DAHLIA
The camera’s little red light blinks, waiting for me to start. I stare back at it for a long second, breath fogging in the cold, the forest whispering around me like it’s daring me to speak first.
“Day three of my cabin restoration project,” I finally say, forcing brightness into my voice. “Bought this place at auction—sight unseen. Everyone told me I was crazy.”
I glance at the sagging roofline behind me and huff a laugh. “Maybe they were right.”
My fingers tighten around the camera, the smile faltering just a little. “But when Maya died, I promised myself I wouldn’t wait for someday anymore. She always said we’d run away to the mountains one day. Guess it’s just me now—trying to live enough for both of us.”
The words hang in the chill air. Then I click the camera off and whisper, “All right, let’s get to work.”
A movement catches my eye—a flash of red through the mist, the solid shape of a man and a dog slipping into the trees.
Broad shoulders, a long mane of blazing hair set against the muted greens and grays of early morning, mist lingering wherehe saunters with a pronounced limp. My eyes drop lower to his tapered waist, perfectly fitting jeans, round ass, and thick thighs.
God, he’s mouthwatering. Didn’t know they still made men like him.
But so gruff. Rude as fuck. Couldn’t deign to speak one word to me, more caveman than welcoming neighbor. At least, the dog was cuddly.
Oops! My eyes flick back to the camera.Note to self: edit out the drooling.I take a deep breath, fight the quiver in my arms.
My mom’s voice rips through my head. “Dolly, I don’t like this. You, alone in the woods. You could disappear.”
But ever since Maya died, I’ve felt like I’m disappearing—one meeting, one deadline, one breathless city day at a time. We used to dream about escaping to the mountains, drinking coffee by a fire, building something real.
She never got the chance. So I’m taking it for both of us.
My hand goes reflexively to the holster at my waist, where I feel cold, unforgiving steel and lacquered wood. Mom may think I’m a bit foolhardy, but I’m no idiot. Whether we’re talking men, bears, bull moose, or all of the above. Besides, isn’t the hint of danger what makes an average TikTok challenge go viral?
I stop the recording, take a few relaxing breaths, drop my shoulders. “You’ve got this,” I whisper, pacing back and forth in front of the camera and the ancient, foreboding cabin. Looks like one strong wind could knock it down. “You’ve got this,” I repeat.
Turning back to the camera, I force my most Instagram-worthy smile, beginning again. “Update for day three of my restoration project. Bought the old Wheeler place at auction—a total wreck, but it’s mine. I promised Maya I’d stop talking about living and actually do it. So here I am, nestled between the Selkirks and Purcell Mountains near Kootenai National Forest. Had my first contact.” I lower my voice without meaning to, suddenly shy. “One of the locals. Older man. Late thirties, earlyforties, maybe. Tall as Bigfoot, though far less verbal.” I chuckle over the last part. “Cutest dog I’ve ever seen, pulling a rustic wooden cart filled with vegetables, no less. All big black nose, large paws, and thick fur. He or she has the kind of coat I need for this place.” I shiver, looking at the forlorn structure in front of me. Looks like I’ll be colder inside than out.
I packed for socials and fashion. But stretch pants and cute athletic gear? Maybe not so much for Northern Idaho in autumn. Instead, I’m dreaming of two-layered, fleece-lined Columbia coats and thick Sorel leather snowboots trimmed in fake fur.
My eyes trail back to the spot where the man disappeared into the woods. Mist clearing, rays of sun warming the forest, moving over its face like morning glory. Evergreen bark glows vibrant against lush, verdant branches. And yet, the great beyond looms, terrifying, dark.Notthe Disney version of the forest I was raised on.
Clicking the remote off, I grab the tripod, replace it with the selfie stick, then, head inside to look around. I only arrived about an hour ago after spending two full days on the road from Seattle. Along the way, I stopped in countless small towns, checked out kitschy landmarks.
Everything from Bavarian-themed Leavenworth, Washington, with its German-inspired food and quaint architecture to Snoqualmie Falls and the Palouse Falls State Park. Locals in Leavenworth were especially inviting, urging me to return at Christmas time for cozy markets.
Should never have taken two days to drive a little over six hours. Maybe I was already second-guessing myself. Maybe I still am as I poke around the dusty, musty old cabin, more ruin than home—and definitely more haunted than cozy. By the end of the road trip, my shoulders tensed, and I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles paled.
My stomach knots at the thought of all that could happen up here. I shake my head to clear the cobwebs of doubt, push fear deep and turn the cell phone back on, touring the cabin.
“Cold, dank, abandoned. Exactly what we’ve come to expect from the old Wheeler cabin. BUT I came armed,” I say with a large grin, sweeping the selfie stick to the toolkit I packed myself before coming here. “That’s right, Dolly fans. Time for a little DIY plumbing project cause a girl’s got to have toilet and shower options, even when roughing it.”
I start outside with the ancient generator. Despite age and disuse, it fires right back up, piercing the peace of the forest with its incessant drone. Pretty sure my neighbor’sreallygoing to hate me now. Oh, well. It’s my land, my cabin.
My heart does this weird little fluttering thing, cheeks warming when I think about that huge man looming over me earlier. Makes me press the gun holstered at the small of my back, and then the top of my legs unrepentantly together. Gosh, I need to get laid.
Next to the generator, I find the pump house, flipping the switch. To my relief, the well surges back to life.
“Maybe this won’t be so hard after all,” I say into the camera. “Girl power!”
Back inside, I turn on a faucet. A cough of air, a metallic rattle—then the sink vomits brown sludge.
“Oh, yuck!”
