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It's dark out there Away From It AllBy Rick Horowitz "A cabin in the woods" -- the very words had set them trembling with anticipation. Five miles from the nearest town, down a little-traveled road that led to an even less-traveled road, and where that road gave out, a path of rutted gravel, and then a dirt trail nearly obscured by knee-high grasses scritching at the sides of the car. There it was, all wood and window and water views: their home for the week. Splendid isolation. Made just a bit less splendid, they had to admit, by the neighbor, the stick and the footprint. Things had started off nicely enough. If they wanted to sleep late, they could sleep late, thick quilts warding off the morning chill. If they wanted to get up early, they could get up early and watch the sun come shimmering over the bay, the birds wheeling on the day's first breezes. When the urge arose to see a sight or ride a bicycle or sample some of the local cuisine, they'd drive back into civilization. When they'd had their fill, they'd retreat, past the roadside deer standing sentry in the twilight, past the "chit-chit-chit" of countless smaller creatures, and settle in for the night with their books and their radio. Their cabin had no phone; they had brought one with them, but so deep among the tall trees, it was virtually useless -- and the TV reception was even worse. None of the ordinary distractions, then, and no interruptions. They were free of cares. Free to relax. "There's someone coming to the door," she said to him late one afternoon, and seconds later, they heard the knocking. They weren't expecting anyone; no one knew them for a hundred miles, and they knew no one. He went downstairs to investigate, and found a woman standing there. She was their neighbor, she told him; she lived in the house across the way, through the trees. She wondered if they might have noticed anyone visiting her house earlier in the day, while she was off somewhere. (They hadn't noticed anyone.) Apparently someone had visited her house -- "walked through" her house, she put it. Nothing seemed to be missing, but her visitor, whoever it was, had left a large stick planted upright between the planks of her front porch, and one footprint -- "an enormous footprint," she said -- in the sand out back. They hadn't noticed anyone, he told her again, but they'd be happy to keep a watchful eye from now on. "I guess I should start locking my doors," she said, and she was gone. He climbed the stairs and repeated the conversation. Then he went back downstairs and made sure their own doors were locked. "A cabin in the woods" -- the very words had set them trembling with anticipation. Now, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, he made sure the screen door to the back porch was latched, and likewise the sliding glass door. He checked the thick wooden rod that would keep the glass door from sliding even if someone were to tamper with the latch. The rod felt solid, with a good, tight fit. When they went to bed that night, that night and the remaining nights, they kept a light burning in the living room, and also in the kitchen. Their neighbor never visited again, never returned to say that her mysterious intruder had merely been an old friend dropping by, that a sudden gust had grabbed the note he'd left on that stick planted in the front porch, that the single "enormous footprint" out back had simply been... Something else. They had a lovely week anyhow, off in their cabin in the woods, though from time to time the thought did occur to them that they were five miles from the nearest town, down a dirt trail and a gravel path, a hundred miles from anyone who knew them, with big windows on every side and a phone that was virtually useless. Posted 6/26/01. Come
back to "Rick's" for fresh stuff twice every week!
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Rick Horowitz
