June, p.6
June, page 6
The punching at the window immediately stopped.
I held the rifle against my shoulder and pointed it at the window. It didn’t feel right to shoot now, since it had stopped, but I wasn’t about to give this thing the benefit of the doubt, so I stayed ready. I could still hear it breathing, but its breath had become less loud and more . . . controlled sounding. Then I heard it turn and run into the woods.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
I couldn’t tell if that was the one who had been at my window, but I figured it must’ve been because the answering whoops sounded like they came from the one or group that had been throwing rocks at my cabin. Then I heard a cacophony of whoops and knocking from the front of the cabin. After that, I heard a lot of footsteps, as well as the occasional branch breaking, as however many of them in the front of the cabin ran into the woods.
I stared at the blackout fabric covering the broken window, my breath coming out raggedly. The adrenaline still had me, and I felt wound up like a spring. I wanted to run out there and find whatever these were and kill every single one of them. The best way to describe what I was feeling then was angry. I was just angry. Even though I had no idea what I was dealing with, I hated them. I wanted every one of them dead.
CHAPTER TEN
I sat on the floor outside my door, still in my pajamas. Holding my rifle against the floor with the barrel upwards, listening to the breeze come in through my broken window, my mind raced. It was getting colder, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t sure what to do from this point. It had broken my window. That meant if it wanted to get in the cabin, it probably could. The only thing that had saved me was my boarding up the windows. And I wasn’t sure how long the boards would hold against something that could shake my entire cabin by hitting the door.
I was exhausted, but the adrenaline was just barely starting to bleed off, so I wasn’t even sort of in a position that I could sleep. And besides, my room was no longer habitable. There was zero chance of me being able to sleep in there ever again, given the events of that evening. Once again, I felt like crying. I had no idea how to replace a window. And I had no idea how to get somebody else out there to fix it. I turned my head and looked into my room. Where I had spent so much time and had so many happy memories. Now it was off-limits. I had zero desire to ever enter that room again.
I realized I was shaking, most likely from the bleed off, and I felt utterly exhausted. Briefly, I considered sleeping in my parents’ room, but shrugged off that idea. That was just not going to happen. So I picked myself off the floor, closed the door to my room, and crashed on the couch. It took maybe 30 seconds for me to fall asleep.
***
I wasn’t sure what time it was when I woke up. Nothing in particular woke me up that I noticed, so I figured it was day time. Suddenly, the living room not having windows made sense. I sat up quickly and immediately regretted it. Something in my back protested loudly, and I remembered why I hated that couch so much. It was probably 100 years old or more. I used to joke with my parents that it was most likely the first couch ever made. My mom would tell me to be grateful, and my dad would laugh and agree with me.
The pain of missing them hit me harder in that moment than the pain in my back. I wished more than anything that my dad were here, at the very least. Then he could just tell me what to do. My dad knew everything. And my mom would make the situation bearable with her warmth and kindness . . . I missed them.
I forced myself to stand up. Today, I had decided, was going to be a rest day. Except I now needed to figure out my sleeping situation. I ignored my stomach, deciding to put off eating until the mid-day, and shuffled to my room. It took more willpower than I realized to open the door. I didn’t want to go in there, but I couldn’t just avoid this room for the rest of forever.
Before opening the door, I reached over to the kitchen area and grabbed the broom and dustpan. I had to get the glass off the floor. Being an adult was annoying, sometimes you had to clean up after unknown, giant, potentially dangerous animals.
After sweeping up the mess, I looked around. It was noticeably colder in here. Even if I could do it mentally, this room was not habitable anymore. It was just too cold, even in daylight. I could only imagine how night was. This was wonderful, now I had no place to sleep. I could do the couch, but my back was strongly against that idea. Of course, there was another bed.
I walked over to my parents’ room and stared at it from the doorway. The couch seemed like a better idea, especially because the living room didn’t have a window, but another couple of nights on it and I was sure I wouldn’t be able to walk. That seemed like a not great idea. My parents would want me to sleep, comfortably. It seemed like a good way to honor their memory.
