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Defeatedly, you tossed your pillow aside and sat upright, moving towards the edge of the bed. Letting out a yawn and stretching a bit. You only had a few hours of sleep you think. But just like birdsong was to be expected in a forest, the same could be said with insomnia and new surroundings, especially sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, and worst of all, being in a new time zone. Even with your exhaustion from travel. It was really all thanks to those wolves howling. Something about their night song was calming and comforting, almost homely like a mother’s lullaby. Much needed after such a restless night. 

Even so, you didn’t feel as tired as you thought you would with only a few hours of sleep. But it was only when you stood up, raising your arms above your head in a final stretch, did you feel the timezone difference hit you like a full-throttled train. It was almost like a hangover the way your head was both heavy and foggy. Your limbs felt like there were invisible weights attached to them. Worst of all, you were lethargic. The sudden impact of it made you waver on your feet until you lost your balance and fell back onto the bed like the world was tilted on its axis. It felt too disorientating to stand and along with the fogginess in your brain, you felt a heavy headache coming on. You turned and rifled through the nightstand next to you. Maybe there was something in there to help? Inside there was mostly junk. But you ended up finding a few things: an empty bottle of prescribed sleeping pills with the prescription label peeled away from its side leaving a smear of sticky residue and torn label paper, an old book, and a small, over-the-counter, bottle of acetaminophen. 

You tossed the book onto the top, grabbing the acetaminophen bottle and closing the drawer. You took a dosage, plopping the capsule in your mouth and washing it down with a drink from your water bottle from your bag. You gave time for the medicine to kick in before attempting to get up again. When you did, slower and more careful this time, you didn’t feel as bad as before. Made your way to the walk-in bathroom. Your bare feet, the socks you had worn lost somewhere in the blankets during sleep, padded against the icy bathroom floor. The contrast in temperature felt like cold knives stabbing into your soles and heels. You practically bounded like you were walking on ice, and landed on the bathroom rug. Right near the toilet and a wall-mounted sink. The sink’s metal piping was visible and curving out from the wall underneath. It made you uncomfortable for some reason; it felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t be. The external workings were supposed to be internal, hidden away, like innards. But it was where you aimed for, deciding after to take a shower to feel better and refreshed.

You walked back out and grabbed your TSA-compliant shower supplies from one of your bags. This time with your slippers in tow. It was only when you walked back underneath the warm albeit dim lighting of the pendant light fixture that you realized that there was nowhere to put all your shower stuff. There was no shower cubicle or shower-tub combo that had built-in shelves or shower caddies. Instead all the bathroom had was an old clawfoot iron cast tub and an add-on shower head mounted on the front of it, with a plastic shower curtain liner hooked on the curtain frame. 

The tub was situated against the left side wall across from the sink. The bathroom’s only window was above it, a long transom window with a curtain that nearly touched the ceiling — an arms-length away but only if you stepped on your tippy-toes and reached. The clawfoot tub was a bit rusty, the thick flakes of rust reminded you of scabs on the skin. It was also crusted with residual limescale and a growing grime. You didn’t get a look at it yesterday. Being mostly occupied with cleaning the living room and kitchen. And getting situated after your arrival. But now it was just another thing to deep-clean later. 

With a grumble, you went up to the tub anyway. This time trying to find some place to put all your supplies. You had thought to just leave it nearby on the floor until you had the idea to use the window’s bottom sill as a makeshift shelf. You turned on the tub’s faucet. Hearing the valve squeak and squabble as if in protest of being switched on. The connecting pipe trembled. With a wailing groan, the house pipes soon rumbled to life. It took long seconds before anything came out of it. But instead of coming out clean and clear, dirty colored water poured out, splashing against the basin like a muddy stream. Seeing it made you grimace, thinking of skipping the shower entirely until you saw the color of the water begin to fade as it continuously spouted out. It took a full minute for it to become fully clear. Even then, the water wasn’t heated much, barely warm to the touch and not enough to produce any steam.

Realizing this was the best it was going to get, you carefully stepped into the tub and made use of what you had. But your hesitation soon washed away down the drain along with the suds as you stood under the water spray. It relaxed you and helped a bit with the jet-lag and your grogginess. Then the barely warm water disappeared and the showerhead spouted icy cold water. The shock of it made you almost slip and fall in the tub. But it definitely woke you up. You quickly finished up. After your impromptu cold shower, with your microfiber towel around your wet hair and a cotton one around your body, you stepped in the bedroom to get ready for the day ahead. 

Only when you were getting dressed did you realize you were missing one of your suitcases. A small one packed full of well… your unmentionables: all your undergarments and even your socks. Then came the realization that, knowing your luck, it was more than likely back at the airport in Fairbanks and your lost suitcase was still turning on the designated luggage carousel alone and unclaimed. But you could’ve sworn you grabbed it all. You even did a personal census for your luggage just to make sure before leaving for your terminal gate. Huffing out a frustrated groan, you fell back onto the bedcovers, splaying yourself out on top of it. 

With a drawn out sigh, you lolled your head to the side and towards the window, peering out the splitting between the curtains. It was still dark outside but there were no traces of sunrise kindling on the horizon. Odd to say the least, but it was expectant for this time of year from what you researched beforehand. The changeover of seasons and diurnal courses; when the late summer was slowly withering away, turning to the fledgling of fall and the days grew all the more shorter. 

It was usually right around this time that you would be up and dressed already. Your bag thrown over your shoulder, buttered — and sometimes burnt — toast in one hand with a bite taken out of it, keys in the other. And usually a travel tumbler full of freshly brewed coffee balanced in the crook of your elbow if you didn’t decide to grab a coffee on your way to work. It was strange to you now to be so unhurried in a strangers’ house out in the middle of nowhere. But the need to follow your established routine was still there in the back of your mind. As was the alarming feeling of being late to leave the house to make it  on time for your 9-to-5 job. But it wouldn't take long for such habits to die hard or even for your routine to be de-established. You gave it a few days give or take before being on leave, well more like a vacation that wasn’t quite a vacation, would fully sink in. 

Initially you had tried to think of it as a really extended weekend, or needed time-off to take care of family matters — more like family that you never knew. But something inside prevented you from fully accepting it. Now it only left you feeling unsure. Cross-examining everything in your life even when you tried not to. Questioning everything about your family, your parents, and even yourself. All the newfound realizations. All the secrecy, all the lies, all the cover-ups… and for what? Why? 

All because of strangers you never even knew existed?

You gritted your teeth, rubbing at your temples. All your overthinking was starting to make your already afflicted brain hurt. Not wanting to mull it over anymore or cause your headache to come back, you derailed your line of thinking and focused your brainpower instead on what you came all the way to Alaska for: to sell the house, land and all. And to do so, you needed to establish a set of objectives. A to-do list, so to speak. Already you had some things that needed to be put on it. Deep-cleaning the tub for one, but now that you thought about it, it should be deep-cleaning the whole entire house that supposedly had sat vacant for innumerable months. Your shallow cleaning yesterday was minimal despite all the layers of dust and grime. Still you only scratched over the surface. 

Closing your hand into a loose fist, you decided to use your fingers to count out the things for your new to-do list. Not in any order of importance or priority, mostly to just keep track. You lifted your pointer finger, counting the addition for deep-cleaning as your first objective: 

TO-DO LIST: 

Deep clean house

Then you lifted up another finger, your middle one, to denote two, as you remembered the water’s temperature and the nasty brown color of it earlier. Concluded then that the water heater and the house piping to be one issue for the second objective and added it on. Assuming that it was solely the issue and the cause: 

TO-DO LIST:

Deep clean house

Fix water heater and piping

As you lifted your ring finger, you struggled to find the next thing to put on the list. You hadn’t really had the time to fully analyze the house’s interior for issues and things to be addressed let alone the entire exterior of it. With your mind made up — deciding to go around the interior and exterior of the house today to find new things to add to your to-do list — you got up and got dressed. Deciding to just re-wear your bra, underwear and socks for the time being. Besides it wasn't the end of the world, there should be a washer and dryer somewhere in the house — hopefully. Until you can somehow get your suitcase back. Perhaps filing a missing luggage claim should be the third on your to-do list. So you did just that. 

TO-DO LIST:

Deep clean house

Fix water heater and piping

Get missing luggage back

You went out into the cold, dark hallway. Wrapping your cardigan over yourself more. Slow and soft steps of your slippers echoed as you headed to the kitchen. Although you knew you wouldn’t find anything suitable to have or make for breakfast, you still instinctively made your way into the kitchen. There was a protein bar you always kept inside your handbag just in case you needed a quick snack or couldn’t grab something to eat beforehand. It was more than likely stale by now but you were hungry so it would have to suffice for now.  Now with something to eat, it was only the matter of finding something to drink along with it. Preferably something with caffeine. 

