by Lewis Stanek
“Are you going to go in , or what?” Clara asked Oswald waking him from his contemplation of the cabin. Oswald's initial abhorrence of the cabin had began to fade when Clara called to him. Oswald tried to see the cabin in his imagination, as it once must have been, warm and inviting. A place to get away from it all, which is, after all, exactly why he was there.
He noticed the stone chimney rising above the roof and he began to look forward to getting a fire started to warm the place up, that is of course as long as no birds or bats have taken up residence in the chimney during it's years of disuse.
He walked around the fallen tree and approached the enclosed porch. Oswald noticed the white curtains divided at the side window. He climbed the step and entered the porch. The door to the cabin was closed, probably locked. Oswald dug in his pockets for the keys. The lock in the door was old fashioned, it looked to fit a skeleton key, he took one from the ring and tried it. It fit loosely in the lock, he jiggled it a bit one way then the next. He felt a little resistance then he heard the bolt slide into the door. Oswald pushed the door and it opened easily. He expected the lace to smell dank and musty, to be covered in dust, with rodent droppings everywhere, but perhaps it was due to the dim light, but it didn't seem all that bad. Clara followed him in.
“Well, I can see this will take some work to get in shape. Do you want some help cleaning it up?”
“Actually, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I think I can take care of this myself.”
“You have some imagination, don't you. Are you sure, you don't want my help?” Clara asked again.
“No, you've done enough. I would have never found the place without your help, thats enough for today don't you think?'
“If you say so. Do you mind if I look around a little bit? I've never been inside before. I've only seen it from the outside and that was when I was a kid trying to see if any ghosts lived in here.”
“ Go ahead, I'll go get my things and bring them inside.”
“Are you sure you don't want to set one of your bug bombs off before you bring your stuff in here?”
“Do you really think it needs it?” Oswald asked unbelieving.
“It wouldn't hurt, you never know what could be lurking in the walls and floors.”
“You may be right, I'll get the bug bombs, you can take a quick peek around before I set them off.” Oswald went to his car, found the package of bug bombs and brought into the cabin. He set one on the floor in the kitchen area, another in the living area and one in the bedroom. In the kitchen he noted a trap door in the floor. He thought it must be a root cellar. He went back, lifted the trap door nothing but inky black darkness down there. He took the last bug bomb, squeezed the trigger setting it off and tossed it down the hole and dropped the trapdoor. It slammed shut with a bang.
“What was that?” Clara called out from the loft.
“I just dropped a bomb in the basement. You better get out of here before I set off the other three.” Clara climbed down the ladder and hurried out the door. Oswald stayed behind and set the remaining bug bombs off one by one.
He came out the door covering his nose and mouth with is hands, coughing from the fumes.
“So where do you plan on spending the night now?” Clara asked.
“Here, I may be camping out in my car for another night, but now, that I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. At least not for the night,” Oswald took another look around the yard, there was a grill standing next to the house.
“I bet there is some charcoal and lighter fluid around here somewhere. After I've cleaned the place up some, you're invited to come have a cook out with me to help celebrate my freedom.”
“Your freedom? But you're an adult, not only an adult, but excuse me, you're old. How could you not be free?”
“Believe me Clara it happens. Maybe not to all of us, but it happens to most of us. What we dream of, if we're lucky enough, skilled enough, or determined enough to get, when we look back we see it was a trap, and we're enslaved by the decision we made in the past. It's not so easy to get free either.”
“That sounds really depressing. I hope you're wrong about all that, but if this cabin is you're freedom I'm glad you found it.” She smiled at Oswald and he seemed to be genuinely pleased and sincere in what she said. Clara came close to Oswald, considered giving him a hug, thought better of it and put her hand out to shake. Oswald took her hand in his and gave it a hearty shake.
“You better be on your way. I'm sure your father is worried about you by now.”
“Oh, he was worried about me as soon as I said I'd show you the way here, but you're right I should be on my way. Are you sure you'll be okay out here tonight?”
