chapter 1 - prologue

“Cozy 2 bedroom 1 bath cottage available for rent in private adult only community. No kids or pets allowed. Prospective residents must be quiet, willing to participate in regular food related gatherings, and be able to follow the strict rules established by the leaders of the community. Rent is $800 per month, with first and last months rent, along with a $400 deposit, due upon signing.”

That is the ad that I responded to just over two weeks ago. It seemed innocent enough when I came across it. Looking back though, there were more than a few things that should have raised red flags. First off, the rent was far too cheap. Second, a community that doesn’t allow kids and pets is strange, outside of a retirement community that is. And, finally, the “food gatherings” and “strict rules” parts.

Why didn’t I question those things? I’m a, let’s call it … “starving” … artist, a freelance writer not only struggling to make ends meet but needing a quiet place to work. My living situation was chaotic at best, which in other words means constant loud music from one side, yelling from the other, and kids stomping around at all hours above. Add to that, I had a potential opportunity to become a regular writer for the local newspaper. I was not going to lose it because of shitty neighbors.

It didn’t help that the “cozy cottage” in question was perfect in every way, yet another red flag that things were too good to be true. It was just the right size and fully furnished. It even had an office set-up in the second bedroom. There was a white picket fence, a small garden, and a swing on the porch. I couldn’t say no, and the community leaders knew that. It was too perfect.

It also didn’t help that the neighbors and other residents all seemed perfectly nice and normal. Although, looking back now, there should have been red flags when it came to them as well. The majority of them were couples, with one being skinny to average weight, and the other being rather “large.” As for the rest, the single ones who were a mix of one or the other, they kept their heads down and wouldn’t make eye contact with me at all. Still, despite all this, they were exactly the kind of neighbors I needed. Quiet ones.

And then came the food. If any of the red flags I’ve mentioned so far had been pinging in my mind, what I ate that afternoon made me forget all about them. I was treated to a literal feast as we sat down to go over the rental agreement and the rules. There was extra buttery roast chicken, potatoes, corn, and biscuits, followed up by apple pie with ice cream piled high on top of it and caramel drizzled all over.

I’ve never been one to eat much, but when they put a massive plateful in front of me and insisted, a bit too persistently, that I dig in, I just couldn’t seem to stop. I left fuller than I have ever been in my entire life, so full that I had to unbutton and unzip my jeans for the car ride back to my apartment. Despite the heavy belly, I left the community lighter than I have ever felt thanks to signing my name on that dotted line.

Within a week, I had officially moved in. The boxes were barely unpacked before a knock on the door, and a flyer for my first “food related gathering” as a member of the community, changed the course of my life forever … or ended it.

Here is the story of what happened …