Hubby recently suggested that I get away for a few days to work uninterrupted on a big writing project. Originally, I was going to stay in a hotel; but then I got this bright idea that if I rented a cabin, I could go for walks, enjoy nature, and find new sources of inspiration. So, I got online and searched out the perfect spot. It sat on a wooded ridge top with a beautiful view. It also offered wi-fi so I could do research. But the real selling point was the porch swing. I knew if I could sit in that swing for an hour or two, I would be flooded with inspiration. Unfortunately, the only thing I was inspired to write was a screenplay for a horror film.
A ruptured eardrum had already caused me to postpone the trip for a week, and even though I still had not regained hearing in my left ear, I was anxious to get on the road. I set out Tuesday morning, planning for a three-night stay in my hideaway.
The drive to the cabin was long and winding. Apparently, the owners really did mean it when they said, “secluded.” I was totally alone without even the reassuring sound of an occasional passing motorist. This might be a good time to mention that I’m not really an outdoorsy type of gal. In fact, I rarely venture beyond my deck unless I need to extract a small child from a vicarious position on the swing set. So, I’m not sure why I pictured myself tromping around the woods alone. My mental image had even included hiking boots. I have never in my life owned a pair of hiking boots.
It was nearly dark when I arrived. I quickly inspected both levels, checking under the beds and behind the shower curtain, and tried not to think about what might be in the many padlocked closets. Then I poured myself a glass of wine and turned up the volume on the television. I figured between my one deaf ear, and the enthusiastic droning of the QVC hostess, I could eliminate scary noises.
Next thing I knew, it was 3:00 a.m. I woke covered in sweat from sleeping next to the fireplace on a non-breathable leather sofa. Green pus had drained from my ear, plastering my hair to the side of my face. It was everything I had hoped for in a writer’s get-away. I quickly ordered the seeded glass hurricane lamp from QVC, and then made my way upstairs for the rest of the night.
The following morning, I was awake before dawn, listening intently with my good ear. There sure are a lot of sounds in the middle of nowhere. And my hearing loss caused an odd distortion, so I never knew from which direction the sounds were coming.
I tip-toed to the shower, tip-toed to the kitchen, and tip-toed to the porch swing. When I spied the hot tub, I thought perhaps it would help me relax. Unfortunately, I dropped my cell phone in the water. Now, I was alone in the woods without a phone. My mind began recalling the horror movies hubby has cajoled me to watch over the past twenty years. Nearly all of them took place in the woods.
By the second evening, I had dragged a mattress downstairs, moved the furniture to create a fort, and was placing my third order to QVC when I heard banging noises. I peeked outside and saw that the cover I had fastened securely to the hot tub had been removed. It was the sight of steam rising in the moonlight that did me in. I blew the dust off the old corded phone and called hubby.
We got online, and via webcam, he watched as I gathered my things. The internet stayed connected all the way to the car, and I sat the laptop on the dash while I fumbled to put the keys in the ignition. When I looked back up, hubby had a horrified look on his face and had typed the words, “CHECK BEHIND THE SEAT!”
I was scared to death to look in the rearview mirror. I knew the internet would disconnect as soon as I started driving, and I would be alone in the woods with a creeper hiding behind the seats.
I drove like a bat out of hell, racing to the nearest Village Pantry. Skidding to a stop, long-ways, in front of the door, I jumped out and peered through my car windows. Then I quickly climbed back inside in case someone was hanging underneath, waiting to grab me by the leg.
I stopped at the third hotel I came to because the first two looked like they might be where the axe murderer stayed on his nights off. I holed up for two days and finished my writing project. When I went back to the cabin to collect the rest of my things, it seemed remarkably peaceful considering the frightening scene that had played out in my mind. The good news is, I’m pretty sure I’ll make a killing off the screenplay.
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