“I camped in my car last night, I'll survive another night.” Clara let go of Oswald's hand and walked to her car, climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. She made a three point turn and stopped for a last look before leaving. Clara rolled down the window.
“Take care of yourself.” She yelled and waved, then drove away in a cloud of dust and leaves thrown up by the Mustangs tires. Oswald watched her go. Soon she was out of sight, hidden by brush, but he could still hear the sound of her engine coming from the woods, but soon that too was gone.
Oswald decided, he would explore the grounds a little, before deciding whether to sleep in the car or on the porch. He looked around and noted that the cabin was surround by dense woods. The little space that was cleared for this cabin, provided enough space for a skilled driver to turn a car around, but that was about all. The fallen tree in front of the cabin took up quite a bit of what must have been the side yard, back in the day when Aleister Dyer would take his family here for their summer vacations.
He looked for a path to follow, found one. Oswald decided to follow it a ways and gather some wood for a fire. He hadn't gone far before he realized that the further he went into the woods the darker it became. He was sure part of this was due to the heavy foliage surrounding him, but also it was autumn and the days are not as long as they were a few short weeks earlier.
Oswald understood that if he wanted to find his way back before it was too dark to see, he had better turn around and head back now. He already gathered a good number of dry dead branches, enough for kindling to start a fire at least so he turned to follow the path back to the cabin. In the deepening gloom of night, Oswald struggled to see the path. The brush scratched his hands and arms. He couldn't see the sharp spindly branches until he was upon them. He wondered if he was on a path at all, or simply wandering around in the dark. He hoped he was, at least, pointed in the right direction. He clutched the wood he had gathered to his chest, as if it were some kind of totem warding off the evil spirits that inhabited the night.
In the distance, he thought he caught a brief flash of light reflected off of metal. He hoped it was moonlight reflected off of his car. Whether it was his car or not, he chose to take his bearings from that brief flash of light, so he could make it home. Oswald, on some level, understood it was odd to think of the cabin as home. After all, he had never seen it before this day, but somehow it felt like it could be home. The brief glimmer of light was gone, but Oswald believed, he had his bearings. In fact he felt he was being led to the cabin by an inner voice calling him home. Call it intuition, call it a memory from a life once lived, whatever it was Oswald was home.
Oswald carried the firewood to the west side of the cabin where he could see the silver glimmers of the rising moon. There was a fire pit in the clearing, and next to it an Adirondack chair waiting for him just as he knew it would be. Oswald tried to remember back to his days as a boy scout, nothing came back to him, it was too long ago. This is silly, anyone can start a fire, he thought then knelt in front of the fire pit. He scooped up a couple handfuls of dry leaves and lay them in the center of the fire pit, then arranged the wood into something resembling a teepee. He felt in his pockets for a lighter or some matches, nothing. He remembered something about rubbing two sticks together to start a fire,
but he wasn't about to try that if he didn't have to. He walked around the cabin to his car and checked the glove compartment, digging around for a moment or two and felt a small rectangular box, success he had a box of blue diamond matches. While at the car he thought he might as well get the ice chest with his staples from the car before returning to the fire pit. He carried his treasure trove over the open porch to the fire pit, put the ice chest on the ground, knelt down and struck a match. The match lit brightly into red and blue flame. He held the flame to the dry leaves and they lit. He scooped up some more leaves to feed the small flame and soon he had a cozy fire going. Oswald knew there wasn't enough wood in the pit to keep the fire going through the night, he walked about the clearing grabbing whatever dry wood he could find in the dim flickering light of the small campfire and carried it back to the fire pit.
Oswald fed the fire with dry branches until he was satisfied. Then he brought the ice chest next to the Adirondack chair and sat down. He opened the chest and made himself a sandwich thick with baloney and cheese, for a moment he wished he thought to buy some mustard, the spicy kind, before he left town, but no matter. He pulled a beer out of the ice chest and popped the top open. He took big bite of his sandwich then followed it with a gulp of cold beer. Life was good.
