Emily in Appalachia

The fire crackled in the little fireplace. Emily had hoped for a huge fireplace in her cabin, but her budget had forced her to cut back on a lot of her wants. She had settled for any fireplace at all. It was enough, after all the cabin was small.

The kitchen opened directly into the living room and there was only one bedroom.

If you had asked her five years ago what this cabin would look like she would have listed a whole host of rooms and finishes, with a view through huge windows that revealed the Appalachian mountains for as far as she could see.

That was before the break-up. That was before she gave up on having a big family. That was before she was laid off from her dream job. The last five years had not gone her way.

She refused to be a victim though. She swirled her Pinot Noir in her stemless wine glass. The fire crackled pleasantly at her feet, which were covered in a secondhand quilt she picked up at the thrift store a few months ago.

Her dream of living in the mountains and working from home had looked different on her vision board. Things change.

The wind picked up outside. The weekend forecast was calling for freezing temperatures and a chance of snow. She had moved in right before Christmas and this would be her first storm. She’d stacked up as much wood as she could under the eaves by the front door, and her propane tank had been serviced when she first moved in. Even if the power went out, she should be fine.

A tap tap tap started against the kitchen window. Emily leaned her head back and peeked over her shoulder. There was a tree close to the house on that side, but she hadn’t realized it was that close. A branch had probably snapped partially in the wind. She had not even looked to see if anything needed pruning. She’d add it to the list.

Emily turned back to the fire, sipping her wine. It was barely 8pm but it felt so much later. Theoretically the days were getting longer, but the darkness outside was deep this time of year.

The quiet whooshing of the wind was increasing. It was shifting into a howl. The front door seal may need replaced. She’d add that to the list as well.

She stood up to refill her glass. Outside the comfort of her blanket and away from the fire, the cold seeped up from the floor into the soles of her feet. She looked through the window over the kitchen sink. She saw her own reflection staring back at her. It was pitch black out. The window was cold. The temperatures must have plummeted, and quickly. She cracked to tap of the sink to allow a slow drip.

She started back towards the warmth of her chair when a sound stopped her. It was over as suddenly as it started. She turned back to the window. Nothing. She stared.

Had she imagined it? She waited. The tap tap tap continued. The howling wind continued. The crackle of the fire seemed quieter. Emily turned back towards it. The fire did seem smaller. She added a small log. It was a trick of the wind, probably.

The wind howled. She slipped under the old quilt and snuggled into the chair. The cabin creaked. It was only about fifty years old, nothing ancient. It was remote, sure, but it still had power. She’s been assured that the septic tank was in good shape, and it had been emptied by the previous owner. All in all, she felt it was a good purchase. It was right for her.

Goosebumps prickled on her arms. The noise, like a voice, was back. She ducked her head to burrow down below the back of her chair, suddenly wishing she’d installed curtains over the kitchen window. Emily’s breath picked up, her heart hammered.

Second ago, she was calm and relishing in taking this step for herself. Now, she felt paralyzed. She darted her eyes to the front door. It was locked.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

It was a tree branch on the window. It was a tree branch on the window.

None of the trees are that close to the house. It had to be a tree branch on the window.

Her mouth turned sour and she regretted the wine. How much had she had? About half the bottle so far. It was a mistake. She exhaled slowly through her nose. It was just the alcohol mixing with the first big storm and the still-unfamiliar home. Boxes still sat, unpacked, throughout the place. She wasn’t settled yet and it was unnerving her. That’s all. It was fine.

She still refused to move, cuddled deep into her chair, quilt covering all but her face.

The fire flickered. Its light threw reflections and shadows across the room.

She heard the sound again. She listened hard. It sounded like a voice. Someone speaking. The wind howled loudly. No, she thought, not a voice at all. It’s all just the wind. Stand up. Stop hiding from nothing.

She remained motionless. The wind’s howling quieted. The noise subsided into nothing. The light from the fire brightened. The skin on her neck smoothed. The dread lifted from her heart.

As if reacting to the starting pistol from her track days, she leapt from her chair and ran to the kitchen. She grabbed the hand towel from beside the sink and stuck it to the window. She pressed the edges into the small crevices around the trim until is stayed. Half the window was covered. She opened the drawer to pull out a second towel. Faster, faster, faster.

She also grabbed the scotch tape and taped every edge - just in case. She stepped back and inspected her handiwork. It was the only window that she had not hung curtains on, and the towels looked ridiculous. Even so, her heart rate slowed. Her toes were cold.

An uneasiness in her stomach picked up again. She hurried to the fire place and placed another log on it, keep it burning. Then she snuggled back into her chair, covered herself in her quilt and left her glass of wine on the side table. There would be absolutely not more drinking tonight.

The goosebumps prickled again. Taptaptaptaptap. The tapping started again with vigor. The noise also started up again. Louder. Faster. Impatient. Irritated.