You searched the pantry shelf that held the jar of chamomile flower heads for something to catch your eye. The glass jars clicked as you shifted them around, taking some of them out to read their dust-covered, fading handwritten labels and putting them back. You found more jars full of other loose leaf teas: green tea, jasmine, mint, lemon balm, and lavender. Even some spices and herbs like cinnamon bark, star anise, cloves, dried rosemary, thyme, sage, basil and parsley. It looked like you had the necessities to season food but just were missing the main ingredient: the food itself. 

But between them all, in the clutter of mason jars, you struck gold. Towards the back of the pantry was a mason jar less than half-filled with coffee grains. But it was only when you fished the jar out did you better look at its contents underneath the warm lighting of the kitchen. At the dark granules that shifted around inside as you wiped dust off the front of the jar to see its label. And you realized then that you had struck pyrite rather than gold — fool’s gold was now in your hands. You frowned. The label where “coffee” was handwritten in faded, neat calligraphy was false advertising. Not self-prepared coffee grounds but instant coffee. The cheap kind no doubt. Old and more than likely expired. But it was the best you would get at the moment. And beggars couldn't be choosers as the saying went. So begrudgingly you began to heat the same kettle from last night, letting it boil over the stovetop flame as you opened the protein bar. 

You stared out the kitchen window above the sink as you ate, to the curtains still parted from yesterday. Towards the coniferous treetops, where the horizon above was starting to brighten up. In the background the old grandfather clock ticked away throughout the dormant house like a steady heartbeat. Counting down the onset of daybreak. You flicked the crumbs from your fingertips into the sink as you stuffed the last bit of the protein bar into your mouth. Chewing slowly as you leaned against the counter, thinking. You had managed to scrounge up something for last night and for breakfast today. 

But what about later on for lunch and dinner? Or for the rest of your stay here? 

The fridge had expired and molded food. But there was some canned food in the pantry you saw yesterday that you never looked through thoroughly. While the water was still heating up, you began to sift through the pantry. Quickly sorting through the canned food. A majority of them were past their expiration date, some of it by decades. From what you remembered reading randomly sometime ago. From a random fact that popped up in your algorithm, it was apparently still safe to eat. But being all the way out here and in this cabin, you didn’t want to risk it and put them aside to be thrown away along with the ones that were rusted and dented. That left you with only an armful of canned goods left: a couple cans of baked beans and of corn, three cans of green beans, a tinned salmon, two cans of sardines, a can of soup, a can of fruit cocktail and a big tin of Spam. 

It would last you a few days, maybe a week if needed and you were deliberate with your eating portions. But either way you’d inevitably need to go grocery shopping, eventually. The main problem was your lack of transportation and without any ride share apps or home-delivery options like you were used to having in your own city, your only option really was to walk to town. You could manage that, you were in the outskirts of the town but it was a doable distance. 

Then you remembered what your pilot, Nikolai, mentioned yesterday. Those recent wolf sightings. Of a pack not people-shy like usual but bold from what he told you. It was one thing hearing them in the distance, out of reach. It was another actually seeing them in the flesh, face-to-face. With the changing of seasons, they might not be getting a lot of prey. If wandering so close to the town was any indication. You didn’t want to risk bumping into them on your way to-and-fro town. It looked like walking was no longer an option so you crossed off the idea of doing so. Regardless, you added it to your to-do list. You would save all that thinking for later on and figure out the logistics of how to get groceries.

TO-DO LIST:

Deep clean house

Fix water heater and piping

Get missing luggage back

Get groceries 

The whistle of the kettle caught your attention. You flicked the stove dial off before grabbing another random mug from the wall cabinet – this one: a navy speckled enamel coffee mug with a bear’s silhouette on its front – and poured some of the instant coffee grains inside. With the addition of the boiled water, the grains began to disintegrate. Disappearing completely as you gently stirred, coloring the boiled water with a rush of dark umber. Steam rose from the mug’s brim, bending away with your long exhales as you carefully blew against the hot surface. Trying to cool it enough to take a quick sip to taste. 

When you thought it was safe enough, slowly you brought it to your lips and took a small sip. The taste of it filled your mouth and you instantly recoiled, appalled by the aftertaste of it on your tongue. Too artificially sweet and without that authentic bitter, earthy taste of grounded coffee beans that you were used to. But it was the best you were going to get in this neck of the woods. Your disappointed sigh blew off more of the mug’s rising steam. 

You pulled the sleeves of your knitted cardigan over your hands holding the mug, insulating the ceramic’s boiling touch from your skin. You walked forward, standing in front of the sink and out the kitchen window again just as the sky was set alight with the warm hue of sunrise. As you took another reluctant sip from your mug, you were half-tempted to pour such an atrocity down the sink. But you knew you were going to need its caffeine for the day to come. So you continued to nurse your cup of instant coffee even though you detested every sip of it. Watching the sun incline above the surrounding trees and up higher. As the birds loudly and relentlessly rejoiced at another day. And the morning light began to stream through the curtains and into the cold cabin, warming up the interior. 

After finishing your coffee, you got ready to head outside and pulled on your shoes. With such a clear sky, you expected the morning to be fairly mild and the weather pleasant. But once you stepped outside onto the porch, it was anything but. If the sting of your face from the fresh air and the puff of white when you exhaled was any indication. The morning was cold and there was a thin layer of morning frost on everything, despite the unobstructed shine of the sun above in the clear sky. Causing you to tremble from the sudden temperature difference.

You were quick to head inside and change into warmer clothing, replacing your cardigan with a jacket. Inside still had that layered smell of dust and must but it wasn't as potent as yesterday but after walking outside in the fresh Alaskan air, it was still heavily lingering and too much to ignore. You went around and opened all the curtains, letting the sunlight in, and opened all the windows in an effort to air out the cabin more before you went back outside again. More prepared this time. Standing by the doorway where the wooden chairs were on the patio. Next to dead perennials and other potted plants grouped along the railing. Noticing that the early morning sun did in fact concentrate there. 

You stood on the porch, looking out at the land — your land. To the wide clearing before you. Your front yard you supposed would be the equivalent term in a suburban way. It was more like a meadow. Where a mix of wildgrasses, weeds, and wildflowers grew freely. From your estimation — well more like your best comparison measurement wise — your ‘front yard’ was around the same length of a soccer field but a little longer and a bit wider at its sides before it hit the treeline in the distance. Where wild weeds, shrubbery, underbrush, briar and young tree saplings ate away at the perimeter, pushing the treeline further in. Creeping closer onto the landscape and towards the cabin. 

You wondered how much the forest gained ground with the property sitting uninhabited and its land unkempt for so many months. And how much work it took to keep it bay for so long, for the upkeep and maintenance of the land in an never-ending battle between nature. Would you have to do the same? Would you need to do some landscaping? Or would potential buyers like the wildness of it? It fit the context as it wasn’t a suburban house you were trying to sell but a cabin out in the middle of nowhere situated in a small town, a tiny speck on a map, in the Alaskan frontier.

You sighed, turning your head towards the rest of your property where other interesting things were that you wanted to check out. It was mostly to the left side of your cabin, perpendicular to where the gravel driveway was. Situated more towards the clearing, there was a large fenced off rectangular area from what you could tell from afar. In the distance, at its end, was a small greenhouse. Its opaque glass panes reflecting off the sunrays and directly into your eyes. 

You blinked rapidly before you crushed your eyes shut. Squinting now, you lifted a hand up to shield your eyes and noticed a wooden structure nearby which, too, was surrounded by thick overgrowth, practically swallowed by. You looked away to the other buildings to the left, next to your cabin. The largest of them caught your immediate attention, facing towards the clearing. A prefabricated metal garage set on a concrete foundation. Longer than it was wide, reminded you of a small barn by its size. The other two were more of sheds, vastly smaller in comparison and made out of wood. You didn’t know where to start and what to check out first. Everything seemed to have some sort of intrigue to them, something to itch your inner explorer. You could start out to what’s closest then work your way out to the farthest; to the garage area right next to your cabin then to the area in the clearing. Or you could start in reverse. You thought about it for a moment before deciding to do just that. Start out in the clearing then work your way back towards the cabin. Felt more inclined to check out the greenhouse than the others. 

Mindful of the thin frost on the steps, you made your way down the porch and towards the clearing in the distance. As you delved further in, the wilder and thicker the verdure was. Patches of wildflowers and flowering weeds dotted throughout the meadow of willowy wildgrasses tall enough to reach past your knees, some up to your midcalf. You had to wade through it all, pushing and pulling aside stems and leafage to see where you could put your feet safely. It took a bit of force and some yanking attempts, but the chain link gate to go inside the gated off area, where the greenhouse was at, eventually opened, uprooting some plants growing along its edges in the process. 

You walked inside, taking a second to look around before following a footpath marked with slabs of slate and some gravel, leading from the gate and all the way to the greenhouse. From what you could tell it was a backyard garden. The space was filled with sections of raised garden beds — the wood texture of it partially hidden underneath the overgrown mass of accumulating weeds. You walked through the spaces between the raised beds, just looking around. Whatever crops were being grown were already dead. The only recognizable plant you saw was mint that completely overtook one of the raised beds near the fencing. One that you assumed was dedicated to growing other herbs as well, not just mint. 

