Make the scene your own
Welcome to Scene Stealers, our series of writing prompts designed to flex your creative muscles.
We’re thrilled that so many of you are participating in our writing prompt series. (Read the other Scene Stealers here and add one of your own.)
In case you’re not familiar with Scene Stealers, here’s how it works:
- We set the scene
- You steal it, make it your own, and,
- Share your creation in the comments section of this post
Of course, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to share your work, but we hope you’ll do the exercise anyway.
Now for the ground rules:
- You must use the exact wording we provide—in this case it must appear in the beginning of your story.
- Your story must be 350 words or less.
- Your work must be original and not previously published.
- WTD provides an encouraging and safe environment for writers to grow and learn from each other. We’d love you to comment on other people’s submissions in a friendly and supportive manner.
- We reserve the right to delete any comments or entries we deem inappropriate and those that do not meet the specifications above.
This week’s installment is designed to develop your storytelling skills.
Scene Stealer #8
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
Now steal this line and make it your own.
Is Sam a man or woman? Is this taking place now, back in the 1860’s or at some other time? What’s behind that cabin door?
We can’t wait to read what you come up with so please add your submission to the comments section of this post.
By Cheryl Craigie, Contributing Editor at Write to Done. Cheryl also blogs at The Manageable Life
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Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. He laughed at the thought of this silly predicament. Just about a year ago he was living in the city and about this time of day he would have been catching his train. Now he was caretaker of the remote property. Now he was not so sure this decision to get away from the rat race and focus on his writing was really going to work. He was out of his routine. After all it was his career as an attorney that was the background that provided him with the premise of nearly everything he wrote.
The cabin was a mess and it would not show well unless he invested hours sweeping, scraping, painting and cleaning.
I thought that this was a great start to a story. I was waiting to see what was next.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
He had been watching and following the old lady for about a month. There was something strange about her. Sam noticed it, more felt it actually, when she stood next to him at the comic book store.
She resembled an old witch. She was short, had long gray hair, and her face was very pale. She wore a long black wool coat. It was the smell that really caught his attention. Not a bad smell, more of an odor. It instantly reminded Sam of his childhood home and his mom baking cookies on a Saturday afternoon. The cookie smell was mixed with the odor of fresh cut grass. It was so unusual, especially in the musty store, it made a deep impression on Sam.
She was paging through an old copy of ‘Hansel and Gretel’. An eerie chill ran through Sam’s body. Just then she turned and stared him directly in the eyes. Sam froze. The eyes were black but had an emerald sparkle. She looked mean. Sam felt like her gaze penetrated into his soul, like she could read his thoughts and desires. Suddenly she smiled at him. “Don’t you just love the selection this store has, dearie?” she said to him in the sweetest little old grandma voice he had ever heard.
The instant change in her demeanor shocked Sam back to his senses. “Y-yes, that’s why I come here too,” he managed to say. She took the ‘Hansel and Gretel’ comic to the register and left the store. Sam had a sudden urge and ran out the door after her.
Now that he had tracked her to this cabin in the woods, by following the trail of breadcrumbs, it was time. He pushed the cabin door open. Blackness. Then a light went on and he was standing in the middle of his childhood kitchen. It smelled of fresh baked cookies. The old lady stood with a big friendly smile and held out her hand, offering Sam a warm cookie.
This sounded like a Halloween story. I really enjoyed how the old lady was depicted and the conversation that took place. Really good prose in my opinion.
I love the idea of a witch in a comic book store – I could see it happening, but never would have thought of it until reading this. Very evocative and the description of her smell was creative and lush.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
This was the moment of truth, he thought. This will be known later as the « before » and « after » of his life. « Before my accident. » « After my Dad died. » « Before I lost my job. » « After my wife left me ». He didn’t know yet what it would be for him. It all depended on what was behind this door. He suddenly felt a chill down his spine with sweat streaming in its wake.
From inside the cabin, came the hearty smell of log fire and the flickers of light made by the flames. Outside, it was dark and cold. And there he stood, on the threshold between two worlds.
Could he get the courage to move forward and find out if she was waiting for him ? Could he reverse 40 years of his life ? Would he find the love he had missed so much when growing up ? Was he crazy to hope that behind this door he would be reunited with his biological mother ?
A part of him wished he could stay here forever, between loneliness and love, between hope and certainty. Perhaps it was best not to know. There was so much at stake, so much to lose. Perhaps he should just go back, go home to his wife and kids. Give them all the love he had. Forget about his roots, and the loss, and all he had missed.
He had imagined her so often, all the time. She was the best Mum ever. Or she was the worse. And when he dared think about it, he knew that she was the one who had borne him and given him life. And, for sure, that has to count for something.
And so, because it was good to see where he came from, he finally stepped inside.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
The inside looked just as it had a year ago when he and Jim had found it on a hike. The sun could barely penetrate the filthy window. One good chair and a dresser with two drawers missing were the only furnishings. Years of dust covered them and the floor. Why had Jim picked such a dismal place to tell him?
“We didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. Nancy and I are in love. We need to be together. You do understand, right?”
Oh, he understood. He was fond of his wife, even if he didn’t exactly love her. He was also fond of his job at her father’s company. That would obviously walk out the door with her. After ten years of marriage and ten years of working his way up the company ladder Sam would be left with nothing.
And it hadn’t gone well after that hike. Nancy hadn’t left him after all, but she had changed. She became more distant, quarrelsome and distrustful. This morning was the first time in a week she’d spoken to him. And it was to say good-bye, that it was over. Sam agreed. It was indeed over.
Sam took one more look around the cabin, sighed and returned to his task. He grabbed his wife’s arms and dragged her body over to the corner next to Jim’s.
They’d wanted to be together, after all.
Didn’t see that coming. Liked the way it worked in.
I’m hooked! Let’s see where it goes. Although, IMHO, Jim showed very poor judgement choosing an isolated place to tell his friend? about his relationship with his wife. Looking forward to see how you solve this!
This story gave me chills! The ending was great.
Kate F recently posted..30 Days of Gratitude- Days 17-18
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. Sam didn’t have the stamina as he did in his younger years but even so, what he saw was beyond belief.
