51 - Cabin full of boxes.
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I had to hike back out into the woods the other
day, after what happened. I had to go back and see
where that path by the 9-sign went. It takes me
almost two hours to get back in there, what with
the rain and the mud. And by the time I get there,
I wish I was back home with my radio and my twenty
christmas trees and my staring wall. But I still
go ahead and follow that track deeper into the
woods. Though it's barely there to the point where
I wonder if I'll find my way out again.
And then I see it. There's a small clearing, and
this cabin. Its logs are all somehow stained
turquoise. There are no windows, but there is a
door. Even under the deep woods the rain is
soaking me, so a door and a tight house seems fine
to me. I knock and there's no one, so I try the
pull and it's open, and I go on in.
And there's nothing in there but wall-to-ceiling
shelves, lit dimly with some battery powered tea
lights. On those shelves I see several large
bottles of ibuprofen, which is sort of weird. But
most of what's on those shelves is hundreds of
little wooden boxes. They're stained in a bluish
color like the cabin, and all alike. The rain is
pounding on the ceiling as I go to look at some,
and in the gloom I see that each has a tiny blue
jewel set above a brass latch with a keyhole
lock. And they have this look like you could just
bust them open easy, but feeling it I can tell
it's solid. Real solid. I can't even see the crack
where it's closed.
How long has all this been here, deep in the
woods. How long, and why, and by whom. I may never
know these things, but I think I know who it is
for. And now I do know what I have to do next.
