Tyra

The gravel crunched under my tires as I trekked up a winding hill, assessing my surroundings. I exhaled a sigh of relief when I glanced up to see that the sky had cleared up some and that the sun was peeking through the clouds. It appeared as though the rain gods were going to give me a break after all.

I rolled down the windows to catch a breath of fresh air. A pair of red robins danced past me, fluttering their beautiful wings through the air. I giggled and gazed straight ahead of me in wonderment. I understood the lure to want to live away from the city in the beautiful wilderness, but still, I wished that I had someone with me to share in the excitement.

The road was coming to a fork. I hit the brake and glanced down at my map one more time for reference. According to it, there was a homestead trading post about two miles west of here. But I’d get to the trading post later. I was headed straight toward the community where I knew I’d run into some residents.

I slowed up a bit as I came across a small cabin sitting out on an open lot. After driving the SUV up the gravel driveway, I looked for a mailbox with the house number on it, but I didn’t see one.

I looked down at my notes. “Jack Haversham. 1582 Rockbend Trail. Is this it or not?” I mumbled to myself. Whoever currently lived here had done a good job of hiding the street number. The mailbox was gone and there weren’t any numbers on the house.

Jack Haversham was a mountaineer who had published an article not too long ago on homestead living. Even now, he had a significant social media presence online and still commented in quite a few forums. My research told me that Mr. Haversham moved away over a year ago and sold the place, but I was still hoping that the current occupant could help me complete my assignment.

In fact, I wasn’t really looking for Jack Haversham at all. I was looking for the new owner of the house, Saul Krewe—a thirty-five-year-old former MMA fighter who had moved from a big city to Arrow Lake. According to county permits, Mr. Krewe was then hired to build a huge privacy fence around the lot of a multi-family homestead community. After completing the fence, he ended up living on the homestead himself and never returned to the city or his roots. That was the story I wanted. But if Saul Krewe wasn’t here anymore, my next course of action was to seek out the community itself.

I crawled along the gravel path, gripping the steering wheel. The car was basically coasting. I squealed as a brown baby rabbit darted past my car, narrowly escaping getting flattened like a pancake under my tire. I came to a complete stop, put the car in park, and shut off the engine as I curiously inspected the cabin.

The home looked hand-crafted. Based on the age listed in the county records, I expected a rundown shack, but the place looked newly renovated. Thick round logs made up the exterior and there were a couple of windows in the front that were shut tight with green curtains, concealing whatever contents lurked behind the glass.

A brick chimney partially escaped the steel colored tin roof. I imagined how quaint it would look up here, a cabin buried in snow with a tiny plume of smoke puffing into the air from above. The yard was well cared for, albeit the surrounding area was mainly wilderness.

All was quiet. I remained in the SUV for a bit, hoping someone would come out onto the porch. I blew the horn once and waited.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Here goes nothing.” I climbed out of driver side seat, gently pushing the door closed behind me.

My heart pounded with trepidation and my fingertips numbed with nervousness. I didn't know why I was so anxious. It probably had something to do with the fact that I didn't want to fail at this task. This was my first real assignment away from the city, and I couldn't fuck it up. If I wanted to pay bills and be able to buy groceries next month, I had to get this right. I had just paid off the last of my late father's medical bills and I had no plans to surround myself in debt once again.

I glanced around me. I appeared to be alone out here. I took the opportunity to take a couple of pictures of the road and the area itself, finishing the round of shots with a couple of the cabin’s front. I noted the fence around the back of the house which looked a lot like the fence in the picture I found online detailing Mr. Krewe’s work for the homestead community.

I adjusted my shirt awkwardly as I took a few guarded steps up to the wraparound porch. It had a single white rocking chair next to the mahogany door. There were some potted plants near the entrance. I climbed the steps leading to the porch. The wood whined and creaked against my weight, giving the cabin an overall antique vibe.

After hesitating for a moment or two, I rapped my knuckles against the door and paused on pins and needles. My ears stretched to hear any movement or activity from inside the house. Everything remained still and silent.

I tried to peer through the front window, but the drapes wouldn't yield to any visible view from inside the house. I decided to ring the doorbell. There was a very likely chance that if someone were inside in the back of the house, they wouldn't have heard my knocking or the sound of my horn blaring earlier.

I decided to give up after a minute or two passed. I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. Nobody was home. I would just have to try again tomorrow. I scribbled a note from my pad and stuck it between the door jamb.

I wrote down my name and number and left, driving back down the mountain and back into town to my hotel.