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Their children refused to go. They said it sounded boring and chose to go to the beach instead. So Viggo and Sean headed out on their own, wanting to see the eucalyptus tree farm they'd both admired in pictures. But sometimes photographs and reality are like night and day.
To Viggo it looked like the entrance to the Dimholt, claustrophobic and oppressive. Sean was reminded of an endless hallway in a horror movie that appeared to lengthen and stretch for miles. They tried to focus on the beauty of the place: the layered greens in the rows of trees, the softness of the grass beneath, the coolness of the air as it settled under the branches. Except there was nothing natural in the uniformity, the lines were too straight and too narrow, and the air seemed heavy on their shoulders, pushed against their faces. And for some reason, the notion of walking down this manmade aisle filled them both with an irrational sense of dread.
They looked at each other and laughed, seeing their thoughts mirrored in the others eyes. There may not be any actual danger here, but there was also no joy, nothing that sparked awe or wonder.
"Let's head back and tell the kids some grand ghost story about this place," Sean offered.
"What lurks in the shadows beneath the limbs?"
"Exactly."