phenomena. The #2 country — the adjacent nation of Canada — has more than an order of magnitude fewer tornadoes. (And most other countries with significant numbers of tornadoes are in the tens.)
The earth tells by its tone that it’s waterlogged. Saturated soil turns away droplets like an overbooked hotel during festival days — which is to say — not as quickly as new arrivals can pack themselves into the metaphorical lobby.
Water piles up, seeking to soak into the sheltering fundament, but held back by the mass of those rain-blobs that fell first.
Meanwhile, in a hotel [real, not metaphorical] a crowd piles in to test the veracity of the “No Vacancy” neon burning as brightly as the nasty night will allow. One man, head raised skyward, is screaming taunts at the foul weather like a motor lodge King Lear. The others would roll eyes and mock the man’s lunacy, but they are busy silently screaming into their souls.
Have you ever seen an idyllic, pristine setting, and thought, Under different circumstances this would be the perfect location for a horror film?
That was my feeling as I walked out of the woods and saw this solitary, white church and its graveyard on a hill in central nowhere (No offense, Tennessee.) Picture what this place would be like under a low, roiling, gray clouds. It’s spitting cold rain, the graveyard is leaf-strewn. From which grave will a clawing hand protrude? You don’t know. You don’t know.