Sitting down in a chair was a person tied up facing away with their head in a limp position. It looked like Cindy, his next door neighbor, but couldn’t be sure because she was facing away. Sam was frozen in time, not knowing what to do. He looked around the room to see if anyone else was around. Nobody. Slowly he walked up to the chair to get a look at the person that had been tied up. Suddenly he heard muffling sounds. What were they? People giggling? He heard them, but couldn’t see them.
Sam had to concentrate on the objective here. Who was the person in distress in the chair? When Sam finally go to the front of the chair and saw who it was. It was Cindy and all of a sudden she sprang to life! The ropes came off with ease, since they weren’t tied up as tight as they looked. With a bound off the chair, Cindy shouted “Surprise, Happy Birthday!” At just that moment the room filled with lights and a bevy of friends and co-workers joined in the chorus of Happy Birthday.
It was Sam’s 40th birthday and all his friends decided that this was the best way to celebrate him into a turning point in his life. He has just had a book published on that very day of his birthday. There is no doubt in anyones mind that this will be a day to remember in his life forever.
I loved this. It was like a complete short story, with the tension and a happily great ending.
Cheers.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. He staggered back as the smell hit him. Something had definitely died inside and was not done rotting away! Pulling his t-shirt over his mouth and nose, he stilled himself and walked in! As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he realized that one of the windows on the far wall had been pried open. Taking shallow breaths, he looked around; everything seemed in order. Other than a film of dust, nothing seemed to have been disturbed since he had shut it for the winter. The unseasonable heat this early in April had turned the place into an oven. As sweat popped out of every pore in his body, Sam noticed a shadow on the far left corner, next to the wood stove. It was not a pile of wood; he had not left any wood inside the cabin.
Sam flipped on his flashlight and pointed it at the shadow. A figure the size and shape of a small child, but covered in black coarse hair, lay there in a fetal position. When he noticed that the hair on the creature was moving, the hairs on his own neck stood on end! Then he realized that what he had taken for hair was actually a carpet of flies, crawling around and covering the small body. He approached carefully, the smell almost overpowering him! The flies rose in a black cloud revealing a small frail body. His mind reeled, refusing to accept what he was seeing! The creature had the shape of a child but that´s where all similarities ended. Its skin was bluish, but Sam thought it was due to the fact that it was dead! However, the stubby tail, the large canines showing through thin black lips, and the sharp, yellow claws where definitely not human. All of a sudden, a shape blocked the light coming in through the window and as Sam turned to look at it an otherworldly scream broke the silence of his mountain retreat.
Oh Wow! There’s the piece I SHOULD have written – you can see we were on a similar train of thought! Swear I didn’t read this before I wrote mine. Spooky eh!
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
He was met with an unexpected defiance that he first thought was the result of neglect – the whole structure had an abandoned air, wreathed in Virginia creeper, exposed walls bone-bleached by the elements, metalwork flaky and ferrous – but the resistance wasn’t absolute, there was a soft give to it.
“Ok Sam,” he muttered, more for company than encouragement, “you can do this.” He was acutely aware of the enormity of his movements in the pregnant stillness, imagining the voyeuristic eyes of the resident wildlife tracking his every move, rendered invisible by the impenetrable screen of sagebrush.
The midday sun blazed from the cloudless sky, making him thirsty. He put his shoulder to the door, bracing himself to push. He had just enough time to notice and dismiss the flakes of faded paint migrating from the cracked surface and adhering to his clothes like gold-digging relatives, before the stench issuing from the narrow, lightless gap knocked him sideways.
Then he heard the flies; loud and legion.
His stomach heaved even before his mind could grasp the reason. On a visceral level he knew what blocked the door.
An overwhelming disgust drove him to run, with neither direction nor destination in mind, away from the smell, the flies, the crashing certainty of his friend’s demise. Death was everywhere. He couldn’t shake it off – it was in his hair, it seeped into his ears and up his nostrils. He felt soiled and repulsed as though the odour of decaying flesh had left an oily, clinging film wherever it touched him.
He ran instinctively – eyes turned inwards, blind to all but images in his head; replaying events from the other side of the door.
I really enjoyed reading your story, Your descriptions, and attention to detail made the story come alive.
Thanks! Yours ain’t too shabby, either; you put me THERE! While I was writing my piece, all I could see was a dark room, hot and stinking to high heaven, your descriptions showed me the setting very nicely! And I believe you, I don’t read anyone else either until I’ve posted mine! Keep up the good work!
She slowly crept up the stairs smiling wildly. As she reached the top it moved, it shot out at her with lightning speed and she howled, not in pain though, in excitement. She caught the thing in her left hand and threw it against the wall. She leaped for it and caught it by its tail, twirling and slamming it into the floor. She then reversed her blade and slammed it down into the things stomach, shoving through its body and the wood floor. It shrieked and screamed until it died. Sam was happy with herself; she didn’t even get touched by this thing. She pulled the blade form the dead body and floor, wiped it off and stuck it back in its sheath; she then lifted the vicious looking monkey up and inspected it. It had a long thick tail with a barb at the end, two inches claws on all fingers and toes as well as three inch sharp pointy teeth. It weighed around 80 pounds and was several feet tall. Sam was a supernatural bounty hunter, a woman with the speed, strength and sense of a wild beast, as well as a few other things. She had found her target and was going to go get her cash reward, she already has its heart. She smiled and laughed as she made her way down the stairs. “Whoever lives here, you’re welcome! By the way, call 911, your husband isn’t dead….yet” She then shrieked with laughter and disappeared into the darkness.
I have no clue what happened, the comment deleted the first portion I had… Gah delete it I have to rewrite.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open just a crack.
“Damit anyway!” she cursed. “ Why did I have to make this insane promise?”
Who was he? He wasn’t family. He wasn’t even someone she knew. He was some old gaffer that her uncle had befriended. God only knows why, but he had, and she owed her Uncle Charlie a fair bit of change, and the need to make good a promise she had made him, ‘If you need me, I’m there.’ They were six words thrown out as a token of thanks to him. Six words that now obligated her to put on her winter gear, and to hike up the side of Pepper Mountain looking for some old, mountain recluse for him.
As she climbed higher, the cold spring wind cut into her face, and over grown blackberry bushes clawed at her on the narrow path. She had, had to retrace her steps several times during the two hours it had taken her before she had finally located the cabin.
