Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Had someone stabbed the table?
The edges of the groove are rough and splintering, but when my curious gaze passes over the rest of the table, I don’t see any more gouges.
“What…?” I rasp, but I don’t finish.
My throat feels like I’ve been gargling gravel, so I continue my exploration into the kitchen, where I search the fridge and cabinets for water before realizing these people must drink water from the tap.
I shudder.
But I’m too thirsty to care for long.
I grab the only tin cup remaining in one of the cupboards and fill it with water from the faucet.
My first sip is tentative, and while it’s not artesian, I’m surprised by how refreshing it tastes. Cool, crisp, and refreshing, like it was sourced straight from a spring. And most importantly, no weird aftertaste. A solid seven out of ten.
I gulp down several more cups since it’s a small one before I’m finally convinced I won’t die of thirst. Leaving the cup on the counter, I continue my self-guided and unsanctioned tour of the cabin.
There’s a set of stairs by the front door that I missed when I broke in, but I ignore them for now as I finish exploring the first level.
The house is smaller than I’m used to, so I find the bedroom easy enough. I’m scratching my head over why anyone would ever choose this.
It’s so ugly and sad.
Not the house—though it is hideous—but the drafty room I find myself standing in. There’s a neatly made bed with four posters and a simple metal railing for a headboard, two nightstands, a trunk at the foot of the bed, and a chair shoved in the corner.
I hear prison cells are nicer than this, I muse. Begrudgingly, I make my way over to the bed and sit on the edge.
I give it a testing bounce, but the mattress refuses to yield. It’s hard, rigid, and completely devoid of comfort—just like this god-awful room.
Maybe there’s another.
I give the room one last disapproving sniff before I leave. Heading for the stairs, I cautiously descend them into a finished basement, and my eyes widen in alarm. A den of sorts takes up most of the space. There’s a sofa, several punching bags, an array of weapons and a large map mounted on the wall, a metal locker, and some gym equipment.
Fighting the urge to run and take my chances with the wolves, I peek behind door number one and find a room with a farmhouse sink, floating shelves with folded linen on them, and a jute rope hanging taut between walls. I think it’s a laundry room, but where are the washer and dryer? I back out of the room with a wrinkled nose.
Door number two has a full bath behind it.
My third try reveals another bedroom.
While the first bedroom barely looked lived in, this one looks like a wild animal had been let loose inside. The closet door is hanging on a single hinge, the bed is flipped over, the frame bent and twisted, the bedding shredded, and there’s writing on the walls—in blood. The first two are alarming, but the last one I stare at and wonder about the person who wrote it.
Death to the immortals.
Bless the Savior.
The promise that it ends is what makes life beautiful.
The hair on my arms rise as I back out. I find a third bedroom on the other side of the den. Steeling myself for whatever I’ll find, I poke my head inside the open door.
My shoulders slump in relief when I find a normal-looking bedroom.
I don’t bother to take in the details this time as I rush inside and belly-flop onto the four-poster bed with a groan. It’s bigger than the others. A king, I think. Maybe larger. Whoever sleeps here must really like their space.
The mattress isn’t too soft or hard, and it’s in one piece.
It’s just right.
Sighing, I flip over onto my back, and my eyes widen. “Oh, wow.”
I hadn’t noticed it before.
The canopy.
Short, twisted branches, no more than four or five inches thick, are nailed together in a random pattern and strewn with small lights that glow with warm light. I follow the branches to the posts and gasp at the images carved into the wood—bears, wolves, rabbits, birds, fish, foxes, and frogs. There are trees, rivers, snowflakes, leaves, Sunshine, and wind.
Wow, just wow.
It’s fanciful, like a fairy tale.
I’m still admiring the carvings when my eyelids start to drift shut. I know I can’t fight the exhaustion, pain, and trauma from my ordeal much longer.
Rest. Reset.
Rest.
Reset.
I’m not sure how people pass their time in the wilds, but the cabin dwellers could be gone for hours.
Twenty minutes is all I need.
Just as it had the last three nights, I see the faces of those who died because of me—Cassie’s, Susan’s, Harrison’s, the two bodyguards whose names I still don’t know, and…Tyler’s.