Nowadays, everyone knows that if someone needs something explained that no one else can, they go to the crossroads house.

It’s the same way that everyone knows to go to the doctor if someone is sick. Or to call the police if someone’s house is broken into. It is just a certainty.

It wasn’t always, though.

The house has always been an attraction. It was something to look at. But it hasn’t always been somewhere to be.

If someone asked where the crossroads house was, whoever they asked would laugh and point past the church and out of town.

“You can’t miss it. It’s the only way out of town,” they would say.

It wasn't a place, but a checkpoint.

The highway passed through town in both directions, but no one left to go south. The only traffic that way was the few businessmen whose companies gathered in the three-star hotels for meetings.

The forest was bigger there, unforgiving and long and deep. It was so long that time felt endless and like it didn't exist. It was different than visitors expected: far less desert and far more forest.

There was more to the south than the forest. That’s where the travelers and guests came from. They came from the busy airports and the border checkpoints. But they were always headed to the north.

The forest in the north seemed full of life. There was more to it than to the south. The distance to the cities and the crowds was far easier to understand.

That’s why the travelers and guests would stop. Any break from the nothingness seemed thankfully alive. As they rested in the quiet diner, at the inn, or at the bar, they would speak about how the tall trees began to feel claustrophobic.

It was a tiny little town built around the one gas station. The only stop for miles and miles.

The people in town expected those passing through to do just that: to pass through. They would come and rest for a while, watch a play or a movie that’s been out for a month, browse the couple blocks of Main Street, and leave.

But then, one person didn’t pass through.

She pulled her car into the driveway of the crossroads house. It was more gravel than concrete, at that point. She took a photo of the sign with the number to call if anyone was interested in buying the house. That sign was next to the more permanent sign that told of the house’s history.

The woman then got back into her car, drove to the inn, and rented a room. She didn’t stand out, not among the rowdy kids and travelers whose stories only got stranger the more they were told. No one knew about her visit until later. She went to her room, leaving boxes and bags in her car, and made the call.

A week later, she had the keys to the house and had moved in.

The previous owner was Old Man Clive. He had grown into his superstitions with his old age. He was eager to get the house out of his hands and into hers. The cash she had was an easy bonus.

Another car came. It dropped off a pile of unlabeled boxes and left without staying for more than an hour.

No one was sure how to approach the woman. No one is ever sure how to approach something that's strange to them.

She didn’t let it bother her, though. She settled easily into her new house.

The house was a tiny thing, but she managed to fit all of her belongings upstairs. They fit in the bedroom and bathroom like pieces in a puzzle. She left the downstairs empty of everything but the iron spiral of a staircase in the corner.

She walked down to the small secondhand furniture store that also doubled as the hardware store. She bought a tacky table covered in red velvet, three shelving units left over from the movie rental place that closed down, and a couple of chairs.

That was her first true interaction with anyone in the town. The boy working at the store, Jeremy, offered to load everything into his truck and haul it for her. She took her place in the passenger seat. She chatted with him all the way back to the crossroads house.

“Her name’s Mia,” Jeremy told his dad when he returned. “She’s thinking about opening a shop at the house.”

It was a simple statement, but within days the entire town had heard the news.

The old women who always sat outside the fabric store just off of Main Street gossiped back and forth. They argued about whether or not the new business would threaten any of the older businesses. They wondered whether or not they should go talk to Mia.

The kids would dare each other to run up to the crossroads house. They hid behind the church’s low, stone fence across the street. They looked into the windows, where they could see Mia sweeping the floors or stocking shelves.

After a few days of this, one boy ran up to the window and found it open. A little wicker bowl of candy was propping it open.

The boy, Declan, ran back to his friends with his sugary prize in hand. Soon, each of the kids had taken turns sneaking up to the house. More kids arrived as the news spread, like candy news always does among children.

The candy bowl never got empty, although the little girl who kept watch swore she never saw the the woman come and fill it.

Three days after the candy bowl was first set out, a sign appeared above the door to the crossroads house. It was a piece of wood painted in rich colors. It just said "Crossroads."

The old women from the fabric store were satisfied, even if they weren’t quite sure what the younger woman sold. The children were curious and a little disappointed, because it wasn’t a candy store like the rumors had said.

Old Man Clive was a bit horrified. But he would gladly let the girl do whatever she liked in the house as long as he didn’t have to deal with it.

The day she put the sign up, Mia wasn’t actually in her store. Instead, there was a neat little note on the door that said “Grand Opening Tomorrow!”

Mia was biking through town. She stopped at every shop and storefront she came across to introduce herself to the owner. 

She carried a basket with her. It was light in her soft-looking hands, but landed with a heavy thud on the countertops. Inside the basket, she had little gifts. She would pull them out from their wrappings and give them to the shop owners with a notecard and a phone number.

She brought a tin container of ginger tea, a rosehip cream, and a cat’s claw salve to the old women who sat outside the fabric store. Medda, Myrna, and Merida only took the gifts after Mia explained over their yelling that cat’s claw is a plant. For Jeremy’s father, Neil, she brought a thick hand lotion in a glass jar.