Cabin Fever

Dear Father,

It’s happening again. I hope to soon join where you are. Last night Mama saw what happened and went to scatter the others. She hasn’t returned yet. I keep thinking about what you say about those not heeding to wisdom, “As for a person who stirs up division, after warning him once and then twice, have nothing more to do with him.” Well, Father, we’ve warned them thrice now and they keep coming back. I have a plan and with your blessing, it will work.

It began two full moons ago during the wet season when the middle child, Zachary, suffered from a morbid accident. There was much dispute and now I sit in the cabin. Mama figured that would be best for everyone. Rain collects in tin cans, sounding like music among the rotting wood. The wilderness is good. The fresh air keeps my mind clear, or so it did for a while. Then it started again.

 Two nights ago I was carving away at a wooden slab. You know how that settles the itch. I was picturing how to sand and stain the wood to get that burnt amber color that I fancy when Arrington swung the cabin door open. He rushed inside as if the dew from the clouds would melt him away. His entrance caused me to chip at the wood unnecessarily. I tightened my grip on the chisel, just as we talked about. You’re right, it’s better to keep the hands busy than idle. Arrington didn’t notice the mistake he caused me. He doesn’t seem to notice much at all Father. I hunched my back; he didn’t acknowledge my attempted gesture to ward him off.

“Whatcha working on there?” He asked meaning to sound curious but couldn’t help the concern dripping through his tone. I grumbled without intending to, but what good does it do givin’ an answer to a question he isn’t really asking? Apologies Father, you know patience and I don’t go far back. I didn’t want to tell him the ornament I was crafting was for Marianne. It’s private. Anyway, I could tell he wasn’t all that curious because he moved along setting supplies on my bench. I hope you know this Father, I didn’t react the way I would have. I took a deep breath and that’s all it took for Arrington to realize the trouble he caused. He picked up the bags and moved them to the floor. I exhaled and Arrington shifted on his two feet. I suppose he wanted a thank you for the food and such. He didn’t leave after I expressed my gratitude and I’m not sure why because once I set down my gift for Marianne and looked at him, he stiffened up as if he fell into a snare. Why is that, Father? Why does no one leave after they are thanked?

When I stood to grab the bags off the floor, Arrington took a fearful step back. Perhaps I shouldn’t have put down my craft. I might have smiled, Father. I didn’t mean to, but the thought of stirring such a consuming emotion in someone is powerful. How is it not to be enjoyed? We’re both aware of my size compared to Arrington’s. Is it only by chance that he came in alone? Or did you send him, Father? I didn’t touch him, but the shift in the air got to him. That was made clear by the change in his demeanor.

“Did you bring matches?” I needed light with the clouds being so dark lately. Arrington swallowed and I watched as the lump in his throat rose and fell with a slight quake. I almost missed his answer being drawn into the slenderness of his neck. I needed to get back to my craft, that much was made known to me. With no matches, I only had limited time for light. I took my seat and began carving some more. Arrington still stood, watching me. I hate being watched. It’s as though he’s peering at me like I’m a clock, ticking away as though counting down until either you, Father, come back and make it all stop, or I break.

“Is that Marianne’s song?” Arrington asked. Though unaware I was humming, I suppose that would make sense. Being locked in a cabin far away from real civilization would cause a man to sing to himself. Perhaps Mama should have considered providing more entertainment than just books. Though Father, I do like the one you provided even if it makes me think of Marianne.  She was a nice wife, and Arrington is a good brother-in-law. I know we both miss her dearly. Still, that realization isn’t enough to dampen the itch. I continued humming, and Arrington sat and joined in. I understand he may be trying to connect, after all, it was his kindness that convinced Mama to keep me around. Arrington was the only one who believed I did not kill Marianne. I’ve come to wonder if perhaps Arrington killed Marianne and that's the only reason he knows I didn’t. I looked over at Arrington and he gave me a smile as if we were old buddies sharing a fond memory. I allowed my eyes to sweep over him, taking notes. I know he didn’t kill Marianne; I was there when it happened. Too much time alone isn’t good for anybody’s thoughts. Arrington cleared his throat and I became aware of the chisel stabbed squarely in the block of wood. I yanked it out with ease and began working again.

“I should go.” Arrington scurried to his feet and I got real angry at his weakness. Not just his feeble physique, but his measly character. I got up with him and then I pushed him down. He fell easily enough. He might have begged, but the chisel found its way lodged in his throat before any sound could escape him. I must admit, I long for the game but if we are to play by your rules Father then I won’t relish in the kill. I’ll save his body for the burnt offering just as done with Marianne’s. This brings me to my plan Father.

I presume Mama is off to hide her other children and fetch a constable. I see no good in letting me live in some rotten cell that appears no different than this cabin. That itch won’t go away. I find no fault in myself that after the death of her first two children, she sent another my way to check on me. I believe she is cruel, Father. You see, I’ve had time to think. Mama must know I’ve got that itch. After seeing Marianne’s bones crunch on one another, something inside of me broke too, and the only remedy that soothes that ache is more bones snapping. Now, I didn’t kill Marianne. You know that, Father. Still, Mama gets skittish around me, as if sensing somehow, someway I did it. Then, Zachary becomes a victim of a lapse in my memory. Mama’s heart is as big as her mind is skeptical. I have no family of my own and she puts me in this cabin due to Arrington’s pleading. I suppose she was deciding what to do with me. Then, she sends Arrington to give me supplies, he asks about Marianne, and the itch is back. Father, this woman may be blind to her own wickedness. She’s sending her children to die by my hand and I keep accepting her bid.

Father, I’m going to kill her. Then, I will kill myself.

There’s a knock on the door.

I will see you soon.

Amen,

                                                                                                                              Saul Abbott