Turning to the dance floor on your bar stool, you observed your friends dancing provocatively in front of the men.

They would grind on each other and kiss for the sake of attention as if their clothing alone wouldn't draw attention, and it would work every time. Men who were complete strangers would buy you and your friends multiple rounds throughout the night hoping to get lucky.

Tonight, you all wore matching tight-fitted black mini skirts and tops that barely covered your chest. Your outfit in question was uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was like wearing a costume. When you'd dress like that, it was as if you were a new person, for one night. You immediately gained a newfound confidence and your adventurous side would come out to play.

You grinned against your glass, chuckling to yourself.

How you loved being a woman.

You scootch off the seat, stumbling, trying to find your footing. Your sense of balance was terrible when you were drunk and your heels did not help with that at the moment. 

Eventually, you made your way to your friends on the dance floor, joining the small circle to include yourself again.

"Y/N! There you are, I missed you!" Your little blonde friend threw herself on you. You caught her in your arms, laughing. 

The six of you danced to the beat. Hips swaying, arms in the air, hair flying everywhere. You could feel the blood pumping through your veins, and sweat forming on your forehead, but you didn't care you were having so much fun.

our arms were raised in a state of intoxicated freedom as you tried to keep up with your friends, whose energy seemed endless.

Your fingertips tingled as you waved your hands to the rhythm, and your feet grew numb from the constant stomping.

Your head felt heavy on your neck, and your eyelids became harder to keep open. You were running out of breath.

Your movements turned sloppy as your body began to fatigue, even though your mind insisted you had more energy than you actually did. Your chest heaved, struggling to breathe in the tight top.

A couple hours went by and the club slowly began to empty out as people left in small crowds. The night was approaching its end. 

You were seated in a booth with fewer friends, all of you trying to call your drives home.

Your vision was blurry as you fiddled with your phone, trying to hold it properly.

The aggressive blue light blinded you. You squinted, opening your contacts app.

A few scrolls down and you found your usual Taxi Driver's phone number.

You pressed it, bringing your phone close to your ear. The ringing echoed loudly in your ears as you drunkenly awaited a response. He finally answered. 

"Ugh-mkay, uh I'm at thuh Sound Night Club.... on Las Palmas, can you cohme get me? I'm fuckhing drunhk." You slurred into the phone mic.

After a few exchanges, you hung up. "Welp ladies, my taxi issa comin soon so I gotta wait outside." You stood, steadying yourself on the table. You draped your jacket over your shoulders, clinging your wallet and phone to your chest. You gave them each a kiss on the cheek and said your goodbyes. 

Your heels padded on the tacky red carpet as you slowly made your way to the entrance. Before leaving you wished the bouncer a good night. "It's not my birthday, but thank you." He replied. You just smiled, confused. 

You pushed the heavy doors open, only to be greeted with a freezing gust of air. Your exposed legs were now covered in chills. The street lights illuminated your flushed cheeks; how nice. You leaned your back against the club's brick wall and waited for your Taxi. 

A shiny black Camaro pulled up to the curb, flashing its lights and honking its horn. You stayed put, wondering whose ride it was. It then honked again.

You just observed silently. 

The driver's door opened and a tall dark man rose from the car. "Y/N?" He shouted. You jumped slightly. This wasn't your taxi driver: You wondered who the man was, and how he knew your name.

Fucking trouble, that's who.

The unknown man was shouting your name. You looked around to see if anyone else was outside that you could ask for help; not one.

Fuck it, you thought.

You took a run for it, your cheap heels clicking on the cement sidewalks, and you gripped all of your belongings as if your life depended on it, and at that moment it did. 

The streets of Los Angeles were dangerous at this time of night, and you were the desired victim; a drunk, helpless, pretty girl in slutty clothing.

So much for being a woman!

The cold air breezed through your product-filled hair as you ran down an alley, only to be cornered by the car again.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked. Your heart pounded in your ears and your mouth was now dryer than a desert. You couldn't find your voice to yell for help.

The man got out again and started running after you, leaving his door open. The car lights blinded you, you could only see his tall shadow approaching you, quickly.

You once again tried to make a run for it but your heel fell through a manhole cover. You rolled your ankle and fell to your knees, your full weight hitting the solid pavement. You groaned in pain. The man rushed to your sides, as you cried on your hands and knees.

This was the end.

"Y/N! What were you thinking? You could've gotten seriously hurt! You could've gotten hit by a fucking car!!" The familiar voice gritted with rage. You lifted your head trying to identify this strange individual's face, only to reveal the face of your friend, Adam. 

"Adam? Why the fuhhck are yohu trying to kidhnap me for?" You slurred, trying to push away from his grip. "Kidnap? What? -Y/N, you called me from the club asking me to pick you up." He raised an angry eyebrow. 

You just broke down in tears, feeling lost and confused.

"You're too drunk." He grumbled, shaking his head.

"nO, I called, Denis. My usual taxi." You squinted, pulling out your phone to show him. Adam plucked the phone from your grasp and examined the phone.

"Y/N, it says Driver. Driver, Adam." He sighed impatiently.

"Oh, well, i swearr thaht I actually talked to hi-WOah!" Adam had cut you off by picking you up bridal style from the ground.

"Let me down!" You attempted to squirm but your lack of energy or control didn't allow you to do so.

"No, Y/N. You hurt your ankle. Now stop whining and let me take care of you. It's late- It's 4 in the fucking morning and you're acting like a child." He knelt down to grab your jacket that was at his feet and proceeded to place you on the passenger side of his car.

He then resumed his place at the wheel and sped off to his apartment. His car hummed loudly down the silent streets.

During the drive, you were quiet, your scraped knees were pulled to your chest and you faced your window, observing the lights that flashed by as Adam sped through the neighbourhood. 

You began to feel your soberness again because all the adrenaline was gone and the pain was now settling in.

Adam pulled into the parking garage and stopped the car in his usual spot. He turned off his vehicle and picked you up once more, this time with less anger. You toyed with the collar of his shirt as he carried you to his door. He had so many birthmarks on his neck.

Arriving at 11B, he managed to unlock and kick his door open. He used his elbows to switch on the lights and laid you on the grey sofa. 

"Do you need anything? Some pants, another shirt? Socks?" He spoke on top of you, trying to keep you awake.

"This outfit is too tight, Adamhm, can I borrow some long socks and one of your T-shirts?" You breathed out, with your eyes closed. Your head felt heavy against the firm couch pillow, it's like you were sinking in quicksand.

"I'll be right back." He said. 

You peeked an eye open to observe his apartment decor. It was minimalistic, with tones of light greys, topes and whites. Indie artists covered his walls, and colourful woven rugs were sprawled across the floor. He had lots of books on his shelf in the corner, you propped yourself up and dragged your feet to the library dizzily.

Poetry.

 Adam had lots of notorious poets in his collection.

He returned shortly.

"Here you go. Are you sure you don't want some shorts or sweatpants? They have drawstrings, so you can tighten it as much as you want." He placed the clothing on the oak coffee table that you were now making your way to. 

"I'm sure... thank you, Adam." You smiled unzipping your painfully tight top, exposing your red push-up bra. Adam's eyes diverted to the floor, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"If you need anything else, I'll be upstairs in my bedroom. It's the first door on your left." He turned to leave. 

"Wait, Adam!" You let the top fall to your feet.

"Yes?" He turned around, making only eye contact, trying to not observe your figure.

"You have poetry books in your library." You said, sliding your skirt off, leaving you in only your matching lace undergarments. 

Adam controlled his breathing. 

"I do, I do, uh, do you read lots of... poetry?" He asked leaning against his living room door frame.

