2. Chapter 2

My breath catches in my throat. The cabin’s interior is stunning—nothing like the way I remembered from my childhood. Though Uncle Dex was using it as a rental property, which I suppose explains all the fancy upgrades. After kicking off my boots by the heating vent to dry, I crank up the thermostat. The circular display reads sixty-five degrees. That’s not warm enough for a blizzard. I tap the digital display until it reads seventy-two, and head off to explore.

The first room I find is the kitchen, and it’s swankier than anything I’ve ever seen—crisp white-and-gray marble countertops, sleek dark cupboards, and a huge island lined with modern stools. Last but not least, the oven—a professional-grade dream with a gleaming metal hood. Oh my fucking god. This has to be a hallucination. There’s no way this kitchen is real. Maybe I could live here forever. It’s not an entirely impossible thought. I work remotely. I could stay here and rent the house out when I need extra income, just like uncle Dex did. This is exactly what I needed. Clarity, time away, and a space to figure out my next move. I’ve only been inside a few minutes and I’ve brainstormed two options. Sure, only one is realistic, but I’m making progress. Isn’t that what my therapist said I needed to do in order to progress in my sessions with her? It doesn’t matter. If I go with the second option—stay here forever—I could always replace my therapist if my case is proving ‘too difficult.’ Maybe I don’t need her after all. It’s already working. The giant tangled mess my brain has become is beginning to unravel and sort things out. Best decision ever. When was the last time I actually put my needs first? I can’t even remember.

I shiver, shaking free from my thoughts, and trail my fingers along the wall in search of a light switch. Once they brush over the smooth cold plastic and flip them on, revealing a large oversized living area. The first thing I notice is the stonework on the fireplace extending from floor-to-ceiling. It’s been black-washed to create contrast against the creamy ultra-light gray, nearly white walls. This house looks like it’s right out of a magazine or a movie set. My eyes trace the sleek lines of the modern chandelier hanging from the dark walnut beams overhead—everything here feels extravagant. Did Uncle Dex pick this out himself? He used to be a famous house designer before he passed away. My dad told me he negotiated a plot of land for himself from the investor as part of his payment for designing the homes on the mountain. I continue studying the space, scanning it for anything familiar. The color pallete makes the room feel luxurious and chic. It looks like something straight out of a design magazine. A giant knit, cream-colored blanket is tucked into a basket on the hearth, next to a neat pile of freshly cut wood and kindling, complete with a sprinkle of pine needles on the floor. I smile, remembering how many times I begged to use the wood-burning fireplace in the summer. The old worn leather couches are long gone, replaced by a large cream-colored sectional the shade of a latte. Meticulously, my eyes continue to sweep the room in search of familiar sights. They wander up and down the walls, each time turning up empty-handed. It’s like the entire cabin is a blank slate. Even the once golden pine planks have been replaced with dark walnut-stained exposed beams, transforming the room into a space that feels completely new.

I shiver again, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly feeling completely out of place here. Everything has changed. The cabin walls feel like they are swallowing me alive. Panic attack. Breathe. Close your eyes, and breathe. Why the fuck am I panicking? Because all of this is mine now and it’s too good to be true. I don’t think I deserve it. I chastise myself, shaking my head as I try to slow my racing heart. I focus on a breathing exercise, inhaling deeply and counting the seconds, then exhaling until the tight grip of panic loosens. It’s late, I remind myself. There will be plenty of time to spend exploring, time to figure out how I feel about this place. For now, I think, I should probably get the car pulled into the garage and grab a few hours of sleep. Stepping through the living room, the plush carpet squishes against my feet as I return to the oversized foyer to retrieve my boots. I notice how out of place they seem, kicked off next to the heating vent in haste. Given how hard the snow was falling, I should have pulled the car in right away. Sliding my boots back on, the panic from earlier is now replaced by determination. It’s going to be fine. I’ll get things sorted out in the morning. I shake the uneasiness from my mind as I pull the car in for the night.

