Cabin Fever

by Elle Casey

  “No, not yet.” I try to think of something else to talk about to direct the conversation away from me, but the questions come at me too quickly.

  “If you want to paint in a decent studio, you really need to get out of town. The rents around here are ridiculous,” Ralph says.

  “Plus there’s all the traffic and the noise and the pollution.” Leah scrunches up her nose. “It’s not conducive to creativity.”

  “You’ve done pretty well,” James says, waving his fork around.

  Everyone looks at the blue walls.

  “True, but I didn’t have a choice. This was my canvas, and I had to do what I could with it. But Sarah’s a free spirit. She could go anywhere. She needs a place that’s full of inspiration, quiet … somewhere out in nature…” Leah gets a faraway look in her eye.

  “She could use the cabin,” Jana says, looking at her brother. “It’s not too far away, and it’s definitely quiet.”

  “Isolated is more like it,” James says. He takes a big bite of noodles, filling his mouth.

  “You have a cabin?” Ralph asks.

  “What cabin?” Leah adds.

  Jana talks as she cuts food on her plate. “It’s a tiny place up in Middle Mountain, in the Catskills.”

  “It hasn’t been touched in years,” James says, obviously not impressed by the idea. “It’s probably full of mice.”

  I’ve never been to the Catskills, but I know enough about them that I’m intrigued. If it’s a place they never use anyway, maybe it wouldn’t put them out to loan it to me for a short period of time. I could pay rent, even.

  “Actually, it sounds kind of interesting,” I say experimentally. I don’t want to start a fight between Leah and her boyfriend.

  “A cabin in the woods sounds perfect,” Leah says. Her face is so bright it’s practically glowing. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” She looks from James to Jana.

  Jana responds. “Our family used to use it for fishing and camping years ago, when we were little kids. It’s got a big main room and then a small room attached to the side with several bunk beds in it. It’s nothing fancy by any means, but we always had fun there.”

  James nods. “Yeah, we did. But like I said, it’s probably in bad shape now.” He looks at his sister. “When was the last time you were out there?”

  She thinks about it for a few seconds before answering. “Maybe ten years? Fifteen?”

  “It’s been longer than that for me.” James looks at Leah. “But if you want to go check it out, that’s fine with me. Just be careful in the snow.” He looks at Ralph. “Maybe your brother can go with you.”

  Before anyone can answer, I rush in. “No, that’s totally fine. I’d actually love to go up there alone. I could check it out, clean it up, and let you know if there are any major repairs that need to be done.”

  “The roof’s probably a mess. There’s no guarantee it’ll even be habitable when you get there. What would you do if it’s not?” James looks at me, waiting for my answer.

  I shrug, acting like I’m completely cool with the idea of being stuck in the snowy mountains with nowhere to live. “No big deal. I’ll just rent a motel room somewhere.”

  “Are you sure?” Leah asks me, concern shadowing her gaze.

  “Yes!” I put as much cheer into my answer as possible. This feels like the right thing to do, and it’s been a long time since anything’s felt right. “I’m absolutely sure. It’ll be a blast!”

  “If you need help, just let me know,” Ralph says. “I can take a day or two off work.”

  I wave him off with my fork. “No, no need. But thanks. I’m completely fine on my own.” I think. I hope.

  “You aren’t seeing anyone?” Leah asks. “Someone who might want to meet you there, maybe?” She winks at me.

  “Nope, it’s just me.” I’ve had enough of tired, boring relationships that never seem to get past the living-together stage, but I don’t say that part out loud.

  “I guess it’s settled, then.” Jana smiles. “We’ll go to the museum, have a girls’ night out, and then see you off on your adventure.” She loses a bit of her happy expression. “Not that you have to leave right away.” She looks around the table. “You probably planned to stay for a while first and at least catch up.”

  Leah looks at me. “You can stay as long as you want.” She shifts her gaze to James. “Right, Boo?”

  He nods. “Whatever you want.”