"I actually used to write some and read them at open mic nights." You smiled, unclipping your bra swiftly, allowing your breasts to bounce out of your bra.

"Much better," You muttered.

"I-I uh, I didn't know that." He bit the inside of his cheek, face remaining unreadable. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and fixed his posture. You could hear his foot tapping the floor, and you could sense uneasiness in him.

Oh?

Casually, you let the bra fall, like your top, and slid on his grey Star Wars t-shirt that he probably had received from a fan.

Adam was not one to watch let alone buy merchandise from his own projects. The Kylo graphic tee looked cute on you, it ended mid-thigh and wasn't too wide.

"I still write sometimes, but not as much as I'd like to, you know? What about you, do you write?" You sat on the low coffee table, knowing well, that Adam was struggling to keep his composure and slid on his long black socks that went up to your knees. 

"I do, but I don't think that it's good." He chuckled, trying to seem less awkward. You simply smiled at the statement and found your place on the couch. 

"um- you need some water and aspirin, I'll go get that for you." He said and walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps thumped on the creaky wooden floors. 

In one hand he had a big glass of iced water, and in the other, he had two tiny pills. "Thank you," you mumbled tiredly, washing down the medicine with water. "Need anything else?" He asked glancing at the time: 4:52 AM.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you, Adam. For everything. It's really appreciated. Also, I'm sorry for earlier, I thought you were trying to hurt me, it was dumb." You looked down at the glass that you held in your lap, in embarrassment. 

"You are...welcomed." He gave you a small close-mouthed smile before shutting off the lights and going upstairs to his own bed.

You tossed and turned on that shitty sofa. It was small compared to your bed at home and the throw blanket was too thin for your liking, you really wished you would've taken up that offer on the sweatpants. 

"Ugh, fuck it." You groaned, now fully sober and exhausted. 

You quietly got up and proceeded to make your way upstairs to the first bedroom on the left. You turned the doorknob slowly and pushed it even slower to avoid making any noise. You saw that his bedside light was on, and you could make out faint clicking noises. When you fully opened the door, you were happy to be greeted by Adam sitting shirtless in bed, typing on his computer. 

"Hi." You quietly spoke. 

He lifted his chin and met your eyes with his brown ones. "Hi." He gave you a toothy smile. 

"Can't sleep either?" You asked, padding towards his gigantic bed. "No, not really." He chuckled closing his laptop and placing it on his bedside table.

You sat on the foot of his bed, observing his thick chest and shoulders. He was a very attractive man, very large, he looked soft. You bit your lip at the thought.

"Come." He lifted the covers from the unoccupied side of the bed and tapped the mattress like when prompting a dog or cat to come sit next to you.

You obeyed and got under the covers next to him, already feeling his warmth.

You hummed in delight as he turned off the lamp. Adam laid on his side, facing you. You did the same, trying to focus your eyes on his face through the new darkness. 

He let out a tired sigh and without warning, he pulled your whole body forward. Your head was buried in his chest, his bicep supported your neck, and his other arm rubbed your back.

"Sleep, or you'll get sick tomorrow morning. "

You smiled and inhaled the scented body wash he used. You absent-mindedly pressed a kiss to his chest, making him hum lovingly.

A moment of thinking passed and he then tipped your head back, to place a long tender kiss on your lips. You returned the kiss, feeling his plump lips against yours in delight, sending butterflies in your stomach.

After, you returned to his chest and he placed another kiss on your forehead, drifting you slowly to sleep. 

Colorado Springs, October 1979

The air is crisp and chilly tonight. Detective Flip Zimmerman is hunched over his typewriter, dark circles under his warm brown eyes as he types away at a report. The investigation for this particular crime has been fairly easy. Whenever things involve the rowdy children at the edge of town, Flip finds that it usually solves itself. Witnesses come forward and suspects reveal themselves when the guilt eats away at them. 

Exhausted, Flip leans back in his desk chair. His back cracks with the movement, and he lets out a soft grunt before reaching for his mug full of lukewarm black coffee. He sips it, then looks at his watch. 11:32 P.M. You’ll be expecting him home within the hour, of this he’s positive, and he doesn’t like keeping you waiting. The report can wait until tomorrow, Flip decides, and pulls the paper from the typewriter and sets it aside.

The Colorado Springs Police Station is nearly empty aside from a handful of officers on-duty that are lounging in the bullpen. Ron left hours ago like the sensible person that he is, Flip realizes, as he gathers his belongings. Outside, the moon shines bright and full. Flip squints at it. He’s never seen a moon so large. He knows that you’re at home looking at the very same moon, and tears his eyes away from it with haste. You hate being kept waiting. 

Flip clocks out, then walks out to his truck, keys in-hand. He unlocks the truck, tosses his things into the passenger seat, and gets inside. He pulls the door shut before digging into the pocket of his jeans to pull free his box of cigarettes and his lighter. He lights one up, puffs out some smoke, then starts up the truck. The engine revs to life, and the radio comes on. Country music, music that you always tease him about, and Flip lets out a quiet chuckle as he pulls out of the parking space and begins to drive towards home. 

The roads are empty save for a few folks driving home from work or passing through. Flip cracks the window to let some smoke escape, and a chilly breeze pours into the car. Flip shivers, and it’s then that he realizes he’s left his jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. Damn, he thinks, shaking his head. This is becoming a pattern, him leaving things at the Station when it gets to be too late for him to think properly. It doesn’t matter, he supposes. You’re at home in his robe – the one you bought him last Christmas that only you wear – ready to warm him right up. 

A smile spreads across Flip’s face as the song changes and he begins to think of you. Dinner will be on the table – not because he expects it to be, but because you enjoy having it there for him. It will be reheated, and if he’s lucky, you’ll have a serving yourself. You’ll be freshly showered, hair up and nightgown on. You’ll smell like your body oil, and your cheeks will be warm from cooking all evening. Pot roast with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables is on the menu tonight, and Flip feels his mouth watering at the thought. A cold beer will be sitting on the table if you had time to stop at the store after work, and if you didn’t, it’ll be a glass of wine. Flip finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt out the window.

The front porch light is on when Flip pulls into the driveway. He presses the garage door opener, and the door rumbles as it opens for him. He pulls his truck inside and parks it to the left of your car. He presses the button again, and the door closes back up. He sighs as he grabs his things and opens the door of his truck. His boots thud against the wooden steps as he walks up them into the house. He opens the door, then closes it behind him. 

“I’m home!” he calls. As Flip leans down to remove his boots, he hears your feet padding against the wooden floors to get to the laundry room where he is. You appear, then, a tired smile on your face, and Flip grins. “There’s my girl.”

You approach him and wrap your arms around the back of his neck, hugging him tightly. 

“Hi, handsome.”

Flip kisses the top of your head as one of his hands wraps around you to rest on your waist. He tugs you closer. 

“Mm, hi. Smells good in here.”

“Y’think so?” you ask, smiling up at him. He smells of cologne and cigarettes and musk, and you inhale the scent easily. It’s comforting, especially after all this time. 

Your five-year anniversary is coming up at the start of the week, and even then, you’ve known Flip for nearly eight, which feels like a lifetime. You can’t imagine a time before the two of you were together. It feels as if it's always been you and Flip. Flip and you. Life is calm these days. Calm, and full of a love that nurtures your soul. 

Flip nods at you, and you take his hand and lead him towards the dining room. He lets you take him there as he unbuckles his belt and tosses it onto the coffee table on the way to the dining area. The lights are dim, and when Flip looks up, he realizes that one of the lightbulbs is burned out. 