There was no smoke coming from the chimney, and the dusting of spring snow on the woodpile was as smooth as frosting on a cake. If he was in there, he was probably dead.
If he was, just what was she supposed to do? There was no cell phone reception up on the mountain, and she sure as hell was not going to haul him down on some kind of a make shift gurney.
She had taken a precautionary stance against the wall, letting the imprisoned air to escape out of the narrow crack before she opened the door further. She had heard enough stories about mountain people losing their minds in the isolation of the wilderness to not rush in unannounced.
“Mike? Are you in there, Mike” she yelled through the doorway. “Mike, it’s Sam, Charlie’s niece. Mike, I’m coming in to check on you. Can you hear me, Mike?”
She kicked the door opened, and peered into the dimly lit room filled with unfamiliar shadows.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
Musty air met her face as the doors hinges protested. Darkness and shadows lurked in the interior. Sam stayed at the threshold. Close your eyes count to thirty, her mum had said. Breathe through your nose, 1…2…3 deep breath in…out 10…11…12 deep breath in…out 19…20…21 deep breath in…out 28…29…30!
Gosh! It Worked! The lurking shadows were clearer, they were chairs, table, and a couch. Ah, even the fire place opposite the door could be discerned. Stepping through the door would mean commitment. Do I want to do this? Do I want to commit to this cabin, to this . . . world?
Yes. It was the world her mum had begun to tell stories of. The world her mum had wanted to return to. A world she never mentioned until the last months of her life, when it was too late to return. Now I’m here, and I’m going to learn the mysteries and why mum gave them up.
“Hi.”
“SHIT.” Sam spun.
“Sorry. I thought you’d heard the car.”
The owner of the voice was tall, dark and handsome, and drove a very expensive very quiet car, therefore to be guarded against. “Your car isn’t noisy, and I was thinking of something else. Certainly not visitors. Aren’t you trespassing?”
A smile quirked the strangers lips, she hated that. She hated that she had sounded so defensive.
“Sorry, again. And no, it’s you that’s trespassing.”
“No I am not. I own this place.”
The stranger just stared, what was his problem. Who the hell did he think he was, hmm, who indeed. Mum had talked about people.
“You’re Maggie’s daughter?”
(GAH The earlier one messed up, delete it. Here is the correct one.)
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. It opened silently and she smiled, walking in slow and soft, making sure not to make any noise. She sniffed the air, smelling blood and fear. She sensed two humans, one in the attic, one in the basement. She hated the smell of fear, it sickened her. She came here in search of a vicious monkey-like creature, she wanted its heart. She slowly crept up the stairs smiling wildly. As she reached the top it moved, it shot out at her with lightning speed and she howled, not in pain though, in excitement. She caught the thing in her left hand and threw it against the wall. She leaped for it and caught it by its tail, twirling and slamming it into the floor. She then reversed her blade and slammed it down into the things stomach, shoving through its body and the wood floor. It shrieked and screamed until it died. Sam was happy with herself; she didn’t even get touched by this thing. She pulled the blade form the dead body and floor, wiped it off and stuck it back in its sheath; she then lifted the vicious looking monkey up and inspected it. It had a long thick tail with a barb at the end, two inches claws on all fingers and toes as well as three inch sharp pointy teeth. It weighed around 80 pounds and was several feet tall. Sam was a supernatural bounty hunter, a woman with the speed, strength and sense of a wild beast, as well as a few other things. She had found her target and was going to go get her cash reward, she already has its heart. She smiled and laughed as she made her way down the stairs. “Whoever lives here, you’re welcome! By the way, call 911, your husband isn’t dead….yet” She then shrieked with laughter and disappeared into the darkness.
I loved this for its variety and other worldness. It made me want to know so much more about this Sam.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. He was relieved when the latch finally opened without crumbling in his hand. The previous three tries had chipped off such huge chunks of oxidized metal that he was almost certain the bolt would break off and trap him inside.
If that happened, Sam knew he’d be stuck in the belly of this cheap-ass boat and would surely die of starvation. What’s worse, he’d have to decompose for quite some time before anyone even noticed anything unusual because his dead stench would have to rise above the reeking fish guts spattered over the entire surface of the docks – the same fish guts he slipped on while trying to get into this stupid boat to look around.
Sam could not figure out why his grandfather Edward willed this boat to him. Was it just the last in a long run of practical jokes he loved to play on Sam? His grandfather knew how seasick Sam gets. Now that he thought about it, the reason the latch was so rusty may have been due to the violent projectile puking Sam experienced during the one and only time he went out to sea with his grandfather.
In his will, Sam’s grandfather had said he’d make a sailor out of him yet. What did that mean?
Sam was not a sailor. He hated boats. He hated being on water. He liked to stand in places that did not move. Ever. What was he going to do with a rusty old boat? Look for buried treasure? Ha.
That’s when he noticed the map.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. It swung wide with an accompanying creak that matched the shiver of doubt that went through her immediately. The temptation to run was almost too great to bear but she held her ground knowing that there wouldn’t be another chance. Death would only wait so long for a little girl’s overactive imagination.
The first step through the doorway was the bravest thing she had done in all her life, as few of years as that had been, and yet somehow she knew that every one she took after that was bound to top the record. No matter, pressing forward was the only option.
The cabin was a claustrophobic space lit by nothing but a waning fire and the daylight sneaking past her through the entrance. No windows, but why would their be? Her grandmother had lost her sight tragically the same day that Sam had been born, nine years and a half years ago. Though the young girl hadn’t understood it at the time, she had always known that this was the reason for the resentment that the old woman had for her.
“Hello?” she asked timidly. The old woman lay in a lone, twin-sized bed positioned center of the room against the far wall, but she didn’t stir at the sound. Her hearing was exceptional, a gift to offset her blindness, and Sam knew this far too well.
Another few steps and Sam found herself bedside.
Being this far within the darkness of the cabin was an eerie reminder of terrible nights she had been left alone with the wretched woman who had treated her so poorly. Her parents had tried to talk her out of it when she had asked for this final visit, given the recent circumstances, but they hadn’t known those horrors.
She leaned in close, catching a glimpse of the stillness of her face and hesitantly reached out and touched it. Cold. Dead.