You went back onto the footpath, going straight for the greenhouse. Upon closer inspection, you realized that the greenhouse wasn’t made of glass but rather it was more like those large event tents. The canvas material was made of a thick opaque plastic pulled over a metal framework like a ribcage. Inside it was more apparent, skeletal scaffolding ran through the upper part of the pointed ceiling with what looked like ventilation fans toward the front and the back of the structure. It was all supported by the framework of poles and columns extending down and into the concrete foundation. It was warmer inside compared to the cold morning outside. But here, unlike the outside, the raised garden beds were full of dead plants. It almost felt like you were walking through a graveyard. The most noteworthy were the dead sunflowers, large and tall corpses no longer facing upwards towards the sun, and the rose bushes that had no flowers or leaves. Only their thorns remained.  

Did your grandmother plant them by seed and nurture them herself? Or did your grandfather plant them for your grandmother? Or was it in fact a mutual interest? You couldn’t really decide.

Towards the back, next to a rack of various gardening tools and accessories, there were some potted fruit trees, wilted and neglected. The leaves shedded all on the ground. Their branches were full of curled leaves. From their written name tags on their pots, there was a lemon, an orange, a crabapple, apricot, plum, and mulberry. The tallest one of the bunch was an avocado tree. Expecting a crunch from touching the remaining leaves on the branches, instead some of them still felt somewhat elastic but on the verge of drying out dead. Somehow enduring despite not being watered or pruned after so long. 

You unfurled a garden hose, hung around a hose reel. You couldn’t help but scoff as the garden hose immediately spouted out water without having to wait.  Unlike what you dealt with earlier. You gave the dehydrated trees a deep watering. Hoping they would bounce back and recover. But you couldn’t say the same for the rest of greenhouse plants. While you watered, you couldn't help but think that completely cleaning out and weeding the garden should be something on your to-do list. But would it be feasible in such a short time that you’d be here when you had other things to do as well. It was the end of summer and the beginning of fall. Winter was coming. The changing seasons would take care of the overgrowth in no time. You began watering another one of the trees, looking towards the dead crops in the garden beds. It’d probably be better to let winter take care of the outside and you should take care of the inside of the greenhouse. You had the means to do it. You’d estimate it’d take an entire day’s work to do — maybe a day and a half. You noted it down as you finished up watering.

TO-DO LIST:

Deep clean house

Fix water heater and piping

Get missing luggage back

Get groceries 

Clean out the greenhouse

You left the greenhouse and went out of the garden area. Making a quick detour to check out the other structure in the clearing just a few feet away from the garden. Noticed it was elevated on stacked cinder blocks. Chicken wire was off from its poles of a once enclosed space and was now laying on the ground. A coop and a chicken run. But with no signs of any chickens. From the faded pawprints in the dirt and piles of feathers scattered around, you understood why. You made your way back towards your cabin through the meadow. By the time you got back, you were already working up a sweat. 

Your footsteps crunched underneath the gravel driveway until you stopped in front of the garage’s steel roll up door. Thinking about what could be inside. Some power tools and storage boxes no doubt. Maybe a workshop. You didn’t know whether it had to manually be opened or electronically. But from the looks of it, there had to be a button, a passcode, maybe a remote switch somewhere. You looked around the front of the garage a bit before going around the sides of it. There was a locked side door and long horizontal awning windows on either side of the walls. Behind the building, the thick treeline was closest there, only a stroll away. You looked into the density of the forest, between the pines, birches and evergreens. Stared into it as it seemingly stared right back at you. An intrusive thought came and went and, with it, came a compulsive urge. An ache in your limbs to slip between the tree trunks and wander off into the forest. You narrowed your eyes at the intrusive thought. But other than that, you found nothing else noteworthy. Decided then to just go back to the front. 

You crouched down and tried to tug the roll-up door up but it didn’t budge. Obviously locked but you tried a few more times just to make sure. It worked for the garden gate after all. You got up, your knees aching, and dusted off your hands before putting your hands on your hips, thinking. Your eyes went to the other door next to the roll-up. Deductive reasoning told you that it had to be locked like the other was but that didn’t stop you from trying anyway. You stepped forward and turned the doorknob but it was, as to be expected, locked too. You sighed and took a step back. Disappointed but not surprised, yet another thing to add onto the list. There should be useful stuff in there that could help out in the long run.

TO-DO LIST:

Deep clean house

Fix water heater and piping

Get missing luggage back

Get groceries 

Clean out the greenhouse

Open the garage

You went to check out the two nearby sheds parallel to the garage. Gravel crunched steadily underneath your feet, sounding your approach and cutting through the absence of birdsong. A silence that you just took note of. Finally, you think. One of the sheds was locked close with a chain and padlock and the other, once you opened it, was coincidentally a toolshed chock full of well… tools. From the basics, ranging from landscaping and farming. And only a small selection of maintenance tools. Cluttered but organized and all covered in a thick layer of dust. Hanging up on a tool rack, you found an old bolt cutter. Despite feeling like you’re about to commit a crime, you grabbed them and went to the chained closed shed. It took effort on your part and multiple tries, but eventually there was a snap. The padlock fell from around the door handles and onto the ground with a plop then the sound was followed by another, a clink as the cut chain followed soon after, spiraling down to the ground like a slinky. 

Opening the doors, you expected something interesting to be inside, given the whole chain and padlock, but when you opened the shed doors and light flooded inside you realized what it was for. A woodshed. There was a small stack of wood logs tucked along the wall, enough for two bonfires you think. Splinters and sawdust covered the concrete floor. Propped upside down against the wall parallel to the doors you found a wood-axe, one fit for a lumberjack. You carefully picked it up and stepped outside in the sun to give it a clearer once over. It was heavy in your hands and well-maintained from the looks of it. The curved axehead was still sharp, gleaming at you in the sunlight. You stepped back inside the shed. Placing the axe back against the wall where you found it and closing the woodshed. You turned and headed back to the toolshed to put back the bolt cutters, pulling the doors that you left ajar back open. 

You went inside then noticed a gleam of sunlight focused by your entering silhouette. Against one of the walls, having been hidden behind a barrel holding shovels, rakes and other long tools that made you miss it the first time, was a metal ladder tucked in the corner. You looked at it then hummed as an idea came to mind. You could use it to get into the garage by climbing through one of the windows if you wanted. The ladder should reach high enough based on your estimations for you to do so. It was risky, likely unnecessary. You could probably find the key or remote or whatever was required to get it open without feeling like you were breaking and entering. Even if it was now yours to do with as you pleased, being your own property and all. In the end, you decided to not go through with the impulsive idea. But you were still curious about what was inside. So instead you decided to use the ladder to look through the awning window and peek inside to see what was there. 

With a huff, you took the ladder out from the corner, narrowly missing knocking over the barrel holding all those tools. You took it outside and brought it with you to the garage. You went around, leaning the ladder against the wall. You took a breather, wiping away the sweat on your brow and opened up your jacket to cool yourself down. You hadn't noticed before, having been too busy looking up and around the walls for some way to open the garage door. Below, all in the surrounding patch of dry dirt, were paw prints and hoof marks. 

Old, some of them mostly overlapping each other. Evidence of forest animals wandering onto the — your — property. Rabbits, deer, squirrels. A fox or maybe a lynx. From what you could make out in the imprints being all layered. It was to be expected living in the middle of the woods but something about seeing it was somehow equally eye-opening as it was uneasy. Perhaps the reality that you weren’t in the suburbs anymore. In a civilized, carefully human-curated world. Now you were in Mother Nature’s domain where only the strongest survived against the fickleness of nature; where it was eat-or-be-eaten. 

Here, you were definitely out of your element in more ways than one.

You lifted the ladder away from the wall, opening it up, steadying it out with your hands. Angled it where it faced parallel to the wall. Upon your first step, the ladder wobbled and you immediately got off. You took a deep breath, trying not to get discouraged. The ladder wasn’t going to tip over, the ground was pretty even. But you couldn’t help yourself with what-if scenarios: What if the ladder was faulty? What if the ladder did fall over and brought you down with it and you broke something. Who would help you? Would someone be able to hear you scream all the way out here? Being cautious was good, recognizing any potential risks was something to keep in mind. But it didn’t help with keeping your focus. You wouldn’t doubt you would have to use the ladder for other things in the future. It was best to get used to climbing it. You wouldn’t fall off, you told yourself while resting a foot on the first rung and tested the ladder.

