Chapter 7
GEORGE
The Uber deposits me at the end of a long dirt driveway, barely visible in the light of the half moon.
Moonlake Village indeed. I assume I’ll see the lake before I wander into it, but it’s hard to say for sure.
After six hours on a train and another in the back of a sweet but very chatty grandma’s car, I can’t bring myself to fret too much.
My luggage wheels do not appreciate the lack of pavement, and my loafers are very unhappy with the occasional patches of ice they find.
I’m suddenly grateful I let Zoe talk me into packing the boots I have from the vacation Luca made me take to the Alps, but they aren’t going to help me right now.
I manage to make it to the cabin in one piece.
When I get within twenty feet of it, a light, which must be on a motion sensor, flicks on, momentarily blinding me.
My eyes adjust, and I make out a very quaint little cabin, complete with a front porch, along with a large detached garage off to the side.
Evergreens surround the place. Snow blankets the scene.
It’s cute. Very Vermont. I hope it’s as inviting inside as it is outside, but at this point, I’d take just about anything with running water and a bed.
Okay. I just need to find the key. I asked Zoe to have Owen leave a key under the mat or in one of those fake rocks or whatever he had. In the rush to get myself packed and get my place ready, I realize now, I forgot to ask her about it, but it has to be somewhere.
Except… it isn’t under the mat. And all the rocks look like actual rocks.
I try a few just in case. Yup, rocks. Oh God, has Owen not left me a key?
! No, no, no. This isn’t happening. It is ten o’clock at night in the middle of nowhere, and I’m going to have to break in.
I could probably smash a window with one of the rocks, but I really don’t want to do that.
Plus, what if there’s an alarm and it alerts someone?
Has Owen even told anyone someone else was going to be staying here?
In desperation, I rattle the doorknob. Except it doesn’t rattle so much as turn.
And open. Because the door isn’t locked.
I freeze. No alarm that I can hear. No flashing lights or anything.
I glance inside, discovering a light switch by the door, and flip it up.
Huh. Just a homey, if compact, interior.
Simple furnishings. Christmas tree in the corner.
Okay, then. Well, either I’ve been very lucky, or Owen’s idea of making sure I could get in is to…
just leave the place open. I swing the door shut and go to bolt it, but all there is is a simple lock on the knob.
Presumably, the sort of thing burglars could easily open.
Not that they’d have to bother if people didn’t even lock their doors.
I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore. Yeesh.
I wander through the small cabin, turning on lights and making sure there aren’t any hidden serial killers (or bears—does a closed but unlocked door keep bears out?). As I do, I pull out my phone and dial Zoe.
She picks up right away. “Hey, gorgeous, tell me all about the train. Did anyone offer to swap murders with you?”
“Don’t joke. I’m alone in a cabin in the woods, and while this isn’t my genre, I’m pretty sure I know what Stephen King would do with this scene. Did you know Owen didn’t lock his door?”
“Oh, yes, sorry, did I not tell you that?”
I wander out onto what appears to be an enclosed porch. It’s chillier than the rest of the house, but there is a wood-burning stove there. Through the enormous windows, I can faintly see the partially frozen lake reflecting the moonlight. Okay. That is pretty.
“No. I was seconds away from breaking window glass in case of emergency.”
She laughs. “Apparently, it’s a Vermont thing. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Mmm,” I hum, non-committally.
“Give it a chance, George.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say, poking my head into the bathroom. Small, but serviceable, and it features an actual claw-foot tub.
“In body if not in mind.”
I go back to the main room—an open-plan arrangement of entry hall/living room/kitchen—and sink onto the sofa.
“I’m sorry. I’m cranky after the long trip. I just need to go to—Zoe!” I sit up in alarm, it suddenly hitting me. “There’s no bed in this place!”
Good God, am I going to have to pull out a hide-a-bed every night?
“Yes, there is, George.”
I begin examining the sofa for a hidden mattress, but can’t find any.
“No, Ms. Wilde, there is not.” Am I going to have to sleep on the couch every night then? Are there even blankets anywhere? Pillows? Now she is laughing at me. Great. “Do you find this amusing?”
“Upstairs, George.”
“What?” But as I say it, I look around and discover a wrought iron spiral staircase I had somehow missed in the corner behind me. “Oh.”
“Say goodnight, Georgie. Love you. Write a great book.”
“Night, Zo.” I hang up. Yeah, I definitely need some rest.
Later, after I’ve washed and had a glass of water, I drag myself up the staircase, collapsing into the plaid-flannel-clad bed I find in the little loft area up there.
Maybe it’s just because I’m so damn exhausted, but cozy under the down comforter, I could swear these are the softest sheets I have ever felt in my life.
Maybe Zoe is right. Maybe this is just what I need. Tomorrow I’ll get up and get this novel moving once and for all. Yeah. Yeah, this is going to be good.
As I’m drifting off to sleep, I’m jarred awake by the sudden, way too loud sound of what is probably an owl.
I hope. Are there owls in winter? I vaguely remember learning that owls are predators.
Do they attack humans? No, that doesn’t make any sense.
My exhausted brain is throwing out addled thoughts.
And they don’t break into houses, either, right?
No. No, they definitely wouldn’t be able to peck through the walls.
Unless—and this is my last thought before I fall into a deep, deep sleep—unless the bears let them in.