The wind howled loudly again. The windows shook slightly in their frames. The house creaked. Emily’s body began to shake. Small, uncontrollable shakes, as if she was shivering and couldn’t get warm.

The fire still burned. Just watch the fire. Just watch the fire.

****

Emily woke up, stiff and cold. The morning light crept softly through the curtains and towels across her windows. She was curled into the fetal position, wrapped tightly in her quilt. The fire had died, but some coals were still glowing softly. She had barely slept. She had kept the fire lit all night, irrationally afraid to let it die.

She sat up.

She heard nothing.

She felt nothing.

It was just the calm, cold quiet of an early winter morning in the Appalachia’s.

She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. She slipped on the boots by the door and slowly unlocked the deadbolt. She paused. Nothing. She cracked the door. Cold air rushed against her face.

It was calm. A dusting of snow covered everything. She stepped onto the small porch. A shallow white glistening stared back at her in the cold, early morning light. She would have to walk around the corner to investigate her kitchen window and the suspected tree branch, but she waited. A bird flew from a tree and out towards the sky.

She let out a deep breath and felt her body relax. There were three steps to reach the ground, then it was pine needle laden ground all around the side of the house. Emily turned the corner to inspect the kitchen’s window. She hesitated.

She wasn’t eager to approach the window. She checked the ground. No obvious disturbance. She looked towards the closest tree. None of the branches seemed to be obviously long enough to reach the window. There were no obviously new branches on the ground. Emily shuffled her feet and bit her lip.

It was unreasonable to be afraid of looking at the side of her house. The outside of the window was smudgy and dirty. She hadn’t remembered it being that dirty. She also hadn’t inspected it closely before, ever.

Crunching noises caught her attention. She turned around and walked towards her driveway. An older gentleman was walking towards the house. He lifted a hand when he saw her.

“Emily.” He called. She’d met him before. He was the closest neighbor. He’d come by to introduce himself the week she closed on the house. What was his name?

“Morning!” She called back.

“I just wanted to check-in. Quite the storm last night.” He stopped a ways from her. He was like that last time. Close enough that they didn’t have to yell, but far enough away they had to raise their voices slightly.

“I expected more snow.” She said. He shrugged.

“Not that kind of storm.” He said it with a grimace. His tone and his face reflected a level of concern, but hesitation. “Maybe later this week.”

He wrung his hands a little and shuffled his feet. He looked around her cabin, then behind him.

“Maybe.” Emily said.

“Listen, I was just checking in.” He nodded, looking for the right words. “Do you have plenty of firewood?” He asked.

“Not sure what plenty is, but I’ve got that.” Emily pointed at the big pile by her door and the pile by her driveway. He nodded, approvingly.

“And you’ve got lots of room inside the house to bring enough in for the night? Have designated that space?” He asked. He rubbed his hands down his pant legs as if wiping off sweat despite the near freezing temperatures.

“Uhm, some I suppose.” Emily said.

“You should work on that. Make sure you have enough inside at night. You don’t want to have to come outside after the sun comes down. It’s better to be able to lock up tight, and you want to keep that fire going. Heat, you know.” He added the last bit as an afterthought, as a possible explanation for his concern.

“Well I’ve got it right next to the door, you know.” Emily said, pointing again. The man pursed his lips, shuffled his feet.

“Just, just maybe.” He struggled to find his words. “Don’t. Don’t come outside. When the sun is down, don’t come outside. Stay warm inside. Keep the curtains closed. There’s nothing good out here after dark, you know. Animals and such.” He gestured noncommittally.

“Sir, is everything okay?” A pit in Emily’s stomach was growing. She had wanted to be overreacting last night. She was sure it was the wine.

He looked at her with kind eyes. He stopped shuffling nervously. He seemed resigned.

“It’s a different kind of place, ma’am. It’s an old place. Stormy nights can bring it out in a place. I just wanted to check-in, is all. Think about my advice. Take it. Leave it.” He shrugged. “I’ll check-in after every storm. It’s what I do. I’m gonna go, more neighbors to look after, you know.” He turned away.

A lump rose in Emily’s throat. Despite the strange conversation, she didn’t want him to leave. She watched him go.

She turned back to her cabin. In the rising sun it was the quaint, picturesque cabin from the listing. It looked harmless. It looked safe. Around the corner the kitchen window was smeared with dirt along the entire exterior. The inside was covered in kitchen towels.

Emily resigned herself to the task today, one she had not planned on making a priority. Today she would buy curtains, some new weather seals for the doors, and some caulking to seal the windows. She’d buy earplugs and thick slippers. She would settle in. She would avoid opening the door after dark.

Tonight she’d be curled up in bed much earlier.

She walked back to the house to grab her keys, and did her best to not acknowledge the prickling feeling on her neck that she’d felt since she walked outside. The feeling that told her that there were eyes watching her, and had listened to her conversation, and would do nothing but watch while the sun was in the sky.