Sam felt every muscle in her body loosen with relief. She would be spared having to ever spend another moment with granny.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. A musty smell assailed his nostrils and his eyes blinked in the dust-mote air. One small, smeared window let in some light but not enough to see the body on the floor. He kept his gun raised as he slowly walked the perimeter of the room, hardly daring to breathe. In the far corner was a pile of rags. Was that a faint movement he saw? He was getting jittery and sweat was pooling under his armpits. He toed the rags and was rewarded with a whimper. It was the missing child trying to hide so his kidnapper couldn’t find him.
‘Easy, Johnny. I’m here to take you home.’
‘Don’t hurt me, mister. I promise to come quietly.’
Obviously the 10 year old was traumatized and Sam had to quieten him down and get him outside for starters.
Just then he heard a truck pull up. Sam was in trouble and in danger of being tied up himself and even killed. There was nowhere to hide in the cabin except a cupboard. He dragged Johnny out from under the rags and sat him on top. Then he pointed his gun at the door, waiting for the kidnapper to appear. Nothing happened. He glanced at the window and there was the kidnapper, large as life, and holding an axe.
Johnny screamed as the axe broke the window. In a blur, Sam swivelled to his right and blasted away. He grabbed Johnny and hightailed it out the door. His fitness levels were tested as he jogged with Johnny in his arms. His breath was jagged and he longed for some water.
But his truck wasn’t where he’d left it. Dang, he thought. Maybe the kidnapper found it when he ran away. Nothing for it but to walk to the main road with the sun setting and darkness closing in. Not even a torch to light their way. Let’s hope we meet a Good Samaritan as Johnny was hot to the touch.
Michael Mardel recently posted..The Office
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
No dallying this time, he told himself. You have five minutes to burn the letters.
Sam dashed for the staircase. Mr. Hardy had told him that the letters were stashed in the bookcase on the top floor. What he had forgotten to mention was just how many bookcases he’d owned.
Sam tore into the first room, hopping over the bare mattress strewn across the floor. Upon reaching the bookcase, he ripped the books from their shelves, searching frantically, ultimately finding nothing.
Each and every room was the same. All books, no letters.
All except the room at the end of the hall.
His eyes narrowed as he walked in.
“Too slow, Sam.”
Sam’s mouth formed a hard line. “Alyssa.”
Alyssa sat in a rocking chair just beside the bookcase. In her lap sat a pile of letters, all of them opened. She didn’t look up from the particular letter that she was reading as she spoke. “Mr. Hardy’s been holding out on us.”
Sam reached for the knife at his belt very carefully. “Give me the letters, Alyssa.”
“Five million dollars, she breathed in amazement.
She reached for the bookcase gracefully, plucking a single book from its contents. “Can you believe this? He hid them in his bible.” She shook her head. “There’s enough blood on these letters to paint a path from Anchorage to Richmond.”
Sam threw the slim knife. It scratched her cheek as it flew past, but for the most part, she was unharmed.
Whether he missed her on purpose or on accident, neither of them was sure.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, stepping dangerously close. “Hardy asked me to destroy all of the evidence. All of it.”
In an instant, Alyssa snatched the letters and darted past him, bolting through the door with Sam in pursuit, knowing that she wouldn’t die. Not today.
After all, he’d have to catch her before he could kill her, and he had always been the slower one.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. They had laughed at him for installing a cabin door in place of his New York apartment door. But Sam thought this was a good way to bring delights of his easy-going country life to the harsh world of his big city struggle. He also thought it would help protect his apartment by confusing thieves. A wooden door with a latch must be a set-up, right? He had heard that most thieves were stupid. Of course, Sam wasn’t the sharpest light-bulb in the crayon box either.
As Sam anxiously stepped into his tiny dwelling, he felt calmed by its rustic interior. Well, not so much rustic as rusty. Old metal furniture littered the floor, covered in a soft, red powder of oxidation. If you walk by one of the chairs or the table wearing a white suit, your clothes would instantly be colored in a disgusting reddish-brown hue. But after being raised on a junkyard farm where free-range dilapidated machinery humanely roamed motionless, this was home to Sam.
He also thought it would be an excellent way to track anyone who broke into his apartment. And today was his chance to prove this – once he realized that his autographed George Foreman grill had not greeted him. Actually, the grill never did that. However, a very clean, rectangular space on the counter-top next to the fridge all but shouted at him.
Sam was now flush with excitement of the crime. This excitement caused him flush the toilet and then it commandeered the sense of a relieved bladder. Who took his grill? Why would they take his grill? Would the police let him grill the suspects – and not in the cannibalistic way?
Maybe George Foreman was behind this. Once, Sam hadn’t paid his exorcist and had his soul repossessed. But Sam was pretty certain he had paid George for the grill and a signature.
More importantly, could he resolve this whole story in 350 words? He knew he could if he made sure to
Liked the difference in this. Wanted to know more about Sam.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. Still daylight it was obvious that someone had been here before her, re-decorated the interior just to her liking. A table had been set with a huge candelabra majestically adorning centre stage. Silver Service Food Containers were still hot and a note displayed between the containers which read ‘Happy Anniversary Darling’. Elated at the trouble her husband had gone to whilst he supposedly escaped here with his Amateur Radio work she sat down, so happy and relaxed and fell asleep. Suddenly wide awake, she could feel their pet wolf-dog Crystal tugging at the bedclothes and that familiar tone of her other half’s voice calling to her. ‘Time to get up honey, remember we are going to our Cabin in The Black Forest’ today.
Lots of different and great stories. Already I have spotted some duplication in my writing and a punctuation mistake so this little group is helping me to supervise my own mistakes lots as I have made this story much shorter just by being in this group and practising. It’s half true as well!
This is the first time I’ve attempted this. It was great fun. I’m enjoying all the stories even though I haven’t commented on all of them. It has shown me how much can come from one sentence.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. An odor of herbs spilled out of the dark interior.
A middle-aged woman stood at a table with her back to the door. “I was expecting you, Alysam.” she said. “Thieving is dangerous work, especially if you take from the castle.”
“I’m not surprised you knew, Grandmother. You always know when I’m coming.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Worse.” She held out her right arm. It looked perfectly normal, but she could sense something around her hand. “I’ve been tagged.”
Her grandmother looked at the arm. “This is a very intricate spell. What were you trying to steal, the Crown Jewels?”
