Page 91 of Folds
It was not supposed to get this cold tonight, at least according to my weather app when I last had service.
I sigh and wipe my forehead with my hand, already annoyed. I know what it is now. The roof’s leaking.
I lay there for a second, hoping it’ll stop.
Plop.
It’s not stopping—the cold keeps creeping in, worse than I expected. I grab the sleeping bag and drape it over my shoulders as I make my way to the fireplace. There’s a meager stack of wood piled in the brass holder, and I addstack firewoodto my ever-growing mental to-do list for whenever the sun finally rises.
It only takes a few seconds to light the sticky pine. The sap catches fast when I press the stick lighter to it. I build a tiny teepee over the first flame, feeding it carefully until the wood around it starts to catch.
Smoke builds quickly—too quickly. I realize the flue is closed. I grab the fire poker and pull the lever open in the back of the fireplace. The smoke shoots upward, vanishing into the chimney, leaving only a thin haze behind. At least I haven’t burned the place down. Not yet.
The small fire warms the tight square footage of the room faster than I expect. Despite the occasional lash of rain against the walls, it’s almost comfortable again. But I’m already up. I check the clock—3:33 a.m. Not quite night, not quite morning. Too early to start the day, too late to pretend I didn’t wake up.
I head back to my duffle and grab what I need for tea. A bit of bottled water goes into the collapsible kettle, and I set it on the gas burner. With a backward twist of the knob, the pilot light snaps alive, and the water begins to heat.
I set the cup and tea bag on the counter, then drag the lone chair closer to the fire. I sit near enough that my shins almost sting from the heat, but it feels good—grounding. I rub my hands together and hold my palms toward the flames.
A sound breaks through the quiet.
A soft shuffle—leaves on dirt. Subtle, but not subtle enough to miss.
I tilt my head, trying to place it, when the kettle suddenly whistles—sharp, piercing.
I flinch, then rush to the burner and pull off the kettle. The sound felt close. Too close.
I hold my breath, listening.
My shoulders creep up toward my ears as I wait. Seconds stretch. Nothing.
I force myself to exhale, loosening just a little.
Probably squirrels. Just squirrels chewing new holes in the cabin… if it’s anything at all.
I drop the black tea bag into the cup and pour the steaming water over it.
Again there's a dry, whispering scrape as if something is trying to settle in.
I freeze.
The noise is coming from directly beneath me.
Fuck.
chapter two
Slowly, I tilt my chin down and stare at my feet.
If I had any choice in the matter, I’d leave right now. But the reality is, I don’t have any cell service to speak of. There’s no way I could make it down the mountain in the rain, and my ride isn’t coming back until next week.
So, in the absence of choice, I’m forced to figure out whatever the hell is underneath the cabin—and what the hell I’m going to do about it.
I’m just going to suck it up, and I grab a butter knife from the kitchen drawer. Even though I’m a city girl at heart, how scary could the reality of this sound be?
I kneel and push the blunt blade under a floorboard that looks particularly loose—because the idea of going outside right now to crawl around under the cabin doesn’t sound like an option I want to even consider.
And besides, if itissomething scary, I can just put the board back down and crawl under the covers until the cab gets back, right? I mean, at least I can wait until the sun comes up again… right?
