Cedar Ravine: 1.2

One of the first things I remembered my mother telling me about our new home was that the house was small.

I remembered because she said there were only three bedrooms. Then she had looked at me, and let me do the math in my head. Not once in the seventeen years of my life had I shared a room with any of my siblings, and now my nine-year-old sister was to be my roommate.

I didn't come out of my room that day.

But when Papa drove up to the house and parked the car in the dirt driveway, leaving the headlights on to reveal it's shabby appearance, I realized Mama was wrong. The cabin was not small. It wasn't even tiny.

It was a shed.

A pathetic little shed with a homely little deck hugging it's front, and a few double-hung windows staring at us. The van's headlights didn't expose much besides that. I could make out a porch swing hiding beneath the eaves, and a broken middle step leading up to the deck. Other than that, the house - if one would even call it that - was cloaked in thick darkness, buried in the shadows of looming pines and cedars.

I thought for a moment that I might throw up. The longer I looked, the uglier it became. The crude columns supporting the overhang grew cruder, the worn and filthy siding grew filthier, and the dead leaves and branches scattered across the deck, hanging off the roof, plastered to the steps, only seemed to mulitply.

I closed my eyes. My stomach was churning out a panicked protest, awakening swarms of butterflies. I took a deep breath.

Besides the steady hum of the engine the van was silent. I wondered what Papa and Mama had said when they first saw their new place of residence. If they said anything at all. Maybe they had been shocked into silence, as we now were.

"I guess it's kind of... cute?" Kiley attempted. Someone snorted in front of us - either Ben or Jackson. Probably Ben.

Papa cut off the engine. I could see a lecture coming by the set of his shoulders. He turned, face shadowy in the dim light, thought the solemn set of his profile was still evident. "I know this doesn't look impressive," he said, quietly. "Or maybe as comfortable as you were expecting, but we're not doing this for us."

Obviously.

"We were sent here for a purpose - each and every one of us - and we're going to fulfill that purpose, whether you like it or not."

I couldn't see his eyes, but at one point I could sense him gazing directly at me. I looked out the window.

"Understood?"

I didn't say anything.

"Yes, Sir," said Kentucky, gravely. "Of course, Papa," said Kylie, obediently. Jackson jerked open the sliding door in response. Frozen air intruded, carrying with it the spicy scent of pine, and a musty forest odor. I pulled my cardigan tighter about my waist, grateful for the interruption.

"Well, let's go fulfil that purpose, then," said Jackson, feigning a bright tone of voice. Ben jumped out after him, snorting softly.

These days I was beginning to wish Ben had found a better role model.

Kylie nearly whacked me in the face in a scramble to crawl out. "I want to see inside the house! Papa, can you open it?"

"Hush," I said, ducking out after her. Mama was beginning to stir awake.

There was a hint of a wind outside, rustling through the trees, lifting the baby hairs that had slipped out of my messy bun. I watched dead leaves scamper across the porch as Kentucky stomped up to the front door.

Kylie trailed after him, examining every inch of wood on the rail, steps, and siding, giving a running commentary of all she saw: "Hey, it looks like someone carved their initials in here! Ew, is that slime? Kentucky, does slime grow on old wood? When's the last time this thing was painted? I think we're gonna need to paint it again."

"Shut up, Kylie." Ben's voice came from the porch.

There was a creak, and a scrape, then the front door was pushed open and lights began flipping on. I watched them all shuffle inside, Papa trudging behind, carrying a box.

Mama stepped out of the car, arms dripping with bags. "Maddie," she nodded at me. "Help bring some boxes in."

"I will," I said. I wanted to stand out here for a moment.

She walked into the house, a long, sharp silhouette in the cabin light. The door shut behind her.

I didn't move from where I stood, but looked around. There wasn't much to see. Only this thick darkness, and towering trees, and a little sliver of a moon peering down at me.

I felt alone.

Did we have any neighbors? Were we really just smack dab in the middle of the wilderness, by ourselves?

I turned on my heel, searching the area. Darkness, shadows, the van, and a light. My heartbeat quickened. There was another cabin, some distance away, to the left of our own. And there was a tall figure beside the door, looking directly at me. I froze, arms and legs stiffening. My chest stilled.

It looked like a woman, like she was wearing a dress. She didn't turn away, and neither did I. Her stance was unmoving and unfriendly. Unwelcoming. You don't want us here, do you? my mind whispered.

She finally turned away, walking into her house. The porch light flickered off.

I took in a breath.

Mama and Papa had mentioned no neighbors. But people like her certainly wouldn't be a part of any welcoming committee.

What is this place we've moved to?

I lifted a duffel bag from the floor of the van and hurried up the dirt driveway and cracked steps and into the house. I shut the door behind me.

11/03

It's so cold. Everywhere. In this stupid house and godforsaken town. Even inside of me. I think I left every ounce of warmth I possessed in Reno. I think we left everything in Reno. We should have never left.