“Yes.” Sam replied. Her grandmother looked up sharply. “I disabled three death spells, a paralysis spell and what I think was an insanity spell. I didn’t see this one.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to do anything if you had. This is a very advanced spell.” She went to get a book off of the shelf.
“I can’t remove this, but I can hide it for a while. The only one who can remove it is Bar.”
“Bar?” Sam said. “He won’t help me.”
“Yes he will.” her grandmother replied. “If you give him this.” She fished a worn gold coin from a drawer. “We do each other favors occasionally. It’s his turn.”
She said a few words over Sam’s arm and gave her the coin.
“Go quickly. In a few minutes the spell will be hidden and they won’t be able to track you, but only for a few hours. Head for the lake and swim across to the Green Trail. Do you know which I mean?”
“Yes.” Sam said as she turned to leave. “Thank you.”
“You have great gifts. You are wasting them as a thief.”
“It’s not my choice anymore, Grandmother.” Sam replied, and quietly closed the door.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. Sweat plastered his hair down making it seem as though he was wearing an invisible hat. He reeked of days of running. The earth beneath his fingernails betrayed a secret buried deep in the Oregon woods. It was only a picture in an antique wooden box, but what was on the photo shocked all his 18 years to their very core. Trust was all that had led him here to his family’s cabin.
He cautiously peeped inside. The room was sparsely furnished with only a twin bed and a small wood-burning stove in the far right corner. A rickety wooden table lined the left wall. What was left of some strange looking meat sat in a dented pan on it. His grumbling stomach protested at that moment making him realize how long it had been since he had eaten anything.
Just as he was debating to himself about scarfing down his find, he heard a twig snap behind him. Frozen in fear, his heart almost leapt out of his chest. The fierce grip of a hand grabbed his blood-soaked left shoulder whipping him around to face his would-be attacker. Desperately trying to free himself, he suddenly met the face of his father.
“Sam, you made it!” the grizzled face exclaimed. “I know you think I’m a monster, but you have to let me explain” the older man said with a look of sadness in his eyes. “Did you bury it?”
Snapping back to reality, Sam thought of the picture. It was his dad, but bat-like wings protruded from his back, and pure black eyes stared down at the mangled body of the local sheriff who had been missing from Tigard since August of 1994. Sam wearily nodded at his father.
“Sam, it’s time you found out who we are. Sit down son. I have a lot to tell you.”
As the door closed behind him, Sam knew his life would never be the same again. He silently prayed his trust wouldn’t betray him.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open with one hand, keeping his body outside as he peered in. The place was deserted, as expected, but it was decorated and full of books, knickknacks, kitchenware, furniture and traces of life under layers of dust. He wondered, wandering slowly in with wide eyes and silenced breaths.
The day had began with an eerie aura about, since he woke and set over the stove warming home-tapped maple syrup and oatmeal porridge along side a kettle for tea–perfect accompaniments to a brisk fall day.
Nearly all the leaves had fallen from the trees, allowing him a never noticed angle to catch a glimpse of the cabin from his seat at the kitchen table. He’d seen the cabin before, while tapping maples and working outside, but never thought anything of it. It was in between his property and the neighbors, and figured it was theirs. As though he had thought of it before, in a dream perhaps, he remembered crossing paths with the neighbors on a walk, where they asked him if he’d be spending any time in his cabin this winter.
In a hurry, he hadn’t really been listening and continued on with another subject, but if not theirs, then whose? It was on his property. Suddenly curiosity to investigate presided.
Now he had entered, fumbled around with things long undisturbed. Familiar territory now chilled his spine. How could there be a cabin, someone’s abandoned home, be sitting aside his house for years. There were history books that came with his house, but he had never taken the time to glance at them.
Feeling as though being watched, he carefully opened a desk drawer revealing old photos of young people–there in that very room. Sitting next to a tall, sturdy man, was his deceased wife in her youth. Quickly shutting the drawer, as if maybe it wasn’t real, he ran outside for a breath as faces and memories were beginning to surface.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
The stench was overwhelming, watering her eyes before they could even begin to survey the scene. Aromas of Brussels sprouts and burnt coffee mingled with the sour smell of spilled milk spread slick across the wooden floor.
“Grandpa?!” she shouted quickly. She had to shout through a small crack at the threshold, as her gut nearly pulled the door shut again, turning as violently as the putrid milk. Coming to the cabin was hard enough – she had anticipated a disaster, but certainly not of this kind.
She swallowed again, savoring the last of the mountain’s clean, sanitary air. Stubborn will, more than anything else, overrode her common sense. She knew that. Everyone knew that. The man, presumably residing within this filth, knew that better than anyone. That will drove both of them to this cabin and that will powered the angry kick that smashed the door open -
- into Grandpa’s face.
“GODS! MY MOTHER! YOU – -”
Knees to nose, the old man rocked back and forth on the floor, smearing his pants with the chunky milk. Sam rushed to his aid, but he rolled away from her, raising a hand to fend her off.
“YOU RABID BEAST, YOU KICKING FIEND!”
Inside the house, without much to do but wait for clearance, Sam scanned the room, looking for the indigo box. As he whimpered and moaned, she considered an apology might be in order, but felt rather disinclined to oblige. Instead, her attention jumped from object to eclectic object : books piled and arranged like a child’s toy blocks, birdcages empty of their denizens, numerous feathers undoubtedly associated with the vermin. If he felt that living with his beloved birds approached a higher realm of heaven than living with Grandma, keeping things simple, being a good Grandpa – well, he could continue his whining in hell on the floor.
“I’m ready to talk to you now.”
Sam turned, face set to neutral, and laid clear eyes on the man.
“That’s nice.”
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
The scent of rotten meat assailed his nostrils and he gagged. Was he going to find some kind of dead animal in his cabin—the very cabin he used as a retreat from the world. After he got control of his reflex, he pushed again against the partially open door. The dismembered body shocked a groan from his tight throat.
He stepped back and closed the door, but he couldn’t shut the sight of the rotting pieces and the head posed on the headboard from his mind. He knew he had to go for help, to call the sheriff, to get someone out to the cabin, but his reactions were slow, his stomach roiling.