“Okay, fine.” I muttered out loud. I walked over to my room, grabbed my things out of my drawers, and moved them to my parents’ dresser. Looking at the bed, I just felt wrong about this. This wasn’t my room, it was my parents’. But I was right about one thing, I would need to sleep.
I considered going nocturnal for the duration of my time here. It seemed like these things were more active at night, so me sleeping during the day would make a lot of sense. But the day was probably the best time for me to do things like collect water, if I needed. Once again, I felt the twinges of utter hopelessness creep up on me. How on Earth was I supposed to get out of this situation? How was I supposed to hike the two days out of here? And how was I going to last until it seemed safe to try?
I decided that if I didn’t hear anything from these things for two days, I would probably be safe to leave. It had been four days so far, so if I rationed my food and water, and moved as little as possible, and I guess just slept as much as possible, I could probably last longer than the two weeks I initially thought.
That was when my stomach growled so loud that I actually jumped, shaking me from my thoughts. I figured I should probably eat, so I got up and went to the kitchen.
Half an MRE wasn’t nearly as good as a full one, but I didn’t feel as hungry as when I started. But I was still hungry. I figured I was going to have to get used to the hunger pains as long as I was having to ration food. I followed the meal with some water. I wouldn’t need to ration water as much, because everyone knows you can live longer without food than water.
I was bored after eating, so I grabbed my dad’s journal and sat on that stupid couch. My back hated me for even looking at that couch, but it really got angry when I actually sat in it. I promised it I wouldn’t lay down. I opened my dad’s journal to a random page and started reading.
June 4th
My wife and I came up here to celebrate. We found out the baby is a boy! Not only do we finally get a child, but I get a little buddy to teach everything I know! I won’t force him to do what I did with my life, but I can’t wait to teach him how to fix things, how to treat people, and how to be a good person. My dad worked tirelessly to teach me how to respect all people, and all I want to do is pass it on to my son. We simply cannot wait for him to come! All we need to do now is decide on a name.
I teared up a bit at that. All the stress and exhaustion was getting to me; I didn’t usually cry. But to read my dad’s unfiltered thoughts on my coming, it was a good kind of shot in the heart. Reading it livened up my mood slightly, but it also made me miss them so much more. I flipped some pages and read another entry.
June 15th
We were woken up last night by some thuds on the cabin. They sounded like rocks hitting the roof. My wife was upset, so I grabbed the rifle and ran outside. I didn’t hear anything when I went out there, and even with the full moon I couldn’t see anything, but a rock landed to my right. I went back into the cabin and locked the door. I can’t think of any animals out here that would be able to throw rocks, let alone want to. I wonder if maybe some hikers had stumbled across the cabin. I can’t think of why they’d throw rocks. It was just so strange. Nothing like this has happened before. At least that I know of.
Wow. The parallels between what my parents had experienced and what I was going through were uncanny. I had no doubt in my mind that we were both dealing with the same creatures. I just wondered what I could do to make them leave.
What was the date? I thought it was around the 25th of June. In reading my dad’s journal, I had noticed that it was only the entries in June where they were bothered by these things. Maybe they only came to this area in June? If that was true I only had 5 days left. Then I realized that was ridiculous. Animals can’t tell the date. But they do migrate. Maybe my valley was in their migratory path? I hoped beyond hope that I was right. Five days seemed much more manageable than two weeks. I decided that my plan of waiting two nights would be best.
I suddenly felt exhausted. All the emotions and thinking, along with lack of food, and not mention sleeping on this terrible couch last night, had worn me out. I stood up and walked over to my parents’ bed. Carefully, almost reverently, I pulled the covers back and climbed in. Maybe I was crazy, but the bed smelled like my parents. It didn’t seem possible, because it had been nearly six years since they last used it, so maybe it was all in my head. But it smelled like them, and that made me feel even more comfortable. This bed was much softer than mine. I could get used to sleeping here. I fell asleep almost instantly.