“I’ll change that soon,” he tells you as you walk into the kitchen. He follows closely behind. 

“Thanks, baby,” you say. Flip presses up against you as you dish up some pot roast for him. He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder. You reach around and squeeze him. “I can’t get the rest of the food if you’re holding me.”

Flip kisses your shoulder, then pulls away. You laugh softly as you put two scoops of creamy mashed potatoes on his plate, then a scoop of mixed vegetables.

“Did you already eat?” Flip asks. You shake your head. 

“Mm mm. I wanted to wait for you.”

“You don’t have to keep doin’ that,” Flip tells you. 

“I know,” you say, turning to him and handing him his plate. You smile. “I wanted to.”

Flip kisses your forehead, then walks into the dining area where a cold beer is waiting for him. To be loved is to be known, he supposes. 

You sit down across from him with a soda and a plate full of food, and the two of you begin to eat. Candles are lit on the fireplace mantle, making the dining room smell like fresh apples and fall leaves and whatever other autumn-y scents the things promise. Flip doesn’t pay much mind to stuff like that – you, on the other hand, have a talent for picking out the best candles. 

Flip watches you eat for a moment before pausing. 

“Did you get a chance to write today?” he asks. His heart begins to beat just a bit faster, as he knows what is about to happen, and he’s eager to see your reaction. 

You shake your head as you fork a piece of pot roast and bring it to your mouth. 

“I tried, but I couldn’t get past the first chapter.”

Flip nods, then wipes his mouth. He knows you well enough to know that this is how it's been for the past handful of weeks. Writer’s block has plagued you, causing your latest novel to be put on the back burner, and as your husband, Flip knows that this is stressing you out. Writing is your pride and joy, and he hates seeing you worry about it. 

“No?” he asks, leaning back in the chair.

“Mm mm.”

He nods then takes a sip of his beer. 

“C’mere,” he says. You glance up, in the middle of chewing. 

“What?”

Flip pats his thigh. 

“C’mere, I wanna tell you somethin’.”

Your brows furrow as you stand.

“What are you up to?” you ask suspiciously. Flip chuckles as you swing your left leg over him and then settle down on his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. His hands find your hips immediately, and he rubs them absent-mindedly. 

“I booked us a getaway for next week,” Flip says. Your face lights up, and he smiles. 

“What? Where?” you ask. 

“West Virginia,” Flip says. Your eyes widen. 

“West Virginia? How are we gonna get to West Virginia?” you ask, still smiling as you rest your hands on Flip’s chest. He reaches down into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out two plane tickets. 

“We’ve got a flight tomorrow at noon.”

You laugh in excitement and surprise. Your arms wrap around the back of Flip’s neck, and you hug him tightly. He kisses your cheek as he hugs you back. 

“Happy anniversary, honey.”

You chuckle again, pulling back to look at him with a large smile. 

“Thank you,” you say, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Flip leans in and kisses you deeply. You sigh against his lips. 

“You’re welcome,” he says. He squeezes your hips. “This’ll give you a chance to work on the book. I know you’ve been stressed about it.”

You smile, then scoot forward on his lap and rest your head on his chest. Flip rubs your warm back, enjoying the way you feel against him. He inhales, smelling your body oil. How lucky is he to have you like this? How beautiful is this life?

“I suppose we should get packing, hm?” you hum. Flip nods, still rubbing your back. 

“Let’s finish dinner first,” he says. You pull back, then kiss him. Flip’s hands smooth down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. You hum, arousal beginning to pulse through you subtly. You rock your hips teasingly, then pull back and get off of his lap to walk back to your seat. Flip smiles, shaking his head as he begins to eat again. 

“You’re a tease,” he says light-heartedly.

“I know you love it, baby.”

The two of you pack and talk until the early hours of the morning. From Flip you find out that you’ll be spending a week in a beautiful, open-space cabin on the edge of the Appalachian forest. There are lots of small creeks and rivers and wildlife to be seen, or so the listing told Flip. 

Your husband is most excited to see you happy — to see your face light up when you look around the cabin, or hear your laughter when jumping into a lake. Your joy, your pleasure — it’s everything to him. 

Going to the airport the next afternoon is harrowing, to say the least. Full of busy, bustling people, it makes you cling to Flip’s arm as you both pull your suitcases through the crowds. Part of you worries that the two of you may get separated, split up, and the thought makes you grip his sweaty hand tighter.

The next hours go by in a sleepy blur. Seat belts go on, the plane takes off, seat belts come off. You fall asleep with a mask over your eyes and your head on Flip’s shoulder. You feel his hand on your thigh as the plane rocks you off to sleep.

When you wake, you’re not quite sure how much time has passed. You look at Flip and he smiles tiredly.

“Hey,” he says. You stretch as best you can without nudging the person in the seat on the other side of you.

“Hi,” you yawn. “How much further do we have?”

“Just a few minutes. We’re almost there,” he says. Your brows raise. 

“What?” 

“Mhm. You must not have slept well last night, huh?”

You rub your eyes,

“I guess not.”

“We’re gonna have to rent a car when we get there,” Flip tells you.

“I figured.”

“What’re you gonna want? What kind of car?”

You smile, looking at him fondly.

“A van. One with six seats.” Flip scoffs, shaking his head. You put your hand on his arm, your smile growing. “And a big sliding door, and fuzzy seats. And I want it to be green.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting, Detective Zimmerman,” you tease, nudging him. He kisses you shortly. 

“What do you actually want?”

“I want you to choose. You know I don’t care much. It just has to be able to get us up to the cabin.”

The plane lands, and you and Flip walk towards the baggage claim. You squeeze his hand as you look up at him. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Hey.”

“We’re on vacation,” you say softly, excitedly. Flip smiles, leaning down to kiss you firmly. His slightly overgrown beard tickles your skin, and you touch his cheek.

“You need a trim,” you tell him. He gets a grumpy look on his face, a look you’re all too familiar with. You run your fingers through his hair while the two of you wait for your bags. They come, and you and Flip venture out into the evening. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and you look up at the sky as the two of you walk.

Flip reassures you that it isn’t a long walk to the car rental place, that it’s conveniently located right near the airport, and it’s true. The two of you step inside, and given that it’s nearly 7:00 on a Saturday night, most of the cars have already been rented. All the ones that are left are, ironically, vans. 

You try to hide your smile as Flip talks to the man running the place. 

“We’re staying up in the mountains,” Flip says. “We’ll need something–”

“The mountains, you say?” the owner says, crossing the shop to get keys for Flip. You let yourself smile, then, as you step towards Flip.

“In a cabin. We’ll be here for the week.”

Flip nods as you wrap your arms around his bicep. 

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Where’re y’all from?” the owner asks. 

“Colorado Springs.”

“Ah. Well, be careful,” the owner says. “If ya see somethin’ out in those woods, no you didn’t.”

Flip pauses. 

“What?”

The owner tosses him a set of keys and points to a grayish-brown van. 

“You’ll be takin’ that one–”

“What did you mean by that?” you ask curiously. A chill settles over you. It’s the way the man said it, as if you should’ve known already. As if there’s something out there to be afraid of. 

The owner touches his graying beard and sighs. 

“There are a lotta things that happen ‘round these parts that can’t be explained away. People who live up in the mountains know not to be outside at night, not to whistle when it’s dark, to keep the blinds drawn and the doors locked. And, if you think ya see somethin’ . . . No you didn’t.”

Flip scoffs. You do not. An eerie feeling settles over you, and it tells you to be cautious, to think long and hard before you do much of anything. You shift beside Flip. 

“Should we be concerned about bears?” you ask. 

