The Graves
The Count shipped crates of his native earth to Iowa. Where they were buried, a graveyard grew. Read the names on the stones. Some of them are still listening.
Some houses are sold. This one was claimed.
At the end of a quiet Iowa street stands a house that was bought, sight unseen, by a Count from the far side of the world. Every October his castle rises over it: graves in the yard, fog on the lawn, windows that glow like eyes, and six ancient residents who will actually talk to you. Drive by and say hello from your car, or park up the street and walk down. Just don’t sign anything.
A quick look at the yard from a week ago. There’s PLENTY more to see now.
After dark, two upstairs windows at 1969 Brown Deer Trail glow like a pair of eyes. The families who lived here before all tell the same stories: footsteps in empty rooms, cold spots on warm nights, flies at the glass in the middle of winter, and a whisper on the stairs that only ever says two words. Get out.
None of them knew the house had already been sold, to a buyer who signed the deed by candlelight in a crumbling castle high in the Carpathian mountains. Villagers there warned travelers never to take the road after dark. Now that castle rises each October at the end of an Iowa street, and its residents have taken their posts: on the roof, on the hill, in the pumpkin patch, in the yard, and in a crypt below.
The Count shipped crates of his native earth to Iowa. Where they were buried, a graveyard grew. Read the names on the stones. Some of them are still listening.
The eye-windows wake at dusk. Lanterns, glowing eyes, a burning rose and candle-flicker stay lit until 9:30. Best seen slowly, from the street.
Every evening a cold fog rises from the old-country soil and pools around the graves. Walk through it, if you’re brave enough to see who’s standing in it.
An eerie soundtrack drifts over the whole block: strings, choirs, a far-off howl, and a few sounds that aren’t music at all.
Slow down, roll your window down, and call out. The residents can hear you, and they answer. Groundbreaker will be yelling from the roof before you even stop. Please keep traffic moving.
Park up the street and stroll down Brown Deer Trail on foot. Take your time: each resident has a different conversation waiting. Stay on the path and keep the neighbors’ driveways clear.
Bringing little ones? Every resident has a gentle side. Children get blessings, knightings, lullabies and pumpkin jokes, never nightmares.
Live characters walking the yard, and the FULL system up and running: every resident awake, every light lit, all the fog we can make. If you only come once, come these two nights.
Thursday, Friday and Saturday through November 7. Lights on at dusk, lights out at 9:30 PM. Weather permitting — check Facebook before you come.
It’s one guy and a couple of neighbors who love to put on a show.
Everything here is homemade: built by hand, programmed by hand, and held together with zip ties and a lot of hope. Some nights a servo sulks, a speaker goes quiet or a resident forgets his lines.
If something isn’t working when you stop by, please be kind and come back another night. We will ALWAYS do our best to keep it all running.
And hey, it’s a lot cheaper than Disney World.
Nothing here is a recording. Tell them your name, ask them questions, argue with them. Every character has secret puzzles and tests to pass, and fair warning: some of them are brilliant. Some of them… not so much.
Give the Count your name and answer what he asks. There is always one more question. Walk away, and he will hold it for you until you return.
Come close to the coffin and tell her your name. Earn her trust and she’ll tell you what she dreamed about you. Ask gently and she may sing.
Answer the knight’s challenge and be deputized. Report back each visit to rise from Watcher to Warden of the Row. Very few have seen inside his box of gold.
Have your name entered in the registry and receive free (terrible) legal counsel. Your file stays open. Come back before the night ends for your verdict.
He’ll dare you to come closer to the patch. Take it. Then ask how many souls he’s collected, and check his count with Renfield. The ledgers never match.
Nobody has ever shouted louder than Groundbreaker. Yell your name up at the roof and try. Bonus: he is terrible at keeping secrets.
Several residents know who the Count really was. The knight gives it up only in fragments. The lady goes quiet if you say the right name. The solicitor panics. And the giant on the roof? He’ll probably just blurt it out. Collect the pieces.
The residents can’t leave their posts, so they’ll ask you to carry word to each other. Deliver a message and hear what comes back.
It began with a bargain in the mountains and a deed to a house far away. Every resident is part of that unfinished bargain, and each knows only their own piece. Talk to all six and you’ll start to see the whole thing.
A young prince rides against the Turkish army with a loyal knight, Dragomir, at his side. On the walls above, a giant throws rocks down all night. The army goes home.
The prince vanishes into the night. Years later a Count appears in the old castle, keeping a different name: Orlok. The knight keeps his oath to him, grimly, and says nothing.
The solicitor Renfield sends young Thomas over the mountains with papers for a faraway house: 1969 Brown Deer Trail. By candlelight the Count signs. Then he asks about Thomas’s wife, Mina.
A second paper promises Mina to the Count. Sir Dragomir refuses it, chooses her as his own charge, and bars her door. She rests in the crypt below, dreaming, and every night she chooses the morning.
The Count sends crates of his native soil ahead to the house. Spread across the front lawn, it becomes a great graveyard, and something wicked sprouts in the patch: PumpkinHead. Every soul he collects for the garden earns a grave of its own, and the rows keep growing. Fog rises from the stones every dusk, and the graveyard doesn’t stay still. Its restless dead, a small army of moving animatronics, twitch, turn and rise to watch you pass.
The deed is signed but the bargain was never finished, so the Count waits, and every October the castle rises over 1969 Brown Deer Trail. The residents take their posts. You’re in the story now.
Where the Trail Ends is a showcase for what artificial intelligence can do when it’s built with care: bring stories to life, spark curiosity, and give neighbors something wonderful to share. Every resident is a handmade animatronic running on small Raspberry Pi computers, powered by MonsterBox, software built right here in Coralville.
Each character listens and answers with its own AI voice and personality. They learn your name, and they love it when you come back.
Every resident has a gentle mode for children, and each politely declines anything that isn’t his to answer. No personal questions, no advice, just story.
Servos, lights, cameras and microphones, wired and programmed by hand. Curious how a knight’s head turns? Ask. We love to talk shop.
The goal is wonder: showing kids and grown-ups that AI can be creative, playful and safe, a tool for storytelling, engineering and community.
Where the Trail Ends is free for everyone, every night. Behind the fog is a lot of hardware: servos, lights, speakers, cameras and little computers, plus the electric bill for every show night, repairs when a knight’s head won’t turn, and somewhere to keep six residents for the other eleven months. If the house made you laugh, jump or wonder, a donation of any size helps bring it back next year.
Any kind of help makes a difference. Renfield has reviewed the paperwork: it’s the one thing in the yard he says you may sign.
