Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
I shake my head, fully awake. Cedar and pine are classic, woodsy, cabin, Christmasy smells that don’t mean Owen. But when I look down, I’m tucked into bed with the same blanket from the couch, the edges scratchy against my skin, a few of the top buttons undone.
I did not dress myself in this.
I throw the covers off the bed and leap to my feet. “Who’s there?” I yell into the cabin. I look around for a weapon but find nothing but a doorstop. I pick it up, hefty in my palm, and spin around to look at the doors. “Who is it?”
I try to reason with myself, try to tell myself that whoever’s come, if anyone really has, has done nothing but stock food and wood and tuck me into bed. I’m hardly being held at knifepoint by an escaped felon.
But still. I’m a woman, alone in the woods, with nothing to defend myself and no way out.
“Who the fuck is there?” I yell at the empty cabin. The wind whistles in response.
All right, there’s no sign of forced entry. I lift my phone again to try to send a message to the owners to see if they’ve come, but I haven’t miraculously gotten cell service overnight.
I sigh and put the doorstop down.
I’m safe.
I’m fine.
There’s nothing to panic about. I’m on day two, and I need coffee and food, in that order.
Ten minutes later, I’m wandering around the cabin with a mug of steaming hot coffee when I notice a cabinet ajar. I open it to find a stack of aging magazines, a few boxes of puzzles, some board games, and a green-and-red plaid lidded box. Curious, I take it out.
I gasp when I look inside. It’s a box of Christmas ornaments, the vintage kind, all sparkly and tear-shaped, some pretty golden baubles, and there’s something about them that makes my heart ache. I hum to myself when I decorate the little tree, but it’s so tiny I can only put a fraction of the ornaments on it.
I look outside the cabin. There’s a large pine right outside the front door just begging for some Christmas cheer. I tell myself that my imagination got the better of me. Of course no one was in here, and if anyone brought food or wood for me, it was the people I’m renting from. It’s fine. I’m safe. No one’s hurt me. In fact, anyone who’s come has only done things to make sure my stay here was pleasant.
But a part of me wants to dare whoever’s lurking, if there is a lurker, to stop hiding and show their damn face. So I open the door and ignore the blustery gust of wind that takes my breath away and cuts straight through my clothes. I’m going to decorate that fucking tree, goddammit.
When the wind dies down, it’s actually quite nice out here, with the sun shining. Icicles drip onto the porch, shimmering in sunlight. A cardinal lands on a snow-laden branch. I breathe in a deep, cleansing breath and let it out again. It’s picture-perfect here.
I continue to hum Christmas songs to myself while I decorate the tree.
In a few minutes, the sun catches the metallic ornaments, and I smile at how pretty it is. And as I look around me, there’s not a soul to be seen.
“See, Emma?” I whisper to myself. “It’s just your imagination. Now get in there, and put it to good fucking use.”
I hum to myself as I reach for the door handle and stop short when it doesn’t budge.
Oh no. Oh god, no.
Wait a minute.
Did that door… lock on its own? By itself? What the hell?
I yank on it again, but it doesn’t move. I twist and push and turn the handle, but absolutely nothing happens.
Oh noooo.
Okay, I have to keep my head on straight here. There has to be a way inside. I walk around to each window, but they’re shut tight, which would give me some measure of comfort if I were inside, but I’m shit out of luck here.
Great.
I try to keep my nerves steady, but my hands are freezing, and the lone call of a bird overhead reminds me how stark and desolate this cabin is.
I’m all alone out here.
No cell phone. No car. I look down at the boots I slipped on to decorate the tree, but they’re only a cheap fluff-lined pair that are cute but do little to shield me from the cold.
And that’s when it hits me. I could die out here—alone, in the cold, with nothing to protect me from the elements.
But I won’t let that happen.
No.
I did not survive my parents’ heartbreaking divorce, my dad’s death, and my husband cheating on me to die alone in the middle of nowhere when there’s still hope.
“Hello!” I scream into the wind, which quickly swallows me up. “Hello!”