Kristin Smith

Swept Away

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It flickered, tantalizing passersby, hikers who had wandered off path at dusk. A light crackle of footsteps disturbed the still falling night. An owl swept from a nearby tree drawn to the break of noise searching for prey, its talons outstretched and hungry, eager to grasp and rip at a small and helpless creature - but missed, its hunt averted for the discovery of the three hapless hikers who were, we now see, already deeply ensnared in a trap of a different nature. A swooping owl in some circles is considered a bad omen, a sure sign of something amiss, off. A chill blustered through the clearing of trees giving way to an unsightly scene of decrepit, dilapidated, broken down equipment, overgrown by grass, tangled in dead and rotting vine, spider webs and stinking undergrowth. It was a small cabin which time had forgotten, and seemed to have suddenly manifested, blinked back into existence as though bobbing from a low point in a rushing current, the undertow having briefly weakened enough for it to rise, peeking, slightly, ever so shyly, peeling back the veil.