“He’s just trying to scare you, honey,” Flip says, tugging at your arm. “Let’s go–”

The man chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Bears are the least of your worries, ma’am. It’s when the woods go quiet that you should be scared.”

“Have a good evening,” Flip says sharply, stepping towards the van and opening up the back to put the bags in. 

“What kinds of animals–?”

“Honey, c’mon,” Flip says firmly. You sigh, then nod a silent ‘thank you’ to the man. You hand your bags off to Flip, who puts them in the back of the van before closing it and walking around to unlock it. He gets in and unlocks the passenger side door so that you can get in. He starts the van up, and the engine revs to life. You look at the owner in the side view mirror as he walks away. 

“I think we should listen to him,” you say softly. Flip pulls out of the lot as you open up the map and find your current location. 

“He was just trying to freak you out,” Flip says again. “Where am I turning at this light?”

You huff, then look at the map. 

“Left . . . He’s a local, he would know these things–”

“Left at the light?” 

“Yes, baby, left at the light. He seemed serious– Are you listening to me?”

“I’m looking at the road right now,” Flip says. “So no, not totally. But I get it, you’re scared. That’s just fine–”

“I’m not scared, I’m being cautious.”

“-- Because you know I’m gonna be there to keep you safe. Right?”

You huff again. 

“What if there are things out there that you can’t protect me from?” 

“Like what?”

“I dunno . . . Sasquatches?” Flip laughs. “I’m serious!” 

“I know, that's why I’m laughing.”

“Don’t be a dick!” 

Flip puts his hand on your thigh. 

“I love you,” he says. “Which way now?”

You push his hand away, then look at the map again. 

“Take a right here.”

Flip glances at you before putting his eyes back on the road to focus on what’s ahead. He sighs. 

“Don’t be like that, honey,” he tells you. 

“I don’t like it when you laugh at me.”

“I wasn’t– okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Flip shakes his head slightly, then brings his knee up to hold the steering wheel in place while he digs into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. He hands them to you. “Will you light one for me, please?”

You take the box wordlessly and pull the lighter and a cigarette free. The area is already getting more wooded as you drive out of the city. The cabin, as Flip told you last night, is hours away from civilization – an author’s dream location for writing a book. Though, you’ve begun to wonder if this cabin will even have a typewriter. Flip didn’t seem to consider that when he was planning this trip, but that’s alright, you tell yourself. It’ll be nice just to spend time with him, to catch up and have sex and act like teenagers. 

You click the lighter as Flip rolls down his window. You bring the flame to the cigarette, and when the butt of it flickers, you hand it over to Flip. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Mhm.”

“I’m sure that guy was right,” Flip says. You know exactly what he’s doing – backtracking. It happens whenever he upsets you in any way. He attempts to rectify things right then and there instead of letting you calm down and letting the issue fizzle out. You can’t help but shake your head.

“Stop talking,” you say gently, putting your hand on his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

For the next fifteen minutes, the two of you sit in silence as the van traverses the wooded path up to the cabin. It’s not the best vehicle for the job, you can tell, but it doesn’t seem to put Flip off much. The van bumps and grinds against rocks and gravel as it goes, and he steers expertly, brows furrowed in concentration. 

You look out the window. It’s getting darker now, and you begin to think about the old man’s warning. If you see something, no you didn’t. You squint out at the trees and shrubs, seeing if you can catch the eye of a fox or deer lurking in the treeline. Things are quiet, though. 

You look over at Flip once more, and you reach for his shoulder to give it a squeeze. He glances at you. 

“Hm?” he hums softly, putting his eyes back on the road. 

“Wait ‘til you see what I packed.”

“I’ve seen what you packed, baby,” Flip says. You shake your head.  “You didn’t see everything,” you smile. “I stopped by Sears on Wednesday . . . Bought some new underwear . . .”

Flip looks at you, a smile forming on his face, and you laugh. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tease. 

“What’s it like?” he asks. 

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Detective.”

Flip puts his hand on your thigh, and you lean over and kiss his cheek. 

“If you were wearing it, I’d pull over right now,” he says, turning his head briefly to kiss you back. 

“Mm. Right now I’m not wearing anything–”

Bam!

The van swerves, and Flip slams on the breaks as the trees rustle to the left of the vehicle. Your eyes wide, you look around frantically. 

Something hit the side of the van.

Your heart is beating out of your chest, thudding so quickly that you can feel it in your throat, and you look at Flip, who looks at you. 

“What was that?!” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” Flip says, looking in the rearview mirror to try and catch sight of the back of the van, but it’s to no avail. There’s nothing there. You reach for his hand, holding it tightly. You’re unable to speak, body trembling from the startle. 

“It’s okay,” Flip says. “Whatever it was is gone now.”

“What if it follows us?” you breathe as he starts back up the path slowly. The gravel crunches under the weight of the tires.

“It won’t,” Flip tells you, but he doesn’t look sure. For the sake of continuing this trip and starting it off strong, you exhale and nod. 

“Okay.”

The next forty-five minutes are silent as Flip drives the two of you up the winding path to the cabin. When it finally comes into view, your brows raise. It’s beautiful, and when the motion sensor light illuminates the front yard, you smile. 

“Well? What do you think?” Flip asks as he turns off the car. You turn to him as you unbuckle. 

“Very private,” you say. You kiss him. “It’s perfect.”

Flip hums, then cups your cheek and kisses you once more. 

“The key is under the doormat,” he says. “Let yourself in, I’ll be right there.”

You get out of the van and step out into the night. You look around briefly. You truly are alone up here in the woods, and this knowledge both comforts you and disturbs you at the same time. You push the strange feeling aside and cross the front yard to get to the door. You step inside, then feel the wall for a light switch. The lights turn on, revealing the inside of the cabin. 

The first floor is open and inviting – a sitting area to the right and a joint kitchen-dining area to the left. Straight ahead is a staircase leading up to the bedrooms and bathroom, which can be seen by looking upstairs and peeking over the banister. It’s more spacious than you figured it would be, and best of all, a computer sits right in the corner of the sitting area. You smile, relieved. You’ll surely be able to get plenty done this week in-between sleeping, eating, and fucking your lovely husband. 

You hear a soft thud behind you, and when you turn around, Flip has brought in most of the bags in one trip. He puts his hands on his hips, the front door ajar as you approach him. You wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. 

“It’s perfect, honey,” you say. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He kisses the top of your head. “Come help me with the rest of the stuff and then we can settle in.”

“Settle in, hm? What does that involve?”

Flip smiles softly, swaying you back and forth playfully. 

“It involves me taking you upstairs and fucking the shit out of you,” he whispers against your ear. You smirk, running your fingers through his hair. 

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Mm. Well then, let’s haul ass and get the rest of the bags.”

Flip lets out a long sigh as he lights up a cigarette, takes a drag, and rests his warm cheek on your bare chest. You run your fingers through his hair in a way that makes him snuggle close to you. Your nude bodies are pressed together comfortingly, providing you with a sense of security and closeness. 

Your other hand rests on Flip’s shoulder as he exhales smoke. The smoke billows out towards the cracked open window, and he kisses along your chest lazily, worn out from nearly an hour of sex. Feeling blissed out and hot, you lean back against the pillows. 

“You really like it here?” Flip asks, voice muffled by your breasts. You smile. 

“I really do,” you tell him. “Mm. Good.” He takes another drag. “I was worried you’d think it’s fuckin’ haunted or somethin’.”

“Who says it isn’t?”

Flip grumbles, and you chuckle, scratching his scalp playfully. 

“I’m just teasing,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful here.”

