Chapter 8.2

December 4, 1879

Third entry. The stew I cooked us for supper was edible. I am sure that if Jim had made it, it would have been better, but it wasn’t bad. Jim ate a full bowl, drank a cup of water, and a cup of willow bark tea. He is back asleep now. Sleep and rest are what he needs right now. 

I hope some of this snow melts in the next week. That deer we got is not lasting nearly as long as I would like it to. We usually get rabbits, squirrels, and other small game while we are out trapping to go with the venison. Being trapped in this cabin by the snow is not letting us do that. I am worried.

December 4, 1879

Fourth entry. The wind has died down, and it is now as still as death. I can hear something walking in the snow outside. It keeps stopping in front of the door and standing there. I have the door secured, so I am not worried about it getting in. I am worried about what it is. Something feels very unnatural about it. It’s big, and it sounds like it is on two legs, not four.

After what we saw and the stories Jim has told me, I have no doubt that unnatural things live in this forest. There are times when I feel as if it is cursed or that I am cursed for being here. I am no longer sure that man should be in this place. Maybe it should remain with nature.

Jim is stirring in his sleep. I hope he does not wake. He has enough to worry about without being aware of something skulking about this cabin. 

Sara stopped reading and thought about what had happened to her in the cabin earlier. There was no way that something would still be alive after all of that time. Perhaps Herschel had been correct about it being something unnatural. 

Sara laughed at herself for having that thought. She had never been a big believer in ghosts or the supernatural. Yet, as she sat in the tiny cabin, it was something she was questioning. Kevin was the believer, and he would love that she was considering the possibility of paranormal activity taking place in the cabin. 

December 5, 1879

Jim slept through our visitor outside last night. This morning he asked me why I looked so tired. I told him it was because I had to get up and tend the fire during the night. I don’t want him to know how bad my shoulder is or about something prowling around this place. He doesn’t need to worry about anything but taking care of himself and healing.

Jim asked for more fry bread this morning. At least what he wants to eat is relatively easy to make, and I can do most of it with one hand. I think the real reason he keeps asking for it is that he likes to watch me try to hold the mixing bowl and stir with one hand. To do that, I have to sit and hold the bowl between my knees. It doesn’t matter why he wants it. As long as he will eat it, I will keep making it.

I think I will make a pot of soup for our lunch and supper. I might put one on and just keep it going until we run out of things to put in the pot. My mama used to do that during winter when I was a boy. It always tasted better the next day for some reason.

December 5, 1879

Second entry. Jim likes the soup I made. I guess that was a good idea. My mama would do it by adding more ingredients to the pot each day as the soup was eaten out of it. That way, it was continuously replenished. As long as she kept the pot of soup hot, so it boiled for a good while each day, it never went bad. The way I am having to keep this fire going, it will boil all day long.

Sara stopped reading for a moment to regain her composure. The thought of eating perpetual stew made her want to gag. She understood the principle behind it. The heat would prevent bacteria from growing in it, thereby keeping it safe to eat. Even so, the thought of eating something that had been sitting out for days and maybe even weeks at a time turned her stomach.

December 5, 1879

Third entry. Jim is in a fitful sleep again. He ate well at supper and had a cup of willow bark tea before he fell asleep. He says he is feeling better. I have some doubts and think he might be lying to me, so I worry less about him. The way he is sleeping, restless and fitful each night, tells me he is not doing as well as he says.

I can hear that thing outside again. The heavy plodding steps as it circles the cabin are unmistakable. I don’t know what it is. I am not sure I want to know what it is. Some things are best left to the unknown.

I can hear something scraping on the cabin now. Sarah, how I wish I were with you on the farm at this moment. It would still be winter and cold, but it would be far more tolerable than this. To have some unknown and unnatural something stalking you while you try to sleep is a feeling I do not wish on anyone.

Sara paused in her reading to take a bag of trail mix from her pack and began to nibble at it. She looked around the tiny space she was temporarily calling her home. The entire building was roughly the size of her bedroom. There were times when she and her husband tripped over each other in that room. The idea of living with him or anyone else in a room that size for months at a time was unimaginable to her.

Sara froze as a tapping came from outside the cabin. She was not aware she was holding her breath until she heard the familiar snort of the buck outside and let out a deep exhale. She shook her bag of trail mix to pick out a few nuts, resulting in another snort from the deer.

“Oh no!” Sara called out. “Don’t even think about it. I am not sharing with you after you knocked me off a cliff.”

Sara started laughing. What she had said was met in response with another snort and scraping on the exterior cabin wall.

“Sorry, Ted,” Sara said to the deer. “It is going to take me a little while before I forgive you. I thank you for showing me where this cabin was, but I do not appreciate the injuries that came with it.”

Another snort came from outside, along with scraping down the side of the building. Sara stifled a laugh as she listened to the deer make his way down the side of the cabin and to the back of it. She had a feeling that he was pouting as he stomped away. 

Sara sat listening to the rain that was steadily growing heavier. She pondered if the stomping that Herschel had heard outside the cabin could have been a deer. Herschel would have known what a deer sounds like, but he could have been mistaken in his injured and distressed state. 

Sara continued to listen to the rain in a near meditative state. She let her mind drift from one thought to the next, lulled by the muffled pattering of rain on the thick log structure. This peace was what she had needed for a long time.