Page 2 of Operation: Wife Her Up

The lane to my own cabin is much the same as all those other slashes in the forest, a modest gravel drive sliced into the dense trees.

I slow down, take the turn, and crawl the final, winding quarter-mile before my cabin appears.

On the other side of my home away from home is a small crater lake. There isn’t another property within five hundred feet of me, and I don’t expect to see anyone all week.

But every so often, wayward hikers and people who want to get lost for other reasons make their way into this wildness. Once I get my gear inside, I’ll do a quick perimeter search. Partially to make sure the cabin is still in good repair, and also to check for any signs of loitering.

The front door has two deadbolts. Old school, no battery operated keypad for me.

Inside, I carry my bag to my bedroom. When I bought this place, I knocked out the wall between two of the three bedrooms, giving myself a room big enough for a king-sized bed. The other room has my bunk bed from when I was a kid, as well as some outdoor furniture stacked in the corner, which I’ll haul outside soon enough, so I can watch the sun rise over the lake tomorrow.

Even though I haven’t been here for almost eight months, the place doesn’t smell too stale at all. I’m pleasantly surprised, because I usually have to spend a half day airing it out. I still open the windows, because nothing beats fresh mountain air, then I go to the small closet that holds the water heater and the electrical panel.

When I’m not here, I keep the main water supply turned off, and flip most of the breakers, including the ones that go to the plugs on the outside of the house.

So now I restore power to everything, and turn on the—

I pause as I start to turn the main water tap back on. It was off, but just barely. I always crank it tight. There should have been a touch of resistance before I loosened it.

My Spidey sense tells me someone else has touched this tap since I was gone. Silently, I close the closet door and pivot quickly. I don’t think anyone is currently in the cabin with me, but it’s not out of the possibility that they aren’t long gone—or could come back.

The lack of stale air suddenly makes a disturbing amount of sense. Someone was here, and not long ago.

I do another pass through the small space, this time examining every surface for clues. It all looks exactly as I left it at the end of last summer.

Then, out the back window I spot something pink on the deck.

I go out the front door, wanting to do that full perimeter sweep as I’d planned, just so I don’t miss anything. But my pulse beats a touch faster, knowing I’m going to find yet another clue on the lake side of the cabin.

The place looks in great shape as I sweep around to the back.

And then there on the deck is a steel water bottle. It looks like it’s brand new, and it looks like it was purchased at a high end yoga studio. No identifying labels on it, though, no owner’s name or scrawled contact information.

I unscrew the cap and sniff the contents.

Water, and it smells fresh. No mildew or stale bacteria growth.

Did the owner let themselves into my cabin somehow?

I kneel down at the door to the deck and examine the lock on this side of the house. Only one deadbolt. It doesn’t look tampered with, and it’s currently locked. When I insert my key, it opens readily.

Am I imagining things, or does it feel like it opened easier than the front door?

That may be a stretch.

Closing the door again, I check all the windows. None were jimmied open, all have a decent amount of undisturbed fine dirt on the sills.

I grab the water bottle, finish my loop around the cabin, and go back inside.

There’s nothing worth stealing in the cabin. I keep a few books and a decks of cards here for entertainment, and some canned food and military rations. All of that looks untouched.

But all the same, I don’t like the thought of someone being in my home.

I crack a beer and get to hauling out the deck furniture, two low chairs and a fire pit bowl that I’ll only use if the fire rating stays low all week. I check the radio, then pull out a steak to grill for dinner.

And finally I drag myself to my bed for a well-earned nap.

But as soon as my head hits the pillow, there’s a tentative knock at the door.

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