***
I woke up feeling a lot better. My back seemed to forgive me, at least a little. I rolled out of the bed and stood. It was dark. I grabbed my watch and checked the time. It was 10 PM. I grabbed my gun, lit the kerosene lanterns, and started pacing the cabin. I had decided that I didn’t care if they saw the light anymore, they knew I was in here, and I needed to be able to see. The blackout fabric stayed up however, because I didn’t want them to know exactly where I was inside. I walked over to the door of my room and put my ear to it, listening. There was no noise at all. I slung my rifle over my shoulder and kept pacing. It felt like being a caged animal. There was something out there, many somethings from the sound of it. They had come here nightly since I got here, so I knew they would come tonight, but I didn’t know when. Of course, I thought, they had run off when I worked the bolt on my gun. It was almost like they knew what they were hearing and wanted no part of it. So maybe they were scared off? Maybe they wouldn’t come tonight.
I wished, hoped beyond hope that that was the case. I was so tired of these things. My anger had long since gone, but the stress of being out here remained. I was very, very done with this trip, and had no way of getting out. But that was old news; I shook my head, not allowing myself to think of that right now. No use in stressing when there was nothing I could do about it.
I had been pacing for what seemed like an eternity when I checked my watch. It had only been 20 minutes. This wasn’t good for me mentally. I needed to find something to take my mind off the night. After looking at my dad’s journal, I decided against it. It didn’t feel like I could pay much attention to that right now, and I was also worried about the opposite problem, getting to into it and missing some cue that they were here. I was ready tonight to shoot if needed. A big part of me worried that would exacerbate the problem, as I had heard somewhere that wounded animals tended to be more unpredictable. And I was also worried that if I killed one, the others would want some kind of revenge, or at the very least become outright hostile, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to do something to defend myself.
I looked over at the board games. That might help, actually; playing a board game against myself. I really, really wished I had a TV, or any kind of electricity, but in their absence, I could at least do something that my mom and I enjoyed, and maybe feel closer to her like when I was home.
“See? Always, always start with Australia!” My mom chided me as she conquered the last of North America.
“But it’s the smallest troop bonus!” I protested. My mom smiled.
“It’s also the easiest to defend, and if you can’t hold all the territories in a larger continent, you get no troop bonus. Smaller is better than none at all when it comes to Risk, dear. Actually, in a lot of things in life, too.” She laughed as she handed me the attacker dice. I pouted.
“I only get the minimum reinforcements,” I complained loudly. “You control like every other continent. I quit!” I declared, tossing the dice down, barely missing the board.
“Hey,” my mom said in her calm, loving, yet very firm tone that told me to listen and listen well. “Do not quit until it’s over. How many times have I told you that?”
“Like seven million and five,” I responded, causing her to laugh out loud.
“Yes, that seems right. But don’t give up, Cal. Not now, not ever. If you quit, you lose. If you hang on and keep trying, you might not lose, no matter how much it seems like you will. You don’t know the future, do you understand?” I looked up at her loving eyes.
“Yes, mom,” I replied, sheepishly picking up the dice and placing my armies. “But what if everything seems lost and you know for certain that you’ve lost? Can’t you just quit then?” She gently reached over, put her finger under my chin, and lifted my face so I was looking her in the eyes.
“No.” She held eye contact for a bit. I finally nodded.
“Okay, mom.” I studied the board. She was just too good at this stupid game. There was no way I could win.
Wait.
She had left the path to South America open. In her hurry to conquer North America, she’d left only one army at each territory in the entire continent. I had a rather large buildup in Africa, so maybe, just maybe, I could push through . . .
“Okay, mom, get ready for this. I have a plan.” I declared, gathering my armies to begin the attack. It would require a lot of lucky rolls, but it was at least possible.
“Oh, I’m sure you do, dear.” She smiled warmly at me.
I was setting up the Risk board as I thought of this moment. We were at the cabin then, my dad was napping, and we were playing Risk. I had lost that game, but my plan had made her sweat, and she declared she was very proud of me.