Flip kisses your breast again, then pushes himself up to look at you. He looks you over, eyes shining with admiration, then presses his mouth against yours firmly. You cup his cheek. His beard tickles you just as it does every time. You can’t believe the years you spent wondering if everything would be alright for the two of you – Of course it is. Time never stops or stalls, and that’s part of the adventure of being married to Flip. Everyday is something new, something you get to discover. 

“Happy almost-anniversary,” you say, pushing his hair back. He kisses you again. “Happy almost-anniversary, baby.”

Flip finishes his cigarette, then gets up to brush his teeth and use the bathroom. You watch him as he does his business, looking him up and down with a small smile on your face. He catches you looking towards the end of his teeth-brushing, and he chuckles as he shakes his head. You laugh, too, then roll out of bed and open up Flip’s suitcase. 

You rifle through it for a moment, then pull free his massive flannel bathrobe that you insisted on him packing, if not for his benefit then for yours. You wrap it around yourself and tie the ties into a loose bow. 

“What’re you doing?” Flip calls as he rinses his mouth. 

“I think I’m gonna try to write some,” you tell him. 

“You don’t wanna sleep with me?” Flip asks after spitting out the sudsy mouthful of toothpaste and water. You laugh. 

“Don’t be like that!” you call. He chuckles, and moments later he steps out of the bathroom, still naked, and puts his hands on your hips. He kisses you once, then again, then again. 

“I’ll join you in a bit,” you tell him. 

“I’ve heard that one before,” Flip teases. You give him a gentle shove. 

“Don’t start shit,” you grin. Flip kisses you again. 

“But it’s so much fun.”

You squeeze his ass, then pull away. 

“I’m turning the lamp off,” you say. You cross the room to get to the large floor lamp in the corner. You turn it off, leaving Flip in darkness. “I love you.”

The bed creaks as he gets into it, just as it did while the two of you were having your rendezvous earlier. 

“I love you too, baby,” Flip says.

You leave the room, letting the door stay open a crack, and go downstairs to sit in front of the typewriter. 

As you prepare the typing paper, you notice that the curtains are open in front of the desk. You stare out into the forest for a moment. Because the lights are on inside the cabin, there isn’t much to be seen outside, but you know that trees are staring right back at you. You look around the silent room. 

You have to admit, it feels somewhat eerie here when Flip isn’t around to make you laugh. 

You stand up and yank the curtains shut. You were beginning to get a weird sensation – like the feeling one gets when someone is watching them. You shudder, then pull Flip’s bathrobe tighter against your body. Any nerves you may have melt away when you shift your attention to the readied typewriter. You begin to type away at your latest novel.

An hour passes, then another, then another. You lose yourself in your words, feeling them flow from you like water from your fingertips. You haven’t felt so inspired in a long, long while. Maybe Flip was right: All you needed was a change of scenery. 

You just wish the trees weren’t so damn loud. 

They scratch and brush against the back of the cabin like long, bark-covered fingers that ache to get in. For a brief period, the wind and such are so loud that you wonder if it’s raining. And then you remember what the man at the rental place told you and Flip: It’s when the woods go quiet that you should be worried. 

Things don’t feel so bad, then. You’re still not quite sure what the old man was implying, but you decide that as a rule of thumb, you’ll give your attention to the sounds in the woods now and then. Just to be safe, of course. 

Before you know it it’s nearly one in the morning, and you pull the papers from the typewriter and set them aside. You start towards the stairs with a yawn, flipping the lights off as you go. You enter the bedroom, remove Flip’s bathrobe, and crawl into bed to press your warm body against your husband’s.

Creak. 

Creak.

Creak.

You shift in bed, the drapes pulled tight over the windows. Everything is still – the room, its things, you . . . Everything, except for whatever is coming up the stairs slowly. You reach over, eyes still shut, and feel for Flip. He isn’t there. In your half-asleep state, your brows furrow. 

“Mm.”

You pull the covers over your head, burrowing down into the warm bed and shielding yourself from the cool air of the bedroom. 

Creak, creak, creak. 

It’s closer now. 

“Flip,” you grumble. No answer. You yawn, finally opening your eyes. You fully expect it to be the middle of the night – somehow it still feels oddly late – but the sun is breaking through the gaps in the drapes. You sigh, pushing yourself up and immediately wrapping the blanket around your nude body. 

Flip appears in the doorway with two very full cups of coffee, and the mystery of the creaking noise is solved. You smile at him sleepily. 

“Hi.”

“G’morning, honey,” Flip says, approaching you. He sets your mug on the side table and you peek over at the light brown coffee, then take a look at his dark stuff. Your nose scrunches. 

“I still don’t know how you can drink it black,” you say, yawning again as Flip gets into bed beside you. 

“It’s better that way,” Flip says. 

“Mm mm. You’re crazy,” you say, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder. Flip is already fully dressed in a red and black flannel, a pair of jeans, and some black socks. You loop your arms around his left bicep. 

“I’ve got some plans for us today,” Flip says, ignoring your comment. 

“Oh?”

“I was out back getting some wood for the fireplace–”

“How manly of you.”

“-- and I realized that there’s a hot tub back there that we can fire up.”

“A hot tub, hm?” you hum, glancing up at him. He kisses your forehead. 

“Mhm. And once we’re done in there we can come inside and cook lunch, and–”

“Lunch? What time is it?” 

“It’s . . .” Flip checks his watch, “10:16. But by the time we’re done it’ll be lunch time, don’t you think?”

You nod, rubbing your eyes.  “Mhm . . . I didn’t realize how late it was,” you say. 

“We’re on vacation. We’re allowed to sleep in.”

“I suppose that’s true,” you say. “Is the hot tub ready to go?”

Flip nods, sipping his coffee. 

“Pretty much. I got it all cleared off. We just have to turn it on.”

“Why don’t you go do that while I brush my teeth, and I’ll be down to join you shortly?”

Flip wraps his arm around you, pulling you close for a moment before letting you go again. He takes another sip of coffee. 

“Alright,” he says. “Don’t take too long.”

“Don’t rush me, Zimmerman.”

Flip chuckles as he gets off of the bed. 

“You have a tendency to dawdle.”

“I do not!” you laugh as you push back the covers and walk into the bathroom. Flip smacks your ass as you pass him by. 

“Mmhm. I’ll see you down there.”

Still feeling a bit groggy from sleep, you drag yourself from the bed and leave your coffee mug on the bedside table in favor of brushing your teeth and washing your face. You do just that, then paw through your suitcase to find something easy to wear. After deciding on pants and a long-sleeved shirt, you start downstairs. 

The cabin looks different during the day and, you suppose, so do the woods. It’s an overcast day, yes, but when you step outside and smell the crisp, fresh air – oh, you’re sure that it can’t get better than this. 

Your shoes crush fallen leaves beneath them as you walk around the side of the cabin. Flip is already in the hot tub, and you smile at the sight of him. 

“Hey, handsome,” you call as you approach. He glances back, and it’s then that you see the beer in his hand. You chuckle. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, then gestures to the one he brought out for you as well. 

“We’re on vacation,” he reminds you again. He turns his body to face you. “And tomorrow is our anniversary. Cut me some slack.”

You hold your hands up in surrender, then step up to the hot tub and tug your shirt over your head. Flip watches with a small, admiring smile as you undress. 

“Like what you see?” you tease as you step into the hot tub. “You know I do.”

You sigh at the feeling of the hot bubbles against your body. You lean back, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on your face and the warmth on the rest of your body. Flip reaches over and takes hold of your ankle, tugging on it gently. 

“C’mere,” he says. You move closer to him, then settle at his side and rest your head on his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant,” he tells you, kissing the top of your head. 