  I grin back at my friends, half happy, half scared I’m jumping into something way over my head. But I go ahead and commit anyway, to keep myself from backing out. “I’ll catch up over the weekend and leave on Monday, I think.”

  Now that I have a plan, I’m anxious to get started on it. For the first time in a long time, I have hope that things will get better and not worse.

  Chapter Six

  I MUST HAVE BEEN INSANE to think this was a good idea.

  I’m standing in the driveway leading up to the cabin, hoping there even is a cabin up there somewhere behind all these trees. My tire is stuck in a hole in the ground that could more accurately be called a pit, and the snow is coming down in giant, stuck-together flakes. My hair is quickly being soaked through.

  “What the hell is my problem?!” I yell out, frustrated that the world seems to have it in for me. I must have really done some terrible things in my life to deserve this kind of punishment.

  My tire isn’t going to get out of that hole without help of some kind. I spun it out too many times, letting it dig in really deep. Abandoning my car¸ I set out on foot, continuing my journey up the long, steep driveway I was told would lead to the Oliver family cabin. With my luck going the way it is now, I’ll be safer and warmer sleeping in my car. I can only imagine the horrors that await in a cabin that’s been empty for over fifteen years.

  Five minutes into my walk, the shadow of a building appears through the heavily falling snow. As I get closer, I realize that it’s actually bigger than I expected it to be. When they told me the cabin was one main room with a smaller one attached, I was expecting an apartment studio kind of situation, but this has to be at least a thousand square feet. And it has a porch attached to the front. Dilapidated Adirondack chairs sit askew just past the wood rails that surround the porch. I smile at how quaint it all looks. Yay! Things are already looking up!

  I nod in appreciation. This might not be half bad. Sure, the driveway sucks big time, but the house isn’t so bad. At least not from the outside.

  I turn back around with the intention of getting some of my things before exploring any further. The snow is coming down hard, and the sun will be setting soon. I don’t want to be stuck outside unloading my stuff and then risk getting lost in the woods. Everything looks the same around here when it’s covered in white.

  I’m doing well until just before I get to the car. Then I hit an icy patch and my feet fly out from under me.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yell as I go down, landing on my ass with a hard bang. I have to sit there for a few seconds as I get my breath and my bearings back. When I look around me, I can’t see what caused me to fall. There’s no ice to speak of, just snow. Snow, snow, snow, as far as the eye can see. And trees. I’m well and truly isolated out here. And now my butt’s wet too. Excellent.

  Before, snow everywhere sounded romantic and great for inspiring my inner artist. Now it feels dangerous and downright stupid. Why did I agree to do this again? And where was my self-preservation instinct when I needed it? On vacation I guess. Probably in Bermuda with the palm trees and the sun.

  Struggling to my feet, I groan with pain. My butt is going to be sore for days, I can already tell. I guess that means I’ll be painting on my feet. Not that I’ll probably even be painting. If the inside of that cabin is anything like this crap driveway, there’s going to be some serious clean-up work to do first.

  My car already has a layer of snow covering every inch of it. The edge of panic sneaks in as I realize that my time to get to shelter and have a comfort
able first night is running out. I can’t see more than ten feet ahead on the path with this terrible visibility.

  I carry way more weight than I probably should at a time, trying to get the essentials unpacked from the car and on the porch before I lose the rest of the daylight. My car is about half empty before I finally give up on making any more trips down the steep, snow- and ice-covered driveway. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow. I just pray the key I was given still works and the inside of this place isn’t rat-infested.

  I will sleep in my car if I have to. When I told Leah and her family that I’d just rent a room if I couldn’t sleep in the cabin, I wasn’t aware of the fact that motels are in such short supply up here. On my drive I saw exactly two of them, and they were really far from here. Which doesn’t matter anyway, since I doubt very highly that I’ll be able to get my car unstuck in the dark.

  Thankfully, the key slides into the lock, and without too much jiggling, turns. I wait a few seconds, sending up a silent prayer, before opening the door.