It dawned on me that her little lesson during that game could apply to my current situation. Even though I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do, I wasn’t dead yet, and the cabin was as secure as it could get. I still had food, water, a toilet, light, and a weapon. Things could definitely be worse.
I couldn’t help but glance around nervously after I thought that. This felt like a horror movie, and in those whenever a character said something could be worse, it got worse. After a minute or two, I realized I was being ridiculous again and got back to setting up the game.
I didn’t know the future. Maybe there was a way out of here that I hadn’t thought of. Just maybe, somehow, I could hang on until they left the area. Or maybe my antics with the gun had shown them that I should be left alone. I liked the last two ideas the most. Remembering the conditions I had set down, two undisturbed nights, I finished setting the last pieces.
With the board set up for a one player game, I sat down at the table. I picked up the dice and started placing some armies.
***
I finished the game and looked at my watch. It was 1 in the morning. It had lasted longer than my usual one-player games. I had invented the rules myself, including that the second I had matching cards I had to play them, and I felt like it worked well. It kept me entertained, at the very least. I stood and stretched. My back was a lot better. As was my mood. No disturbances at all during the game. Even though I had slept most of the day, I contemplated going to bed. I think the stress of everything was catching up to me and making me tired. Plus being cooped up in this cabin. Not moving much when you’re very used to moving could make you very sleepy. I hated feeling this way. My life was very active, even back home I would go on daily walks throughout the city, sometimes a few a day. I just got restless easily.
But I decided against sleep. I had to know if they visited, and just didn’t make enough noise for me to wake up. The restless, unsettled feeling wouldn’t leave, so I got up and walked to my room’s closed door. Stopping at the knob, I looked at it a minute, not really wanting to go in there at night. I knew I was being ridiculous again. First, one of them would have to crash through the boards in order to get in, and second, there is no way this flimsy interior door would hold them in there if they did somehow stealth their way in, but my brain screamed NO WAY to me when I reached for the knob. My painting supplies were in there. I needed an outlet, and painting was the best way I could find one. So I told my brain to shut up, and opened the door.
It was pitch black inside, save for the little light that came in from the living room. The boards did a terrible job of keeping out the cold, as it was noticeably freezing in there. A lot of people don’t realize just how cold the mountains get at night, even in June. I suddenly wished I had grabbed a jacket. Slowly, and while keeping my eyes on the blackout fabric covering the shattered window, I crept inside and headed to the closet.
Some leaves rustled outside the window and I froze. It could’ve just been the wind. I had been hearing the wind all evening. But it was just outside the window, and given everything that had been going on, I think I was justified in being worried at the sound. I also realized that I had left my gun in the living room. It apparently wasn’t second nature for me to carry it everywhere, and I kicked myself internally for that. I took another soft, slow step towards my supplies, still staring at the fabric. But no other sound came in. I heard the trees rustling, but it sounded far off, and I couldn’t tell if it was those things or the wind. It sounded like a lot of trees all at once, so I figured it was most likely the wind. I took another step to the closet, bringing me only about two steps away. Silently I debated whether this was worth it or not, but I didn’t want to let these things win and make me become a terrified ball in the corner of the cabin cradling a gun. I wanted to paint, and they weren’t going to stop me.
This was probably, for lack of a better phrase, a stupid hill to die on, but I wasn’t in my best mental state at the time. I was feeling awfully defiant to these unknown creatures and the hold they had over me. After another step, the leaves rustled again, and my heart might’ve actually stopped for a second. It sounded like something might be at the window, or the leaves could be caught in one of those wind tunnel like, spinning things they do. I’m not a meteorologist so I have no idea what they’re called, but I have seen them around the cabin before. Thinking back a few seconds, I did remember hearing the trees rustle outside before the leaves, as the wind would do. But was I just trying to make myself feel better? Good heavens, how long should it take to grab some stupid paint and a canvas and easel?