“What did you mean?”

Flip sets his half-empty beer on the ground, then uses both of his hands to tug you onto his lap where you feel that his cock is already half hard. Your brows raise, your thighs on either side of his legs and your arms wrapping around the back of his neck. 

“I meant this,” Flip says, leaning in to kiss along your neck. You sigh. 

“I’m not f-fucking you in someone else’s hot tub,” you breathe, and he laughs softly against your skin. 

“What about next to someone else’s hot tub?”

“We just got in, baby,” you say, even though heat is coursing through you. Flip pulls back and looks up at you. You brush his hair back with your fingers, then kiss him deeply. He sighs quietly, his hands on your hips as he kisses you back. 

“Fine,” he says softly, and you laugh. “What?”

“Don’t sound so sad,” you tease. Flip cracks a smile. 

“I’m being deprived!” he jokes. You give his hair a gentle tug. 

“You are not, stop that.”

Silence settles between the two of you, and your smile falters. The woods are quiet, too. You suddenly feel strange, like you’re being watched. You get off of Flip’s lap and sink your torso beneath the bubbles. He wraps his arm around you, not noticing the change in your demeanor. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

It’s when the woods go quiet that you should be worried. 

Not a breeze, the buzzing of bugs or animals, not crunching leaves, nothing. 

You look around slowly, scanning the treeline.

You pause. 

Eyes. 

Right there, towards the back of the cabin, is a pair of wide, bright yellow eyes. Your breath catches, and just like that, they’re gone. A chill runs over you. 

“We need to go inside,” you breathe, pulling away from Flip and standing up. You touch the side of the hot tub with a trembling hand. 

“What? Why?”

You open your mouth to speak, and then you remember the other thing that the man told you: If you think you see something, no you didn’t.

“I’m really hungry all of a sudden,” you say. “Can you make me something?”

Flip sighs, standing up and reaching for his beer as you grab your clothes and shoes and start towards the front of the cabin, not even bothering to re-dress here. You hurry into the cabin and tug the front door open. You listen as Flip grunts outside, clearly struggling to bring all of his things inside, and you decide that if he still needs help after you’ve redressed, you’ll go back and help him. 

He steps inside, though, one of his boots falling out of his arms and tumbling to the ground with a thud. He huffs. 

“Shut the door!” you say, rushing behind him to push the door shut and lock it. 

“What is going on?” Flip asks, clearly irritated as he pulls on his underwear. You pause, looking at him in your half-dressed state. You replay the vision in your mind. The eyes, their glow, the way the trees rustled when they disappeared . . .

“I saw something,” you breathe, voice soft enough so that if it were somehow listening, it wouldn’t be able to hear. You don’t know, do these things listen? Is this what the man was referring to? Weird creatures with glowing eyes that spy on you while you take a naked hot tub dip?

Flip pinches the bridge of his nose, and you shake your head. 

“No, no, I’m not gonna let you do that–”

“There are animals everywhere, baby, we’re in the woods.”

“This wasn’t an animal, Flip,” you say. He puts his hands on his hips. He looks like a proper detective, his posture straight and his brows furrowed. No wonder people give in to him so easily at work – he’s intimidating to most. 

“Then what was it? A person? All the way out here?”

You shake your head. 

“No. No, I don’t know, but it wasn’t human.”

Flip sighs, stepping up to you and putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“The eyes were glowing,” you tell him firmly. This seems to get his attention. 

“Glowing?”

“Two yellow eyes, looking right fuckin’ at me, Flip,” you say. He seems unsettled. 

“Okay . . .”

“I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then act like it!”

Flip rubs your shoulders gently, then looks away. 

“The listing did mention that there can be strange local wildlife,” Flip says. “Maybe it was just . . . something like that.”

“You tell me this now?”

“Listen, it’s gonna be fine,” Flip says. “There’s a gun safe in the basement, the listing mentioned that, too. We’re fine. We’re protected. I could get into it if I needed to.”

“I wanna see it,” you say.

“What, the wildlife?”

“The gun safe.”

“Oh.”

You tug on your shirt, leaving you in that and your underwear, and start towards the basement door, which the two of you have yet to investigate. 

“Come on,” you say to Flip. He follows behind you, also in his underwear, and steps in front of you to open up the door. He flips on the light switch, and it flickers to life. Cobwebs and dust are visible along the walls as the two of you descend. Flip walks down easily, but you aren’t so eager. You trail behind him, and when he reaches the bottom, you hurry down the last few steps and cling to his hand. He’s stopped at the base of the steps. 

“What are you–?”

Flip stares at the wall, and you follow his line of sight. A small, confused gasp leaves you. The gun cabinet is massive, containing close to ten different guns, all equipped to handle different enemies. You’re immediately put off by this odd, unmentioned collection. 

“What could one person possibly need all of this for?” you ask. Flip shakes his head. 

“I don’t know.”

Then you notice the other things: The snares, the bear traps, the knives, the flares, the rope. You suddenly worry that you and your husband are in some kind of serial killer lair, a place where victims are brought to spend their final days being tortured and dismembered and disposed of. 

Everything else about the basement is seemingly normal. The carpet is shag as opposed to hardwood like the first and second floors. A plaid rug covers it, though, and a few comfortable-looking chairs face each other with a coffee table between them. There’s a bookcase, and you find yourself stepping towards it. 

Your focus shifts from Flip looking through all the weaponry to the spines of the books. 

Cryptids: Everything You Need to Know

The Wendigo Chronicles

How to Prepare for Winter in Appalachia

Finding Bigfoot – Tips, Tricks, and Folklore

Your breath catches. Every single book is somehow related to monsters or Appalachia itself.

“Flip?” you call. “Come look at this.”

Flip steps over to you, clearly a bit bewildered. 

“Hm?” he hums. You gesture to the shelves full of information. 

“What is all of this?” 

“What do you–?”

He notices the titles, too, and his lips part. You touch his arm, tugging at his sleeve. 

“We need to leave,” you whisper.

“I don’t think we need to leave,” Flip says. “I paid for a week here, we’re getting our money’s worth. It’s . . . Interesting, don’t you think?”

“You– Phillip.”

“Don’t do that,” Flip tells you. 

“No, you don’t do that. We can get a refund. I’d rather do that than get mauled by–”

“Did you actually see something? Or was it just a mysterious pair of eyes?”

“Okay, forget that. Don’t you think that this,” you gesture around the basement, “is unsettling enough?”

“Not enough to make me wanna fly all the way home several days early.”

You clench your jaw. 

“Windows stay shut tonight. And I want the curtains pulled, too,” you say sharply. 

“Done.”

“And I don’t wanna be outside after dark. I don’t really wanna be outside at all.”

“But the hot tub–”

“They have a lovely bathtub here, you’ll be fine without the hot tub,” you say. Flip opens his mouth to speak, but you give him a stern look. He sighs and looks away. 

“Fine. Fine, that’s fine,” he says.

You nod. 

“Good.”

You take another glance around the basement. At the back wall, a buck head is mounted. You startle slightly when you see it, having not noticed it when you first came down here. Its black, beady, lifeless eyes stare into yours. You exhale softly. 

“Hey.” Flip puts his hands on your shoulders. “We’re okay. If there’s an emergency, I know how to use every single gun in that cabinet. Okay?”

You nod. 

“Okay.”

Flip kisses your forehead, noting that you still feel uneasy. 

“Let’s go upstairs, hm?” he hums, wrapping his arms around you. You hug him back, then nod. 

“Yeah.”

You start up the basement steps with Flip behind you. He turns off the light and closes the door. You look back at him, and he touches the small of your back gently. 