Chapter Five
Oswald awoke from a fitful night's sleep, still sprawled in the Adirondack chair next to the smoking fire pit. He found a stick nearby and poked in the ashes to see if he could find a coal, something to get a flame going to warm his aching joints. A few glowing embers is all he found. Oswald broke the stick in pieces and tossed it on the pit hoping the pieces would ignite. He eased himself up from the chair, his joints stiff from the cold, He was grateful that this would be his last night sleeping outdoors. Stiff, but standing Oswald slowly made his way to the cabin. He opened the door and smelled the sweet, yet bitter scent of insecticide.
Sunlight shining through the window highlighted the dust hanging still in the air, cobwebs in every corner and as he suspected there were rodent droppings. In the bright light of the morning sun the cabin didn't look quite as homey as he had thought yesterday afternoon. Oswald searched around looking for something to use to at least begin making the place habitable. He found an old straw broom leaning against the wall in a corner of the kitchen. Oswald wished he could grab a quick cup of coffee , from a donut shop or a gas station before getting to work, but no such luck, not today.
He took the broom and began to sweep down the cobwebs hanging from the corners and ceiling.
“One room at a time,” He said to himself. “One room at a time and it won't be so bad.” He first swept down the ceiling, then the walls then finally the floor. He swept all the gathered dust and refuse out the door, not too concerned about a dustpan, not yet anyway. He opened the kitchen windows to let fresh air in. While cleaning the kitchen Oswald noticed it came equipped with an old fashioned ice box and a sink complete with a hand pump. He opened the door to the ice box and thanked God it was clean and empty. No need to scrape out old moldy left overs from years gone by.
There were wall outlets here and there, Oswald supposed there must be a generator located nearby somewhere. That generator, he decided, was something he would have to find. The last feature noted was an old cast iron wood stove. He cleaned the stove to the best of his ability and decided that tomorrow morning he would have his coffee even if he had to make it himself on top of that old wood burner.
When he was satisfied that he did all he could right now in the kitchen he took the broom to the living room. Again, ceilings, walls and finally floor, sweeping cobwebs, dust and rat droppings out the door before opening the windows to allow the air to circulate clearing out the remainder of the insecticide fumes. Oswald went from room to room doing all he could with the broom, then ended by opening windows He found the bathroom and was grateful he wouldn't have to use an outhouse.
He didn't bother with the root cellar as he had no intention of ever going down there if he could possible avoid it. He assumed the bug bomb he threw down there yesterday did it's job and killed any insects and drove out any rodents, or other critters that were still in habitation there.
Oswald decided it was time to go to the car and bring in the cleaning supplies he had bought at Oliver's. Leaving the cabin he took a deep breath of fresh air, clearing some of the chemical reek of the bug bombs out of his lungs. He remember the ice chest and the baloney, cheese and bread, and decided to have some breakfast before any more work on the cabin.
He opened the ice chest and quickly slapped together a sandwich. He sat on the porch floor to eat is breakfast, and gazed out over the ravine, enjoying the view. The sandwich was good, but he wanted a little more variety in his diet than baloney, cheese, and beer. He wolfed the sandwich down, considered washing it down with one of the beers in the ice chest, but decided against it. Oswald took the ice chest inside and left it on the counter. He then went back out to his car grabbed a bag quickly turned around and returned with his bag of cleaning supplies.
He found a mop and bucket in the pantry. He took the bucket and poured some of the pine scented cleaner into it, then tried the hand pump at the sink. The pump handle was stiff and at first the pump did not provide any water, but did make a hopeful gurgling noise which encouraged Oswald to pump all the harder. Brackish water came spurting out of the spout, Oswald continued to work the pump until the water looked to be clear. Reaching down he grabbed the bucket and put it into the sink to catch some of the well water. He filled the bucket half full of water. The sink of the pine cleaner and the water inspired him.