It wasn’t that far up, it wasn’t like you were trying to climb the roof. Now that would be different. You were just looking through a window real quick, but not in a creepy way, and come right back down. You brought your foot on the first rung to the second and replaced your other to the first. The ladder wobbled underneath your feet as you began to climb up, stopping right where you were face-to-face with the window. Repeating to yourself not to look down like it was a mantra and trying to ignore the feel of vertigo with your feet not on the ground, you leaned forward and peered inside. It was dark inside and hard to see but from the sunlight from the windows, you could make out shapes and silhouettes but nothing distinguishable. You squinted and pressed your face closer to the glass to see if that would help but it only fogged up the glass too much. 

At least you knew that the garage wasn’t empty. 

After climbing down and almost plummeting back down to earth after a misstep, you folded up the ladder. You were just about to carry it to put it away when you noticed something just underfoot. A single paw print set deep into the dirt next to the ladder. Undisturbed, surprisingly intact even with your use of the ladder. Only unnoticeable by the fact that it had been concealed by the extension of the ladder itself and by its shadow. Otherwise it would have been very hard to miss. You placed the ladder aside, leaning it against the wall away from your new discovery, before crouching down to inspect it better. You narrowed your eyes at it. It didn’t look old but not so old that the mold of it had faded away. You weren’t an expert by any means but the paw print looked canine-like. However it was definitely not from a fox or a coyote or even a dog. It was way too huge to be either or. In fact, it was way bigger than your hand you realized as you leaned forward and hovered your palm over the paw print, measuring it. Astounded by its size and how little your hand fits inside.

Then came a sudden epiphany as a shiver shot down your spine. Like before, you immediately remembered Nikolai’s words again. His warning of wolves. An uneasiness began to brew. It couldn’t be a wolf, right? It was much too big. Like a bear paw. Was it a bear? No, it couldn’t be. Could it? It had to be. Wolves grew large but you didn’t think that they’d get to that size to make a print that big. In that case, it had to be a bear after all. But even then that didn’t make you feel any better, the notion that it was wandering onto your property right outside your cabin. You stood up, looking out into the forest ahead of you that still looked right back at you. You tore your eyes away from the trees, glancing down at the paw print on the ground, before grabbing the ladder and walking back. That feeling of uneasiness never went away long after you put the ladder away, lingering at the back of your mind. 

Though it wasn’t midmorning, you decided to head back inside and check if anything in the cabin’s interior needed to be added to the list. You started out in the living room, looking around here and there for anything worthy to put on your to-do list. But no initial issues stood out besides everything, especially the couches and the cushions, needing a deep-cleaning. It was much the same for the kitchen. The faucet was leaking when you looked underneath the sink but you considered it to fall under the same category as number two of your listing. You moved on to the hall. There was a deep scuff mark in the wood in the hallway, leading to a big wardrobe at the end of the hall. It wasn’t hard to put two-and-two together, the scuff marks from dragging the wardrobe inside. Negligence, deliberate or an accident, you couldn’t tell. You could probably get away with buffing it out without having to replace parts of the flooring. 

You moved on to the extra bathroom in the hall that you peeked at when you shallowly cleaned it yesterday.It was a bit bigger but had relatively the same layout as the one in the master bedroom. Having a wall-mounted sink, a toilet and clawfoot iron cast tub with the same add-on shower head mounted on the front. But again, you didn’t notice anything major or critical. The tub seemed to work fine, besides the discolored water and water temperature like the master bathroom’s tub, and it wasn’t as rusted. The sink and toilet seemed to be working without any problems as far as you could tell. You were getting hungry as the early afternoon rolled around so you took a lunch break. Decided on getting it over with and grabbing one the cans of baked beans to eat. It was overly sweet and slimy but it was better than starving. But as you took another bite, you began to doubt that initial notion. 

After lunch, you went into the bedroom to continue on with your inspection, already having seen the bathroom you didn’t bother going there. From what you could tell, there was some scuffing on the floors here too like in the hallway. But still nothing that caught your eye even untrained. Surprised yourself that you didn’t need to add anything else to your to-do list. But you couldn’t help but still feel like you were still scratching the surface, you were only seeing superficial wounding. Only looking skin-deep rather than delving past the skin into flesh and bone. But for now, you couldn’t complain. Maybe you could find a professional or someone with experience to survey your cabin. All the way out here, you doubted it. But maybe you could ask around the town, maybe even Nikolai.

After surveying both the interior and exterior, you didn’t know what else to do. It was late afternoon already and you had planned to start your to-do list the next day, thinking that you would be too preoccupied and finding issues left and right. You decided to get a head-start anyways, starting with deep-cleaning. Easy enough to do and not much prep work to do. And it would lessen your workload in the long run. There were cleaning supplies underneath the kitchen sink and cleaning essentials, even some gloves to protect your hands from all the chemicals. In the back you found a rust remover. The broom and mop from yesterday were still in the foyer. You started in the hallway bathroom. Scrubbing, wiping, washing, sweeping,mopping, disinfecting, de-rusting. Surprised how much grime and dust was still left over even after your initial cleaning. You wanted to get started on the kitchen too but you underestimated the amount of time and effort needed. Deep-cleaning the hallway bathroom took the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening. 

You were tired when you were done but you were glad to get it out of the way even if you didn’t get to the kitchen. You cleaned yourself off, deciding not to take a shower, especially now with the sun setting and night on the horizon. For dinner, you ate one of the cans of corn. It was sweet corn. Not artificially sweet as the baked beans for lunch or as slimy. It was far more welcome and a good meal to end the day with.

You changed and got ready for bed. It was already so cold in your cabin and you found yourself shaking and shivering. You were tempted to light the wood-burning stove in the living room but that, too, needed to be cleaned thoroughly. It was too full of ash, soot and cinder. With no central heating from what you could tell and major drop in the temperatures with the changing of seasons, it would be vital to prioritize cleaning out the wood stove. Something to do tomorrow. For now, you would have to smother yourself with blankets. By the end you felt like a cocoon, waddled up in the bed with so many blankets. Even the ones you had peeled off the bed yesterday. But it was better than shivering all night. Just like last night, insomnia beset you. Restless, unable to get yourself to fall asleep. 

For a bit, you scrolled on your phone with what little reception you had. Which quickly turned into doing some research about animal tracks. You sifted through articles, even some research journals. From what you learned, a wolf’s paw print, on average, was twice the size of the largest domestic dog breed (unless it was a wolf-dog hybrid of course). But from the attached figures and pictures included, a human hand would still be bigger — not by a lot in some cases. Granted, most of the hands used for measurement were the hands of men. But still, it would be able to cover over the track. A wolf paw would never be larger, a wolf paw print would never be able to completely fit a human’s hand inside it. So it had to be a bear then. You didn’t know if that was better or worse.

You put away your phone, deciding that you should try to get some sleep at least. But still to no avail. Still tossing and turning for hours. Removing some blankets when you got too warm only to put them back when the cold started to crawl through the layers. Soon there came a recognizable sound just like last night. The howls of wolves in the distance. A night’s call, a haunting symphony in the night. Like you had last night, you listened to the howling. You let out a deep exhale, bone-deep, feeling yourself relax with the release of breath. You snuggled in your cocoon of blankets, listening, memorized by the harmony. Letting it lull you to sleep.

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

There was a time long past where fantasy and reality were one in the same. Where one’s wildest imaginations were not contrived from a mind’s eye but were recounts of experiences, lived and learned. Myths were not misconstrued, legends were not just tall tales. A time where man was not on top of the food chain. Mythological creatures of yore and yonder were a part of the natural ecosystem. Trolls, golems, mermaids, goblins, centaurs, unicorns, basilisks, dragons — all were not fiction but fact. They walked amongst men, they hunted men. They were magical and fantastical — for their origins were magical and fantastical; primordial. They were here before mankind. Appeared right when the peridexion tree did, in the far past where time was once obsolete.

On the verge of extinction, humanity sought sanctuary. Deep in the forests where the peridexion tree grew. In its shadow, underneath its canopy, only did mankind find safety, find shelter in such a hostile world. Fed by the fruit it borne, fueled the man-made fires by the sap it bleed, supplied weapons carved from its branches, and clothes and textiles woven from its leaves. From the wind that rustled the tree’s canopy, did the susurrations whisper to humanity  —  knowledge: language, mathematics, alchemy, and sorcery.

In the peridexion tree’s embrace, by its generosity, only did humankind learn, survive and thrive. Only under its canopy, did mankind advance. They developed the fundamentals of a firstborn society: a common tongue, written language, trade, architecture, agriculture — the domestication of unicorns —  and art. Humankind built communities then cities and then kingdoms. Developed social systems and political structures. Now such mythical beasts, once worshipped and feared, were slain as just any other animal. They became delicacies, alchemical ingredients, cataclysms, and trophies. Rites of courage and trials of cowardice. 

But not all had humble beginnings nor did they live an honest life. There were beings of opportunity and overabundance; greed. Dragons. Who gnawed at the roots of the peridexion tree, over-plucked the tree’s fruits, used its branches and leaves for nesting material, and endlessly snacked on mankind. Worst of all, they burned down and destroyed mankind’s developing cities, and humankind with it, into nothing but ash and cinder. It was nothing but sport, for fun. Once again, putting humanity at the verge of endangerment.

