Page 2 of Two Times the Mountain Men
Relieved I was done with him, I got into my truck, which I’d rented from a local resident, and took a long, hard look at the map. The directions seemed pretty straightforward.
Maps. Wow, talk about a blast from the past. I gave my head a shake as I placed the map on the seat next to me. I may have been of a generation that relied on phones, but I’d learned how to read a map—thank goodness.
As I made my way toward the cabin, I was taken aback at how beautiful the scenery was. The trees and mountains already had a light blanket of pure white virgin snow on them. It was such a difference from the muddy, discolored slush I was used to trudging through back home in New York in the wintertime. Roughly halfway to my destination it started to lightly snow; the snowflakes were perfect, shimmering as they dropped. This was going to be amazing. I’d even brought some cross-country skis and snowshoes with me in case I got some cabin fever and had to get out for a bit. I didn’t know how to ski, but it couldn’t be that hard. I’d seen YouTube videos.
The sun was just sinking down below the mountain line as I pulled up to the secluded cabin. For a moment I was reminded of all the horror movies I’d seen over the years; it never turned out well for the lone person.
Laughing at myself, I gave my head a shake. Such silliness. This place was way too beautiful to be the scene for a horror movie.
Now the hard work begins…
Shutting off the engine I hopped out of the truck, unbuckled and pulled back the canvas top covering the cab. For the life of me I couldn’t remember the proper name of the cover, but it kept my groceries and supplies safe from the elements and that was the main thing.
The cab was also jam packed. Placing my fists on my hips I sighed and got a better idea. I’d check the cabin out first…then deal with the supplies.
Walking back to the cab, I grabbed my purse and pulled out the keys to the cabin. There was no number on the cabin and the door was a plain dark-wood door with a small two-foot by one-foot window.
Unlocking the door, I opened it up and stepped into what would be my new home for the next two months. Inside, it was pretty basic and a faint, unpleasant musty smell greeted my nostrils. There was a small living room with a plaid-design fabric sofa. A little two-person table sat in what was the dining room and there was a small kitchen, which featured a wood stove that was supposed to be the area to cook on and the source of heat for the entire place. There was a small bathroom with a toilet and standing shower and the bedroom had a basic six-drawer chest dresser and a double-sized bed with an old-fashioned patchwork quilt.
This would do. To some people the cabin could be considered quaint.
It was becoming dark quickly, so I began to flick on the lights; at least it had some electricity and working plumbing. Not wanting to unload the truck in the dark, I hustled my way back to the vehicle and began the twenty-minute job of unloading and carrying everything inside.
With my belongings now safety inside and out of the elements, I pulled the canvas cover down over the truck bed and secured it. There was a large pile of wood already chopped and piled against the side of the cabin with a layer of snow on it. If I was going to be using the wood, I’d have to take it inside where it could dry off.
The snow was beginning to come down a little harder, the flakes seeming to thicken. I gave myself a minute to look around me, marveling at the beauty of the forest surrounding the cabin. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed movement, and focusing on the spot, I smiled. A pretty doe looked back at me, its dark eyes gleaming, before sauntering off. I doubted I could have chosen a more serene and peaceful spot.
I was starting to pile the wood into my arms when I noticed something odd. Footprints in the snow. I was no tracker, but there appeared to be the tracks of two people. Frowning, I put the wood back onto the pile and opted to follow the tracks that led out of the clearing and into the thick woods—because that’s what people do, right?
Who in the hell? My heart rate accelerated. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone within a mile of the cabin. It occurred to me that many horror movies started with the lone female wandering off into the woods following mysterious tracks. Just as quickly as my fear gripped me, it faded, and I laughed at myself. It was hunting season and I remembered the owner told me he’d stocked up the wood pile to last me for the next few months. Of course, there’d be tracks. The tracks appeared to be of the same size and boot style.
Laughing out loud this time, I shook my head at myself. It must have been the owner of the cabin. Sometimes I had a wild imagination; if only I could put my imagination to good use and get that novel finished, I’d be all set. Hustling back to the wood pile I quickly gathered what I felt I’d need, though I honestly had no idea how much I’d really need to keep the place going for a day. I’d learn.
Shit! I groaned loudly, noticing I’d left the front door open. It was already chilly in the house, and now I had a fine layer of snow on the wood floor to clean up. There was wood already inside and dried, piled by the wood stove. I emptied my arms of the wood I’d picked up, taking care to keep it away from the dry stuff, and closed the front door.
It took me a few minutes and several tries, but after some fussing I managed to get a nice strong fire going in the wood stove. It wouldn’t be long before I’d be able to shed my jacket and boots, so in the meantime I began to unload my suitcases and groceries. By the time I was done, the cabin was nice and toasty. It amazed me how one little wood stove could heat an entire cabin, though in the cabin’s defense it was only about 600 square feet in total.
Heading to the bedroom, I began to unpack my suitcases. There was no washer or dryer so I had to pack twice as much as I thought would be necessary, unless I wanted to take a run into town to the one little laundromats they had there. Though it wasn’t like I was here to socialize, so the majority of what I’d brought was jeans, t-shirts, tank tops and pajama bottoms. For me to be creative, I needed to be comfortable.
Once I was unpacked, I gave the cabin another look-over. This would do—it would more than do. Yawning, I made myself a ham and cheese sandwich before changing into a pair of Marvel pajama bottoms and a snug black tank top. Slipping under the thick comforter, I hoped that the fire in the wood stove would last me throughout the night.
The mystery footprints were all but a memory as I closed my eyes.
