The Cabin

Through the night the snow had risen to be level with the windows of the cabin. The blizzard started yesterday at dusk and showed no signs of slowing. Mark grasped his mug of coffee and looked through the window. The wind made the trees tremble, threatening to rip the trunks from the roots. “Merry Christmas to me alright”, Mark told the window, taking a long drink of the cold beverage.

Mark placed his mug back onto their small kitchen table covered with a cheap, plastic tablecloth. Not a lot to do on a storm day, he thought to himself. Why did I get up so early? Play a board game perhaps, but Nancy would not want to do that. No, she was going to be spending another day in bed

Nancy insisted they needed a place to vacation. Somewhere far from society with no cell phone reception forcing them to spend time together. Mark would admit he at first thought her reasoning was sound. It would be nice to have a place to get away for the weekend, when their friends wanted to meet at the park and have their kids play together, inviting Mark and Nancy out of pity. No, they couldn’t have kids. Nancy found that out on her fateful doctor’s visit. She made an appointment to speak to someone about her cramps and walked out of the office with her endometriosis diagnosis. Not that having children would be impossible, but as Mark the eternal pessimist liked to say, if they didn’t have bad luck, they wouldn’t have any luck at all. Mark thought Nancy had dropped the discussion shortly after, as she never brought it up again after he made his demands. “It can’t be too far from home. And, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it needs to have cell phone reception, no shacks in a ghost town. Another thing…”  

Nancy had scoured the classified pages daily for a few weeks after her conversation with Mark until she found the cabin, and completely ignored his requests. She never shared her find until it was hers, out of fear of another agreement, not bothering because she knew she could not be stopped regardless. Alone, she booked the appointment to view and took out a loan to purchase the property. Alone, she packed the car and drove Mark to see the cabin. It was one of the hottest weekends of the summer seven years ago, and despite being so close to beaches and lakes, they did not leave the cabin once, opting to argue the entire three days.

“When was the last time you even seen an opportunity like this? Don’t you see the potential here?” Nancy yelled, sweat pouring down her face. Mark gave her a look. He never noticed until now her wrinkles lining her once lush face. Her mousy brown hair was frizzed from the humidity. Though the cabin had no insulation, it held enough heat to make the inside feel like a sauna.

Mark vehemently disagreed, even if he did like the area, he was in too far now. His pride made him continue, “you’re so stupid. This place already looks like it’s been vandalized once and this far away, who do you think is going to be watching it? Next time we come down I bet the whole place will be empty and it will be your fault.” The principle of the fight had been Nancy going behind his back, and he could not let her think that was okay. He did not want to have to punish her, but rarely did she leave a choice.

Usually the arguments went like this. Nancy would do something she thought was good, and Mark would do everything he could to destroy her.

Mark believed his years of suffering gave him a place of paradise a few months of the year. Nancy wondered what she had done so wrong to deserve this treatment all year around. Every weekend – and scheduling extra time off around holidays and birthdays – the two would head 100 kilometers west out of Halifax to the cabin just outside of Lunenburg in Harborough. The cabin was built at least eight decades ago the locals shared by a fisherman. He had only stayed in the cabin in the rare chance he was back on land, leaving his wife in the one-bedroom home over half the year. The closest town to the property was a small fishing village, now turned tourist destination. The town folk are the ones who had found the body of the fisherman, Byron Lohnes, when he missed a trip. The story that had been passed around for years around smoky campfires is that when he went to make a grab for the wife, his body finally quit from the years of abuse and he went down. The wife packed her bags and left out of the country, never to remarry.  

The cabin secluded, far back from the main road. Trees were the only neighbor for at least half a kilometer. During the spring months the cabin was almost completely hidden. The flowers and weeds bloomed tall, and the gravel driveway nearly fully grown over. Each year Nancy would ask this be one of Mark’s projects and each year she received the same response, “can’t your flabby arms do it?” Love is a funny thing.

Mark loved the cabin during winter. After a snow fall the cabin looked like it was from a fairy tale. The snow and ice would cling to the roof and walls, making the brown wooden cabin resemble a gingerbread house. Having grown up in a small town himself, the city did wear him down. The constant moving and expectations pushed him into a hollow shell of the man he used to be in his youth. Now pushing his forties, he no longer held ambitions. Get the bills paid, get a pack of cigarettes every other day, whatever else happens, happens. Nancy was the first thing, first person, who came into his life that he wanted to hold on to in so long. The feeling was mutual but did not last long for Mark. The excitement of a new partner worn off after a few weeks, then he continued to go through the motions as he has always done.

