I should have known I’d been on the road too long. When you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach, like a faint light signaling you back the other way, you should know you’ve made a wrong choice—or in my case, a wrong turn. The next one, though, was not so easy to talk about.

The place I was going was supposed to be a beautiful river, its flowers kissed by moonlight. But maybe you always end up where you’re meant to be. My story starts with me exploring a strange new country—or at least a chunk of it. I call it a chunk because what kind of country has three, maybe more, different sections? The one I was headed for was the most remote. I knew the Wi-Fi would be sketchy, but as a forest girl, that didn’t bother me.

I was going to a town deep in a valley. I was chasing a legend, and maybe, in some strange way, I became one. I’d been driving for over two hours with no sign of the town, and the road had turned bumpier than the goosebumps crawling up the back of my neck. I kept telling myself I’d turn around if I didn’t see something soon—but that promise had expired thirty minutes ago, maybe more.

So imagine my surprise when I finally saw someone—a guy—walking down the rocky main path. Part of me, the part that might have saved me, whispered to keep driving. But I had hope he might know the way. So I stopped.

“Do you know where Lemon Creek is?”

“Lemon Creek’s an hour and a half south,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. And a girl like you, alone in these woods… you’d never make it out.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been an Alaskan my whole life.”

“Oh.”

“You’re from Canada, aren’t you?”

“Umm…”

A dead look eased across his face like the smell that creeps into your car when you accidentally drive past roadkill with the windows down.

“I know a place far less sour than Lemon Creek,” he said.

“I don’t know about that…”

“Yeah, it’s my hometown. It’s just ten more minutes up this hill. I promise, it gets less rough.”

“What’s the town called?”

When you ask a question like that and the eyes wander anywhere but yours, you run. His eyes dropped to his feet for one second. Then two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

“Mulberry,” he said.

“Like the color?”

“Ahh, I guess…”

“Why is it called Mulberry?”

“That’s just the name.”

The feeling in my gut creaked louder than old floorboards. It was a strangeness like seeing a fast-food restaurant at sea. Still, I didn’t stop. I just listened and acted on his words instead of what was always with me—my gut.

“Let me guide you the rest of the way to Mulberry,” he said. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh no, I’m sure you’re up to something.”

“I’m just on a walk,” he replied with a grin that didn’t quite fit his face.

“No one really comes up here,” he added, “except the Amazon driver.”

“Hop in,” I said.

The door creaked like it hadn’t been opened in years. He climbed in without asking, his boots leaving streaks of mud across the floor mat.

“You’re brave,” he said after a while, staring straight ahead. “Most people wouldn’t stop.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, trying to sound tougher than I felt, “most people don’t get this lost.”

He chuckled—low, almost like he was laughing at something only he knew.

The forest outside grew thicker, the moonlight barely cutting through the branches. My phone had been out of service for an hour, maybe longer, and the GPS showed nothing but a gray screen.

“Quick—make that turn.”

I stopped the vehicle in the middle of the road.

“Careful, you might get rear-ended,” he said.

I just stared at him, and maybe I wished my biggest fear right now was getting rear-ended. But in that moment, I started to realize that whatever was in my passenger seat was worse than that—worse than anything I’d ever experienced in my life.

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

“Turn here…”

“But there’s nothing here.”

“It’s just bumpy for a minute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Want me to drive?”

“No.”

“Well, if you keep going straight, we’ll end up driving right off this mountain,” he said casually. “So you might want to turn.”

I turned. It was terrifying for a few minutes—like being trapped on an old, rattling roadside roller coaster. Only this time, my best friend or my mom wasn’t sitting next to me. Some strange man was.

Then he told me to pull over. “Just for a minute,” he said.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, but I obeyed. The car idled in the dark, and I finally looked at him—really looked.

He looked like a man who had probably lived a good life. His smile was pleasant, maybe even the kind you’d want to see at a bar or a party. His jacket wasn’t old or worn; in fact, it looked new, like something you could buy straight from a store. He looked clean, composed—fresh, even.

But beneath that, I could just tell. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t some guy out for a walk. He was something else—someone trying to take me to the other side of reality. The place where kindness and cruelty blur together until you can’t tell them apart.

I was just sitting at the side of the road with him—two people who had never known each other, together in a vehicle with no easy way out. Two very different intentions. One of us just wanted to explore a small-town legend, and the other… wanted to create it. Or so it seemed.

Then he pulled something from his pocket and pressed it against my skin. Again and again. At first, I thought it was sharp—maybe a knife. I tried to count how many times he touched me with it. But when I looked down, there was no blood, no cuts. Just stamps. The shapes kept changing—from butterflies to flowers to everything beautiful.

This silly man on the side of the road just wanted to fill my silly Canadian skin with stamps. But why? Why be so strange, so gentle, so wrong? I still couldn’t bring myself to ask.

When he was done decorating my arms with his secret little stamps, I felt calm again. Relieved, even. I was happy to let him drive now, seeing how harmless he was. I thought I was silly for ever doubting Mulberry was real. It was.

The hotel was golden and warm, and the bed was soft—like a baby bird’s nest.

When I woke up, I felt like I’d slept for a million years. The room was even more beautiful than I remembered, and when I stepped outside, the flowers seemed to glow—kissed by the moon, the sun, and something else entirely.

For a town so small and deep in the mountains, there sure were a lot of people. They smiled when they saw me, almost like they knew me. Maybe they did.

Somehow, Mulberry felt like home—a place I’d never want to leave.

And I was glad I didn’t want to leave, because even if I did, I couldn’t find my car. Or my keys.

Whenever I saw the man I’d picked up, he ignored me. Acted like he couldn’t hear me. Like he couldn’t hear any of us.

I was mad about my car at first, but somehow not too mad. Because deep down, I didn’t want to leave Mulberry anyway. It was time for me to start my beauitful life here.