Mystery Host

There it is! The cabin I saw from afar while I was hiking over a hill earlier. Good thing I, like a good wildlife biologist, marked it on my map as a potential shelter. One can’t predict bad luck, like the sudden storm that flooded my camp, but when you plan to work in a place as luck depended as the wilderness, you must try.

Getting closer I notice that despite the downpour, the cabin looks pristine and modern unlike the moldy, abandoned place I was expecting. The logs it’s made from are synthetic, the porch covered in blooming flowers and the door guarded by a camera.

Approaching the house, I see a pitbull through the window. I prefer more wild animals, but the behavior of a trained pitbull can be interesting too. I wonder how it will react when I knock.

In response to me rapping my fist against the woods it, like most dogs, barks.

After a few seconds of barking the lights turn on and I hear a muffled voice. The dog stops and the shudders in the window beside me flutter. Before I can call out to whoever moved the shudders or do anything else, the lights turn off and they walk away.

Why are they-

Oh! They must be scared!

“I’m not gonna hurt you!” I say.

No response. The dog doesn’t even bark.

“What I mean is, I’m not dangerous or anything like that. I’m just a wildlife biologist. I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t have to, but my camp flooded and I lost most of my supplies.”

I pause and wait for a response, but I don’t get one.

Worried the houses owner is already out of earshot I keep rambling. “I won’t be a problem. I just need to use your radio and stay for a night or two.”

…

Now I’m getting desperate. I really don’t want to go back into that storm. “Please. I’ll be really quiet and I won’t ask for anything?”

Nothing.

I sigh. At least they’re not trying to force me away. That’s a really good thing because as long as they don’t come out here and try to get rid of me, I can spend the night on their porch. The overhang will provide good shelter and a little heat is leaking from the crack under the front door. I plop my bag on the ground. I couldn’t have asked for a better shelter, well… except for the actual house.

Scanning the area, looking for the best place to sleep, I hear the creak of a door. I spin towards it as quickly as I can, but by the time I see the open door and the note taped to it, the person responsible has disappeared. Why aren’t they speaking to me?

I ignore my worries and read the note. It says, The bathroom’s the first door on the left. You’ll need a shower, so while you’re in there I’ll make you some food and get the couch ready for you to sleep on. That’s really nice of them, and I appreciate it, but now I’m even more interested in knowing why they didn’t tell me this themself. It’s not like it’s embarrassing or anything.

Determined to get answers, I walk inside and turn on the lights. There’s a drawer by the door, a second door and bookshelves on the opposite wall, a dog bed and a kitchenette along the right side, two doors to the left, and a couch facing the back wall. The home is small, bland and empty. At first it seems to me that the person just moved to this place, but then I remember the flowers, they weren’t new. How long has this person been living in this lifeless building?

From habitat to behavior, this person is not like the others I’ve met. The question is why? How do I learn more about this person? How do I understand their behavior? I could search through their stuff, but, considering how little I want to be thrown back into the storm, doing inventory seems like a bad idea, instead I do what the note tells me to and go to the first door on the left.

The bathroom is a quarter of the size of the room I was just in, but it’s ten times fancier. With running water, two sinks and a separate shower and bath I’m both surprised and impressed. I wonder how they have running water here? This place is miles from any other human. It must either be connected by pipes or-

I hear footsteps outside the bathroom.

I spin towards the steps and see another note. My host slipped it under the door. I ignore the writing for the time being and open the door, but they’re already gone. All that’s left of them being in front of the door is the note and the set of clothes they’ve left. They must have run and hide after putting it there. I don’t understand why, but they’re might be answers in the note so I pick it up and close the door.

I noticed your bag was outside so I brought you some clothes. Use them and anything else in this house, but please don’t look for me. I don’t want to be seen.

Hoping they’re still within hearing range, I ask aloud, “Why? Why don’t you want me to see you?”

After a moment I hear tentative steps, then another note slips under the door. It says, Privacy is important to me. Please respect that.