Sam sat in the dirt; then looked around. Taking a deep breath, he stumbled up and back to his car, pulling his cell from the plaid pocket of his flannel shirt. He looked at the bars and saw that he did have reception. He dialed 4-1-1 and asked for the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department. Verizon connected him to their number.
When he got through to the department, he said, “Someone has been killed in my cabin off Rock Pile Road.”
The deputy on the line got the specifics and said that someone would be with him within an hour, that he wasn’t to disturb the scene….
“No problem with that,” he said sotto voce.
He sat on his car, wishing he were somewhere, anywhere else. He’s thought he had problems when he decided to go the cabin, but he didn’t know the half of it.
In 45 minutes the first white and green sheriff’s car rolled up. A laconic deputy got out of the car, took one look at Sam, saying, “You are under arrest.”
As the sheriff clicked the handcuffs into place, Sam wondered how he had gotten into this mess.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
Sunlight streamed into the murky darkness. The musty smell of decay invaded his nostrils. Decay and…something else. Something that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.
It was here.
Sam stepped into the cabin. The old wooden floor creaked under his weight. The cabin was empty except for a worn table in one corner. He carefully stepped towards a closed door leading to what was once the cabin bedroom.
Sam touched the crucifix around his neck with a trembling hand, brought it to his lips and took another deep breath. He felt for the comfort of the long dagger in his belt. Gripped it tightly.
He gently pushed the door open. There will be no turning back now.
Sam smelled fresh dirt. Saw the mounds on the floor in the darkest corner of the room, now barely illuminated by the pale shard of daylight creeping through the open door: the only source of light.
This is where it rests, Sam thought. He felt his bowels contract. Blood pounded in his temples.
Stepping closer, Sam could vaguely make out the hole in the floor and the human shape inside. The pale white face. The hideous eyes staring into nothing.
The vampire remained inert, apparently oblivious to Sam’s presence.
Removing his small backpack, he tipped out the contents. A string of garlic, a wooden stake, a mallet, a bottle of supposedly holy water. The priest was drunk again when he blessed it. Was it holy enough?
Drench it, stake it, cut off the head.
Sam tossed the garlic onto the vampire’s face, grabbed the bottle, smashed it against the creature’s head. A gash opened, holy water spilled.
Sam half-turned to grab the mallet and stake. A sudden, stunning force sent him flying across the room, smashing against the opposite wall. Dazed, Sam looked back.
The vampire was crawling out of its hole, skin smoking and peeling, hatred burning in its eyes. Weakened, still dangerous.
Sam struggled towards the safety of daylight.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.With a loud creak, that seemed to last forever, the door swung open. The soft pad of his feet intruded onto the dusty floorboards. A slash of moonlight seeped through a nearby window, crashing down on an old table made of now rotted wood. Two chairs sat broken down near the table, one on its side, the top half of the other leaned against the wall with it’s broken off legs balancing next to it. The opposite side of the room seemed to be from a different place completely. Standing in an almost new condition was a wooden desk. Floral patterns covered the drawers and the top, vines of green stretched out holding blossoms of yellow, pink, and blue. Beside the desk was a comfortable looking bed, with a quilt quite to large for it draping to the floor. Sam folded the quilt over the bedside and on top of it revealing the mattress that had no sheets. Gently taking the bed, he slided it over, away from the wall, on it’s squeaky wheels. In the dark he felt for the entrance to the cellar of the small cabin. Finding the leverage on the trap door, he tugged on it until it opened with a bang on the opposite side of the wooden planks.
The noise had given an alarm to the something in the cellar. Sam heard the chain begin to rattle as the thing moved about, until the length of the metal became stringent and the thing fell on its face. Sam began to descend down into the cellar, halfway down flicking on his flashlight. Then a panic ensued. A short one, it only lasted about ten seconds. The thing struggled to the other side of the room, grabbed the chain with its hands and began to yank on it, its forehead becoming damp from the effort. It finally thumped to the ground and let out a cry of frustration before falling into a state of ambivalence when Sam’s foot finally stepped down from the last rung of the ladder. Sam was excited, he still had not realized it had lost it’s fear. He shined the flash light over in the person’s direction. Her back was facing him. He slowly walked over and grabbed her shoulder turning her around. He was met with a silent look, not even blinking from the blinding light emitted from his flashlight. Sam laughed.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
His eye’s watered from the smell of rotting flesh.
Sarah was in here? The thought pushed him further into the darkness.
How many times had he told her not to follow her hunches? Okay, granted those hunches were usually right on the money but this time each intuition had turned up more bodies than the Colton County Cemetery.
She’d become obsessed with find Lucas Skinner, aka the Razor Man.
For almost two years the police, FBI and every law office in the state had been on his trail. The closer they thought they were the more Skinner seemed to slip through their hands.
Then he’d choose the wrong victim – Kathy Maxwell.
He’d held Sarah the night the local PD had discovered Kathy’s mutilated body.
What was it she’d told him?
“I’m going to allow myself this night to grieve, but tomorrow I’m going to find him, Sam. I’m going to find him and make him pay.”
She’d cried then.
And all he could do was hold her.
Sarah Maxwell had two distinct qualities. She had a nose for news and she loved Sam Laurent.
Why she loved him, he had to admit he didn’t have a clue. Sarah could have any many she wanted. She was smart, beautiful and generous to a fault.
His grandmother had once summed up Sam nicely. “You’re as rough as a corncob and you ain’t got the sense you were born with.”
Yet Sarah Maxwell loved him and that made all the difference in the world.
His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and the pin light from his keychain wasn’t much help anymore. It allowed him just enough vision to keep him upright and not falling flat on his face.
Something large scurried past his foot – a cat? Sam grit his teeth as his light fell on a rat.
He stopped; relying more on his hearing than anything else.
Someone was coming.
He flattened his body against the damp, dirt walls and waited.
His heartbeat quickened.
Someone was dragging a heavy object toward the opening.
He quietly sent up every promise he could think of to the Man Upstairs as long as whatever was heading his way wasn’t Sarah’s body.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. The door scraped roughly on the wooden floor.. The light flooded in, dancing with the dust as he stepped inside and let his eyes adjust. He hurried over to open the blinds and forced the door shut. When the room was lit enough and his eyes had adjusted, he stood by the sink and waited. Waited for the flood of recognition and memory, waited for her voice to float through again – her hushed voice when they stayed up late talking, her open laughter when they joked with friends.
