The Cabin on Souder Hill Read online

  “Yeah, Tank,” Michelle said, feeling the smoke leave her chest. “He was a real winner.”

  “I can sure pick ’em, can’t I?” Darcy said,

  “It’s in our genes, Darcy.” Michelle heard a loud rumble outside the cabin. She dropped the cigarette into her coffee cup. “Hey, Darcy, I need to call you back. I think they sent the Army.”

  “Okay, call me later, Chelle.”

  Michelle went to the door and saw the deputy standing outside the car talking on the radio, above them a police helicopter. She was surprised it had gotten dark in the short time she’d been talking with Darcy. The craft hovered so close to the roof she could feel the thumping blades pounding in her chest. The rain had turned to a misty drizzle and Michellle wished she’d slipped her coat on over her sweater.

  “Where is it, ma’am?” the sheriff shouted, coming up onto the deck holding his hat on his head.

  Michelle walked to the rail and pointed down through the trees. She held her hair back from her face with her other hand, the rotors churning out a stiff wind. “Right there,” she shouted over the noise. “I know that’s Pink Souder Road. See the driveway? It’s not that far away.”

  The sheriff looked over at the deputy. “All righty then,” the sheriff shouted, walking to the rail. “Elmer, ask Dell if he can see that light below us.” Michelle glanced toward the chopper lights against the black sky.

  The deputy spoke into the hand-held microphone. He yelled up to the sheriff that Dell could see it. The helicopter sliced down the mountainside and paused above the curious light.

  “Have Dell turn on his searchlight,” the sheriff yelled to the deputy. “See if he can land.”

  A bright light snapped on, burning the trees in a glassy white light, as if the branches were neon. The deputy stood for a long time talking into the radio, shaking his head. “Trees are too thick to land, but . . .” The deputy looked down at the ground, then back up at the sheriff.

  The sheriff walked to the rail. “What is it, Elmer?”

  “Maybe you should come talk to Dell.” Elmer hunched down, his yellow rain slicker a beacon in the fog.

  Michelle heard the sheriff sigh. Fisk went to the police car and stood in the driveway next to Elmer, walking as far as the cord of the mic would stretch. A few times the sheriff glanced over at Elmer, but mostly he toed gravel and listened. The chopper’s searchlight went off, darkness returning to the forest, but Michelle could still hear the thrum of its rotor.

  “Do you want to come, ma’am?” The sheriff said, fixing his hat on his head.

  Michelle was glad he’d asked. She was tired of waiting and feeling helpless. “Let me grab my coat.”

  In a few minutes they were easing along Pink Souder Road, the headlights cutting a path through the dark woods. Michelle sat in the back seat, leaning forward, her arms resting on the top of the front seat. Static on the radio made it difficult for her to understand what was being said.

  “Another hundred yards or so,” Elmer said to the sheriff, pointing ahead. As the police car passed the trees, a liquid blackness slid in behind the glare of the headlights, sealing the night behind them.

  “Stop here,” the deputy said.

  The car rocked when the sheriff tapped the brakes.

  “Why?” the sheriff asked.

  Deputy Bogan looked around, then over at the sheriff. “This is it,” he said in a low voice, as if he hadn’t wanted Michelle to hear. Sheriff Fisk leaned toward the windshield, looked up, then let his eyes drift across the deserted road. “This is what?”

  “This is the house,” the deputy whispered. “Dell says we’re sitting right in front of it, but . . .”

  “But what, Elmer?” the sheriff asked, sounding frustrated with Elmer’s fragmented reporting.

  “Dell doesn’t know how long he can stay,” Elmer said. “Said he got sick all of a sudden, like the flu or something.”

  The sheriff looked around then got out of the car. The deputy stayed with Michelle.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Deputy Bogan.

  “Nothing yet, ma’am,” he answered, never taking his eyes from the sheriff.

  The sheriff walked over to Bogan’s window. “Hand me that microphone, Elmer.” Fisk held it in his palm and took a few steps toward the front bumper.

