The Cabin

The air felt sharp against my exposed cheeks. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t bury myself any further into my scarf without removing my hands from the safety of my pockets. The wind sliced through the heavy layers I had wrapped myself in like they were made of nothing more than fishnet. I was already losing feeling in the tips of my toes and we had only just stepped out of the car.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” Ben’s words hung in tiny frozen clouds in front of his face. Standing beside him, I searched the frozen valley for the beauty he was referring to. All I saw was death and darkness.

From where I stood on the ridge to as far as I could see in all directions, there was no color. The sky was the blandest shade of grey and seemed to have gotten caught between deciding to be day or night. Although I could see out across the valley, it was like looking at a photograph that hadn’t quite finished developing.

The bare trees sagged limply under the weight of the snow. There was no way to know whether they were dead or alive. Every branch appeared to be only an ounce or two away from snapping, and the ground at the base of the trunks was littered with those that had already given up.

The ground had the same grey tinge as the sky. The thick snow that blanketed the area wasn’t the bright, radiant white that I had expected. Instead, it had taken on the look of an old towel that’s been washed a few too many times with black socks. There was certainly no glitter embedded into the crusty ice, and I found myself wondering why so many people described snow as something that sparkles.

What could possibly be beautiful about this place?

I watched Ben surveying the land. His green eyes were wide and bright, a sharp contrast against the grey that surrounded him. He had yet to look away from the frozen valley, as if something in the dreary landscape had mesmerized him. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he had brought us here.

           I became aware of the fact that my teeth were chattering in a way I thought only happened in cartoons. I reluctantly dug my hands out my pockets and tried to wrap my scarf tighter around my face. The movement seemed to break the spell that Ben had been under since he first pulled our car off the road a few minutes ago. He reached an arm out and pulled me against him. I could feel the cold radiating off his jacket and the gesture wasn’t as warm as it probably looked to an observer.

           “Do you love it?” he asked, excitement filling his voice.

           “Love what?” The words fogged the lenses of my glasses, blurring the valley into a solid grey haze.

           Ben took my hand and led me further away from where he had parked the car. I couldn’t tell if this was a road or just a place where a vehicle or two had packed down a track in the snow. From here, I could just make out a little cabin tucked into the trees below us. It barely stood out against the grey that surrounded it, packed under the same dingy layer of crusty snow. I glanced back over my shoulder toward our car, which seemed much warmer and more inviting than the small cabin in the woods.

           Ben was continuing to follow the tire tracks toward the cabin. I could hear him talking as he walked, but the wind swallowed anything he might have been saying long before it reached me. Eventually, he must have paused to ask me a question, because he turned around expectantly and looked back in my direction. He swung his arm in a gesture that I should follow him and started off toward the house again.

           It was more difficult than I had expected to force myself to follow him. Every muscle in my body wanted to head back toward the car instead. Though Ben had turned it off, I imagined that there was still some warmth left inside.

The cabin looked even less friendly the closer I got. It seemed to be leaning to one side, as if not quite able to support it’s own weight anymore. The wooden logs that made up the walls of the cabin were blackened and scarred with age. Several long scratch marks were etched into the door, as if it had only just barely survived an attempted break in. The front steps screeched under Ben’s weight as he made his way up them. I expected him to knock at the door, but instead he turned around to wait for me with his hands on his hips.

“Well?” he asked, “what do you think?”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

The darkness from inside the cabin was so dense, it seemed to be seeping out the windows. There was no smoke curling from the crocked stone chimney. There was no indication of warmth or life at all.

Ben glanced behind him at the dark house and turned back to me with a grin.

“There wasn’t, but there is now!”

He pulled a key ring from his pocket and shook it in front of him. The wind carried the jingle away from me, making it sound like it was coming from very far away even though Ben was standing only a few feet away. I watched as he shuffled the keys, finally seeming to align one into the disfigured front door. Ben had to lean his shoulder against the wood to push the door in, and it unstuck with a thud that seemed to come from deep inside. The darkness spilled out through the open front door, like Ben had just allowed it to escape for the first time in a long time.

Standing beside the opening, Ben reached an arm out in my direction, beckoning me toward him and the dark house.

“Surprise!” he shouted, the pride and excitement evident on his face. “Welcome home!”