It was underneath the same canopy, where the winds tousled, that the peridexion tree whispered to humanity an ancient ritual. A blood ritual that would be powerful enough to bind a dragon’s soul. It was here that a great reaping was sown. Where a sea of blood was spilled. And the dragons were punished and tethered to humanity for eternity; their souls bound and linked. But such powerful creatures that were an embodiment of magic themselves, were not so helpless against such a ritual. Though still bound to humanity, they only bonded with those deemed worthy enough. Those that could handle a draconian soul. Those chosen by dragons lead their fellows to greatness.

Soon servitude turned to companionship. Only with their help did humankind recover and blossom further. Built kingdoms and societies bigger than before. That spanned far beyond the tree’s reach. Towards lands untouched and divided by great seas. There was peace and prosperity for a time. From which dragons and mankind, as one, were maintainers of the natural order. But it was through that time, with souls intertwined, that the dragons' greed and destructive nature had influenced the hearts of mankind, for the hearts of mankind were, too, just as wicked. Peace turned to war, cooperation turned to bitter rivalry, humility turned to selfishness, and the maintenance of nature turned to the conquering of land, sea and sky.

Once mere companions, now dragons were weapons. Proprietors of death and fire.

A great war started. Turning order into chaos, men against men, dragons against dragons. The world burned, and with it, so did the peridexion tree. Until it was nothing but ash and cinder. Magic was gone, and the magical creatures that once roamed the world seemingly disappeared. Unicorns lost their horns, turning into what were now simple horses. Alchemy and sorcery became meaningless. 

Without the peridexion tree, what was left of civilization could not recover fully. What remained of humankind struggled to survive; beset with such that were never experienced before under the peridexion tree’s canopy; plagues, pestilence, famine, drought, earthquakes, hurricanes and flooding. Even dragons, once plentiful, were on the verge of extinction. Never to fully recount their numbers over the ages past, not like humankind did. What remained of them were only bonded to those deemed worthy, divine. Those chosen few became royalty, ruling over their land. Dragons were symbols of power, of prestige. And only through the royalty’s conservation efforts did dragons not completely die out. 

But even then, eventually, dragons, too, will cease to exist. With the death of the peridexion tree, came the death of magic. And with the death of magic, bore the slow death of dragons. For they too were entirely magic.

Or... so it was told. 

More so, it was what his grandfather had regaled him as a young boy through his storytelling. Of a time long past where fantasy and reality were one in the same. Where one’s wildest imaginations were not contrived from a mind’s eye but were recounts of experiences, lived and learned. Myths were not misconstrued, legends were not just tall tales. A time where man was not on top of the food chain. Mythological creatures of yore and yonder were a part of the natural ecosystem. Perhaps it was derived in truth, perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was to explain the unexplainable. Why such unnatural creatures were common in heraldry and old texts. In culture and tales. Perhaps like any other, it was a way to explain origins. Why dragons lived amongst men in the past and now, in the present. And why such fearsome and ferocious beasts became scarcer and scarcer. Only reserved and kept by the chosen few.

But such thinking was beyond his necessity, beyond his purpose. Such questions were reserved for the philosophers and priests to mull over and find meaning. For he was nothing but a simple shepherd. And all that was needed of him was to tend to his family’s sheep, lead them to grazing grounds and protect them from predators. A simple living for a good and honest son. So with his shepherd’s crook in hand and his farm hound at his heel did he lead his herd of sheep out to pasture on top of a hill by the forest’s edge.  

There, he would rest under the old oak tree on top of the hill and eat his lunch while his sheep grazed as always. A filled water skin and a small satchel where a wrapped handkerchief held nuts, strips of venison jerky, dried fruit, and ewe cheese for him, a bone for his hound, all packed by his mother.  Then under the oak tree, would he rest. Lay in the cool shade, daydreaming, with his hound curled near his feet; sometimes even a few sheep joined him. All while he filled the pages of his journal with sketches of all kinds and strings of written text. An activity far above his stature. Too sophisticated for a shepherd, his father would say, one he had no business indulging in. 

All he needed to know and do was to take care of the sheep, for without them, the family would lose everything. So he did what was told of him, what was expected of him. He led the sheep back onto that overgrown hill, had his lunch, and yet sketched in secret while the sheep grazed. 

But today was different. It had been hotter these past few days with the onset of summer. The heat made him more exhausted and sleepy. Underneath the shade of that old oak tree, in the flitting of the summer insects and warm breeze, did he find himself falling fast asleep after his afternoon meal. It was only by his hound’s incessant barking that the shepherd woke up. Begrudgingly and groggy, he stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He sat up, wide-awake now, looking down the hill for the grazing sheep. Only to see that they were all gone. The shepherd stood up, approached his hound barking over the other side of the hill. There at the hill’s bottom and near the forest’s edge, was a wide patch of blackened, scorched earth.

And within it, were his sheep. Dead. 

Not just dead but burnt and charred by… by fire? A wildfire? Arson? A lightning strike from a passing storm? Even from where he was at, he could feel the immense emanating heat. As if it was still fresh, as if it just happened. He ran down the hill, tumbling down more like. But his hound did not follow along, still barked hoarsely from the hilltop. Slowly and cautiously, the shepherd stood and entered the burnt area. Disbelieved, shocked. It was like stepping into a hot bath or a blacksmith’s forge. Immense heat engulfed him. Smoke filled his lungs, ash coated his skin. The tears at his waterline began to evaporate on his cheeks. The shepherd dropped to his knees, amongst the charred remains of the family’s sheep. Hands found the earth, grasping at cracked bone shards, shriveled sheepskin, and bits of glowing ember sizzling still. All but a burning ash pile in his clammy, callous hands. 

He had failed his purpose. He had doomed his family by his negligence. 

It was then that the earth shook beneath the shepherd. A deep echo in the ground, like an earthquake. A low bellow, like from a crocodile or an elephant. A powerful vocalization that shook him to the core. He looked up to the forest’s edge. Where a massive shadow crept low. Large burning eyes stared at him from the treeline. He froze, heart stopped, as what he thought was a massive shadow only grew that much bigger. Another bellow emanated, shaking the forest. Something moved, something approached. The towering trees of the forest began to bend, snapping easily as if they were nothing but twigs. And all he could do was watch. 

The treeline split open and a creature burst through. But not just any mere creature. A dragon. One that towered immensely over him, as big as his farmhouse. With a scaled body colored a dark cobalt and orange, smoldering slit eyes that burned like the sunset. And were trained on his kneeling figure among the smoke and ash. Its muzzle was stained in boiled blood, gore hung from teeth that were as long as short swords, as its lips curled with a snarl. It emerged more from the forest, catching the sun. Its horned bony crest, wing bones, and spinal scales shone like smelted copper. Even its leathery wings, partially unfurled, burned bright as copper. A contrast to its primary color of dark cobalt. It would be beautiful, if not for its terrifying appearance.

The shepherd remained still, breathless and motionless, as the dragon drudged forward. Balanced on its wingtips with smaller back legs like a monstrous, scaly bat. It snarled again, teeth glinting as it looked him over. The dragon extended its long neck down until it was relatively face-to-face with him. Those smoldering eyes looked into his own. A rush of moist air hit his face as its nostrils flared, taking in deep inhales then, just as quickly, exhaling. Seemingly smelling him. It let out a low rumble, then turned its head. Uninterested, it turned its back and drudged aside to where more of his dead sheep lay. Its long tail left deep grooves in the charred ground as it walked away. Then it began to feast. Swallowing one of the charred sheep down in a couple bites. 

He clenched his fists on his lap, bits of cinder smearing over his skin like chalk. Sulking, no. He was simmering. His fear turned to anguish. Then with anguish came desperation. And with desperation was misplaced courage, sacrificial in nature. Though his legs wobbled, the shepherd forced himself on his feet. Breathing hard and heavy as anger burned. In front of him lay a piece of a broken femur bone. Sharp, charred, and pointed at one end like a curved dagger. Uncovered by the dragon’s tail sweeping side-to-side. He grabbed it, clutching the makeshift weapon tight in his hands. The shepherd turned, watching as the dragon gorged itself on his family’s livelihood. With his judgement clouded, he ran forward. Towards the closest part of the dragon by him; its long swishing tail. Yelling in mourning, he stabbed as hard as he could into the tail. Right between two overlapping scales. The dragon cried out. But before he could assess the damage, the tail flicked and he was thrown on his back a few feet away. 

The dragon turned around. Attention back to the shepherd who laid supine in ash and cinder, watching as the dragon walked forward until it stood over him. It opened its maw. There, cradled in its throat was a growing flame. Like looking straight into the opening of a furnace. The shepherd forced himself on his feet again, feeling the emitting heat of the burning flame in its mouth. He faced the dragon, angry. Angry at himself, anguished at the end of his family's lifeline. Just as the dragon opened its maw wider, did he as well. Closed his eyes shut and opened his jaw until it ached at the joint and roared. 