  Michelle couldn’t hear what he was saying. The searchlight switched on again. The sheriff talked on the radio then leaned in and told Elmer to turn on the police car’s emergency roof flashers. Blue and white light splashed across the tree trunks and branches. A second later, the helicopter peeled off and was gone. She saw the sheriff grimace. When he got in the car, he switched off the emergencies and drove to the end of the road, turning around in front of the dilapidated house. Michelle’s eyes searched the front yard, the empty windows, the broken pickets.

  Fisk drove back up the mountain to Michelle’s cabin. Elmer waited in the car while the sheriff escorted her to the door, rain hissing across the deck.

  He removed his hat. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t see any house down there,” the sheriff said. “Dell swore we were sitting right in front of it . . .”

  Michelle could tell the sheriff was leaving something out. They walked to the deck railing. “Maybe tomorrow night we can get those fellers together again and go down there with the dogs. We’ll take the same path your husband did, straight down through them woods,” he said, nodding his head sideways toward the trees. Michelle could still see the light. She turned back to the sheriff, noticing that he wouldn’t look down at it.

  “I think Elmer and me’ll take another ride down there. Maybe something we missed. If you hear anything by morning, you give me a call. We’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

  Michelle recalled the uncertainty in Cliff’s voice when he’d come back with the car the previous night. She’d been in bed while he stumbled around in the dark.

  “Cliff? What are you doing?” she’d asked, sitting up to see him.

  He had turned toward her and even in the dark she could see the pallor in his face. Peeling the blankets back, she asked what was wrong. He glanced toward the door, then back at her. “It’s not there,” he’d told her.

  “What’s not there?” she’d asked.

  “That house. I can see the light from up here, I can hear people down there, but when I drove down, it wasn’t there.”

  Michelle had never bothered to tell the sheriff what Cliff had said. She figured Cliff had been driving on the wrong road. She was about to tell Fisk when he gave her an empty smile, placed his hat on his head, and turned toward the walkway. There was a new reticence in his step; he wasn’t nearly as confident as he’d been earlier.

  “What happened down there?” Michelle said. The sheriff turned back to face her, his body bent against the rain. “You’re not telling me something. I know it.”

  The sheriff tugged at his chin then sighed. “Dell said he could see the house till he turned on the big beam. Then, well . . . he said the house just up and disappeared.” The sheriff’s eyes hardened, looking at nothing for a few seconds before the life came back to his face.

  “Disappeared?” Michelle said, pulling her coat together at her chest. Her breath caught for a moment.

  “Probably because of the rain,” he finally said. “A reflection or something. Plays tricks on the eyes. Lot of big boulders on this mountain, big as houses. That’s probably what he saw.” The sheriff fixed his gaze on the deck boards for a second, then turned away from Michelle and hurried down the steps. The police car backed out of the driveway, the taillights vanishing down the road. Michelle walked to the rail and stared at the light down the mountain. Just then she thought she spotted a person in the driveway. She eased along the rail to get a better look through the trees, watching the shape walk beneath the dusk-to-dawn light. It was a man in a red cap and tan jacket.

 
“Cliff?” she yelled. “Cliff?”

  The man stopped, looked up for a moment then disappeared behind a tangle of limbs and trees.

  Chapter 2

  Michelle rushed inside and rummaged through the cupboard and drawers for a flashlight but couldn’t find one. She figured if she kept her eyes on the dusk-to-dawn light as she picked her way down the slope, it would lead her directly to the house. “Screw the flashlight!” she said to herself. “I’ll just fucking go down there. It can’t be more than a couple hundred yards. I’ll keep my eyes on the light and follow it down.” She switched on all the lights in the cabin, including the porch light, so she could find her way back. Then she had to pee. She took off her coat and tossed it to the floor.

