Page 63 of Descent

I watch as she practically melts into her seat, tossing her tote bag into the back.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“You’ll see.”

The sun is beginning to set when we pull up the long wooded driveway. I haven’t been here in years; hardly even thought about it, really. I’m not sure why it was the first place that popped in my head that I wanted to take her, though.

I look out at the simple two-story log cabin. It’s nothing compared to what many of the Elder’s possess. My parents loved it though, so did I.

“Whose cabin is this?” Skyla asks as I undo my seatbelt.

“My family’s,” I say, as I push open my door and come around to get hers.

I grab her bag from the back, before lacing our fingers together and walking her up the front steps. My keys feel heavier than normal as I fish them out of my pocket and insert the key into the deadbolt. It turns with ease, an eerie creek echoing through the cold house as the door swings open.

The smell of wood and must instantly permeates my nose, and though some may not like it, it feels like home to me. Flicking on the light, the entire place glows at once. I’m glad I didn’t have the power cut here.

Shrugging off my jacket, I toss it onto the couch before moving to the fireplace.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll start a fire.”

“You can start a fire?” she asks with raised eyebrows. “Like out of two rocks or something?”

“I can, though sticks are easier to get things going. Tonight, I figured I’d settle with a lighter, though,” I say as I pull my lighter out of my pocket, lining up some of the old kindling before lighting it.

“Hmm, too bad. It would have been hot to see you start it with your bare hands– all tough and rugged. Like a mountain man,” she says, with a teasing smirk.

I scoff and shake my head, fighting back a small smile as I grab one of the pre-split logs, setting one on for now so I don’t smother it. After a minute, I add another two, and the fire takes off from there, intense heat immediately radiating from the fireplace as I stand up.

Skyla’s eyes are roaming around the room, all the way up to the vaulted ceilings and the loft on the second floor. The kitchen is open but it’s not huge. Everything is just the way I remember– simple, minimalistic, perfect.

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?”

“About seven years,” I answer, before I move towards her, resting my hands on her hips as I look down at her.

She frowns. “Why so long?”

I shrug. “Didn’t feel like coming back without them.”

“Your parents?” she guesses.

I nod but don’t speak. We’ve never discussed the death of my parents. Mainly because there isn’t much to tell. One day they were here; the next, they weren’t.

“What were they like?” Skyla asks.

I think about that for a moment, mulling over my words.

“Cold, disconnected.”

That seems to upset her, and I don’t like that, so I grapple to come up with some of the good.

“I used to get really bad growing pains as a kid, and my mom would sit up with me all night. She’d rub my legs until I fell asleep almost every night for years. My dad taught me how to fight; he told me to always stand up for myself and those I care about. To never allow anyone to take what I don’t readily give. He taught me how to shoot, how to work with knives, basic grappling, and MMA for hand-to-hand combat.”

Skyla watches me with rapt attention, like she’s absorbing every ounce of information I’m willing to give her.

“Were you all happy?”

I pause on this for a bit before I nod.

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