Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
There hadn’t been many pictures online when I booked this place, and had basically just shown the exterior of the hunting cabin and surrounding wilderness around the property.
I lugged two bags up to the cabin and set them down so that I could punch in the code to the lock and open the door.
I stepped inside and immediately the scent of age, unused space, dust, and a hint of mold filled my nose. To my left was a tiny kitchenette and a wooden two-person table.
To my right was what I assumed was supposed to be the living room, with an out-of-date patchwork loveseat, and a small coffee table in front of that held a few magazines that looked like they had been printed twenty years prior.
And the one bedroom was in front of me.
The bathroom was outside. Meaning it was nothing but a literal outhouse.
Normally the no running water nor electricity might have deterred me, but I was in a place in my life right now where having nothing but a roof over my head and no one else around was the escape I needed.
This was camping, which I was more than used to.
I quickly went out and got my third bag, hauling it inside. I shut the front door and stared at the lone bedroom, the door partially open so that I could make out what looked like a bunk bed with no mattresses.
The lone window in the room looked foggy, the glass old. I used the sleeve of my raincoat, still wet from the weather, and moved it along the glass, smearing some of the dirt away so I could see outside a bit more.
I could see the outhouse directly across from the bedroom window and wrinkled my nose.
Nothing like looking outside and seeing where someone relieves themselves to get your day going.
I left the bedroom and started going through my bags, setting the food on the table, the portable stove and the propane canisters I’d bought in town onto the counter, and putting the rest of my “electronics” on the table.
I brought my clothes and sleeping gear into the bedroom and walked back out into the kitchen to set my toothbrush and any kind of bathing items in the sink.
Since I still had my outside gear on and the rain had let up, I set up the outdoor shower and took a walk around the cabin.
After filling up the bag with the water in the large plastic rain-catching container—something I was thankful the renters had included in the “amenities” description—I hung it up and walked along the “boardwalk” that ran the perimeter of the cabin.
Because of the recent weather, the forest looked more like a rainforest, with water dripping from the leaves and the scent of earth and moisture filling the air.
The boardwalk only lined the back and sides of the cabin. The outhouse was directly behind it, and there were a couple of manmade trails leading off into the woods.
Making my way back to the front and toward the shore, I walked the waterline and listened to the sound of the gentle lap of waves. There were snails stuck to the rocks, and fish creating ripples as they jumped above the water before diving back into the ocean. When I kicked a rock, I jumped back, watching a crab scurrying away, its home being disturbed.
Tomorrow, I was going to take the skiff to the island and do a little exploring.
After heading back inside, I unpacked my drawing pad and sat at the table. Despite not having any service, I still got my cell out and pulled up some music.
And then for the next hour I sat and drew, and found peace I hadn’t felt in a really long time.
I started sketching my grandmother’s face, then added flower detailing. I drew hyacinth for the framework, and wisteria behind her profile.
When my hand cramped, I shut off my phone and set my pencil down, realizing I heard absolutely… nothing.
It was the first time in my life where there wasn’t the sound of the neighbors down the hall screaming at each other, or horns blaring outside my window.
I inhaled deeply, not smelling car exhaust or pollution or somebody burning something on the stove next-door. Sure, there was age and a musty smell in the cabin, but I’d take that over all the polluted scents I was used to back home.
I rested back and closed my eyes, thinking for the hundredth time since arriving just yesterday that I wanted to live here, just burrow in deep, nestled away from everyone, and pretend like nothing else existed.
Chapter
Five
Marcella
Scratch-scratch-scrape. Scratch-scratch-scrape.
I pulled my sleeping bag up to my chin as I stared wide-eyed at the bedroom window. I’d been hearing that sound for the last ten minutes.
There was something outside the cabin, something big walking around the perimeter, its nails scraping over the boardwalk.