“Why don’t we go up to the room?” Flip crosses the threshold to get his beer from earlier, then starts back towards you. “We can relax.”

You nod, then take his beer and help yourself to a long sip of it. Flip sighs as you hand it back to him. He hates it when you’re anxious and worked up. You make sure that the door is locked from when the two of you came in, then head upstairs to the bedroom. 

Flip sets his beer aside, then meets your eyes. You kiss him before he can speak, and he eagerly kisses you back. His lips are slightly chapped, and he tastes like coffee and beer and home. Gradually, the heat that was pulsing through you earlier begins to return. Your paranoia fades into the background as Flip pulls your shirt up over your head to reveal your naked body beneath. 

You tug at his hair eagerly, and he pushes your panties down. You step out of them before stepping back and lying on the bed. Flip removes his clothes, then gets on top of you. Your legs fall apart for him, and you look up at him. 

He leans down and kisses along your jaw. You sigh, head tilting back, and Flip squeezes one of your breasts as he laves his teeth along your sensitive skin. You’re on high alert, all of your senses heightened, and when Flip nips at you, you gasp. 

“Right there, hm?” he asks teasingly, as if he doesn’t know exactly how to get you to squirm. You nod, running your fingers through his hair. 

“Don’t be a dick,” you breathe, teasing him right back. You lift your hips, your dripping entrance nudging against his cock. Flip hums and presses himself forward. His tip catches and he presses in, filling you up. You gasp, yanking on his hair eagerly. 

“Be nice,” Flip grunts, starting to roll his hips. You groan, head tilting back as he rubs against your g-spot with each harsh thrust. You are an exposed nerve, hot and tingling as your anxiety fizzles away. Flip is a very talented lover, and you’re lucky to be able to have him in this way. You know that, and you never take it for granted. 

You claw and grip at his biceps, and he leans in to kiss you. You clench around his pulsing cock, and his thrusts begin to get faster, sloppier. The bed creaks with the force of his movements, and you moan against his mouth. 

“So good,” you manage. Flip grunts in response, lips parted as he chases his orgasm. 

“Touch yourself,” he breathes, grabbing your right wrist and guiding it down between your legs. You moan, collecting some slick and rubbing your clit with quick, skilled fingers. You groan, core clenching yet again. Flip grunts at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to fill you up. 

“I’m close,” he sighs. You nod. 

“Me too.”

His thrusts get faster, and your breasts bounce as he moves quicker. You hold onto him tightly with the hand that isn’t on your clit, and you cry out as you reach your peak suddenly. You gasp, brows furrowing as your pussy floods around Flip’s cock. 

“Fuck!” you exclaim. Feeling you orgasm sends Flip over the edge too, and you moan long and loud as he fills you up. 

He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, and you pull your fingers away from your sensitive clit as he slows to a stop. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, tugging him down so that you can kiss him deeply.

“Mmm,” you hum. Flip bites your bottom lip playfully. 

“Feel a bit better?” he asks breathlessly. You nod, kissing him again. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. 

“Mm. Good.”

Flip pulls out and lies down beside you. You reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. He glances over at you as you rest your head on his shoulder. The air is thick with passion, and you decide to let yourself revel in it. There’s no point in being paranoid. Not now, anyway. You’re staying in a beautiful cabin with the love of your life a day before your anniversary. 

Besides, Flip was right. He knows how to use every single gun in that cabinet, and you know he’s a good fuckin’ shot. If anything dares to mess with the two of you, it’ll be dead in a heartbeat.

Flip kisses your forehead, then wraps his arm around you.

Things are good. 

Life is good.

The moon is high and full in the sky. If Flip squints, he can see the craters on its dusty-white surface. He stares at it from the dining room table, a half-empty beer in his hand. He takes another swig, then glances over at you. 

Your back is turned to him as you type away at the typewriter on the other side of the open-spaced cabin. Your headphones are on and plugged into your Walkman, playing intense Classical music so loudly that Flip swears he can hear them through the headphones. He sighs. It really is a beautiful night – but it’s also a cold night, and Flip wishes he could go outside to collect wood for a fire. 

He stares at you, then says your name. No response. He looks at the back door. If he’s quick and quiet, he can be back before you’ve even noticed that he’s gone. You’ll be a little pissed, sure, but it won’t be something he can’t handle. He’ll settle down beside the fireplace with you and make you moan his name so loudly that the birds and squirrels will know it.

Flip rises from the dining table, then steps towards the back door. He glances at you again. You haven’t budged, your eyes trained on the typing in front of you. He makes a mental note to tell you how proud he is of you – how excited he is to read your work once you’ve gotten it to a point where you’d like to share it with him. Flip crosses the cabin, then quietly reaches for the key to unlock the back door. He undoes the bottom lock, then the top, then sets the key aside and grabs the flashlight sitting next to the keyhook. He clicks it on, then opens the door and the storm door before stepping out into the night. 

The ground is dry, and leaves crackle and crunch beneath his boots. He shines his flashlight at the grass, then starts toward the treeline to find some usable logs that aren’t damp and are good for burning. He finds three or four, then decides to collect some twigs for kindling. He’s a good way past the treeline, now, having ventured in further than he meant to in order to find fallen logs that are a good enough size. 

The wind ruffles Flip’s hair, and he shivers involuntarily. He looks around. 

It’s oddly quiet. 

Suddenly, Flip feels uneasy. His flashlight flickers, and he looks down at it, thumping it against his knee once or twice. It goes out completely, and Flip exhales softly. That’s fine, he thinks. That’s just fine. I have more than enough. He turns to head back to the cabin, which is now a faint and distant light that is visible between the trees, but he hears something. Rustling – fast and sporadic. 

He takes a step towards the cabin. 

“Flip!” 

He turns back around, looking into the dark woods with wide eyes. He calls your name. A pit has formed in Flip’s stomach, and the chill that ran up his spine lingers. He grips the flashlight, banging it against his knee again. It flickers to life. He shines it deep into the woods. 

“Flip!”

“Where are you?” he yells into the night. His voice echoes. An eerie amount of time passes, and his flashlight dims, and he looks back at the cabin. In his gut, he knows it wasn’t you. It didn’t even sound like you, not really anyway. It sounded like an impression, an impersonation. When his name was called, it was barely even a word. It sounded more like a scream. 

Flip wishes he’d brought a gun out with him. Of course, he couldn’t have known that that would be necessary, but still. Why did he come out here at all? You had asked him not to, and that should’ve been enough. Feeling foolish, Flip takes a step back towards the cabin. 

All at once, his senses are overcome by the smell of death. Bile rises in the back of Flip’s throat. He can almost taste it – hot, rotting carcasses that’ve sat for god knows how long. The scent makes him dizzy. He brings his arm up and covers his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his flannel. Flip staggers back, and to his right, he hears it: A long, low growl. 

Expecting a bear, Flip shines his light in the direction. He freezes completely when his eyes meet those of something he has never seen before, not even in his time in the military. No, nothing has ever been this . . . Grotesque. 

A creature, nearly eleven feet tall, clings to a tree. Its limbs are long and bony and covered with burn scars. Its fingernails are claw-like and several inches long. They are bloody, chunks of flesh stuck beneath them, and it lowers its head to stare Flip in the eye with yellowish irises. Briefly, Flip remembers what you’d said earlier about seeing eyes in the woods. Was it this thing, stalking around, waiting to pounce?

