Chapter Text
The highway stretches out in front of you, the late afternoon sun leaving your truck’s shadow on the pavement as you race onward. Not just toward your destination, but your future. Leaving behind everything you’ve known to make a new life for yourself.
You can barely focus on your phone’s monotone directions blasting through your Bluetooth radio every couple of minutes. Leg jittering, fingers tapping on the steering wheel while you drink in the sights hungrily. You’ve never felt so excited in your life. You can almost imagine just how beautiful the woods are going to be here.
Everything here is so green, you think to yourself, turning onto a small dirt road to the left, your maps app continuing to drone on through your speakers.
The trees here are huge, much bigger than the scraggly and bent ones that grew out in the fields back home. The wind was too harsh coming off the plains, and while your mother tried for years to build up windbreaks along the property it never seemed to quell the brutal winds.
You feel a pang of melancholy at the memory, passing by rusty mailboxes and dodging potholes along the road. You’re glad that you took this amazing opportunity and purchased land of your own, but you haven’t been this far from home in a long time.
Your heart skips a beat when you see a blue mailbox, slightly lopsided but clearly labeled ‘Branford’ near the gate ahead. Your grip tightens on the wheel as you stop just inside the gate. You quickly shift into park and climb out of the car, taking advantage of the sun’s dying light to look at your new home. Your breath catches, and you can’t help the feeling of freedom and pride in your determination that blossoms in your chest.
You can’t see much from here, just empty open fields stretching out toward a large building, sunlight gleaming off its windowpanes. The forest behind it looms, a slumbering but benevolent giant resting in the distance. The whole scene seems to be a bit lackluster, but the potential is there. You know you can make this work.
Looking out towards your future, you are filled with Determination.
Shouting with excitement, you hurriedly jump back in your truck and head down the winding driveway leading towards the lodge. You know Mr. Branford said that the lodge was probably falling apart by now, since he hadn’t been on the property in over a decade due to his declining health, but you decide anyway that it can’t hurt to look inside a bit.
You bottom out in a couple holes and almost knock your phone into the floorboards a couple times, but you manage to pull up in front of the garage in one piece. You put the truck in park, and as you take a closer look at the lodge you can’t help but notice how well kept it looks. You should probably just feel thankful that it isn’t in worse shape, but something feels off about its near pristine condition.
Sure the door looks a little scuffed and worn, and the stepping stones have all but disappeared beneath the weeds, but the rest of it seems well cared for. This does not look like a building that has been left to its own devices for ten years. Hell, you’ve seen sheds look worse than this after a couple months left alone. Your gut is telling you that something doesn’t add up here, but aside from giving a suspicious squint to the cobweb-free porch, you decide to ignore your better judgement, unlocking the door and peering inside.
Again, alarms bells go off in your mind when you see the completely dust-free living room, looking recently tidied if it weren’t for the sock laying next to one of the recliners. The furniture is uncovered, the lightbulbs all come on when you flip the nearby switch, and you can almost smell a hint of mint air freshener on the cool air.
You slowly close the door with a frown. You know for sure that Mr. Branford hasn’t been here in quite some time, what with his amputation and recent admittance into a nursing home. The most recent hunter that was leasing here was about a month ago, but he never mentioned them staying inside the lodge during the season.
Maybe he forgot to mention that? You question yourself hopefully. He is getting on up in years and might have missed an important detail.
You snort derisively.
The old geezer’s got a mind like a steel trap, there’s no way he would have forgotten to tell you something like that.
Hopefully.
You leave the porch and decide to inspect the garage door while you mull over the possibilities. To your surprise, the lock is easy to remove and the hinges on the fold up door barely squeak at all. Inside, the concrete floor looks recently swept, and the only clue you see as the identity of the stranger who’s been cleaning this abandoned house is a ratty blue parka hung up on one of the pegs next to the mudroom door.
You listen in for any sign of life, but the only thing that reaches your ear is the sound of the breeze ruffling the jacket hood. You look back out to your truck, then to the setting sun dyeing the sky a vibrant orange. You sigh heavily and finish raising the door up fully. As you pull your truck into the garage, you cant help but feel like your intruding in on someone’s home.
But that’s ridiculous! I bought this land and the lodge as well, it was probably just one of the hunters who didn’t want to stay in a trailer for the next few months, right?
…
Right?
Your own heavy sigh is all that answers you after you turn off your truck. You sit there for a moment, texting your parents to reassure them that you made it home safely and deciding on your next move. You have supplies to camp outside with, since you didn’t know the state of the building and didn’t want to sleep in the truck. But it seems pointless when there’s a fully furnished and well-kept bedroom in here somewhere that you can sleep in.
You think for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of possibly putting yourself in danger and getting a good night’s rest.
In the end you know you’re gonna be a dumbass and sleep inside.
Curse you and your weakness for creature comforts!
You do a quick search of the ground floor, searching for any sign of life or hints that someone else might be still in here with you. You come up empty, and though you still don’t feel too good about your poor decisions, it at least gives you the peace of mind that you aren’t about to get axe murdered while you’re putting on your jammies.
You want to die with some dignity dammit, not in some flamingo print panties and a t-shirt that says Quit Grabbing My Coconuts.
So you run and get your suitcase with your essentials in it from the passenger’s seat, and dig around for your clothes and your pills. You brought some bottled water with you in case the tap was contaminated, but since the lodge seemed fine you think you’ll be okay drinking the tap water. You search the cabinets and end up finding a small black coffee mug, so you fill it up and take your meds for the night.
Still a bit paranoid, you drag your suitcase to the downstairs bedroom next to the stairs and slide it under your bed. You’d rather keep your things close, even if it would only provide a bit of comfort.
Once you prep everything for the night, brushing your teeth and washing your face a bit, you crawl into bed, trying to ignore the dread that’s settled in the pit of your stomach.
Eventually you drift off into a restless sleep, filled with a strange shining light in need of comfort, and warm hands on cold coffee cups that seem to shift like kaleidoscopes.
You sleep better than you have in a long time.
That is until you realize the next morning that your face is buried in someone’s neck.