Oswald mopped every floor in the house. He didn't know if the cleaner was good for the ancient wooden floor, or if it would eat a hole in it, but it sure helped the smell of the place and was good for his mood. After mopping, he emptied the dirty water down the kitchen drain. He pumped fresh water into the bucket took a rag and began wiping down the counter top in the kitchen, the kitchen table, then mantle in the living room, The old kerosene lantern resting on the mantle, the window sills, and last the sink and commode in the bathroom. This time he drained the dirty water from the bucket down the toilet. He put the mop, bucket and broom back in the pantry along with the cleaning supplies bought at Oliver's.
While there he took quick stock of what was left behind on the pantry shelves. Salt pepper, a cardboard can of oatmeal, some rice a few canned goods. He was sure the rice and oatmeal had to be filled with bugs. Oswald didn't trust any of it. He left the canned goods on the shelves, but the other items he took outside and tossed in the fire pit. He stopped at his car before making the return trip to the cabin and carried in the things and clothes he had packed from home. He carried it all to the bedroom and dropped the box on the bed. A small cloud of dust rose from the patchwork quilt covering the bed.
“Damn and double damn!” Oswald had forgot to check the bed when he was busy cleaning up the house. He took the box off the bed, placed it on the floor and then stripped the bedding. He carried it all outside and shook it to the wind, piece by piece. First the quilt, then the sheets, and mattress pad, finally the pillows and pillow cases. After shaking the dust out of the bedding he draped it all over the railing of the side porch to air out. He considered dragging the mattress outside, but decided he simply was not that ambitious. Instead, he went back inside and flipped the mattress over, as he did he noticed through the springs a metal box under the bed.
Oswald decided he would take a closer look at the metal box some other time. Now he has more important things to take care of. First of all he wanted to find the generator, and see if it works, second he wanted to gather enough wood to keep the cabin warm during the night and to heat the wood stove so he could have coffee in the morning and something better than baloney for his next meal. That of course requires that he retrace his path and work his way back through the woods and the cornfields to Dixon.
Oswald thought the generator couldn't be too far from the cabin so he walked around the cabin looking f
irst at the foundation for any signs of electrical connections going to the house. Nothing. He looked again trying to make sure he didn't miss anything, still nothing. He would look again later, but now he remembered the kerosene lantern on the mantle.
“I guess I'll have to add kerosene to my shopping list,” he said to himself as he walked around the cabin one last time. Then the thought struck that perhaps the generator is in the root cellar. It would make sense to have it there, safe from the elements, one wouldn't have to go outside to get it going. As much as he hated the idea of going into the root cellar, he decided he had better take a look. He sooner the better, because he knew he wouldn't consider going down there after dark if he could help it.
He returned inside, grabbed the flashlight he bought yesterday, inserted two fresh batteries, and lifted the trap door open exposing the black hole in the floor. Oswald propped the trap door open, then peered cautiously into the hole. There was a ladder leading down into the dark Oswald gingerly tried the first step. It creaked, but it held his weight. He was tempted to take that one step into the darkness back and never look down there again, generator or no generator. But he sucked in his breath and took another step then another, and then another down the ladder until his feet touched the soft dirt floor.
He had hoped there would be a concrete floor, but no such luck. There was however, to his right a wooden pallet and on the pallet rested a gasoline powered generator. He unscrewed the gas cap and could smell the gasoline fumes rising from the small tank. This generator had a pull start like a lawn mower. Oswald played with the choke, pumped the throttle once or twice then pulled on the cord as hard and as quick as he could. The motor sputtered and moaned, but didn't start. He waited a moment then tried again. It sputtered again. He tried one last time and the motor came to life. A bare incandescent bulb hanging from the low ceiling came on illuminating the cellar. There were a few boxes in one corner, and a circular concrete slab about twelve feet across in the middle of the dirt floor. Oswald assumed that the slab was the cover to the well providing the cabin water. While he had light he took the opportunity to check how much gasoline was in the generator's tank. The tank looked as if it would hold about five gallons, but looking in the tank it looked like what it held could be measured in ounces.
