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I keep my stare fixed where it is, finding the view on Earth more appealing.
16
HOLLY
My mind drifts on the edge of sleep. The last thing I remember is snuggling in my quilts on the couch. Now, I’m swaying gently with the sensation of strong arms cradling me. For a moment, I forget I’m twenty-one, thinking Marcus is carrying me to bed like he often did at Grams’s. But the smell of my carrier is different. Marcus had a warm, deep scent, like baking bread. This person smells cool and fresh, like pine trees in new snow.
My eyelids crack just enough to make out a slim nose with glasses perched on the end and slightly curled hair falling over a concentrating brow.
Ben sets me down on my bed, pulls the sheet and quilts over me, and presses a firm kiss on my forehead.
I sigh and clutch the covers close as I ease into the mattress. Safe in my blanket cocoon, I let my eyes close, and sleep reclaims me.
When I wake up again, a dim digital clock at my bedside informs me that it’s just after three a.m. Ben is gone, and everything is quiet.
The city never gets this hushed. Or this dark. No streetlamps or neon store signs shine in through the dense curtains. I’m shrouded completely in blackness and silence. But this isn’t muffling, like when I cover my head with a blanket. This is expansive and daunting.
The quaint cabin might have been pleasant when we first arrived, but now, it sets my nerves on edge. I’m back in horror-movie mode. Especially because I have to pee like a racehorse, which means leaving the wonderful, warm safety of my bed.
I consider briefly the strength of my bladder but admit that, if I don’t want to wet the bed when I fall back asleep, a trek to the bathroom is a must.
Pulling back the covers, I’m relieved to find I still have on my large sweater, leggings, and wool socks. A chill manages to travel through them, but at least I’m not putting my bare feet on the cabin’s frigid hardwood floor. Only the muted glow of the alarm clock gives me any light. If I knew where my phone was, then I would use the flashlight on it, but apparently, when Ben carried me to bed, he didn’t bring my phone along with him.
My bedroom door creaks as I turn the knob and pull it open. Out in the main room, I again have to navigate by the faint glow of a clock dimly shining from the kitchen stove. Ben’s door is cracked open, so I make sure to walk on my toes, not wanting to wake him.
As I creep through the room, I get that sudden, panicked dread that comes with an overactive imagination. It’s the same discomfort I experience when I go into Pops’s dusty, unused basement or when I have to walk home after work, alone, late at night. Every shadowed spot is hiding a potential threat. Maybe a hand will shoot out from underneath the couch to grab my ankle. Or a looming figure is lurking just behind the door, ready to drag me to hell.
There’s no visible danger, but my mind plays the what-if game until my heart picks up speed, and the beginning trickles of adrenaline enter my veins.
Before I can cause a self-induced panic attack, I’m able to maneuver around the few furnishings and reach the bathroom.
Problem is, I can’t find the light switch. The walls are bare as my fingers scramble and search, coming up with nothing. Finally, I give up and resort to using my toes to feel my way around the confined space, eventually coming in contact with porcelain.
As I sit on the chilly toilet seat, I try to rationalize away my fears.
1. Ben’s grandfather lived out here with no problems for years.
2. Our trip was so last-minute; no ax murderer would even know we were out here.
3. Ghosts aren’t real.
4. Probably.
5. Ghosts probably aren’t real.
This isn’t helping.
Now, I’m stuck on ghosts and how likely one might exist in this cabin.
Ben’s grandfather killed himself.
Did he do it in this house? In the room I’m sleeping in?
Suddenly, the haven of my bed doesn’t feel so safe anymore.
Great. Toilet time was supposed to be calm down time, not find new ways to freak myself out time.
I flush and locate the sink to turn on a rush of cold water. That way, I can wash my hands and splash my face with it in an effort to shock the ridiculous nightmares out of my head. After drying off, I take a deep breath and place my unsteady fingers on the door handle.