I didn’t hear the person walk away, so I respond aloud, “Is that why you live alone in the woods? For privacy?”

As I hear them writing a response, I sit with my back to the door, ready for a nice long conversation.

Yes, is written on the next note.

“That’s weird.” If this happened two months ago, I would have kept that thought to myself, but at this point I’ve been by myself in the woods for five weeks so my understanding of what’s socially acceptable is a little rusty.

The quick scribbling that responds to my comment serves as a tip that what I said was rude, so rather than waiting for them to finish, I try to smooth things over, even as I grow concerned that my comment will get me kicked out. “What I meant to say was, it’s weird that other people don’t care about their privacy the way you do!” The scribbling stops, but it still feels tense, so I start spewing more nonsense. “It should be completely normal to live in a place so isolated!”

I hear a muffled snort from the other side of the door.

I relax.

The next note has the words, You’re funny, written on it

I send the door a dirty look. “I’m glad you think my anxiety is funny.”

Anxiety? The next note asks.

Before I think better of it I say, “I thought you’d kick me out for calling you weird.” What if they didn’t know I was referring to them? Was admitting to that really the best move? Should I-

I wouldn’t kick you out. Another note. How could you think that? I’m trying very hard to be welcoming.

“Few consider refusing to meet face-to-face welcoming.”

My words are met with silence. Something tells me that if I press, I’ll get answers without having to face consequences, but that’s not what I do, instead I try to comfort them.

“I might be wrong,” I say. “People always say I don’t understand, especially when it comes to social conduct.” I don’t add that I have never tried to understand humans on a deeper level than I try to understand the animals I study.

No writing, no nothing.

“Other than not seeing you, you have been the perfect host so far.”

I hear writing, finally.

A note slides under the door. You don’t have to say that.

“I’m just telling the truth.”

Thank you. This note has a smiley face in the corner.

“I get that you don’t want me to see you, but I don’t understand it. I can’t imagine how seeing your face would invade your privacy.” After I’m done talking I realize that the question will probably make them uncomfortable so I add, “You don’t have to tell me.”

They finish writing by the time I’m done speaking, but they don’t hand over the note till I’ve been silent for almost a minute. I came to the forest because people would recognize my face.

“Huh?” Are they on the FBI’s most wanted list or something?

The next note is so rushed that it’s hard to read. Forget I said that.

“Why?” Are they really a famous criminal? “You aren’t running from the law, right?

Before the next note is written, my host lets out a few more snort laughs. I’ve never broken the law. I was recognized because I used to be an actress.

“Why are you telling me that? I thought you wanted your privacy.” The long period of writing suggests that my question made her uncomfortable, but before I can backtrack she slides a paragraph under the door.

Because I like you. The next note says. I might have been alone for a long time, but even before no one really talked to me. They never wanted to know me, they just cared about what I could get them. You’re not like them. You’re curious and genuine. I know it’s just a note, but I can almost feel the emotion in the words.

“That sounds like a really awful life. I’m glad you got away from it.” I pause for her to write.

Me too. I only stayed as long as I did because I was underage and my parents made me.

“Those are some sucky parents.”

She passes over a question. What are your parents like?

“My parents?” I think for a second. “They’re a pretty normal, middle class couple. They’ve got two kids, are close to retirement and-”

I didn’t hear her writing, but I still stop when the note appears under the door. I didn’t ask for their biographies, I asked what growing up with them was like. Are they good to you?

I smile. “Thanks for checking, but they’re great. They got me the stuff I was camping with, including a now broken radio that they would use to call me everyday, just to make sure I was okay.”

You must miss them. The next note says.

“I guess so, but now I really have no reason to. I’ll have to head back now that my supplies is gone.” I chuckle to myself. “I should get back as quickly as I can so they don’t have time to set up a search party.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then she writes a quick note and slides it under the door. When are you leaving?

“When the rain stops.” My statement is met with tense silence. “Are you mad?”

A note slides under the door; it's filled with emotion and earnestness.

Will you come back?

I smile at the note. “I promise.”