Page 2 of Rose's Ripped Van Winkle

My heart pounding, I peer through the opening. At first, all I can see is darkness, but as my eyes adjust to the dim light shining in from the living room, the silhouette of a bed comes into view. There, lying motionless under a heavy quilt, is a body.

I back up, and, though reception is spotty on even the best day, I slip my cell phone into my jeans pocket, then I grab my biggest kitchen knife.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, knowing I should run to my little Ford and hightail it to the sheriff’s office five miles down a two-lane road. As my lips say no, my feet ease to the doorway of the hidden room. I know, I’m an idiot.

Is it possible? His chest is rising and falling gently with each breath. I gasp, stumbling back in shock. How long has this person—clearly a male because his beard must be a foot long, been asleep in this hidden room? Did he sneak in here while I was in the forest yesterday?

With my knife held in front of me, I step a foot into the room and take his inventory. Once I get past his horrible beard, longer and more scraggly than the worst hipster on the planet, it appears he’s not the old man I first imagined. He appears young, maybe in his mid-thirties, with a handsome, angular face and generous lips.

I should leave immediately and call for help, but curiosity roots me to the spot. Who is this guy? The idea that this is a fairytale dawns on me again. How has he come to be locked away in a secret chamber, as if under some enchantment?

I check out the room for more details. The air in the room is fresh, thanks to a vent on the outside wall. The blanket, the kind of patchwork quilt women used to sew by hand in a previous century, is still in good shape.

My imagination is obviously getting carried away. He’s likely a homeless person who has been sleeping in this hidden room, coming and going while I’m out exploring. That’s the logical explanation. I’m surprised he hasn’t been stealing my food. Has he been here the whole time I’ve lived here?

I shiver, terror whirling through me as I realize how vulnerable I’ve been, all while thinking I was safe and isolated here.

Before I can answer any of the hundred questions flying through my mind, his eyelids flutter open. Icy blue eyes meet mine, and he sits bolt upright.

His posture is stiff, and becomes stiffer when I brandish the carving knife at him and threaten, “Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?”

His chin tips up, and he examines me from hair to toes. His expression is groggy, almost drugged, just what I’d expect from someone awakened from a heavy slumber—or someone way too high on drugs.

“Is it you?”

Add deranged to the already growing list of weird things about this entire bizarre scenario.

“Who were you expecting?”

Stupid, Rose. You’re acting as though even one word out of his mouth is going to make sense.

“I-I’m not sure.”

Jackpot! As if my childhood wasn’t weird enough, my peaceful sanctuary has turned into the plot of one of those escape-from-the-mental hospital Halloween movies.

“Listen up. You’re going to get up and shamble out the door before I call the police.”

I glance at my phone only to see it’s playing games with me. No service. I swallow. Hard. This guy is demented and my only weapon is a kitchen knife.

Chapter Three

Rip

I’m groggy and my head is pounding. It takes long moments for me to remember who I am, then even longer moments to recall where I am.

I bought this house, thinking I could lick my wounds and recover from all the blows handed to me by the world, the public, my agent, and my lover. It was delusional, though, to think that painting all day in this secluded cottage would cure my broken heart.

I discovered the secret room and the amulet and then half-heartedly followed the directions. I never really believed a magical talisman could put me into a state of suspended animation until I was awakened by my one true love.

It goes to show how desperate I was. Now that I think of it, I was more crazy than desperate. What was I thinking when I laid down on this bed, placed the pendant necklace over my head, and said the magic words?

I couldn’t have been sleeping for more than a few hours, could I? I guess it’s time to re-join the living and get on with my life.

Except my joints feel creaky and… shit, my beard almost reaches my navel. I tug on it, wondering if someone played a hell of a prank on me. Damn, this beard, and the hair that reaches almost to my waist, is real.

When the terrified woman with the knife asks who I was expecting, I almost answer, “My true love.” I’m completely unglued.

As I parse through all the possibilities of what’s happening, the reality seeps in. I have a long beard, a mouth so parched it signals I haven’t had a sip of water in a long time, and a woman in the doorway wearing clothes I’ve never before seen the likes of.

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