He expected death, he expected to burn like his sheep had. But the heat of flames never touched him. The shepherd opened his eyes slowly and met the flaming pits of the dragon’s eyes. Staring straight at him, as if into his soul. The ground beneath his feet rumbled once more as a deep grumble came from the depth of the dragon’s chest. He watched frozen as the dragon crouched down to its belly and bent its neck to him. 

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He had just come back from training when the news got to him. He was exhausted and sweating, on his way back to his room for a much needed bath and rest. The place was busier than he expected. Maids and servants ran through the halls and down staircases. Guards were frantically marching towards the Nest where the dragons – both claimed and unclaimed — resided. He had thought nothing of it at first, brushing it off as the rush of the afternoon. But soon he saw the Captain amongst the guards. It was then he knew something was amiss. 

He stood near the wall and the Captain locked eyes with him.

“Ghost.” Captain Price nodded in greeting, his voice low and laced with exhaustion. He was on edge, Ghost could tell. On the verge of blowing a casket if he were to guess. He only wondered who or what had completely ticked him off this time.

“Price.” He rumbled back.

Without a word Captain Price left the rest of the group of gathering guards and ducked away to a secluded part of the castle. Ghost followed diligently, silent as a shadow. Price let out a heavy sigh and leaned on the railing of a small balcony overlooking one of the many central gardens. The flowers were in full bloom now. Pops of color among verdure. The soft scent of them carried by a warm breeze. One to be enjoyed, if not for the circumstances.

Ghost stopped near the corner where the shadows were darkest. Leaned himself against the wall by the shoulder, arms across his wide chest.

“One of the unclaimed dragons escaped.” 

Ghost remained silent and stoic, even with the news. It wasn’t unheard of. Dragons, even claimed and bound, were still in essence animals. Most did as they pleased when they pleased, especially those unclaimed and riderless. Some had more free-spirited personalities than others. Others craved a chance to spread their wings. More often than not, without interference or guidance, such freedom would encourage them to seek out an area to rest, thus finding themselves a new nest. 

Ghost then let out an acknowledging hum. Expecting a command from Price to gather a group and go fetch the escaped dragon before it could settle down and claim new territory – thus making it more difficult to bring it back. Or worse, prevent it from causing any major damage. But Price grew quiet again. Strangely so. It seemed there was something more to it. Ghost remained patient, letting silence come between them. A long beat came and went before Price let out a heavy sigh and turned towards Ghost. With a strange intensity that burned in his blue eyes. 

“A shepherd’s boy has claimed the dragon.”

But unlike you and a majority of the population, there were outliers. Others that weren't partaken with conformity or willing to settle for such a thing known as ‘normality’. Mostly nut jobs, based on personal assumptions. Or even religious cultists and doomsday preppers. Or people too consumed with conspiracy theories and antigovernmental beliefs. The black sheep of the family. But among it all, you didn’t know where your grandparents aligned. Didn’t know if they were a little bit of the above or none at all. They were never heavily involved in your childhood or your teenage years. You had no memories of them. Only knew what was whispered between the adults. Questions brushed off when you got too curious for your own good. Denial when you happened to remember something small and stray. A fleeting memory, that was like sand grains in your palm. Rendered as nothing but a child’s wild imaginations or vivid dreams.

Or even the feign of ignorance when you found a Purple Heart behind a delve of old photographs. All collecting dust in an old shoebox when you were helping your parents go through old boxes for a spontaneous spring cleaning. You remembered your parents’ faces when you showed them the shoebox. Purple Heart in your palm, black-and-white photographs rifled through by your curiosity. They had a look of complete fear; wide-eyed, color drained from their faces and frozen in place. Before the shoebox was yanked from your hands and you were sent away to your room, excused from helping out. 

That was the last time you saw the shoebox. 

You remembered one time when you tried to sneak into their bedroom to find it, but to no avail. But that fear on your parents’ faces was unforgettable. As were the old monochrome photographs of blurry faces, of strangers. Just like the weight of the Purple Heart in your hand and the stain of grime and dust on your fingertips. Sometimes you wondered about the significance of it. Wondered why your parents acted the way they did that day. They never did answer your questions about it, told you they didn't know what you were talking about when you would bring it up.

And soon, just like many things in your life, it became nothing but an odd occurrence in your past. Something you tossed around your head before shrugging your shoulders and worrying about other things. But one thing stood out to you, one thing was certain as time passed. Those strangers in the photographs weren’t just some random faces in a crowd. They were your grandparents. Those unspoken, estranged family members scratched out in the familial records. And even more interesting, they were former military. 

Now, you were sitting in your break room. Mentally exhausted, physically tired. Ready to go home and snuggle underneath your bed covers, scrolling through your phone until bedtime. It had been a long and draining work week. More than you had thought possible. But it wasn’t unusual. The holidays were coming up which only meant more strenuous work and more tedious responsibilities -– but such was life was it not? Luckily, you were the only person in the break room. Able to take a breather and actually enjoy your break by yourself. Your social battery was completely depleted, and you were in no mood to socialize, let alone tolerate another presence in the same vicinity as you. 

Quietly brewing in your own thoughts, you thumbed against a piece of paper in your hand. One that had been just another envelope lost in your endless pile of mail on your side table: bills, notices, magazines, and flyers. You had stumbled upon it a few days ago when finally getting the motivation to sort through the accumulating pile. Inscription of a legal notice was across the front that made your heart drop into your chest, fingers shaking as you carefully tore the seal to fish out what was inside. A will, and all assets and inheritance named to you. From your supposed grandparents. The call that followed was interesting… for lack of a better word. You were the sole inheritor, no one else in your family was named. But none of your family had contested it. Not even your parents. Upon their death, your grandparents’ bodies were already taken care of; cremated and buried in a private graveyard in their hometown.   

You had taken note of the information given to you and made arrangements for your appointment with an attorney in regards to the probate. You had gone early yesterday morning, all legalities and protocols were explained to you. And in the following afternoon, with a few signatures, all assets and inheritance were now legally yours. Namely, and more intriguingly, a property out in Alaska was now under your name. Now, you eyed the document again. Still in disbelief. It all felt too good to be true. As if any second, you would wake up from a dream to a snoozed alarm and indentations on your skin from your sheets. Your eyes went to your blaring watch, realizing that your break was over. You folded the document, tucking it away in your pocket. Letting out a deep sigh, you forced yourself on your feet. It was going to be a long day…

Back at home, you collapsed on your couch. Bag, keys, and all. Too tired to walk to your bedroom. Too tired to even think. But underneath it all, there was relief as well. Not only from finally being at home after such a long and grueling day. But also from your time-off being approved. Which was surprising given such a short notice and the upcoming holiday season. You remembered the nervousness. The shock you felt when you got that approval email. Things were going too well for your liking. But there was no time to question it or mull over it. You supposed ‘urgent family emergency’ had been sufficient enough. Which was accurate, but you knew it would serve partly as much needed time away from life.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there lounging on your couch. But eventually, like you had in the break room, you forced yourself up on your feet to get ready for bed. You had another long work week ahead of you. All you needed to do was to tough it out and get through it. Then it was packing up and heading to Alaska to see that estate for yourself. Do some upkeep and maintenance if necessary, take time-off as you did so, and then simply sell it — land and all. Then it would be a piece of cake from there. A straightforward plan; a solid course of action. 

Now all you needed to do was book that flight.

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From above, the town of Fairbanks was a spectacle among all the wilderness. And, after hours of flying, it was also a sight for sore eyes. Fairbanks was much more than what you expected for a city out in the Alaskan frontier. With high-rise buildings, arching bridges, highways, downtown areas, residentials and beautiful wilderness just beyond. A beautiful city just waiting to be explored and experienced. But it was not your destination nor was there any time to tour it. You had another flight to catch immediately after yours landed. The property that was left to you was out further, in the outskirts of Fairbanks. In a small town; more rural, more remote. Driving there was feasible. The main highway went near enough to the small town, but it did not go thoroughly. Renting out a car and driving there was an option, but not something you wanted to do after such a long flight. The next best option you found was to take another plane there. And luckily, the town had an airstrip.  

With all your luggage behind you, you went to find the right terminal gate and the pilot that would take you there. The terminal was surprisingly busy. But expected given the upcoming season and it being in such a huge city. Though it wasn’t the worst, not too overcrowded or hectic, as it wasn’t a hindrance to walk around. You eventually found the terminal gate on the other side of the terminal, opposite to where your plane landed. The sitting area for the terminal gate was completely empty, save for a couple workers behind a tall desk. The sight of it made you double check that you were in the right area. But soon after checking, you sat down and waited for the boarding call. Which didn’t take long to be announced. 

