A Stranger in the Snow

The cabin sat abandoned in the woods for decades. It was once a haven for weekend fishing trips and annual hunting retreats but now just collects dust and dead leaves. It was not a grand cabin; rather the opposite. It was only three rooms. Sizable by some cabin standards, but this was the Appalachian mountains after all, where money flows as freely as the lakes and is as deep as the cave systems. 

This cabin, in particular, was an original homesteader trapping cabin and thus held the title of being ingrained in local history and is even featured on some forgotten pamphlet in some forgotten visitor center along the cracked highway in. Therefore, saving itself from the prying eyes of land developers and the scorn from women sipping champagne on their husband's speed boat because "It does have some quaintness about it. It could be a nice couple's idea of a honeymoon if it weren't so dull out here."

This cabin, in particular, was owned by the Jameson family. They were old money and simply kept the cabin around for tricky tax moves and for someplace to send their spam mail. The original Jameson's were hard-living people who carved their place into the mountain basin with axes and community; they survived and rumors claimed they killed to become rich. 

Many generations later, they are simply self-absorbed narcissist who couldn't change a lightbulb for themselves. They not only were born with silver spoons, but their parents made sure they also were received with myrrh, frankincense, and gold. 

"I can't believe that Dad made us come down here to this stupid cabin just to stop some squatter from living in our cabin. It's not like we use it anyway!" cried out James Jameson. The irony was not lost on him.

"At least, not after Grandpa died and Dad became a cynical person," he added quietly. 

"Would you shut up? I'm trying to text Stacy and can't focus on my thoughts when your blabbing. Besides, have you compassion for the homeless now? They can get jobs." scoffed Jamie Jameson. The irony was not lost on her. 

"Stacy is a raging bitch and you know it. And no, I'm not for the homeless now, but when Dad gives me the business I'll make sure everyone has jobs. That way they can make me more money." declared James. He sometimes called himself Chip, just to avoid confusion. He thought it would remind everyone that he was a chip off the old block. 

"Like Dad is going to give you the business. That's going to me and you know it. All I have to do is beat my eyes and use that sweet voice I have. Easy as pie." claimed Jamie. 

"Dad isn't going to fall for that. He is most definitely giving control to me!" The grip James or maybe Chip had on the wheel was ever-tightening and a bitterness entered his voice as the car entered a particularly tedious stretch of road. 

"Whatever. It's going to me and that's the end of it." retorted Jamie. 

The blue BMW sped through the mountain roads with a screech here and there from hitting a corner too hard and a terrible response from the driver. The two brats sat in silence and fumed at each other. The windows may have been frosted from the temperature but they easily could have been frozen from the icy silence in the cab. 

Skirting into the driveway the curtains shifted and a man could be seen inside. He watched tentatively and examined the occupants. An argument could be seen through the snowflakes and general winter haze. There was pointing at the cabin and a game of Rock Paper Scissor commenced. The girl in the passenger seat could be seen in her cut and knotted T-shirt as she pumps her fist in the air and the boy in his sweater begrudgingly get out of the car. He leaned back into the car, hanging heavily on the door, and said some final remarks to his passenger. She then pointed at the cabin again and went back to her phone. 

The man who sometimes calls himself Chip walked towards the cabin while blowing hot air into his clasped hand and tried to shake off the quickly growing pile of snow around his shoes. He reached the door and was met pleasantly by a well-shaven man in a grey pea coat and thick corduroys that made noise when he walked before the boy could knock on the door. 

"Sorry about being so abrupt, I saw y'all come up the drive." gruffly said the man. He was really trying to shuffle the gravel around in his voice to sound more appealing. 

"Uh... Okay. Well, came to tell you that you have to leave the premises. This land and cabin are owned by the Jameson family." said James. He was trying to shift his courage out of the pit of his stomach in the general direction of his vocal cords. 

"Yeah, I figured you would come and tell me that. I ain't leaving. You can come inside though, it's pretty cozy in here." 

James looked back at the car and saw Jamie looking intently at her cellphone. He looked back at the sharp-dressed vagabond who seemed to be well educated despite some rough points in his speech. The man had contorted his body to swing open the door and make a sweeping motion in towards the cabin interior. James could see a fire that was substantially built up and saw the overstuffed leather sitting chairs that were scrounged from his grandfather's office after his death. The snow was nipping at his ankles and the fire looked so inviting. He meekly steeped in at the encouragement of the tenant inside and the door slid shut after him. 

"My name is Joe, but you can call me Joe." cackled the man. His cheeks lit up and he flashed a full smile, despite missing a few teeth. 

Something about Joe reminded James of early childhood mall Santas and a time when his father smiled. 

"My name is James, but you can call me Chip." 

"Well, Chip it is a pleasure to meet you." the man heartily said as he stuck out a large paw to shake. 

James was put at ease and he shook Joe's hand. It was a weak grip, but it was unlike the handshakes he had received in his life because it seemed as if Joe actually meant what he said and was really that happy in his ordinary day. 

"Tea?" 

"Yes...uh... please. Thank you." 