The cabin was small, one room with kitchen and couch, and a bedroom. Right now it was coated in dust. Just opened for the season, the woman at the office had informed him, handing him the key and warning that they hadn’t had time to prepare it properly. He wondered what that meant, beyond dust.
The memories never came – or, really, they came, but in the same form they’d come for years, the stories that ran through his head of that glorious summer spent at the cabin with friends and with her. That one summer before college when everything had seemed to be leading to perfection. They images and sounds were the same that he visited whenever he thought back. He’d hoped for something more vivid, hoped being there would bring not just life to the memories, but the same hope that had carried him along back then.
They’d lost touch, of course. After that summer, he hadn’t seen her again until one week ago. One week ago, at his uncle’s funeral. She’d been married and so had he. When they met, he tried to recall her, tried to find something resembling the girl he’d known. Instead, it was just like anyone he might meet on the street. A nice, charming and intelligent someone, but not someone he’d ever known and not someone he felt he needed to know. He’d thought coming back … but it was gone, the spark, the hope.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. Her affair partner left with his male counterparts, leaving her at the shuttle, alone. She had to leave. The scuba gear like equipment was welcome in the new atmosphere.
The iron laden air was there, breathing in through the red clay planetary foundation. There wasn’t a small step or a leap or anything. She was swimming. Swimming with her hand on the buoyancy valve, sucking her to the surface. Landings on the surface sent up plumes of dust, and when it settled Sam saw something beautiful.
Calling it a Squid would be a racial slur; the way it billowed like fish nets and the colors shook in the windless presence, no eyes but ever-changing appendages made it a majesty. A beauty. Around its form, the ground pulsed, mountains resembling surfaces rising mere feet from the ground.
This creature wasn’t acquainted well with humans.
The pulses ruptured. Every inanimate figure threw up seizures, Sam’s body thrown backwards, limbs seemingly disintegrating into pixels, visible passages of flesh gone. Gone was Sam’s sight, but her partner saw her body. “We’ll find them.”
Sam’s spirit flew from her body, rippling through the air to a far off prismatic forest. It beheld things appearing to be edible, though roots and stems were wrought to achieve the pleasures they proposed. Her team did this. The food storages were gone, but this was wrong. She had to find him.
Flames encircled her, out of nowhere, as everything is nowadays. Hollers. Screams. Chants. The gear was off of the men, clay paint scarring their facial features. Spears were in their palms, pointing them upwards. A bubble. A bubble beholding the creatures. I’ve dealt with this aggression before. They didn’t see me.
The pulses came. The trees soared, the grey cliff faces pointed as a personality, the sky collapsing closer, the water spurting fountains. Their bodies fell, pieces of bone falling away, flesh evaporating. The bubble burst.
My body met the ground, and I was human again.
Excellent description! My favorite was “Calling it a Squid would be a racial slur” very clever! One thing though the problem with detail and description is too much can make your clarity suffer so watch out for this in the future. Other than that GREAT JOB!!!!
Thanks for the feedback! I agree. The word limit might’ve been a factor in the clarity issue.There was so much more I wanted to write in such a small space!
That is true the word limit definitely inhibited me as well when I wrote mine
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. This is insane why I ever agreed to this, Sam thought to himself.
Sam’s hands began to twinge as he cocked the long slightly rusted 12 gauge shotgun. He stepped into the doorway and found himself in a hunting lodge stylized living room complete with bear skin rug and prized deer antlers. The lights were so bright perspiration started dripping slowly down his face. This is not how normal people pay the bills he thought to himself.
“Now hold it right there son,” said a large burly man from across the room. He was holding a revolver against the temple of a lady in a blood red dress
“Why don’t you just take it easy and put your gun down or this little lady here will be all over my hardwood floor, then she’s dead and I have a mess to clean up,” The man said while pulling down the revolver’s hammer, preparing for a kill.
“Take it easy, let the girl go, she’s not involved,” Sam said fear showing in his eyes.
“Throw it over here.”
I did as I was told. He caught the gun and pushed the women towards me, falling into my arms.
“I’m sorry,” she said eyes tearing up “I promise we will never be apart in heaven,” and with that she kissed me.
“AND SCENE THAT’S A WRAP THANKS AGAIN EVERYBODY GREAT FIRST DAY,” the director said talking through a big megaphone.
A bell rang and everyone went on their way.
“Wait, Sam I wanted to say something to you,” the director said with a big grin on his face,“you did good kid, real good I’ll be looking forward to you being in my little movie.”
“Thanks Mr. Demonte I’ve never acted before this is all new to me,” Sam said head spinning.
“Trust me you did good I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that I walked off the set, got into my car, and drove home anxious to start my new life as a movie star.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
The reek of body odor and trash is not what he expected to find, frowned, and closed the door behind him. Stepping over piles of garbage, he scanned the room as he caught his balance on the back of a chair.
“Freakin’ slob!” he said to himself and paused at a clearing, pulling his shirt up over his nose. Scanning again, he saw him on the couch, asleep, hand in a bag of potato chips, crumbs on his face. Sam took a seat across from him, leaned forward and stared for a few minutes, finally clearing his throat.
The man grumbled and groaned, struggled to open his eyes, caught sight of Sam; the bag of chips spilled to the floor as his belly shook from laughing. He sat up and mirrored Sam’s expectant pose.
“So…” he laughed and rubbed his stubble, his hand making its way to the back of his neck. “This is what it was like to be on this end.” He sighed and squinted at Sam, pulled out a cigarette and lit it in a grand display of indifference.
“This can’t be right,” Sam said. “You’re a pig, you’re fat, you’re a sloth rotting in your own filth!” Bits of spit were spraying in the sunbeam coming through the window. Sam’s hands were shaking.
“Oh, it’s right, Sammy, ‘ol boy, I’m you. You’re me. Well, we’re the same… well, shit, Sam, it’s too early to explain.” He drew long on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose. “Just because you paid to see yourself in the future, doesn’t mean you get to choose what you’ll become.” He wiped a pair of twisted glasses on his greasy t-shirt, put them on, and looked at Sam over the rim. “We had a hard life, Sam. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. 32 times we’ve looped forward, 32 times we’ve tried to change it, 32 times we’ve failed.”
