Mom,” I
teased. “I’ll see you Monday.”
~
A trip back into
town and a few hours later, I stood in the middle of the cabin feeling a little
more comfortable with the place. It had taken until well after sundown and a
visit to nearly every open store in town, but I’d managed to find a few things
that would make the cabin a little more livable.
I’d purchased a
rug and placed it in front of the couch, a chenille throw to cover the faded
flowery print of the couch, and some candlesticks and place settings for the
dining table. For the bedroom I’d bought new sheets for the bed and new cream
curtains to replace the original nearly-transparent green panels.
I walked over to
the glass vase on the new coffee table—it was particle board but the best
I could do under such circumstances—and rearranged the daisies and
chrysanthemums so that the flowers were evenly distributed.
I stepped back
and admired my handiwork, literally dusting my hands together in satisfaction.
“There, that’s a little more cozy,” I said out loud, then headed to the
en-suite bathroom, where my new towels and bath mats were waiting.
The water
pressure in the shower was surprisingly good, the hot water holding out for at
least the twenty minutes it took me to feel clean. I dried off and changed into
a pair of panties and white shirt and slid under the covers with my iPad.
But I couldn’t
concentrate. I started and abandoned three new books, unable to focus on
anything. My head was buzzing with white noise and my body felt as if I’d
downed three espressos. I didn’t know what it was but there was a strange
feeling in the air, as if the mountains were vibrating with some odd form of
energy.
I got up, pulled
on my silk robe, and headed over to the sliding glass doors, thinking that
maybe some fresh air would clear my head. The moment I stepped outside, the
cool night air instantly assaulted me. I wrapped my robe tighter around me,
ineffective though it was, and stared into the pitch-dark wall of trees several
yards from the house, Tim’s words echoing in my head.
Mysterious things happen in the forest that
are hard to explain.
Could there be a
wild man out there, living in the woods undetected? It was certainly possible,
but to live out here for decades would have surely driven anyone insane. I’d
been in this cabin by myself for less than seven hours and already I was
feeling a little out of sorts.
Somewhere far
away, a wolf’s howl echoed through the mountains.
Goosebumps
prickled my skin as awareness came over me, that peculiar feeling of being
watched. I wrapped my arms around myself and scanned the area, my heart rate
speeding up inexplicably. Was he out there right now, this crazy old hermit who
broke into people’s homes, watching me from the shadows?
Or was he, as Tim
thought, a ghost with kleptomaniac tendencies?
Then it occurred
to me that I was a woman alone in the middle of nowhere and I was standing out
here in nothing but my drawers. Might as well hang a sign around my neck with
the letters TSTL—the internationally recognized acronym for Too Stupid to
Live—in neon paint, as smart as I was acting.
I hurried back
inside, making sure to lock the doors, then pulled the
curtains closed. I went out to the main living area and double-checked the
doors and the windows, then grabbed the largest knife from the kitchen drawers,
turned off the lights, and returned to the bedroom.
I was ready to
get back in bed when a noise out in the main living area froze the blood in my
veins. I listened, hoping, wishing, praying that I hadn’t
really heard anything. But there it was again, a creak on the floor. With the
knife in my hand I stomped over to the door, hoping all the noise would scare
the intruder away.
“Is anyone
there?” I asked, my fingers trembling as I felt along the wall for the light
switch. I blinked fast, trying to adjust to the darkness while I scanned the
room. I had almost convinced myself that
teased. “I’ll see you Monday.”
~
A trip back into
town and a few hours later, I stood in the middle of the cabin feeling a little
more comfortable with the place. It had taken until well after sundown and a
visit to nearly every open store in town, but I’d managed to find a few things
that would make the cabin a little more livable.
I’d purchased a
rug and placed it in front of the couch, a chenille throw to cover the faded
flowery print of the couch, and some candlesticks and place settings for the
dining table. For the bedroom I’d bought new sheets for the bed and new cream
curtains to replace the original nearly-transparent green panels.
I walked over to
the glass vase on the new coffee table—it was particle board but the best
I could do under such circumstances—and rearranged the daisies and
chrysanthemums so that the flowers were evenly distributed.
I stepped back
and admired my handiwork, literally dusting my hands together in satisfaction.
“There, that’s a little more cozy,” I said out loud, then headed to the
en-suite bathroom, where my new towels and bath mats were waiting.
The water
pressure in the shower was surprisingly good, the hot water holding out for at
least the twenty minutes it took me to feel clean. I dried off and changed into
a pair of panties and white shirt and slid under the covers with my iPad.
But I couldn’t
concentrate. I started and abandoned three new books, unable to focus on
anything. My head was buzzing with white noise and my body felt as if I’d
downed three espressos. I didn’t know what it was but there was a strange
feeling in the air, as if the mountains were vibrating with some odd form of
energy.
I got up, pulled
on my silk robe, and headed over to the sliding glass doors, thinking that
maybe some fresh air would clear my head. The moment I stepped outside, the
cool night air instantly assaulted me. I wrapped my robe tighter around me,
ineffective though it was, and stared into the pitch-dark wall of trees several
yards from the house, Tim’s words echoing in my head.
Mysterious things happen in the forest that
are hard to explain.
Could there be a
wild man out there, living in the woods undetected? It was certainly possible,
but to live out here for decades would have surely driven anyone insane. I’d
been in this cabin by myself for less than seven hours and already I was
feeling a little out of sorts.
Somewhere far
away, a wolf’s howl echoed through the mountains.
Goosebumps
prickled my skin as awareness came over me, that peculiar feeling of being
watched. I wrapped my arms around myself and scanned the area, my heart rate
speeding up inexplicably. Was he out there right now, this crazy old hermit who
broke into people’s homes, watching me from the shadows?
Or was he, as Tim
thought, a ghost with kleptomaniac tendencies?
Then it occurred
to me that I was a woman alone in the middle of nowhere and I was standing out
here in nothing but my drawers. Might as well hang a sign around my neck with
the letters TSTL—the internationally recognized acronym for Too Stupid to
Live—in neon paint, as smart as I was acting.
I hurried back
inside, making sure to lock the doors, then pulled the
curtains closed. I went out to the main living area and double-checked the
doors and the windows, then grabbed the largest knife from the kitchen drawers,
turned off the lights, and returned to the bedroom.
I was ready to
get back in bed when a noise out in the main living area froze the blood in my
veins. I listened, hoping, wishing, praying that I hadn’t
really heard anything. But there it was again, a creak on the floor. With the
knife in my hand I stomped over to the door, hoping all the noise would scare
the intruder away.
“Is anyone
there?” I asked, my fingers trembling as I felt along the wall for the light
switch. I blinked fast, trying to adjust to the darkness while I scanned the
room. I had almost convinced myself that
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