"Don't worry about it kid. It's not like it's my kettle anyway." laughed Joe. He motioned for James to sit and went into the next room that served as a kitchen. The nailed up blanket that served as a door fluttered in his wake and James could hear Joe humming some long-dead song about mining and the perils of life. Something about a bend in the river ahead and being stranded on sandbars, but the memory of those lyrics were as bleak as the weather was turning outside. 

Joe came back with two mugs. One was a Cape Hatteras mug, the last true trip the family had made so many years ago. The second one was chipped and had lost its character. It had as much mystery as the man who drank out of it. 

The snow was growing into larger piles outside and the light inside the room was a clash of cool blue from outside and a warm orange from the fire they didn't sit but three feet from. 

"So, kid, what are you doing here?" questioned Joe. 

"Like I said, I have to kick you off the property," answered Joe. He was even more unsure of himself this time than at the door. At the door, e was scared of the man, but now he felt like he had always known the man and couldn't see him leave. It reminded him of The Shining in the way that Jack Nicholson's character was always the hotel manager; because of course he hadn't read the book. 

"And I ain't leaving. I told you that. Besides, you wouldn't want me to go. Once I leave, you have to admit to yourself that your family is inasmuch disarray as this cabin. The fact is, James, you don't want me gone because you would have to go back to daddy and actually take responsibility for what you have before you." quickly snapped back Joe. 

"That's not fucking true. I want to take care of the family business and be a valuable team member," said James. The delivery was almost as robotic and mechanical as James felt when saying it. 

"No, you don't kiddo! You want to sit on a boat eating caviar and screwing beautiful women. You don't want to try to play dress-up with the big boys because you are a scared child who hides behind the tailcoats of your father. You are nothing more than a sniveling and screaming child!" furiously yelled Joe. There was true anger in his eyes and bitterness in his voice. He had enough of the boy's pitiful attitude and unassertiveness. He wanted the boy to stand up for himself and be a man. 

James stayed quiet for a long time after that. He probably would have sat in that overstuffed chair and traced the lines of a rip on the arm until he was kicked out by Joe. Joe simply sipped at his tea and watched the fire dance in the kid’s eyes. They sat like that for away and felt bad about the situation they found themselves in. 

Finally, the door was thrown open with a violent squeal from the hinges and help from an even more violent wind. Jamie stormed in with shorts that were not suited to even glance at cold weather. Her skin was pale white and was only lightly colored by the tip of her nose and ears in a pink that reminded Joe of past girlfriend's summer dresses and exotic flowers on some obscure Pacific island.  

"You son of a bitch! You were going to let me freeze to death so you could get the company." asserted Jamie as she quickly moved across the floor. Even while when sitting in the leather seats of the BMW the temperature dropped rather abruptly.  After checking several social media sites she remembered to shiver and feel the cold. When reaching across the center console to turn the ignition on she found the ignition as absent of keys as she was with healthy relationships. At that moment she grew aware of her surroundings and that James had been gone for a non-insubstantial amount of time. 

As James stood and faced her to welcome in, he was met with the swift reality of a punch to the nose. He tumbled to the ground and almost cried. It didn't hurt him, but he was hurt anyway. 

Jamie pounced on him and the mug that was once in his hand was landing across the room and splintering like the memory of the trip it warmly advertises. Jamie sat on James' chest and started beating on him. Joe slowly got out of his chair with exaggerated pain and went over to Jamie and caught her raised arm. 

Without the physical expression and white-hot anger to show how she felt, she then started to cry like the child she never was. James wriggled out from under her and sat back into the chair with his head in his hand. The crimson was already pouring out from his finger and coating his hand. 

Jamie was as much of a puddle on the ground in her own self-hatred and hatred for who she had become as James’ blood was a puddle of who he had become. She was once nice and pretty. Now she was ugly on the inside and twisted worse than the huge set of antlers on the wall. 

Joe ventured over to the door and closed it with a sigh. He looked at the two wrecks sitting in his home. He really didn't want to have to clean the ground in snot from them off the carpet or the blood off the brick of the hearth, but there was little he could do. He quietly bolted the deadlock and moved towards a desk in the corner. He sat down with even more exaggerated pain and flicked on the light. The light outside was dying like his hopes and the corners of the dark room were being filled with flickering and dancing flames along with a silent constancy that a desk lamp supplies. 

The two kids were self-consumed and he had all the time in the world. He tapped away at the rusty typewriter and took a sip from the chipped mug. He cut himself and cussed something about it, but the Jamesons didn't hear him. 

He clicked away some more at the old relic and finally swiveled his chair around to face the room. "Do you two know the story of Hansel and Gretel?" he loudly asked. The two children were looking at him now in silence. Their faces were awash with inner thoughts and didn't flash an understanding of the question. Joe just looked at them for a while and muttered a few neverminds and tore the paper from the machine. He read aloud "To whom it may concern, I have your children inside. They are safe but I need something from you." and flashed that same full smile again. It was warm and welcoming and the kids melted into it. How could this man ever do wrong? 

The snow bore silent witness to the events that occurred next and blanketed the scene.