The head – oh, god, the head – is patchy, bits of fur having been melted away. Antlers stand tall at the top of its head, and they knock against the tree when the creature moves. It grins at Flip hungrily with a mouth full of sharp teeth. Bits of skin are stuck to its teeth, and a stream of dark blood runs down past its cracked, gnarled lips – Almost as if it had been feeding but stepped away when it sensed Flip come outside. 

Flip weighs his options. He could play dead, but this thing seems smart, and it seems to know that Flip is very much alive. He could drop the wood quickly and make a dash for it, but that’ll surely make a lot of noise, and he doesn’t want to attract more. Are there more? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He could forget setting the wood down altogether and back away slowly, attracting as little attention as possible, but this thing sees him. He feels its glare in his bones. 

Suddenly, the creature lunges at Flip, and any remnants of a plan go out the window as he throws the logs aside and breaks into a sprint towards the cabin. He hears the creature growling and snarling, leaping from tree to tree behind him, but adrenaline pumps through him, and Flip runs faster than he ever has. The cabin is in-view, and the creature lets out a roar-like scream. You appear in the doorway, brows furrowed and a hand on your hip, and Flip breaks through the treeline desperately. 

“Open the door!” Flip yells to you. He watches your expression contort into one of horror, and he knows that the thing must be right behind him. You push open the storm door quickly, and Flip launches himself inside. You tug the door shut, then lock the main door after it. A loud screech is audible, along with the sound of scraping going up, up, up the side of the house. Bits of shredded wood fall from the roof down to the grass, and Flip realizes that the thing is on top of the cabin.

You kneel down beside him, eyes wide and wild. His head is spinning. He can still taste the rotting smell that followed the wretched thing – it’s on him, in his nose, in his mouth . . .

He wretches, stomach cramping. 

“Oh my god,” you say, pushing his hair out of his face. “What was that!?”

Flip shakes his head as he pushes himself up onto his feet.

“I don’t fucking know,” he says. He stumbles, then starts towards the basement. 

“What are you doing!?” you ask, following him as he turns on the light and hurries down the steps. 

Flip gestures to the locked gun cabinet, then pulls his sleeve down over his fist. 

“Getting us the hell outta here,” he tells you. 

“Our stuff–”

“There’s no time,” Flip says. Before you can respond, he slams his fist into the glass of the cabinet. You startle, covering your mouth as he reaches through the shattered glass to grab the hunting rifle and a few boxes of ammo. He begins to load up the gun, then nods towards the shelf of supplies. 

“Flares, grab some flares. Maybe they’ll distract it,” he says. You hurry to gather some, and when you’re turning back to face Flip, he’s cocking the gun and starting towards the steps. 

“Come on, come on, put your shoes on,” Flip urges you as he hurries up with you following close behind. You rub towards the front of the cabin and hurry to pull your shoes on. Flip grabs the keys of the van off of the counter, then tosses them to you. 

“What do you–”

“I’ll distract it. Get the car going.”

“What!? No, let me help–”

“One of us has to start the damn car!” Flip snaps as the two of you rush to the front door. You go to open it, and Flip nudges you out of the way and steps in front of you. “I’m going first.”

Your heart swells in your chest. Is this the last time you’ll see him? Will the two of you live to see your anniversary tomorrow? And even if you do, there’s gonna be much bigger issues afoot that will prevent you from celebrating in the way that you’d like to. You take a good long look at Flip as he undoes the locks and opens the door. He steps out quietly, his gun trained up at the roof. Things are eerily quiet, and you cling to his flannel with shaky hands. Although Flip is focused, you can tell he’s scared, too. 

“Run to the car,” he whispers. Your bottom lip quivers. 

“Flip–”

“Run. To. The. Car. I’ve got you.”

With his reassurance in mind, you turn and bolt across the lawn. You hear a rabid growl behind you, then a gunshot, then another, then another. The creature lets out a wail as you yank open the driver side door and fumble with the unfamiliar keys. You shove the key into the ignition and turn it. The engine revs to life, and you turn your head. 

“Flip!” you yell as he shoots at the creature. He glances at you, then fires another shot at it. 

“Stubborn motherfucker,” you mutter to yourself, whipping the van around without looking to see if you’re in the grass or leaving tire marks. “Haul ass!” you yell, and this finally gets his attention. He breaks into a run. The creature scurries after him, its limbs spider-like and hauntingly quick. You remember suddenly that you have flares in your pocket, and you crank the window down with one hand while fumbling with the flare with your other. You light it up and it sparks to life. The creature growls again, but Flip is getting close, he’s almost here–

A fallen tree catches his foot, and he slams down against the ground. The gun goes off as it lands beside him, and you cry out in surprise. Without thinking, you put the van in park, get out, and begin to wave the flare.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Flip grunts. You catch the creature’s attention, and it hisses when it sees the flare, its putrid breath filling the surrounding air. 

“Get in the fucking car!” you tell him. He gets to his feet, grunting again as he pulls his right arm, the arm he landed on, close to his chest. It registers in your mind as a break almost immediately, and as he runs towards you, you glance back at the creature that is snarling angrily.

He grabs your wrist with his left hand, yanking you towards the van, and you stumble as you try to match his pace. The two of you dash across the lawn, panting and sweating and terrified. Flip goes to get into the driver seat, but you shove him harshly. 

“Move, you can’t drive with that arm,” you say. Knowing that the two of you are running on borrowed time, Flip hauls himself over the center console and lands in the passenger seat. You throw the flare to the ground, get in the driver seat, slam the door shut, and floor the gas pedal. The van squeals, the tires kicking up dirt for a moment before taking off down the narrow, winding path. You manage to turn on the headlights as the van careens down the mountain. 

“Let up, you’ll lose control!” Flip says, chest heaving as he turns and looks behind the van. The creature chases the car, leaping from tree to tree. You shake your head. 

“It’s right fuckin’ there!” you tell him. 

“We’re in the car, it’s fine!” 

You clench your jaw and press on the gas harder. 

“It’s not like it’s gonna follow us into town! We just need to make it out of the woods!” you snap. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

Flip huffs, then turns to buckle himself in. 

You floor it for god knows how long. You begin to worry that you’re doing real damage to the van, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You only let yourself slow down when you begin to see road signs again. The trees become more and more sparse, and Flip rests his trembling left hand on your thigh. You glance at him. His right arm is still pressed against his chest. 

“You can ease up,” he says. You let out a ragged breath as you let up on the gas. You look in the rearview mirror to be safe. Sure enough, the creature is gone, and you feel yourself let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I told you not to go outside,” you snap, the adrenaline starting to melt into anger. 

“I know.”

“You never listen to me.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry.”

“This whole fucking trip is ruined–”

“Hey, I’ll get us a hotel. It’s okay. I’ll get us a refund–”

“-- And you stole the gun –”

“-- It’ll all get sorted –”

“-- And all of our fucking stuff –”

“Honey.”

Your bottom lip quivers as hot, angry tears begin to stream down your face. Flip squeezes your thigh as you wipe your eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Flip says sincerely. You look over at him briefly, then put your hand on top of his before looking back at the road.

“How’s your arm?” you ask after a few beats of silence, voice shaking. 

“I think it’s broken.”

You sniffle. 

“Oh,” you manage.

“I’m okay. I just need to get it set,” Flip says. “There’ll be a hospital once we get back to town.”

You nod. You take hold of his hand, holding onto it tightly. 

“I love you,” you whisper. Flip brings your hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. The trip – or, more accurately, the part of the trip that you got to experience – was a good time, after all. Flip did a nice thing, bringing you out here. 

It was an anniversary gift, you know that, and briefly you glance at the clock on the radio. Quarter past midnight. It’s officially been five years with Flip.

“I love you, too,” he says.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

rynwritesstuff, 2025