Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! The rusted chains banged against the splintered dry-rotted wood. His pulse picking up pace, he entered. He stepped on the debris and dirt, inhaling the strange odor inside the space which put him in mind of vegetables left for too long in an old freezer. He shined his flashlight around, illuminating the dreary space, and walked around, studying the area. There were a few chairs in what appeared to be the living room region, one of them broken and lying on its side.
In the small kitchen was a cheap, dusty table, an old-fashioned green refrigerator, and a sink that was the color of sawdust from old water stains. There was no water, power or electric running in the place, and from his prior research, the last time the cabin was occupied was back in 1997. It had been built by a Russian man in 1948 for his family, and when he passed away, he left it to his daughter who rented it out to tourists until at last, the property ended up vacant and forgotten. He took note of the wooden rafters covered in thick, dusty cobwebs clinging there like sooty tinsel. He went from corner to corner, opening cabinets and finding a half bag of rice, a few empty beer bottles and cans, two dead mice, and lifeless insects lying flat on their backs.
After looking thoroughly through the kitchen and living room areas, he checked a small hall closet, then made his way to the one and only bedroom. It was empty, with the exception of a piece of paper lying on the floor—an old advertisement for a shopping complex that was coming to town, a reminder of the days when malls were all the craze. The walls were peppered with popped nails, as if someone had taken a hammer and tried to lift all of them out, but then gave up.
He stood there staring at those nails, wondering why they were in the walls.
Maybe they’d held paintings, prints, or maps of the world? I don’t know if this cabin has anything to do with Chad. It could’ve been a coincidence that he was even here, but it’s been bothering me for far too long. Why was he here of all places?
He turned to leave, then noticed something glinting inside the small open bedroom closet. Flashing his light directly upon it, he made his way over to further investigate. A knife. He picked it up and studied it. It was similar to a hunting knife Chad often had on his person, but this was a tad shorter. He directed the light up and down its length, noticing a faded, carved out letter, ‘P’, or perhaps, ‘B’. Then stains on the blade.
Dark. Splotchy. Specks.
Slipping it into his coat pocket, he perused the bedroom one more time, then entered the rancid smelling bathroom. The cold temperatures did little to quell the putrid odor. He maneuvered around and opened the medicine cabinet to find it empty. Not even an old toothbrush, rattail comb, or can of shaving cream. Closing it back, he caught his reflection in the smudged mirror. Cool air rolled out his parted lips as he took a slow breath.
Slow. And easy. Slow. And easy.
What he saw though wasn’t his image. For a split second, it was Chad facing him. An overpowering odor of cigarette smoke filled the room, and smolder appeared then vanished within the snap of a finger. The smell of his boy’s cigarettes was so strong, he grabbed his throat and fell into a violent cough.
I’m going crazy. I’m losing my mind!
He made quick work of vacating the bathroom and the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him. Bent at the waist, holding his stomach with one hand and throat with the other, he kept on coughing, trying desperately to catch his breath. When the sensation subsided, he furiously tossed his tools into the bag and made his way over to his snowmobile, his heart pounding the entire way. He drove away like a bat out of hell, the wind whipping him in the face. When he arrived home, he made his way to the shower, wanting nothing more than to forget the whole damn incident in that bathroom. He knew that would be impossible. Notwithstanding, he needed to rinse off the damn cobwebs, and whatever other dark mojo, strange magic, demonic curses, or energy had been in that place.
Energy? Demonic curses? I sound like Askuwheteau.
He lathered up in the stone and glass walled enclosure, two shower heads spraying him at once. He was out in ten minutes. After drying his hair and body, he put on some deodorant, wrapped the towel around his waist, and headed downstairs where he retrieved the knife from the coat pocket. He took it back to his bedroom, setting it at the table where he did his woodcarving work. Moving a light closer, he peered at the knife through a microscope. That’s got to be blood, but it could be from anything, even an animal. Strange how it had been left on the floor like that. After examining it for quite some time, he pulled out a plastic bag from the desk drawer, placed the knife inside, and put it away.