  The thought of going down through those woods in the dark left a catch in Michelle’s chest. “Jesus, I’m about to do exactly what Cliff did, follow some ridiculous light down a dark mountainside! Fuck!” Her heart was pounding. But that had to have been Cliff, she reasoned, even though he didn’t seem hurt or scared. But why hadn’t he responded when she called his name? Could he not hear her? Or was that some trick of light, the figure she thought she saw? After all, the chopper pilot thought he saw an entire house until he turned on his spotlight. Now Michelle started to doubt she’d seen anything at all. Sitting on the toilet, she figured there must be another road down there. Her mind started spiraling back on itself, a dizzying replay of everything Fisk had told her, everything Cliff had said the night before.

  Michelle flushed the toilet and zipped up her jeans then jerked out the bathroom drawers hoping to find one of the disposable flashlights they’d bought for emergencies. One of the drawers got away from her and crashed to the floor, jars and tubes and bottles scattering along the tiles. That’s when the toilet started overflowing. She quickly jiggled the handle, water spilling over her tennis shoes, then reached behind the tank for the plunger. Cliff had promised to repair it on their last trip but never did. She jabbed the plunger up and down in the toilet until the water sucked away with a whoosh.

  As Michelle placed the plunger back behind the toilet, she noticed something shiny on the floor there. Metallic, like one of those chains inside a toilet tank but finer. She squatted and reached behind the tank, stretching her fingertips toward the object until she could scoot it toward her. It was a necklace with a peculiar pendant. It looked to be silver, old. She’d seen the symbol before—a five-pointed star inside a circle—but had no idea what it represented if anything. The clasp on the chain was broken. Michelle tucked it into the pocket of her jeans and was going for the mop when the phone rang. She ripped a bath towel from the rack and flung it at the wet floor as she ran from the bathroom.

  “Cliff?” she said, pressing the phone to her ear. She paused, waiting for someone to speak. “Cliff, is that you? Are you okay? Say something!” The phone sounded dead. Michelle was about to say his name again when she thought of Glenda. Even though Cliff promised he’d stopped seeing her, Glenda had called their home in Atlanta several times and said nothing, hanging up after a few seconds.

  “Is that you, Glenda? Don’t pull this crap. Not tonight.”

  Michelle had suspected the affair wasn’t over even though Cliff insisted it was. Cliff had moved out for two months, then came back professing his mistake, “A midlife crisis,” he finally said, throwing out the expression like a punchline.

  “Midlife crisis? That’s it? That’s your reason?” Michelle had said. “Are you in love with her?”

  Cliff insisted he wasn’t, that he was sorry. Michelle agreed to try again, conflicted by her decision. She wanted it back, what they’d had before his affair. She wasn’t even sure that was possible.

  Two months later, they bought the cabin. Cliff claimed it would give them time alone and a chance to work things out. “It’ll be great, just you and me and the birds.” Cliff had been right about the birds, and at first, it was wonderful. Michelle felt a renewed vigor for their marriage, for Cliff. But their getaway time soon devolved into Cliff complaining about his business, how if he expanded the lot to hold a hundred more vehicles he could increase sales by 20 to 30 percent. She wasn’t sure the marriage could withstand the new debt and headaches.

  “Dammit, don’t just sit there! Say something!” Michelle slammed down the phone. She was putting on her coat when the phone rang again.

  “Who is this?!” Michelle screamed.

  “Mom? You okay?”

  “Cassie,” she said. “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “I called a few minutes ago,” Cassie said, “but couldn’t hear anyone on the other end. You sound upset.”

  “No, no, baby. I’m fine. I uh, had just spilled something on the stove and . . .”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, sweetie. I’m here,” Michelle said, zipping her coat. “Hey, uh, can I call you back in a few minutes? Your father and I were in the middle of something.” She hated lying to Cassie.

  “Geez, Mom! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Michelle said, unable to remember the last time she and Cliff had had sex. She had stopped thinking about it months ago. “No . . . we were trying to stop some water coming in by the door. It’s raining like crazy up here.”

  “I’ll let you go, but let me tell you the big news real quick—not only did I make varsity swim team . . . but they voted me captain!”

  “Cassie, that’s wonderful!”