You walked forward with your luggage. Confused when the workers didn’t take it to be packed away onto the plane. Instead you were escorted onto the tarmac and towards a noticeably small conventional aircraft ahead of you. There was a person near the wing of the plane in the distance. Rendered into a blurred figure in the sun, no matter how hard you squinted to make out any noticeable features. But as you grew nearer, the clearer the figure became; as did the plane. A man stood against an old Beechcraft. Wiping along the wing tips so affectionately that it made you feel that you were stumbling into a private moment. But as you approached, his head lifted up and the man’s focus waned. Attention now on you. 

His face immediately lit up.

The man gave both of the workers a nod and a grin. Immediately, your ears perked up at the rhythmic lilt of a Russian accent as the man introduced himself as Nikolai. He took your luggage from the workers and you, stacking it away into the underside compartment of the Beechcraft. You couldn’t help but notice how casually the man was dressed for a pilot. Clad in jeans, a plain T-shirt, a brown leather jacket and boots. Finger length raven hair was slicked back neatly, curling naturally at the bottom of his neck  and emphasized his widow’s peak. A Cuban gold link chain hung around his neck. Apprehension prickled down your spine, suddenly unsure. More so as the workers left you alone with your supposed pilot. You eyed the man as he stacked another one of your suitcases inside the belly of the aircraft. 

“So you’re a pilot… sir ?” You asked. Trying to sound polite, conversationalist even, only for the skepticism to peek through and waver your voice. But if your pilot was bothered by it, you couldn’t tell. He only gave you a warm smile.

“Call me Nik, please.” He said, stuffing your duffel bag away. “And yes. Your pilot to be exact.” 

 “Well… Nik . How long have you been a pilot for?” 

“Nearly two decades.” With your luggage and bags all put away safely, Nikolai shut the underside compartment closed with an audible click. “But don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” He patted the side of the plane. “Katyushka and I will get you there safely.” 

You blinked at him. “ Katyushka.. ?”

The edges of Nikolai’s lips twitched as his smile widened. Obviously finding your butchering of the Russian word funny.

“Yes.” He leaned against the Beechcraft. “Well, to me. But to strangers, it’s Ekaterina .” The drawl of his accent made it sound so sensuous that you couldn’t help but shift your weight on your heels. “Built her from the ground up years ago. She’ll take you where you need to go, no problem.” He affirmed that notion with a gentle patting on the metal body again.

“Ok.” You nodded, your concerns not diminished in the slightest.

“It’ll be smooth sailing, I promise.” Nik opened the passenger side door. Offering his hand out to you as you reluctantly stepped forward and into the aircraft. Then took his seat in the pilot seat afterwards. 

Curious, your eyes wandered around the flight deck. At the various knobs, levers, buttons, and dials. Blinking displays and flashing lights that grabbed your attention, wondering what they all were for. Nikolai grabbed the aviator headset from its perch, placing it on top of his head. Then looked towards you, gaze meeting your inquisitive one as he tapped against the earmuff. 

“Headset – put it on.”

You nodded, looking around near your seat aimlessly before a hand darted in your vision, grabbing the other headset next to the side of your seat. Though Nik’s smile remained, you grabbed them sheepishly. Putting them on then fastened your seatbelt. Nikolai flicked a few switches and pressed more buttons before the Beechcraft sounded to life. The engine revved as the propeller began to spin faster and faster. Until the twisted nose blade was but a blur. 

“She purrs like a dream.” The static voice of Nik surprised you as it hummed through the intercom. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights or get motion sick. Ran out of emesis bags months ago.”

You swallowed, putting on a neutral expression. “I’ll be fine. Already came this far, didn’t I?” 

You didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself but either way Nikolai moved the plane down an unoccupied part of the airstrip. Away from the other larger commercial planes, one of which you had arrived on. He stopped just at the end of the tarmac where it ended at the tree line. Slowly and steadily, the Beechcraft went along the airstrip before Nikolai increased the throttle, making the Beechcraft pick up more speed. Until the wheels hovered above and the aircraft soared. The worst part of the plane ride came and went. The Beechcraft cruised at a comfortable altitude. But your nails were dug into the leather of your seat still and you released the lungful of air you repressed. The Russian man found it amusing it seemed by the way his grin only widened. Which made you force yourself to ease your grip on the seat and relax. 

There was a silence between you both, more comfortable than awkward which you appreciated after such a long day of traveling. You settled back into your seat, arms across your chest as you leaned to your right. Stared out of your passenger window to the sight beyond. All you saw was a clear blue sky and the tufts of clouds floating on by, whipped around by wind. Before you knew it, you were starting to get drowsy. Your aviation headset blocked out the sound of the plane and the propeller, only emitting white noise from an open radio line. You decided to lay down your head for a while, letting your eyelids flutter close as you snuggled against the side of the plane’s interior and into the leather seat. But soon just resting your head turned into you dozing off the rest of the way there.

A sudden turbulence made you bolt you awake, panicked as your stomach dropped. Hands gripped around the armrests as the plane shook as it began to descend. Your wide eyes darted to your left, catching the Russian pilot’s apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” Nik said over the headset, “Didn’t mean to scare you awake.”

You were groggy, still rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. Not lucid enough to consciously hide the scowl on your face. You relaxed a little, arms across your chest as you peered through your window. You weren’t surrounded by an endless sky anymore, having decreased in altitude. Below you was the Alaskan frontier in all its glory — alpine mountains, wide lakes and winding rivers, overgrown grasslands, open fields and thick woodlands.

You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful view, disregarding all that second guessing that occupied your headspace since your first flight. For that moment, all worry and regret was gone, and you felt at peace. Enjoyed all the scenery for a while, but it wasn't long before you were near your destination. From above, the small town of Coalition was a strange sight in the surrounding frontier. A smidge of civilization in all that untamed and untapped Alaskan wilderness. 

"Hold on."

The fuzzy words of your pilot came through the aviation headset that you both wore. 

On cue, Nikolai eased the Beechcraft lower and the cabin of it shook as it began to descend downwards, making you clutch against the armrests. Your pilot aimed towards the landing strip on the outskirts of the town where its fetal airport, paling in comparison to a commercial terminal, settled in a manmade open field. When the plane's wheels safely kissed the ground, you let out a rush of air. Relaxing into your seat as Nikolai slowed the acceleration until the aircraft began to lose its speed and rolled off into a slow and easy cruise.

He drove it towards an overarching steel hangar, coming to a stop just at the threshold. When the engines were cut off, you were quick to pull your aviation headset off and hop out. Stretching away the ache in your limbs and breathing in deeply for once as crisp air filled your chest for once rather than city smog. You took in the sight of the trees in the distance. Already their canopies were just beginning to lose their green pigmentation, right on the cusp of turning into shimmering gold and auburn. 

Fall was imminent. Thereafter, winter. Ideally, the land you inherited would be sold before then with a bit of luck on your side. But for now, you would enjoy your time off in such beautiful surroundings. 

“See. Told you it would be smooth sailing.” Nik smiled with a lean against the right wing of the plane.

“What about when you scared me awake? What was smooth about that?” You asked.

But he only shrugged. “Can’t tame the wind.”

Nikolai began to pull your luggage out of the holding compartment – one by one. Quicker he was retrieving it out than he was when trying to stack them inside like Tetris pieces. When you grabbed all your luggage, you and Nik exchanged your farewells before sauntering off and tended to the plane. His ‘ Katyushka’ , whatever that meant. But it was only when you grabbed all your luggage, struggling to carry it all as you walked, when you realized how far the town was from the airstrip. And how you didn’t have a designated ride there. You stood there for a moment, contemplating on what to do next. With such a small town, you doubted there were any taxis or any sort of paid ride shares. It seemed your predicament wasn’t as internal as it seemed when Nikolai soon approached you, concern etched on his smiling face.

“Are you waiting for someone?” 

“Not really.” You said, trying to sound unbothered. “I was just going to walk.”

“All the way to town?!” Nikolai eyed all your bags. 

You couldn’t help but feel bashful, feeling a need to dissuade and not draw attention to yourself and your little predicament. “Yeah. I need to stretch my legs anyway after the back-to-back flights.”

“It’s a two mile walk into town.”

You nodded, nonchalant about it. But internally you were screaming. “That’s not too bad.”

By the look on his face he doubted your words. “Do you have anyone you can call to pick you up?”

“No.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Before saying, “Wait here.”

You watched as Nikolai jogged towards the hanger then went around the side of it. Less than a minute later, a loud engine roared to life. Revving in the distance before a vintage four door sedan appeared from behind the hangar. And around the landing strip, following a gravel road along the perimeter. The car stopped at a junction just off the runway, where the gravel merged into a dirt road and then stopped in front of you. Nikolai emerged from the driver’s side, trunk already popped open as he went for your bags.

“It’s ok, Nik, really. I don’t mind walking. It’s not that far.”

But he only shook his head at you. “It’s no problem to me.”

“But the road leads straight to the town, right? I think I can manage it fine.” 