  Stale, smoke-scented air hits me first. Then the stench of something else I can’t identify. Garbage, maybe? I look down at the floor, hoping not to see rat droppings. It’s too dark to make anything out beyond the entrance.

  Jana told me she’d call the electric company and make sure everything was still on. She also described where the electric panel is in the kitchen pantry, so I’d be able to get the whole house online as soon as I got in. Even so, my hand searches out a light switch on the wall, flicking it up when it finds it.

  The sudden light blinds me. I hadn’t been expecting it. Blinking a few times, I get my vision back and my brain working again. What I see isn’t really computing, though.

  There are beer bottles on pretty much every surface. Dirty dishes fill the sink and cover the wood counters. The smell of days-old garbage permeates the space.

  My heart stops beating for a few seconds. “Oh my god,” I whisper. “Someone’s been in here.”

  There’s no way the Olivers came in here fifteen years ago and failed to clean the place up. Someone’s broken in here and been living here without them knowing. And I’d bet a box of donuts it’s a group of teen boys, based on their choice of beverage and meal. As I move in closer I notice lots of cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli.

  I’m frozen in fear, standing in the middle of the kitchen, wondering what I should do. Should I run to my car and try to back out again? No, that won’t work. I already tried for twenty minutes, and the more I try again, the louder I’ll become for anyone to hear me — especially bad guys with bad habits like breaking and entering, getting wasted, and overdosing on the world’s worst pasta. I need a board or a rock to put under the tire to get traction anyway. It would be a waste of time.

  Should I go sleep in my car? Just the idea makes me shiver with cold. It’s not that much warmer in here, but it’s definitely below zero out there and getting colder by the hour. I could freeze to death.

  There aren’t any noises inside the cabin, telling me I’m alone. If the squatters aren’t here, maybe that means they’re gone. Surely they’re not out there in the snow at night time. That’d be insane. It looks more like they had a big party several weeks ago and left, never to return.

  That thought eases my mind just a little, and my feet become unstuck from the floor. I walk over to a can of ravioli and stare down into it. The crust inside is dark and peeling away from the edges of the interior. It looks like it’s been here at least a week, maybe longer. Everything around me appears to be old and stale. The thought that the strangers are gone for good gets stronger, more believable.

  “Hello?” I call out, praying for no answer. “Is anyone here? Because this cabin isn’t yours and you shouldn’t be staying here without the owners’ permission.”

  Yeah, that’ll teach them. Give them a good dose of common courtesy lessons and they’ll just walk away and tell me to have a nice stay at Casa Oliver.

  I shake my head at myself. I must be the dumbest woman to walk the earth. Time to get real and take care of this problem.

  I slide a kitchen drawer open as quietly as I can and take out a long knife. I take out a big fork too, while I’m at it. You never know, right? I might drop the knife but then I’d still be able to poke someone pretty good.

  Slowly and quietly, I make my way over to the other side of the main room. I pass a sitting area created by a grouping of a couch and two chairs in ratty fabric, the couch covered in a bunched-up wool blanket, and a coffee table in the middle. There are two doors on the wall to my right, and one on the wall facing me that I assume from its glass panels is the back door of the cabin.

  I try the first door, pushing it in with a loud squeak of complaining hinges, the fork at the ready in case someone jumps out at me. A bathroom with toilet and tub appear as the door swings in. There’s a shower head but no curtain and no separate stall. A single sink with a wall-mounted cabinet above rounds out the offerings. There’s no sign that anyone’s been here in a long time, though — no towels, no hand soap, no toothpaste splatters on the mirror. My mood lightens just the tiniest bit. Maybe there’s nothing to be afraid of after all.

  Continuing on, I reach my hand out to press on the next door. It won’t budge. The door is shut tight.

