An ominous phrase if I ever heard one. One never knows quite what to expect of a ‘cabin in the woods.’ Whether it’s musty and dusty with hints of ax-murderers in the shadows, or if it’s neat and clean, all spick and span with yellow gingham curtains at the window.
Driving out to Grandma Maddie’s old cabin, I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t seen her or the cabin since I was ten years old, when we left Montana for good. I always meant to come back, but somehow my life in L.A. took all my time.
I certainly hadn’t thought Grandma Maddie would leave me her cabin. My parents were still alive, after all. All the lawyer would say was that Grandma Maddie thought me the most deserving of all the relatives. That could mean anything, and I wasn’t reassured.
I turned off the two-lane highway onto a dirt road leading up the side of a mountain. This was not a good sign, I thought. I had forgotten how remote the cabin was, and how the trees hung over the road. I had forgotten all about trees in L.A., in fact.
The road swung suddenly to the left and I gasped. There was the cabin, overlooking the entire valley. How had I forgotten the view? I parked in front of the cabin and got out. Key in hand, I went towards the front door.
To be continued …