Edith's Cottage

The old cottage on the lake had stood vacant for too long since the old man’s wife had died. He watched over the seasons pass knowing that leaves were clogging the gutters and dust was collecting on the framed art his wife had insisted on buying at antiques malls they had passed together on their way. They had always been ugly but dust wouldn’t help. By the next spring’s passing he had made up his mind and found himself tottering around the old cottage and imagined that Edith was just inside, watching him as he worked. He pulled up over grown weeds, cleaned gutters, and even painted the old siding like Edith had asked him to do so many years ago. While he enjoyed the plodding about the lake he knew he would never enjoy the old place on his own, and his son Kenneth and his family lived too far away to use it, so he rented it out, and took solace in the fact that others made memories there like he had so long ago.

The first family to rent it out had been from upstate and called it quaint, though he didn’t like how they had said it. The second had been a couple, still dewey eyed and very much in love. He didn’t think they had cared much what the view was. The third family had just pulled in a little silver sedan. 

“Hello there! Just tidying up the place for you!” He called to the new arrivals with a smile.

The tall dark haired man who had been driving gave him a curt nod and began to grab at the things in the back seat of the car, helping a young woman out in the process. Another man got out of the passengers side and rummaged through the trunk, throwing a duffle bag over one shoulder. The old man smiled at him. 

“Need any help?” He offered.

“No Thanks.” The driver said, locking the car and rushing past the old man to the front door. 

The old man shuffled to the front and unlocked the door revealing the love worn hardwood floors. He turned the lights on for the trio and showed them where the bathroom was and made the same joke about the hideous painting he always did. Only the woman pursed her lips in a smile. 

“Hadn’t thought it was that bad.” he mumbled to himself. 

He showed them the three bedrooms, each made up in its own pastel color scheme, the biggest facing out towards the lake where the sun was only just beginning to set. He showed them the kitchen complete with rooster themed decor and showed them the coffee pot with a small bag of coffee next to it. 

“Freshly ground at the little coffee shop down the road.” He said proudly, “Great waffles if you feel like treating yourselves to brunch.”

“Yeah probably not.” said the man who had been the driver, “We’re looking to just get away from it all. It’s all gotten to be a bit too much, ya know.” 

“It’s long over due.” The woman said scornfully and looked to both men. Now with them in the same room, the old men thought they might all be siblings. 

“Oh, I hear you. You are in a great spot for isolation.” The old man said, “Hardly a soul to be seen, except the occasional fisher, and it’s a no motor lake so don’t be going on there with your speedboats or pontoons.” He said pontoon like the first syllable had to be spat out. 

He gave the man who had been driving the key to the cottage. He took his time on the porch steps. His arthritis was acting up in the cool evening air. The gravel crunched under his old work boots as he made his way up the drive to his little red fiat parked beside the guests car. 

He sat inside and gave a loving look at the cottage, it’s lights now lit from within and glowing with a homey beauty he had once known so well. His ears strained for the call of a loon, so rare and mournful on the placid lake but heard none. He started his car up with a little jolt and went to back up and caught for a moment something red in the rear view mirror. His heart gave a start and he adjusted his spectacles on the nose his beloved Edith had always called “aquiline” and he’d just called “Plain Big”. He looked again in the mirror and then turned his neck to see in the rear window of the car next to him. 

A spatter of dark blood and brain matter had turned the grey tweed of the upholstery into a nightmarish Pollack painting. A figure was unmoving beneath a pile of blankets, packed duffle bags and shopping bags piled up and around it in an attempt to hide it. The old man got out of his car and peered in closer, his hands cupped around his face in the dying light. He tried the door, and was not surprised when it was locked. He wrapped on the window with his knuckle and got no response. There was the sound of the cottage door opening and closing with a bang.

The old man looked to the porch where the three had gathered to watch him. The man who had been driving looked at him sternly, the woman clung to the arm of the other man not meeting the old man’s gaze. The man who had been driving stalked off the porch and towards the old man, his hand on the handle of a black gun, poised to shoot. The old man raised his hands defenselessly but backed up, running into his car at the last minute and squealing back into the drive as a shot rang out overhead. With so many hunters around it wasn’t likely to call any attention. He pulled out onto the main road, his breath rattling in his chest, blood roared in his ears, only stopping when he pulled into his own driveway and caught his breath. 

With trembling hands he went inside, careful to lock it behind him. He walked warily to his kitchen and pulled a glass from the shelf beside the sink. He went to the humming fridge and pulled out the bottle whiskey he kept for special occasions and poured it into the glass and took a strained sip. He opened the freezer overhead and plunked an ice cube into the glass and took a long drink downing it. 

“Don’t want no cops around here do we Edith? I hope those kid’s enjoy their stay.” He told the head that stared at him blankly from the freezer where he had propped it up neatly between a frozen meal and the ice cube trays.