Solitary: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

cabin veers upward along a steep hill. Below the road the hill continues downward until it reaches the mouth of the large creek we can hear from our deck.
    I'm exploring because I have nothing better to do.
    Mom started drinking early today and was asleep on the couch this afternoon when I left to go outside.
    Maybe that should make me sad, but I'm used to it. I wish I could take away her sadness. I know the booze sure won't.
    The sunlight drips through the tall trees. It's starting to get dark.
    I'm listening to the Foo Fighters and wish I could've been sixteen back when Dave Grohl was in his first band. Foo Fighters are great, but Nirvana was epic.
    For a few moments I'm walking on a path that I don't even realize is a path. I figure it out and notice the way it cuts through the trees and the woods. It's an old path that hasn't been walked on for years, perhaps.
    I keep following as it brings me deeper into the woods and higher up the hill.
    The sunlight is fading.
    I keep walking.
    There are times when the trail seems to disappear, but a few minutes of searching brings me back to it.
    I'm curious to see where it goes.
    I probably should get back home before the blanket of night arrives. Getting lost out here could be a pain. Not dangerousno, I'd find the cabin again. It just might take me an extra hour or so.
    I keep walking and reach what appears to be the top of the mountain.
    And there, in the shadows of the dense woods, stands a tiny cabin with dingy windows and wild growth surrounding it. Our cabin is small, but this one-story shack is really nothing more than a room with a roof over it.
    I look around but know there's no one near me.
    The cabin is barely taller than me, with one window next to the door. The roof barely slopes. I walk up to it and see a dead log blocking the front door.
    As I glance around, taking in my surroundings, I notice that it's gotten a lot darker. Not because of anything sinister or spooky. It's just because of the setting sun and the quickly moving clock.
    Without thinking about it, I try the door. It won't budge. Three nudges don't work either, so I kick it open.
    Wood slices as the rotted lock crumbles.
    The door swings open, and I smell something musty.
    All I see inside is darkness.
    And I suddenly feel very, very cold.
    I look at the bumps on my arms.
    I squint and look inside. I'm a little hesitant, because I don't want some big bear coming to greet me.
    I don't hear anything, so I move inside.
    My eyes adjust to the cold, dim light barely making it through grimy windows. Each side of the cabin has a square window on it. It appears as though there's just one room.
    I see something in the corner. A bed. It's got sheets and everything.
    I walk straight into a wall of cobwebs. I brush them off my head and face and wonder where the spiders are.
    There's a small stove against the opposite wall. Next to that is a cupboard. There's a table and chairs on one side of the cabin, the bed on the other.
    I'm shivering-it's so cold in here-in spite of my sweatshirt and jeans.
    The light is growing dimmer.
    I need to come back here with a flashlight.
    I walk on a creaky wood floor. Dust seems to be hovering in the air. I examine the old stove, a square black thing blanketed in rust.
    As I walk toward the bed, I notice something attached to the wall next to the bed.
    I get close and notice that it's some type of chain, bolted into the wall of the cabin and maybe two or three feet long. At the end of the chain is a round leather piece.
    For a second I stare at it before realizing what it is.
    A shackle.
    And it's at the foot of the bed.
    I don't want to touch it. It fills me with dread.
    I stare at the wall next to the bed and see markings on the wall, almost as if they've been cut out by someone.
    Or maybe clawed out by someone.
    The cold dread I'm feeling is only getting worse with the lack of light.
    I decide to leave, come back another day. Or maybe not ever.
    Just as I walk across the center of the