“With all these bags? You won’t make it there by sunset.” Nik said right as he stuffed one of your duffle bags into his trunk. Ignoring your pointed stare. “Besides, we got some wolf sightings recently. Not good to let you wander about.” 

You widened your eyes at him. Your skin began to prickle. “Wolves? Aren’t they usually too scared to be so close to people?”

“Usually, yes. But this pack’s the bold type. They like to sometimes wander the outskirts of town, too close for people’s liking. But for the most part, they mainly stick to the forest.” Nik huffed as he picked up one of your heaviest suitcase. “Which is why I don’t want to let you walk all the way to town. If you get lost in the trees and end up as their dinner, I don’t want to have that on my conscience.”

You let out a sigh, an almost laugh that made you ease up. You watched him a moment before deciding to help Nikolai put away your luggage in his car. Despite his insistence for you to let him do it. 

“Is it a big pack?" You asked, putting your bag into his backseat. Mostly for conversation but also to feed your curiosity. 

Nikolai loaded the last suitcase and closed the trunk with a loud click. Then shook his head. “It's only a few of them.”

You hummed in interest. Went around the car and opened the passenger side door. You settled yourself in the leather seat, putting on your seatbelt before the car went driving down the road. A silence settled between you and Nikolai once more, much like the one during the flight here. You occupied yourself by leaning on the car door armrest, looking out the window to the surrounding trees. But as the road turned uneven and rough, the car rattled over holes and bumps. What was a nice cruise down turned to slow and steady driving as Nik carefully tried not to scratch the paint or get his car stuck or scraped. And the lowered suspension from the added weight of  all your luggage didn’t help the effort of getting over potholes and elevated ground. 

You sat back in your seat, arms across your chest. But nonetheless grateful for not walking, experiencing just how bad the desolate road had become. Soon Nikolai was on a paved road again, leading into civilization. The town of Coalition was about what you expected for a small, rural town in the middle of nowhere. Small facilities here and there, the necessities needed to sustain and maintain a population. You noted some of them as the car drove by: a small general store, a local grocery store, a doctor’s clinic, a post office, a community center and a gas station. And all in a centralized area. 

You guided Nikolai towards where the property was, having written the directions just in case. Nikolai knew the roads by heart and nodded along, already knowing where to go. The property was on the outskirts of the town, more situated within the forest. But it wasn’t uncommon, there were other properties that did the same. It was late afternoon, by the time the vintage sedan rolled up to the property, following an off road dirt roadway leading between a dense thicket. Soon you saw a cabin, unassuming in the shadow of the pines and evergreens and all by its lonesome in a clearing in the forest. It stood on a few acres of sundered land – your land – that endured against the fickleness of nature. Slowly and steadily, the forest encroached – brush, young tree saplings and briar that creeped into the clearing and towards the cabin. 

Nik stopped just short of the gravel driveway where a tree had fallen and blocked the path. Roots uprooted, sticking out of the end of the trunk. It was a young tree, properly too weak to hold its canopy during the winter. The hole where it grew from was already covered up. And the tree was already cut up and sectioned in logs by a chainsaw, its branches rotting in a heap thrown aside towards the forest. You wondered if your grandfather had done it. The thought sat like a stone in your mind, it made you recoil. Trying to imagine the grandparents you never met, never saw. But still gave you this property after their passing. One that you looked up at now with curiosity and… fear, comprehension? 

Too many questions, too many thoughts. You dismissed it all away.

You expected Nikolai to stop right then and there and park. But he only drove around the logs, crushing the vegetation underneath as he went. The sedan stopped in front of the cabin. He left the car on but in park as he hopped out, wasting no time in unloading all your luggage with your help despite his disapproving frown. It was easier taking it all out than it was loading it, and before you knew it all your luggage and bags were on the front porch. And with a wave and smile from Nikolai, and sincere gratitude from you, you watched as the sedan drove away until it disappeared between the trees. 

With a heavy sigh, you turned and faced the door to the cabin. The house key felt heavier in your pocket. Overcome with a sudden hesitation that prevented you from moving. As if you were a vampire needing permission to enter a home. You took a big step back, sitting on one of the wooden chairs out on the patio. Next to dead perennials and other potted plants grouped along the railing where you assumed the early morning sun concentrated. You took in the fresh air. The smell of the forest and soil that felt cleansing for your lungs, accustomed to the fumes of pollution. After a few minutes you stood back up. Facing the door once more, you placed your hands upon the wood. Feeling the cool, smooth surface. You grabbed the key, turning the lock and with a squeak, you opened the cabin door and went inside. 

You stared into darkness. Only a rectangular strip of light extended into the cabin from behind you. Enough for you to distinguish the shadowed shapes of furniture and decorations. Your footsteps echoed against the wood flooring, reverberating through the dark as you grabbled around for a light switch. 

“Let there be light.” You mumbled to yourself and flicked on a light switch. 

Immediately the house flooded with warm lighting. You walked further in, hit with the layered smell of dust and must. The cabin was a bit smaller than it looked from the outside. With a small yet open kitchen that led directly to a living room. A singular hall divided both, leading to the back of the cabin where a bedroom and bathroom were. You took a second to wander and take in the inside. It was what you expected a grandparents’ house to be like. Rustic and vintage. With old furnishings, knickknacks, and décor. 

Various art pieces, landscape paintings and nature photographs hung on the walls. 

A cross-stitch sampler of the wild Alaskan landscape full of grazing deer and songbirds in the treetops was next to the front door, right above a small table where a wilted plant sat. Plush couches overstuffed with not matching throw pillows huddled around a wood-stove in the living room. A large bookshelf stuffed full of old books and films lined along the wall, away from the wood-stove, and next to an antique grandfather clock. Ticking away, louder than your footsteps as you went to the window. Pulled the drapery and opened the window to air out the house and get rid of the stench. Dust motes danced in the sun streams, floating and falling slowly like fall leaves.

Everything felt lived-in and loved. How peculiar.

You made quick work in bringing in all your luggage and bags. Collapsing on one of the couches and into the pile of pillows, some tumbling onto the floor from your impact. But soon the smell of dust from the cushions invaded your nose and you quickly got up, making a mental note to deodorize the couches. You grabbed your suitcases and bags, taking them down the hall past the other bathroom and a closet to where the master bedroom was at its end.

The floor creaked as you stepped foot inside. Sunlight filtered through the drapery as you pulled it aside and right onto the handcrafted quilted duvet of a queen sized bed in the center. It was a decently sized room with a small connecting bathroom. Compared to the rest of the house, it was decorated minimally. With only a bed, an armoire, and a lamp. A small vanity desk near the window. Some novelties here and there. You lifted the window latch and opened the bedroom window to get rid of the stuffiness in the bedroom and continue to air out the house. You rummaged around the room, finding clean sheets, pillowcases and blankets in a plastic tub underneath the bedframe. 

They were still fresh and smelt of detergent, better than the duvet and pillowcases that have been sitting in a stuffy room for who knows how long. You quickly changed the bedsheets, pillowcases and duvets. Throwing the stripped contents aside on an end-of-the-bed bench to be cleaned later. You brought all your luggage inside, the entirety of it cluttered a majority of the space. Only giving you one way to get on and off the bed and a path to the bathroom. You cleaned up as much as you could, a shallow cleaning: sweeping and wiping away the gathering dust; taking up the rest of the late afternoon that turned into early evening.  

Now, the only thing left was something to eat. You walked into the kitchen, looking around. The fridge was filled with expired and molding food. And nothing appetizing. You looked into the pantry cabinet, seeing a lot of canned foods and sealed, labelled mason jars. One of the labels reading ‘chamomile’ caught your eye. You grabbed it, looking inside to see the dried flowers of chamomile. Deciding that tea and that bag of chips in your handbag from your flight to Alaska would be your dinner. You found an old kettle and searched through the kitchen cabinets stacked with mismatched dishes, old tea cups, novelty mugs, and glassware. You grabbed one of the mugs, noticing it was hand-painted with a howling wolf. After a few tries, you managed to light the propane stove, filled the kettle with water and began to boil it. You filled a tea ball you found in one of the drawers with the tea, letting it seep once the kettle whistled and you filled up your mug with boiling water. 

You enjoyed what you could of your…dinner. Deciding to peruse the bookshelf for something interesting to read as you began to settle. But soon, you felt your entire day weigh down on you; the entirety of your day filled with travel. You closed the living room window, noticing the waning gibbous moon between the sliver of clouds. You pulled the curtain closed and went to the bathroom for a much needed shower. When you finally collapsed onto the bed and sunk into the quilt, you tried to get some rest. Only to toss and turn for hours, not being able to get comfortable. Soon there came a recognizable sound. Between the doldrum came a cry, the howls of wolves in the distance. It was a night’s call, a symphony. Haunting, beautiful. You couldn’t help but tilt your head, trying to hear it better. Memorized by the harmony. 

You snuggled underneath the covers, listening to the howling until it lulled you to sleep.

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