couple of days, at least. Single-story, with large eye-like windows on either side of the door. Several rickety steps led up to the wide decked porch area, where a small pile of firewood was stacked beneath the overhang to dry. Tall fir trees skirted the rear and both sides of the building, hiding it away from anywhere but where they were now parked.Curt killed the engine and opened the door and, without speaking, they all climbed slowly from the Rambler.
Bird song, a gentle breeze through the trees, their crunching footsteps, something splashing out on the lake... there was no other noise. No traffic grumble or roaring of aircraft high in the sky.
Nothing.
It was, Marty thought then, idyllic.
“Oh my god, it’s beautiful!” Jules said, leaning into Curt and adding quieter, “One spider and I’m sleeping in the Rambler. I mean it. Uno spider-o.”
“This house is talking a blue streak,” Marty whispered.
“So let’s set up camp,” Holden said. “And the most important feature: keg.” He clapped Marty on the shoulder and grinned, and Curt accompanied them back into the Rambler to get the beer. They maneuvered it from the confined space and manhandled it from the vehicle, and by the time they’d deposited it on the cabin’s porch, Dana already was there, turning the knob.
The door swung open with a deep, grinding creak. You’re velcome to stay zer night, Marty thought, but as the others followed her inside he held back, appreciating the sky above him and the sense of space he still felt all around. In there they’d be... confined. He didn’t shiver—not quite—but something felt askew. Had felt that way since meeting that weird old coot at the tumble-down gas stop, then coming up through the tunnel and winding track. Shit, maybe his batch ofweed was contaminated with something. He’d heard about it happening before.
Once inside and settled, maybe he’d think about switching stashes.
The main room beyond the front door was living room and kitchen combined, and Dana was walking around slowly, touching nothing, as the others entered. To the right was a dining table and chairs, and a kitchen counter featuring poorly crafted wall and floor cupboards with a retro-fitted sink, the single tap dripping steadily. At the end of the counter stood an antique wood-burning stove, probably built before Marty’s grandparents were even born. Its bulk and solidity seemed somehow out of place beside the rest of the kitchen, as if it was the only part that bled quality. “Oh, this is awesome!” Curt said.
“It is kinda cool,” Jules replied. “You gonna kill us a raccoon to eat?”
“I will use its skin to make a cap.”
To the left in the huge room was the living area, with mismatched sofas and chairs arranged around the large stone fireplace. It looked comfortable, but strangely unloved, as if it were a place used for necessity rather than desire. Hanging back in the doorway, Marty spotted a wolf’s head on the wall—courtesy of the old guy at the station, perhaps? It had been stuffed growling, and was just about one of the most vicious looking things he’d ever seen. That would get a shirt thrown over it before dusk, he was damn certain of that, by him if no one else. Its eyes seemed alive.Directly opposite the front door a bare, wide hallway ran to the rear of the cabin, with two doorways leading off from either side. Between it and the kitchen there was a rectangle in the floor that appeared to be a way into the cellar. A few worn rugs littered the floor. The window at the hallway’s end was obscured by nets and dust, and whatever lay beyond was dark, as if the woods back there cut out all sunlight.
Dana paused before the stuffed wolf’s head, then moved on. Her footsteps were soft and gentle, hardly heard, and Marty wondered what lay beneath the timber-boarded floor.
Jules strode confidently along the hallway to check out the bedrooms. She grabbed a doorknob and twisted.
“Dibs on whichever room
Bird song, a gentle breeze through the trees, their crunching footsteps, something splashing out on the lake... there was no other noise. No traffic grumble or roaring of aircraft high in the sky.
Nothing.
It was, Marty thought then, idyllic.
“Oh my god, it’s beautiful!” Jules said, leaning into Curt and adding quieter, “One spider and I’m sleeping in the Rambler. I mean it. Uno spider-o.”
“This house is talking a blue streak,” Marty whispered.
“So let’s set up camp,” Holden said. “And the most important feature: keg.” He clapped Marty on the shoulder and grinned, and Curt accompanied them back into the Rambler to get the beer. They maneuvered it from the confined space and manhandled it from the vehicle, and by the time they’d deposited it on the cabin’s porch, Dana already was there, turning the knob.
The door swung open with a deep, grinding creak. You’re velcome to stay zer night, Marty thought, but as the others followed her inside he held back, appreciating the sky above him and the sense of space he still felt all around. In there they’d be... confined. He didn’t shiver—not quite—but something felt askew. Had felt that way since meeting that weird old coot at the tumble-down gas stop, then coming up through the tunnel and winding track. Shit, maybe his batch ofweed was contaminated with something. He’d heard about it happening before.
Once inside and settled, maybe he’d think about switching stashes.
The main room beyond the front door was living room and kitchen combined, and Dana was walking around slowly, touching nothing, as the others entered. To the right was a dining table and chairs, and a kitchen counter featuring poorly crafted wall and floor cupboards with a retro-fitted sink, the single tap dripping steadily. At the end of the counter stood an antique wood-burning stove, probably built before Marty’s grandparents were even born. Its bulk and solidity seemed somehow out of place beside the rest of the kitchen, as if it was the only part that bled quality. “Oh, this is awesome!” Curt said.
“It is kinda cool,” Jules replied. “You gonna kill us a raccoon to eat?”
“I will use its skin to make a cap.”
To the left in the huge room was the living area, with mismatched sofas and chairs arranged around the large stone fireplace. It looked comfortable, but strangely unloved, as if it were a place used for necessity rather than desire. Hanging back in the doorway, Marty spotted a wolf’s head on the wall—courtesy of the old guy at the station, perhaps? It had been stuffed growling, and was just about one of the most vicious looking things he’d ever seen. That would get a shirt thrown over it before dusk, he was damn certain of that, by him if no one else. Its eyes seemed alive.Directly opposite the front door a bare, wide hallway ran to the rear of the cabin, with two doorways leading off from either side. Between it and the kitchen there was a rectangle in the floor that appeared to be a way into the cellar. A few worn rugs littered the floor. The window at the hallway’s end was obscured by nets and dust, and whatever lay beyond was dark, as if the woods back there cut out all sunlight.
Dana paused before the stuffed wolf’s head, then moved on. Her footsteps were soft and gentle, hardly heard, and Marty wondered what lay beneath the timber-boarded floor.
Jules strode confidently along the hallway to check out the bedrooms. She grabbed a doorknob and twisted.
“Dibs on whichever room
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