Page 11 of Mountain Wood

I was also super distracted by the fact that Dean ignored me at the bar.

“What did you expect him to do?” I ask myself.

“Pardon?”

“Oh nothing.” I tap my temple and smile at the cashier. “Just having a convo up here.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs and she looks back at the conveyer belt, booping all my stuff, one by one. Great, she probably thinks I’m crazy. Which, to be fair, I’m starting to suspect myself given how uncharacteristically I’ve been behaving today.

First, I pack up and leave town without saying a word to anyone, including my bestie, Nicole. Then I hole up in a bare essentials cabin in the middle of nowhere by myself… and fantasize about the lumbersnack running the place.

If those clues don’t scream that I’m having a menty b, then this will: I’m buying ingredients to cook meals for myself.

I’ve never cooked a day in my life.

Hey, if all else fails, there’s always cereal, right?

Halfway home, snowflakes fall.

Holy crap, it’s only the first week of November.

Instead of my typical musical tunes I scream-sing along with to work through my emotions, I put on my favorite stabby-murder podcast instead. I don’t know why, but these stories calm me. Again, I know how that sounds. But hey, a girl needs to do her research so she can spot serial killer behavior from a mile away. How else does someone date in this current social climate?

“—he wrapped each body part in cellophane before stuffing them in the freezer.”

Chills creep down my spine as I listen to the way this killer reportedly hacked his victims into pieces before meal prepping them in freezer bags with chopped carrots, celery, and onions, making his cannibal meals crock pot ready.

Yuck.

I turn left onto the road with a beautifully lit sign that says, “Bear Creek Cabins,” and hit my high beams. The paved path turns to dirt once I enter the circular drive where the cabins are, as if the money ran out before they could pave the rest.

“—he preserved the victim’s eyeballs in an apple jelly, stored in the basement pantry…”

I shut off the podcast and slowly make my way to the designated parking lot. If it wasn’t for the moon being so bright tonight, I doubt I’d be able to see three feet in front of me. No light pollution means when it’s dark, it’sdarkout here.

I love it.

After grabbing the groceries from my back seat, I head towards my cabin when something scurries across my path. Holy shit! What the fuck is that? I drop my bags, quickly dig my phone out of my coat pocket, and hit the flashlight.

The animal runs by me again, making me scream bloody murder. I stumble backwards, nearly tripping over my groceries. Next, I hear someone running from the direction of my cabin getting closer, closer…

A huge figure runs at me, their boots pounding the dirt.

Oh my god, I’m gonna DIE!

I scream again, only this time my brain cells line up to remind me how to dropkick a motherfucker.

Dean’s booming voice makes me freeze, halfway into throwing my first punch. “Where’d you go, you little shit?” He runs around my car, searching for what turns out to be a raccoon. The animal chirps as it runs by us again. Dean rushes at me, picking me up from behind, which makes me scream again and he hauls me away from my vehicle in a hurry. “He’s under the car!” he explains, setting me out of harm’s way.

I swear this trash panda is fucking with us. As if to say,hold my beer, the little shit climbs into my car, because the back door is still open, and it goes for my leftovers from the bar.

“No!” I yell at it. “That’s not yours!” Why couldn’t it have gone for the spilled box of blueberries rolling all over the dirt instead? “Not my quesadilla!”

Dean opens all the doors to my car and manages to get the animal out. It takes off, with my half-eatenBBQ chicken quesadilla in its mouth, and I debate on chasing after it.

It was a seriously good quesadilla, damnit.

Winded, Dean heads towards me again. “Are you okay?”

---