V.I.T.R.I.O.L. Part Three

V.I.T.R.I.O.L.

PART 3/7

I awoke at dawn to the scent of cinnamon pancakes on the griddle. I let out a tired laugh. Fall asleep to night terrors. Wake up to a home cooked meal. I was home alright. 

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

I slid out of the little brass bed, allowing my bare feet to hit the cool hardwood floor. The planks squeaked as I walked to the small window. The morning sun had lost her daily battle with the fogs of Silver Falls. It felt even darker without starlight. 

I knew my Aunt would be calling me to breakfast at any moment. So I gave my shirt sleeve a quick sniff. Ew. Every piece of clothing I owned was in dire need of washing. Fortunately, my bedroom had been kept just as I had left it. I scurried to my closet and hurriedly put on my favorite red flannel shirt from high school. I also snatched up my old hiking pack for good measure.

I took the black mirror from the nightstand and promptly set it back on the wall. I put the strange key and the cryptic note in my front pocket. I’m not sure why I didn’t want my Aunt to know about my recent discovery. I wasn’t even sure if she knew about the existence of these trinkets, but I was certain she wouldn’t be honest with me if she did. Anything concerning my parents was forever shrouded in mystery and concealed with little white lies. 

The small kitchen table was formally set.  My aunt valued tradition, which to her meant plastic placemats placed neatly under porcelain plates. For as long as I could recall, every meal was served in this manner. There was no sneaking off to the living room to watch sitcoms while eating. Food was love and family to her. And since I’d been existing on the dollar brand frozen dinners, I readily bent to tradition in this case.

She was a slight woman in her mid sixties who handled a heavy griddle with ease. She loaded the plates with pancakes. She asked about life in the big city. We talked about the parks, the museums, and the food. We didn’t talk about my art or why I had returned to Silver Falls. 

She had a talent for skirting around unpleasant topics. Her aptitude for it bothered me in my youth, but as an adult I came to see the wisdom in her approach. With age comes disappointments which remain better left unspoken. Managing the regret of a dull life was a skillset every person of Silver Falls eventually learned to acquire. Maybe it was my time to ‘grow up’ as well, and settle into the place I always tried to escape from.

We ate the pancakes. We washed the dishes. I thanked my aunt. I put on my winter jacket. I took my leave. 

It was time to investigate… 

I sat on the large porch, pulling the note from my pocket and the phone from my bag. To no surprise, I was met with the spinning wheel of doom. No service. Another classic Silver Falls wash, rinse, repeat moment. It was time to venture to the local cafe which was known for its excellent signal and mediocre coffee. 

My car was nearly out of gas and I was definitely broke. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of walking to town, but what else was there to do? Help my aunt reorganize her silver dollar collection? Again? Shiver. Walking it was. 

The family home was a good eight miles from the ‘city center’ which consisted of a gas pump, food mart, library, police station, fire house, as well as a diner and cafe… for entertainment. There were rumors of a movie theater that never came to pass. Instead, it became a large abandoned building where the local teens would escape to drink their parent’s beer and quell their boredom.

The fastest way into town was through the woods. A daunting task to anyone who was not a local, but this was the place of my childhood.  The part of Silver Falls I loved. As I entered the forest and made my way between the gigantic evergreens, I spotted gaps between dew laden ferns. Gaps which indicated where the path might lay. This was a path I forged myself after many years of wandering. But it had been some time since I walked this place, nature had reclaimed it as her own.  The forest had lost its familiarity. I searched my backpack for my old pocket knife and extra set of yellow laces. Apparently, I hadn’t lost all my wilderness knowledge to the city living after all. I cut a piece of shoelace and tied it to a tree branch. I would follow them home after my trip to the cafe. 

As I trudged through the forest, I felt my boots grow heavier with every step. I felt the mud cling to my heels. Overhead the trees were so thick the sun barely peeked through their canopies. Only for brief moments did little bits of sunlight break through and trickle down the mossy ground below. These woods were eternally liminal, it was difficult to discern whether it was dawn, day, or dusk here. 

Years of heavy rainfall had obliterated my old trails. I could no longer see the gaps between the ferns. My shoelace supply was running low, as well as my phone’s battery life. But, I had been walking for hours. I was in no mood to turn around now. Not yet anyways.  And so, I rifled through my bag once more and found my old compass. Looking back at the yellow ties, I decided the existing trail led north to the town. And so I continued on. And on… and on… and on… 

I kept my focus fixed on the compass. I muddled over rocks and fallen trees, being ever so cautious not to lose my footing in this strange place. I was so focused on the unfamiliar ground beneath my mud caked boots, I had forgotten to likewise check the sky above my head. 

It wasn’t until the thick trees broke and opened into a meadow that I saw it. The sun was setting, the sky was glowing pink and red. Red I should have noticed. Maybe I’d turned into a city slicker after all. 

As the sun set on the horizon, so did my state of panic. The woods were no place to spend the night. Not without the proper sleeping gear, the temperature would soon drop below freezing. I used the last little bit of sunlight to survey the land for any kind of shelter. 

And then I saw it. At the edge of the meadow, sat a tiny cabin.

I ran at full speed towards shelter. With every step questions flooded my worried mind. Did anyone live there? Or was it a vacant cabin built by seasonal hunters? Was it even safe?

The moment I reached the wooden door I pounded my fist loudly on its frame. Better to appear formidable to whatever stranger dwelled inside.

No answer.

“Vacant.” I exhaled in relief. 

But the night was not won. Not yet. An ornate black padlock held the door firmly shut. 

I fell to my knees, my hands clutching the wet ground in the darkness, searching for a rock to break the door open. As I leaned over, the little black key fell from my front pocket onto my fingers. Cold and shaking, I retrieved it from the mud.

I am still not certain whether it was desperation or intuition which led to the next moment… I attempted to use this strange little key on the lock. 

To my amazement, the key slid in with ease, and the old door opened with a loud creak…

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