If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was in a log cabin.
I blink.
I am in a log cabin.
I turn around and open the door behind me that I didn't close. I see an old cabin patio followed by a downward sloping grass hill that ends in a mountainside lake.
Nope. That's not right.
I turn around. Cabin.
I turn again. Lake.
No, no, no. I'm supposed to be in the rickety shed in the woods behind my house. Either this shed is much bigger on the inside or...
Turn. Cabin. Turn. Lake.
I'm not in Kansas anymore.
I try to walk out the door, but instantly I'm turned around and am walking back into the cabin instead. The door closes itself behind me.
What?
Now I'm hyperventilating. Great. Control yourself, Glass. Deep breaths. Panic is never the answer. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. A dream, that's the only thing it can be. An incredibly realistic dream.
My tote bag kicks me in the leg.
"Stop it," I say. Then I remember. "Bernard!"
I fish into the outer pocket of my tote, feeling first the dried remains of a carrot then a small kicking foot attached to a shell. I pick up the shell.
"I'm sorry, Bernard. I forgot you were in there."
Bernard my box turtle clicks at me in retort and retreats back into his shell. I wish I could do that right now.
I venture into the cabin slowly, holding Bernard in front of me. To my left is the door to a living room. To my right is the kitchen. Ahead of me is the stairs.
I peak into the living room. In the center of the room, curled up on a rug, is an enormous grizzly bear. I shut the door immediately and have to control my breathing again.
Dream bear. Nothing to be afraid of.
Bernard peeks out of his shell. "You might not want to do that yet, buddy," I tell him.
My muscles get tense. My adrenaline flows. I imagine the scenarios in which I might have to fight a bear — an enormous, dangerous animal that probably doesn't abide by the rules of a Ju-jitsu tournament. I don't like my chances.
I stealth-run up the stairs while trying to get reception on my cell. Nothing. Place doesn't even have wi-fi.
At the top of the stairs I see a hallway. More doors. I'm not liking doors very much right now. "Which way, Bernard?"
He looks at the door to my right. Might as well.
I go into the room on my right, turning the handle as slowly as possible. It's a rustic guest bedroom, just the type you'd expect to find in a cabin by a lake. Deer art on the wall. A stuffed squirrel on the nightstand. Puma-skin rug in front of the faux-wood TV stand. Drab floral bed spread on the small wood-framed bed. Cozy enough, but not my usual aesthetic.
In the center of the drab floral bed spread is a bright green envelope. Unignorably bright, like a radioactive ooze sort of green. I walk on my toes toward it, pausing at every squeak of the floorboards. There's a word written on the envelope in a fancy black calligraphy. That word: Glass.
No way.
Never mind the squeaky floorboards. I walk to the bed, put Bernard down next to a mothball smelling pillow, and pick up the envelope.
Maybe it's just a coincidence. Maybe it doesn't mean me. Maybe it means some other type of glass. It's a funny nickname anyhow. Everybody says so.
What am I thinking? This is my dream, isn't it? Of course it's for me.
The envelope isn't sealed. I turn it over and pull out a bright green card. The card reads:
To Miss Clarice Copper-Cleaver, aka: "Glass",
Help us. You're the only one who can.
Much appreciations,
Spindlewind
P.S.
This is not a dream.
I look around and see no one in the room with me except Bernard, whose mouth is full with pillow lace. He pays me no mind.
Who's this Spindle-whatsit?
Something grabs the back of my heel and jerks my leg backward. The force of the top of my body falling forward onto the springy bed pops Bernard into the air and over the opposite edge. I can't catch him because something's pulling me. I dig my fingers into the mattress and look back. My foot is halfway down the mouth of the writhing, snarling head of the puma rug. No time to freak out. It's go time.
I push my body up from the bed, doing a sideways 180, taking the rug with me in the spin so that I'm facing up and it's twisted upside down. The puma rug easily wriggles its folds out of the twists and continues chomping and pulling on my foot.
"You're quick for a dead thing."
I leap to a standing position, smashing its head on the floor as I do. It growls and lets go just long enough for me to kick it in the face. Its head flies backwards, jerking the tail end of the rug toward me. Two of its corners fold in and grab my right foot, constricting tighter and tighter. The puma rug slowly turns its head around at sneers at me, laughing with a throaty voice.
"You think this is funny?" I say. The puma nods its head, its folds grasp me higher on the leg.
"Okay, try this."
I leap up and grab one of the ceiling beams, flex my body, and whip my feet upwards, rug and all. I beat the puma's face against the ceiling until it stops laughing and lets go of my leg. It falls to the ground and breaks the TV. I let go too, my arms and legs burning with adrenaline. The rug twists its body until it resembles a snake and flies at me. I assume fighting stance, go to the "place of the serene warrior" inside my head, like I've been trained to do, and find the weak point in the rug's strike. When it's within a foot of me, I punch its puma face right in the nose. It falls down stunned but still breathing. (Should I ask how it can be breathing? No time.) I pick up its body. The only thing I can think to do is to tie it in knots around the rocking chair in the corner and stuff its own tail in its mouth. That should do it.
I hear something creaking. My fists fly up, protecting my face, but I don't see anything. The creaking's coming from the other side of the bed. Fists up, hair a mess, tote bag awkwardly bouncing on my butt, I sneak around the side of the bed.
Bernard's rocking back and forth on his back, his chubby legs hopelessly pushing at the air like a drunk ballet dancer.
"Oh Bernard." I pick him up and check his shell for cracks. All good. He stretches his neck toward me and lowers his eyelids, which I guess is as good as a thank you from him. "If you were a cat, we wouldn't have these problems."
I notice the toxic green card, now rumpled, on the floor near where Bernard had been. So many questions. Who needs help? Why? Why do they need me? How did they know I was here? Who or what is Spindlewind? Why was I just attacked by a puma-skin rug?
What is that writing on the other side of the card?
I bend over to get a closer look. On the back side of the green card is very prettily written:
P.P.S.Get out of this cabin as fast as you can.
Something skitters in the dark area under the bed. My heart drops. I glance at the nightstand. The stuffed squirrel is no longer there.
I jam Bernard back into my tote, along with the green card and its envelope, and back out of the room in a hurry, keeping my eyes on the space under the bed.
I run down the stairs and attempt to get out the front door again. The door throws me back into the cabin.
That's getting old. I hope this whole thing doesn't make me late for my audition.
Distracted, I run into the living room and slam the door behind me. Eyes closed. Catch my breath. I'm a serene warrior. Serene.
I open my eyes, and now I'm face to face with the grizzly bear.
No comments:
Post a Comment