Once I felt like I was far enough off the main road to park, I turned the car off and pulled the emergency break. Slowly, my foot eased off the break, waiting for the axe to fall. Nothing fell. The car miraculously stayed still. A sigh burst from my lungs, and the tension that had built up in my shoulders slowly dissipated.
According to the weather on my car dashboard, it was exactly nine degrees outside. I couldn’t see the cabin from where I sat, but thought it to be at least a quarter of a mile uphill. The snow looked to be at least twelve inches deep and coming down fast. In the back seat sat my large suitcase, makeup kit, laptop, a box of food, a cooler, and my favorite quilt.
It felt like, what I imagined, picking my favorite child would be like, as I debated over my necessities for the night. Not that I had any children, but still—if I did—some of them would have to sleep in the car. Okay, I’m kidding, but there was no way I could haul my entire luggage up the hill in the storm.
I finally settled on my toiletry bag, laptop, and my favorite blanket. I needed my laptop to write, my toiletry bag had my bathroom necessities, and my blanket-well, I wasn’t sure what the blanket situation was at this cabin, but I wasn’t about to be disappointed. I would brave the elements again tomorrow to grab my food. I was just hoping the cabin had a few straggler packs of hot chocolate tucked away somewhere. I cinched up my heavy winter coat and laced up my snow boots.
Before I grabbed the door handle, I glanced sideways back at my luggage. Buried down deep was a new pair of flannel pajamas I bought, while envisioning cozy nights writing by the fire. I wasn’t in the mood to try to open the case in the tiny backseat of my car, on a dark mountainside, to rifle through for them. The warm, fuzzy pajamas would have to wait.
The cold bit at my lungs as I stepped out of the car. The chill settled quick and deep into my bones. I wrapped my blanket around my head and body, attempting to shield the onslaught of snow pelting my face. I locked my car and soon after, the interior lights turned off, leaving me all alone in utter darkness. I suddenly felt very small and appetizing in the vast, and terrifying, world before me.
Snack size.
My hands fumbled with the flashlight on my phone. When the singular light lit a tunnel through the suffocating black, I wasted no time moving. The snow crunched beneath my feet, no doubt alerting some fearsome creature to my whereabouts. Under the security of my quilt, I braved the elements to peer out into the night. The darkened trees stood, glaring ominously at me, as I trudged my way forward.
What a lovely time to suddenly remembereverydetail, ofeveryscary movie I had ever watched. A strange noise sounded in the distance. Was that just my imagination? No… There it was again. That sounded an awful lot like…
That wasnota chainsaw.
I quickened my pace, which only made me feel ridiculous as I waddled faster, burdened under the weight of my necessities for the night. A large and forbidding tree loomed ahead of me—curved in just a way that made my breath hitch.
‘Keep walking,’ I told myself. It’s just a tree. Bigfoot isn’t real. Just because I saw a TV show about him when I was a kid doesn’t mean it’s real.
Just because there have been thousands of reported sightings doesn’t mean…
A howl sounded in the distance.
A wolf.
Awolfwas howling.
I dropped all pretense of calm and bolted forward, my bags and blanket trying to slow me down, but failing; adrenaline could be a wonderful thing. Rounding the bend in the road, a small, darkened cabin emerged before me. I had been there once before with Gina, but it had been years. Even in the unnerving, forest night, the cabin stood out like something in a fairy tale. It was simple in its coziness. It wasn’t tall or large, but it had the essence of an Old Mother Hubbard’s touch. A porch wrapped around the front of the cabin, with a chimney atop the roof. The small stream of smoke drifting out into the night seemed a welcome sight.
Another howl from the wolf had me scrambling to the door. I jammed the key in the lock to no avail. I tried the second key-nothing. On my fourth attempt, I cursed Gina and Matt and all their children. Finally, the fifth time proved charming, and the door creaked open.
A strong smell of bacon assailed me when I stepped inside and closed the door. I fumbled around for the light switch and found it hidden behind a heavy Carhartt coat and some straggler jackets, hanging on hooks by the door. A dim, yellow light cut through the darkness, casting a cozy glow about the living room. A hand-me-down plaid couch sat, just in front of the door, facing an old TV which sat on a stand against the wall. A blue recliner with a deep indent in the seat, sat perpendicular from the couch. Just past the living room was a small kitchen nook, with a table big enough for four, pushed to the right side of the wall.
A blanket lay haphazardly across the couch, beckoning me closer. The tension filled night had drained me, and all I found myself wanting was to brush my teeth and devour a cup of hot chocolate. Although, not in that order. My flannel pajamas would have been the third thing, but I would not be stepping outside again until the sun was up, and even that was negotiable. I flung my bags and coat onto the couch and walked into the kitchen.
A pan, with a pool of bacon grease, sat on the stove along with a dirty plate and fork in the sink. I furrowed my brows slightly but was too tired to care about a neglectful cleaning service. I rummaged through a few cupboards until I found a mug and filled it with water, sipping gratefully. The glass clunked against the counter as I set it down and turned in pursuit to find the master bedroom, nearly tripping over a duffle bag sitting next to the back of the couch.
Looking back, I assume that a more sound-minded person would have picked up on all of the—smack to the head— clues that I wasn’t alone in that cabin. The smoke in the chimney, the bacon, the plates, the bag… I just thought the cleaners hadn’t been able to get to the cabin; I had barely made it through the storm myself. I had just been through the harrowing ordeal of nearly plunging off the mountainside in the middle of the night, and I was trying not to think about wild animals and chainsaw murderers. I think my brain skipped over a few details to keep me feeling safe. It was survival.
Or perhaps that’s what all the victims say.
Or would have said.
To the right, between the kitchen and the living room, was a small hallway with four doors. From my time spent there years ago, I knew that one door led to the small laundry room, and the other three housed a bathroom and two bedrooms. I rounded the bend, turning down the hallway to pick my room, when the bathroom door was yanked open. Smoke and steam infiltrated the small passageway, before a completely naked man, sans a small towel wrapped around his hips, stepped out into the hallway.
For a brief second, I stood, stunned at how the sudden appearance of finely chiseled abs and arm muscles had made their way into my snowy mountain escape. I mean, in that brief second, I saw that sexy ‘V’ thing on his abdomen. But, once the image of the gloriously half-naked man reached the functioning part of my brain, my illusion of safety had shattered.
We saw each other at the same time—each of us yelping and jumping backward in surprise. The man smacked into the door frame of the bathroom, while I slammed against the wall.
The naked man was the first to get ahold of his senses, about the same time his glasses de-fogged. “Holy crap! Who are you!?”
“Me? Who are you?” I jumped up and flew down the hallway, rounding to the other side of the couch, putting distance between me and his nakedness.
‘Don’t look back,’ I told myself. ‘Do not look at his abs. Don’t. Get ready to run. You can take your chances with the wolves.’ My hand felt the small bulge of keys in my right pocket.