and—”
“Okay, okay. Hold on.” He didn’t seem amused that a crazy-ass girl—niece or not—had landed at his doorstep unannounced, so I was surprised when he said, “Come inside.” I wasn’t sure about Frank or if I should be trusting him, but I followed him into the cabin, not having much of choice.
The dog was still eying me suspiciously from outside as I went through the door. “Your dog doesn’t like me,” I said to Frank.
“You’re a stranger to him. Don’t take it personally.” He held the front door open. “Bane. In.” The Labrador dropped his ears and seemed to relax as it walked passed Frank and into the cabin, paying me no more attention as it went and slumped under the living room window, its guard duty done for the night.
Frank switched on the light—a single bare bulb that hung from the living room ceiling—and beckoned for me to take a seat. I paused for a second, taking in the interior of the cabin. It was pretty basic. No pictures on the walls except for a stuffed trout mounted over the fireplace, nothing that suggested anything about Frank’s personality. The place smelled earthy, all natural scents of cooking, whiskey, dog and a few other odors I couldn’t quite place. There were certainly no signs of the pungent air-fresheners that Diane often used in her home. It felt like I was the first woman to ever set foot in the place. Two armchairs sat in front of the fireplace. One chair looked threaded and well worn, the other like new. I sat in the less worn armchair by the open fire that was crackling away, filling the cabin with warmth that was a stark contrast to the cold outside.
The heat and comforting glow of the fire made me feel instantly more at ease. Real fires have always had that effect on me, though I was still twitchy as I watched Frank walk into the tiny adjoining kitchen and fill two glasses with whisky from a bottle that was almost empty. He looked disheveled in a creased blue shirt that hung over faded dark jeans. Again, I got the impression Frank didn’t get many visitors. He carried the two glasses over to where I was sitting, silently handed me one, and sat down in the chair opposite me. “Can I see that?” He was pointing to my mother’s journal.
I hesitated before I handed him the journal. There was a deep frown on his face as he turned the pages. I regarded him carefully as I sipped at the whiskey. I was more of a vodka girl but the whiskey would do. It warmed my insides and took the edge off my nerves.
“You read any of this yet?” Frank asked, still carefully turning the pages in the journal.
I shook my head. “Not yet. I only got it a few hours ago from the lockup.”
He seemed surprised. “You found the lockup?”
“My Mom left instructions before she…” I trailed off. How much did he know about what happened to my mom and dad? Did he know about the demon who took my mom or did he think what everyone else thought, that she was just gone?
He handed me back the book and then sat staring at me like he was trying to work out what to make of me and my situation. “What?” I asked when I couldn’t take his gaze anymore.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“I guess me coming here is the last thing you expected. I wouldn’t have come if I had other options.”
He nodded and carried on drinking his whiskey, allowing silence to descend once more. Clearly he was used to silence living up there alone, was comfortable in it even. He stared into the fire for a moment before leaning over and lifting a log from the side of the fireplace. He threw the log on the fire and the flames leapt higher for a few seconds before settling back down again.
Seeing him in real life, I was once again shocked by how much he looked like my dad. He had the same dark hair, although it was slightly longer than my dad’s ever was, and more unkempt. Frank’s hair also had streaks of gray. No doubt if my dad was alive his hair would be gray as well. Frank’s eyes
“Okay, okay. Hold on.” He didn’t seem amused that a crazy-ass girl—niece or not—had landed at his doorstep unannounced, so I was surprised when he said, “Come inside.” I wasn’t sure about Frank or if I should be trusting him, but I followed him into the cabin, not having much of choice.
The dog was still eying me suspiciously from outside as I went through the door. “Your dog doesn’t like me,” I said to Frank.
“You’re a stranger to him. Don’t take it personally.” He held the front door open. “Bane. In.” The Labrador dropped his ears and seemed to relax as it walked passed Frank and into the cabin, paying me no more attention as it went and slumped under the living room window, its guard duty done for the night.
Frank switched on the light—a single bare bulb that hung from the living room ceiling—and beckoned for me to take a seat. I paused for a second, taking in the interior of the cabin. It was pretty basic. No pictures on the walls except for a stuffed trout mounted over the fireplace, nothing that suggested anything about Frank’s personality. The place smelled earthy, all natural scents of cooking, whiskey, dog and a few other odors I couldn’t quite place. There were certainly no signs of the pungent air-fresheners that Diane often used in her home. It felt like I was the first woman to ever set foot in the place. Two armchairs sat in front of the fireplace. One chair looked threaded and well worn, the other like new. I sat in the less worn armchair by the open fire that was crackling away, filling the cabin with warmth that was a stark contrast to the cold outside.
The heat and comforting glow of the fire made me feel instantly more at ease. Real fires have always had that effect on me, though I was still twitchy as I watched Frank walk into the tiny adjoining kitchen and fill two glasses with whisky from a bottle that was almost empty. He looked disheveled in a creased blue shirt that hung over faded dark jeans. Again, I got the impression Frank didn’t get many visitors. He carried the two glasses over to where I was sitting, silently handed me one, and sat down in the chair opposite me. “Can I see that?” He was pointing to my mother’s journal.
I hesitated before I handed him the journal. There was a deep frown on his face as he turned the pages. I regarded him carefully as I sipped at the whiskey. I was more of a vodka girl but the whiskey would do. It warmed my insides and took the edge off my nerves.
“You read any of this yet?” Frank asked, still carefully turning the pages in the journal.
I shook my head. “Not yet. I only got it a few hours ago from the lockup.”
He seemed surprised. “You found the lockup?”
“My Mom left instructions before she…” I trailed off. How much did he know about what happened to my mom and dad? Did he know about the demon who took my mom or did he think what everyone else thought, that she was just gone?
He handed me back the book and then sat staring at me like he was trying to work out what to make of me and my situation. “What?” I asked when I couldn’t take his gaze anymore.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“I guess me coming here is the last thing you expected. I wouldn’t have come if I had other options.”
He nodded and carried on drinking his whiskey, allowing silence to descend once more. Clearly he was used to silence living up there alone, was comfortable in it even. He stared into the fire for a moment before leaning over and lifting a log from the side of the fireplace. He threw the log on the fire and the flames leapt higher for a few seconds before settling back down again.
Seeing him in real life, I was once again shocked by how much he looked like my dad. He had the same dark hair, although it was slightly longer than my dad’s ever was, and more unkempt. Frank’s hair also had streaks of gray. No doubt if my dad was alive his hair would be gray as well. Frank’s eyes
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