  My respirations increase as I consider what that might mean. Is there someone sleeping in there? I feel like Goldilocks, intruding on a big, bad bear’s space, and trying to convince myself that this isn’t the case is not working. I feel like the one who’s breaking and entering, even though I have a key and whoever left this mess can’t possibly have one.

  Grasping the knob of the door, I do my best to turn it slowly and quietly. I’m successful until the door leaves its jamb. The hinges are in bad need of oil.

  The room is dark, but even so, I can see the beds are empty. I let out all my air in one long breath. I didn’t even realize I’d broken out in a cold sweat, but now I sense my shirt sticking to me under my winter coat.

  “Thank God,” I whisper, shutting the door and turning around to face the main room.

  Now I can take in the scenery with a more relaxed eye. Breathing deeply in and out a few more times helps bring everything into focus. The place needs a good cleaning and several trash bags to haul things away, but otherwise, it could be perfect for what I need. There’s a nook to the right of the front door with windows on both corners that would provide just the right amount of light for my work. The floor is wood, but I brought canvas and plastic to cover everything and protect it. The kitchen isn’t fancy, but it’s serviceable. I’ll leave an inspection of the fridge for the light of day when I have the strength and sunlight to face whatever nightmare is waiting for me in there.

  For the first time all day, I smile and sigh with happiness. It was a long drive and getting stuck in the muddy snow still sucks, but at least I have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, and electricity humming along. And tomorrow starts the first day of the rest of my life. I’m totally ready for this.

  Chapter Seven

  I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I was getting myself into. What was I thinking? Last night was the most uncomfortable night of my life. Too afraid to sleep in that potentially squirrel-infested bedroom, I spent about six hours tossing and turning on the horrible couch under that smelly blanket before I finally gave up and started cleaning. There’s no heating in this place at all.

  I’ve put on every item of clothing I packed in about eight layers. At four in the morning, I was collecting bottles from every surface of the cabin, including the bathroom sink. Slowly as the morning wore on and I built up a sweat, I de-layered myself. Now I’m down to just two layers of clothing, including two pairs of gloves and socks. The only heat available appears to be from a fireplace, and I have no wood.

  I only brought one box of garbage bags with me, and already ten of them are filled to bulging and out on the front porch. I forgot to ask Jana if they have garbage pickup services up here, but my first guess is no, they do not. And my tiny car can
haul maybe five of those bags at a time. I’m so screwed. At this rate, I’ll start painting in Spring.

  I check my phone again. It’s December 1st, and I have a mostly useless one-bar cell signal up here in the middle of nowhere. Obviously, I’m a complete idiot for coming without any kind of plan for the realities of living in the mountains in winter. James tried to warm me, but Leah and I wrote it off as worry-wart stuff. Typical us … thinking the universe will just provide whatever we need. I guess in her case that’s a valid belief system; in mine, not so much.

  A look out the frosted windows confirms that sentiment for me. There must be two feet of snow out there from last night alone. I’m starting to wonder if this will be my final resting place. Maybe the Olivers will find me next summer, dead in the back bedroom of starvation and freezing.

  I shiver thinking about it, making me think a ghost just walked over my grave. Time to stop entertaining all those macabre thoughts and get back to improving my situation. I can’t stand the pity party anymore. I have only me out here to fix things, and I know that deep down inside myself there’s a woman I can count on. I just have to remember who she is and how to get in touch with her.

  I go for my purse and the pad of paper and pen I keep in there. Tearing out a page, I set it on the counter now free of cans and bottles. I’m going to make a to-do list. That will give me some direction.

  “One,” I say out to the room, “clean the cabin.” I look around. Do I really need to put the obvious things down on this list? Yes, I decide. I do. Then I can cross them off and feel like I’ve accomplished something.

  “Two … bring in the rest of junk from car.” I smile, imagining my painting materials spread out all around me again. I have enough canvas and wood to make thirty decent-sized paintings. It’ll keep me busy for months. I try not to think of myself attempting to survive out here for that long without a trip to the nearest town. I only have enough food with me for a few days.