Inside, the two-story, three-car garage is empty aside from a few of the usual tools. Against the wall, several snow shovels rest, waiting to be called to service. I eye them wearily, certain I will find myself in need of their assistance come morning. I slip the garage door opener from my pocket—thankfully, I remembered to grab it out of my purse when I got out of the car. But oops, I left my purse in the car. Yet another reminder of why I need this vacation so badly. I press the button and watch as the door glides open to reveal my car. The snow has covered it in a new layer of soft powder. I should have done this before exploring. It’s even colder than I remember it being when I first walked inside. I absolutely do not want to brave the cold, but I have to. If I don’t, I’m certain I’ll be stuck digging my car out in the morning. Shit. I should have checked the fridge. I paid extra to have it stocked. What if they couldn’t make it out here because of the weather? Will I be able to get to the grocery store if I need to? Fuck. My mind races as I pace back and forth between the car and the door, back to the fridge, unsure of what to do. A full ADHD spiral has commenced.

Then something catches my eye—movement in the tree line. My heart skips and immediately, I’m out of the throes of my indecisive loop. I freeze, my blood turning to ice. The snow swirls around me, and all I can see is the endless white haze. I squint through it, my eyes searching for whatever thought I saw. Nothing. Nothing but dark, empty night. My hands tremble as I press the unlock button. When the headlights flash on, I scan my surroundings as quickly as possible and bolt to the car. As soon as my ass slides across the cold leather, my hands reach out to slam the door closed and lock it. There’s a can of mace In the glove compartment. I fumble for it, my fingers trembling as I grab it. Once the can is in my grasp, I exhale a shaky breath, feeling a little safer. But only a little. I turn the key but the engine’s cold. Of course, it’s fucking cold. And, for some reason, all I can think about is Tyler flipping the fuck out on me if I so much as thought about driving it in its current state. I press the door lock again, the action more for comfort than anything. Sitting there for a second, I try to calm my racing heart and shaking body. But then I see it again—movement in the trees. My body tenses and I’m frozen in panic once again. Fuck warming up the engine. I slam the shifter into gear and press the gas. Despite my rushed reaction, the car glides smoothly into the safety of the garage. I pull it through at an angle, parking more horizontally so I can simply complete my U-turn when I’m ready to leave later. Terrified when it looks like a shadow is moving outside, I click the garage door button and carefully watch the door close all the way before I get out of the car.

I collect my luggage from the back seat and rush back inside the cabin, heart sill pounding from the cold and lingering dread. It only takes me two trips to get everything inside, and as soon as I drop the second load onto the entryway floor, I lock the door behind me. I rush to check the front door lock, turning the deadbolt over to secure it. Leaving my luggage in the entryway, I slip off my boots again, then snag my overnight bag and head across the spacious living room to check the back doors are locked. My heart is pounding. I no longer care to slowly uncover every room in the house. I set my bag down on the sectional, but I don’t let myself rest. I run from room to room with my mace, ready to defend myself against an intruder. I check the latches on the windows and every lock on the exterior doors. Content with my findings—all windows and doors secure—I collapse onto the sectional, my knees instinctively pulling in. I sit there, tense and completely on edge, for what feels like an eternity—until I finally convince myself to grab the blanket and settle in on the couch. On the sofa table, there’s a remote. I grab it, almost frantically, and flip on the TV while retreating back to my safe spot on the couch and snuggle in for a cheesy holiday romance. The same kind I love to watch with my mom. I might be twenty-five years old, but I still love making cookies and watching holiday romcoms with my mom every year. A pang of guilt hits me just then. I should have invited my parents. After the breakup with Tyler, maybe it would have been better to have someone to lean on. But I wanted to do this on my own. I needed to process everything without anyone hovering over me. Still, I text her a long apology, explaining how sorry I am for not inviting them. But I don’t send it right away. I want to re-read it in the morning, and I also don’t want her to worry with me sending a message out so late. My eyes are getting heavy, and the movie is almost over, but the shadows in the unfamiliar space taunt and torment me. It feels like I’m ten years old all over again, except this time I’m not terrified to leave the safety of the couch for the bathroom. Instead, I’m terrified of what might be lurking in the shadows—or who. My heart beats faster as my mind wanders deeper into my thoughts. What if it’s the creepy cop from the exit? Of course, my imagination runs wild with all kinds of different scenarios. The fear claws at me, and I’m exhausted. Soon I’m plunged into sleep, trapped inside of a nightmare I am responsible for dreaming up. My body may give in, but my mind doesn’t.