  “Call me back, and I’ll give you the details,” Cassie said. “Oh, and . . . Molly and Kara are over. We ordered pizza and rented movies. They’re going to spend the night, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Michelle said, wishing she were back home, a cup of hot tea cradled in her hands, watching movies with Cassie and her friends.

  “Is Dad behaving?” She laughed. “Tell him I love him. But don’t tell him the news. I want to tell him myself.”

  “I’ll call you in a little bit,” Michelle said. She could hear Cassie’s friends laughing in the background, yelling that the pizza was getting cold. Cassie never knew about Cliff’s affair. They told Cassie the separation was just about them needing some time to sort things out.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, sweetie.” Michelle hung up the phone. At the verge of tears, she sat on the bed. “How did things get so fucked up?” She pushed herself off the bed and turned toward the sliding glass doors and the blackness outside.

  *****

  The deck was over twenty feet square and extended over a steep drop from the back of the cabin, providing a panoramic view of the mountains. During the day, the abrupt slope was all rhododendron, pines, vines, poplars, sourwoods, and oaks. At night it was a jumble of jagged black, unrecognizable shapes. It was early April and all the hardwoods were still bare, but the rhododendron, even in winter, was so thick you could barely see the ground.

  Rain sizzled along the hood and roof of the Cherokee as Michelle walked down the edge of the driveway, touching branches, stepping lightly, wishing she had gloves. She couldn’t see anything along the ground, the sticks, leaves, and rocks a black sheet beneath her shoes. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the low light—would snakes be out in weather like this? Or other creatures? In the few months they’d owned the cabin, she and Cliff had already witnessed a bear on their property once. It woke them. At the time, they’d both been amazed by the sight, the bear lying on its back on the deck shaking sunflower seeds into its mouth from the bird feeder. Now it didn’t seem so charming and cute. Even though Cliff had assured Michelle that black bears weren’t dangerous, she remembered how big it was, could still picture its claws shining in the moonlight.

  The dark woods folded around her, growing blacker the farther Michelle ventured from the cabin. She could see the light below, as well as the lights of the cabin above through the fabric of branches and mountain laurel. There was a fragile aspect to the night, as if something could
break at any moment. She stepped carefully, steadying one foot before moving the other on the shifting floor of decayed leaves and mud. The rain was not as heavy under the canopy of rhododendron, yet everything was slick. Michelle had just placed her foot down when a root caught her ankle. Her other foot slid out, sending her down the slope head over knees, branches whipping her cheeks and forehead, ripping her palms as she tried to break her fall. A poplar tree ended her tumble, catching her in the ribs.

  “Shit!” Michelle was almost to her feet, when the dirt and rocks gave way again, tossing her down through the bracken. She crashed into a boulder and landed facedown in the muck. The earth smelled of mold. She pushed herself up and leaned against the rock, her elbow burning, the air cold on the exposed skin of her knee. Her jeans were ripped. She glanced up the slope to find the cabin lights, only to see nothing but twisting blackness. Looking down, Michelle saw the light below, but it appeared to be no closer than when she’d left the cabin.

  A dull pain throbbed at her ribs. Catching her breath, Michelle touched the flesh through the tear in her jeans, trying to determine if she was bleeding. She put a finger to her tongue. It tasted metallic. She couldn’t tell how bad the cut was. Michelle got to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from her jeans. Even though the night was cold, she was soaked with perspiration under her coat. Maybe she should have stayed at the cabin and waited for the sheriff to return with the dogs. But what about Cliff? Was he lying somewhere in the woods, unable to walk, bleeding, wet, and freezing?

  It was hard to picture Cliff helpless or hurt. All Michelle could think of was his intensity; he could never let anything go. She had admired his tenacity before they were married—the college jock who wouldn’t quit wrestling when he’d fractured his ankle, trying to fool the coach into thinking it was a mild sprain. But over the years it had grown wearisome and felt controlling. What Michelle hated most was how effective it was against her. She had told him to forget about the light, the noisy neighbors, about going down the hill. “Maybe you drove down the wrong road,” she had told him. “It’s dark out. Please, just come to bed.”