Page 6 of Abandoned on His Mountain

I raise the rifle and aim for the door.

chapterthree

Marin

It’s stillpitch-dark when the noises finally stop but, still, I wait.

And wait.

How long, I can’t be sure. I have no civilized way to measure time here. But, from my place among the blankets I crane my neck to peek out the glass window above the makeshift kitchen sink. It’s not even close to dawn. Silver moonlight is muted behind gray clouds with no sign of an impending sunrise as I swallow around the lump in my throat.

With the cabin now comfortably warm and the sounds of the animals outside gone, my mind clears. The four walls around me are bare. No pictures, no art. There’s a thin layer of dust over every surface. I reach over and lift a Mother Earth magazine from 1977 that sits on a log stump table next to the bed and blow the dust from the cover with a poof. Under it, something slightly less helpful but more interesting is a Penthouse from June 1980.

Scandalous.

A smile crests my lips as I thumb through the pages. I’ve never seen porn of any kind. Stacey has tried to force her phone in my face on occasion trying to broaden my horizons, but the fear inside me kept whispering that, somehow, my grandfather would know.

And there would be hell to pay.

But up here, in this mountain shack, I give myself permission to be normal.

Curious.

The women on the faded pages have wild hair and bold make up. Their bodies are soft and beautiful. As I turn the page, I bite back a giggle at the image of a middle aged man with a thick mustache and what looks like a bearskin rug on his chest kneeling on a circular tiger skin bed with two naked women. His hands cup each of their breasts as his mouth hangs open looking down at their spread legs, showing off rather generous rugs of their own. I dare to bring the page closer so I can inspect the part of him standing up from between his legs.

I’ve never seen one before. Never. I take a moment and inspect the detail as best I can in the dim light. It’s a strange looking thing with a plump helmet at the top and smooth but veiny skin on the length and more of that bushy black hair around the base.

I’ve just seen my first penis. Take that Grandpa.

Then, I do a quick calculation and wonder if this man is still alive. He would be maybe my Grandpa’s age? Oh my God, am I looking at a dead man’s penis?

It’s the most salacious thing I’ve done in my life. There’s a pitter patter between my legs as my skin prickles and I lick my lips. I’m about as virgin as virgins come. I’ve never even touched myself in that way. I know girls at school talk about toys and shaving down there but God no. Sin upon sin. I would never.

I’m as natural as the women on the page.

I shake my head. There’ll be plenty of time for carnal entertainment here alone for the next month, or two…but right now, I need to survive so I put aside the salacious entertainment and come out from my cocoon of blankets.

The red stilettos are a sharp juxtaposition to the rough wood floor as I stand, walk around in a small circle stretch, and ponder my fate. It’s a blank canvas here. Like I could be. I don’t have to be the daughter of a jezebel anymore. The spawn of sin. The granddaughter of a madman.

A rich madman, but a madman, nonetheless.

I can beMountain Marin. Survivor. Girl-boss. A phoenix rising from the ashes. When my Grandfather comes back in the spring, I’ll be wild haired with torn clothes and animal skins hanging from the walls.

I cup my hands over my nose and mouth as the warmth of my breath renews me.

Courage is found in unlikely places, right?

If I survive this, I can do anything. I don’t need money or my last name here. I know how to make a bow and an arrow from a stick. Make a rabbit snare from a rope. Maybe there’s a rifle hidden under the bed…

With my flashlight in hand, my courage renewed, I force myself to creep outside not bothering to exchange my heels for the rubber boots which wasn’t well thought out. There are wolf tracks everywhere,everywhere,like there was a dozen, two dozen, maybe more.

Suddenly, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and freeze. I scan the forest pointing my flashlight at the tree line looking for ears, for fur, for incisors big enough to shred me like jerky.

I slide my eyes past the tree trunks, past the autumn leaves. And then I see it.

Not a wolf. But a man.

A big,bigman. In denim and flannel, with a gun. And thelookin his eyes. Oh my… he ispissed.

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