When Christmas came, Mark would pack the car with their bags and Christmas decorations while Nancy made some snacks for the trip. Each would schedule three weeks from work and head to the cabin. The first week would be their happiest. Spending time together decorating a tree, they cut down in the yard with ornaments, laying garland across each surface, and laughing. Christmas morning Nancy would wrap herself in a throw blanket making a quick breakfast, Mark sitting at the kitchen table. They would exchange presents; both having claimed that they “do not want anything” and they “should not bother exchanging this year”.

Mark walked to the dark, worn recliner sofa and sat, making sure to avoid any sections that were torn exposing springs. Next to the sofa was a small side table covered with outdated gossip magazines coated in a layer of dust. To the other side, a small Christmas tree. He leaned back, putting his feet on the coffee table and hands folded behind his neck. The wind began to howl. Even if he wanted to leave the cabin today, it is unlikely any stores would be open. The streets of the town were full during the open season but come November to May over half the shops closed their doors. Police would be warning citizens to stay off the road unless necessary. As Mark reached for the television remote on the other side of the sofa, the power flickered once, then went out completely.

The couple arrived at the cabin a few days before the storm, Nancy excited to spend time together again. She had a bad feeling in her stomach, the same feeling she had when she was young and listening to her parents argue. Mark’s outbursts at home were getting more frequent. Still, she remained hopeful this would be the trip they finally talk. Not that they fought often, Nancy would tell herself, he’s just stressed about work. “Cold in here, hon, can you grab the kindling from the trunk?”

“Shut up would you, can’t you see I’m busy?” he shot back while pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lighter in hand.

Yeah, real busy all right. Nancy had no idea to what extent Mark’s anger had reached. Different doctors offered a cocktail of antidepressants, mixing and matching prescriptions, but he could never bring himself to get on track. Mark would never admit it, but he liked how he was feeling. Sure, the lows were low, but the anger made him feel powerful, and the look that would cross Nancy’s face during an altercation, the fear would make him feel good.

She put their bags at the foot of the bed. Maybe before we decorate, we could paint the walls. The exposed wood had grown dingy over the years of neglect and no amount of bleach was able to refresh the room. Since she was a child, Nancy had dreamed of one day owning a small place near the coast, spending hours thinking of how she would decorate. Daydreaming, she sometimes thought she would use tacky nautical accents, other days she would think of being rustic and exposed woods, the place being the envy of all her friends.  

Outside, after finishing his cigarette, Mark reached inside his jacket and pulled out a flask. Nancy hated it when he would drink, drinking is the only compromise he made for her. Recently though, he started again and was trying to keep the evidence from her. She knew though, there was no masking the odor on his breath. Either he was too stupid to know better or just did not care.

“Mark, I was thinking, how about we get some paint...” Nancy stopped as she reached the front door. Mark looked to her, flask still in hand. “Are you serious?” Mark was handsome when he was younger. When they were dating, he would take care of himself, of his body. Keeping his facial hair trimmed, hair styled. His clothes were once ironed, now lay carelessly on his deflated body.

Mark did not know what was happening until after he struck her, the fist clenching the flask colliding with Nancy’s temple. She crumpled to the ground. Mark’s mind went black.

Mark isn’t sure how long he sat on the sofa for staring at the ceiling, having fallen asleep at some point. His eyes glassy and bloodshot. He awoke when the power surged back to life. “Aw, crap”. Mark rubbed his face, the five o’clock shadow having turned into a shabby start of a beard. He walked to the large paned window, outside now dark. The wind was no longer blowing, the snow shining in the cracks of moonlight through the clouds. Time to get to work.

He stumbled to the bedroom. The area rug that had covered the floor was now on the bed, rolled thickly around itself and the blankets, bed stripped. Gotta get Nancy out of bed. Mark went to the kitchen and returned with a roll of duct tape, quickly securing the ends of the roll. He grabbed one end of the rug and began to pull, only stopping at the front door to slip on his boots and jacket. Mark dragged the rug far into the woods, until he was no longer able to see the cabin. “Have a good rest, honey”, Mark said to the rug. Tears streamed from his eyes, breathing growing hysterical. He made to run back to the cabin, wanting to get away from the mess he had created and slipped. Mark tripped over his feet; in his stupor he was not able to catch himself before landing headfirst on a rock on the uneven terrain he was sure was not there when he came into the clearing. Mark laid in the snow having lost consciousness upon impact. His body, slightly rising and falling with his breaths stilled. The snow began to fall.