This is an odd Keelian sort of story. John Keel wrote The Mothman Prophecies, which is even weirder than the movie.
“Records indicate Eastus Hutt bought the place—a total of ten point eight acres—last October. Nobody at town hall heard of Swiller Road. I had to look it up at the Registry of Deeds. Turns out it’s an old fire road that leads out to the middle of nowhere.
The rutted access road was potholed at the beginning. Thirty feet in the hard-pack smoothed out.
The older of the two detectives, Becker, rode shotgun and read the map. He had a clean cut look that reminded Rodrigues of the nineteen-forties.
Rodrigues said, “Perp knows how to hide, eh?”
Becker looked over at Rodrigues and said, “Everyone’s got an address, Rodrigues. You get that angle and you’ll get your perp.”
“I’d just be happy to see that car again. You know it was a ’91 Town Car? Fine ride man. Had some trick rims or some shit. They looked like they weren’t moving. I want a closer look.”
“All I know, it was black and had no plates to run.”
The road crested a hill and there was a house fifty feet away. Rodrigues stopped the car to survey the scene. It was a single story home with a white picket fence. The fence had no posts or rails, just pickets sticking up.
Neither detective said anything so Rodrigues released the brakes and rolled in closer. Out in front of the house was a well-appointed living room with hardwood floors. Off to one side was a dining room and to the other side was the kitchen with all its appliances.
Becker said, “This doesn’t look right to me.”
Rodrigues looked at Becker, tossed the gearshift into park and said, “Yeah? No shit?”
Becker looked at Rodrigues then back at the house. “I don’t see the car.”
“You want point?”
“Yeah. I don’t think anything will happen, but I still want you drawn and ready. Got it?”
“Let’s do this.”
They got out together—synchronized cops, and walked to the door through the living room, skirting furniture. Becker made to ring the doorbell, but there was no button. They looked at each other again before Becker knocked on the door. After the third knock, he tried the knob and was surprised to find the door open. The knob was only a knob; it didn’t turn, there was no keyhole, and there was no latch.
Becker raised his weapon, nodded to Rodrigues and then entered, aiming as he scanned the inside. Rodrigues was right behind him, scanning and aiming as well. Both came out of their crouch, lowering their weapons.
They had stepped out into a dark, parched, and barren landscape. The few trees in sight were phantoms; leafless and stunted. There was a distant muted light in the sky as if from a fingernail moon on a foggy night. Something bug-like skittered across at a distance.
“Fuuuuck me,” Rodrigues said.
They both looked back through the door into a sunny day. The door began to close and Rodrigues stepped back into the doorway to keep that from happening.
Becker turned with his gun hanging by his side and made to walk back out, an exit which was relative. Rodrigues stepped aside to allow Becker egress into the living room and then followed to sit on the arm of a couch.
“What now boss?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, what the hell was that?”
“I didn’t see no Lincoln.”
“The inside is outside and the far-out is inside.”
Becker looked at Rodrigues, just to see if he was fucking with him. Rodrigues looked sincere.
“All this inside stuff; the furniture, the flooring, the appliances. It all belongs inside, right?”
“With you so far.”
“We go inside and there’s…what?”
“A whole ‘nother outside. A dark and freaky place, man.”
“Does that make any sense to you?”
“I gave up trying to figure out why some people live the way they do. As long as my crib works for me…Know what I’m saying?”
Becker walked out of the living room and when he got to the picket fence he turned to face the house. Everything here was so blatantly wrong. But you couldn’t bust a guy for that if no rules had been broken. They didn’t deal with code violations.
They were only here because Eastus Hutt, a total stranger to everyone and a guy who wore sunglasses everywhere, had spent an undue amount of time in town just before the water tower collapse which crushed three houses and several occupants. Also…his car had no plates to run.
Something as big and hairy as a German Shepard darted out the front door of the house. It was heading toward Rodrigues on six legs with its mandibles spread wide.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Becker raised his gun to fire. Before he could get a round off, something exploded behind him.
The bug thing burst in an eruption of blueberry colored glop.
Becker turned and Eastus Hutt said, “Wolf Ant. Communicate telepathically.” He pointed to Rodrigues, who was still looking around trying to figure out what happened, and said, “You there, kindly close that door please.”
The gun Eastus Hutt was pointing had a bore bigger than anything Becker had ever seen before, easily an inch in diameter. It was a revolver of cartoon-like dimensions.
Becker faced Eastus Hutt, his gun still drawn. He was ready to make an arrest. Before he could say anything, Eastus Hutt spoke up.
Flashing a badge quickly, he said, “You two have stumbled upon a secret facility. It would be smart of both of you if you forgot everything you have seen here today. For the sake of national security, I ask you to return to your car and leave immediately.”
They did just that.
Later, Becker said, “It’s after noon and I can’t remember what we did this morning.”
Rodrigues cocked his head, eyes searching, and said, “Huh, me neither.”
If this sort of thing interests you, pick up anything written by John Keel. Most of it is out of print now, though you’ll likely find his stuff at the local library. The Mothman Prophecies are highly recommended by yours truly.
Other names to look for include Ivan T. Sanderson, and Charles Fort.