Sam got up, kicked over the coffee table, and stormed out.
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Love the twist Steve!
Thanks!
I was actually inspired by a type of meditation I read about where you slowly relax yourself and imagine that you’re on the way to a room… then you open the door. You know in advance that your future self is in there, but you don’t know when, and the room can look like anything; the idea is to let your subconscious play it out for you.
When I saw this writing prompt, my mind immediately recalled this idea and I went with it.
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Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. He was immediately hit by a chorus of male voices yelling, “Surprise!”
He looked around the room and saw many familiar faces. He was met with hugs and slaps on the back. One of the guys even kissed him on the cheek. The flow of hugs ushered him to the middle of the room where he stood alone. With a final yell the male chorus of voices shouted his name, “SAM!”
The crowd went quiet and Sam stood there in the awkward silence. The only sound he heard was the breathing of the group of guys around him. Without a sound, the crowd slowly split. From the back walked a midget covered in Vaseline wearing yellow dish washing gloves that came up beyond his elbows. Sam thought to himself, “Things just got real!”
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. She didn’t know what to expect, but she heard loud noises coming from inside. The sounds were familiar, but try as she might, she couldn’t remember where she heard it before or what it was; she just knew that she had to find out what it was…and quickly.
The cabin was nestled deep in the woods of the Sierra Nevada. Sam vacationed there twice a year. It has been a family tradition since Samantha was a child to visit here and with the passing of her parents five years ago, Sam kept up the tradition.
It was dark inside when she opened the door, but the noises were still there. Now she was frightened. She thought, “What is this noise?” Once through the threshold, she turned on a light and what she saw and heard, made complete sense to her. The cabin lost power and Sam’s father had a carousel he loved working on and it played the melody of a lullaby that her mother sang to her as a child.
At this, she laughed and relished in cherished memories and the next day, she ordered an alarm system.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. She didn’t know what she was expecting to find there. She didn’t even know if she would find anything there. What she did know, however, was that she was not expecting to find what she found.
It was a kitten; a smoky gray kitten with brown eyes and two little ears that flopped up and down.
The cabin had been rumored to be haunted for years. The rumor started soon after Annabeth, a pretty, popular girl and a good student had committed suicide in that cabin after her parents had died in a car crash. People thought her ghost still haunted that cabin. And that was exactly what people called it: “that cabin.” “That cabin” happened to be in the woods across the street from Sam’s house. Whenever she looked at it it gave her chills.
She could not believe that her best friend, Grace, had dared her to go into it. What she also couldn’t believe was that that kitten was all that was in there.
“Did you go in?” Grace asked Sam as soon as she had exited the forest. She had not seen the kitten, since it blended in perfectly with Sam’s gray sweatshirt.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I didn’t chicken out like you thought I would.”
Grace snorted.
“No you didn’t. You’d never go in in a million-!”
Grace broke off as Sam held out the kitten. It meowed.
“Oh my gosh!” Grace said. “Where did you find her? She’s adorable!”
“In the cabin.” Sam sneered slightly as Grace held the kitten in her arms. “And you thought I wouldn’t go in.”
“Forget the cabin! This kitten is better than a haunted cabin.”
“Besides, there are no such thing as ghosts.”
Grace and Sam laughed. It seemed like ages ago when they had stood at the entrance of the forest and talked about Annabeth’s ghost in hushed tones. Grace and Sam never believed in ghosts after that. The kitten, which was named Smoky shortly afterwards, had taken care of that.
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Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open.
The door creaked on its hinges and a mouse scurried past her foot into the dim interior of the cabin. But for the moonlight shining through one window, all was dark. Sam took a tentative step into the room and felt along the wall hoping to chance upon a light switch. Nothing. She stood for a few seconds as her eyes adjusted to the darkness; recognizing the outline of a couch in the middle of the room.
‘Come on ’ she whispered to herself, ‘this is why you’re here’. A high pitched ring made her jump; with an exclamation she extracted her mobile phone from the back pocket of her jeans. ‘Hello’, it came out a breathless question. ‘Sam, its Mark. I’m coming to get you. Don’t do anything fool…’ Sam cut the call. Mark didn’t understand why she had to be here: to find out the answer to the question that had plagued her for the past few months. What happened to Aunt Sophie?
Bolder now, she stepped further into the room using her flash of her cell phone camera as a flashlight. She moved to the kitchen section, yanking a drawer open. The top drawer was empty, but the next more promising. A brown envelope lay there with ‘SAMANTHA’ written out in that oh so familiar hand. With a trembling hand she tore open the envelope. Unfolding the letter within, she read
“My dearest Sam, I knew you would come here eventually. You have been more than a daughter to me; you have been a sister and a friend. I didn’t want you to watch me eaten away by this cancer so I decided to go to a hospice in Germany. We have said our goodbyes Sam, so do not grieve. I am thankful for the chance I had to raise you. Love Always,S”
As she slid to the floor with tears rolling down her face she heard Mark’s car pulling in at the front of the cabin.
Sam took a deep breath, swallowed hard, lifted the rusty latch and pushed the cabin door open. The long forgotten adolescent thrill of adventure swept through her as she glanced around, allowing fantastical expectations to fill her mind. She giggled and stepped inside. A mouse scurried past her feet, alarmed at the invasion. Old wood sat in the fireplace, cold and ashy. Cobwebs were strung like garland throughout the space. A small kitchen area with a colonial looking woodstove stood in the corner with its long forgotten pans and dishes scattered about. Books filled an entire wall and on a small wooden table near the single barred window sat a vintage typewriter. A single paper hugged the platen.
Sam’s mind raced, imagining stories of what was and she felt giddy at her find. She had purchased this land impulsively, quitting her job, determined to create her own organic mini-farm. She reasoned that she could sell her goods to earn enough to sustain herself, and the fresh air, fertile soil and green space would nourish her dream of being a writer.
She stepped to the table and blew the heavy dust from the yellowed sheet. What she read knocked her back as if the entire cabin had been shaken by an earthquake. But the earth was still.
Dearest Samantha, Welcome to your new life. You will come to love this cabin, and I do hope
As she reached the last prophetic word, the cabin door slammed shut and dread filled her has she heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy padlock clicking shut and falling with a dead thud against the wood.
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