Days 0-2 can be read here.

Days 3-5 can be read here.

Day Six

I decided that I’d brush off the bench outside the cabin and have my breakfast coffee in the sun today. It still meant a bit of a damp bum, but I did what I could to keep my dignity intact. It meant wrapping up warm, but was worth it for the smell of the winter air. I didn’t take my camera out and instantly regretted it when I saw something moving in the woods nearby.

I put my mug down and got up, trying to keep an eye out in case it was someone from the nearby village or maybe a hiker. Instinctively, I did my best not to make any noise. I wasn’t likely to be some kind of weird Annie Wilkes murderer or horde of rats, but I was careful anyway.

It was a stag. Like, a big stag. Not moose big, I’ve seen one of those before and nearly lost a car to it when I accidentally went off-road in a Nortdic holiday. Still, this was the first life I found besides birds, and it hadn’t noticed me. It was picking through the woods and felt like it was on a mission. You know the way that sometimes you’ll pass a cat on a street and it doesn’t care about you as it’s got places to me. Basically that kind of attitude.

I watched the stag and found myself following it deeper into the woods. I swear, at one point, it was like it looked back to make sure I was still following. It couldn’t have been doing that. I know that. It was trying to see if there was a predator in the woods. 

Eventually I made a noise. I stepped on a branch, hidden in the deep snow. The stag bolted, leaving me alone in the woods. I walked up to where had been and looked around. It was the clearing from the other day, I hadn’t noticed as I approached it from a different angle. From this way, I could see something under the low branches of a tree. Ducking down, I saw a stone that looked like a skull. I admit I almost fell over when I saw it laying there. It was all my nightmares about things on the roof, things out in the woods validated. I crouched down and approached it, armed with a stick. Brave, I know. A solid poke and the skull rolled. The holes which I thought were eyes weren’t right at the new angle. There were four of them and in different places than a human skull would have. The colour was a stone grey. It was just a stone, obviously. With holes in it, odd-looking, but that was it.

I dragged the thing out and held it in both hands like a bowling ball. The holes were deep, with markings which looked a bit like those suns on the beam in the cellar. Circling each other. Eating each other. I decided to take the ‘skull’ in. The only way to take the power away from these things is to confront them, after all.

Day Seven

Scrambled eggs for breakfast. I only had a couple left after the pancake extravaganza the other day. The stone ‘skull’ was still on the dining room table, my partner in crime for the next couple of weeks and change.

I just about jumped out of my skin when the letterbox went. I didn’t realise the post was still going this far out, but I guess it’s only early December yet. By the time my heart had calmed down, I could hear the post van leaving. There was my attempt at speaking to another human gone. I guessed I’d have to wander into the village at least to get more eggs soon enough.

The post was barely anything. A postcard from Sam. She wanted to check that I was alright, and not going all Shining in the cabin alone. I couldn’t help but imagine Christmas in the city, surrounded by people, my sister and her partner, the kids, the noise of it all. Would I have been better getting lost in all that, or having this meditative calm out here?

Whatever the answer, I decided I’d write a postcard back and tell them about the lake and the stag, enjoying pancakes and books. Light things. Promises to bore them all with photos soon enough.

Day Eight

The skull and I had breakfast together and I pondered going out for a wander, possibly reaching the village to grab some supplies and post my postcard to Sam and Lou. I admit I’ve been talking to the skull, I patted it on the head. I’ve not gone full Castaway. I know it’s a big stone, but it’s my big piece of stone. It’s probably coming in the car with me after Christmas.

Reciting a shopping list to the skull wasn’t helping. Instead I decided to get a pen and paper to jot it down. Probably futile as I tend to let my stomach guide me anyway and forget about the note, but again, it’s a ritual.

• eggs
• milk
• bread
• sweet potatoes
• chocolate coins
• book/s?

The chocolate coins from our supplies might have been casualties of the first day or two, the sweet potatoes because I preferred them and compromised for Casey. I can have them myself now.

As I was making the list, there was a slam on the window. I ran to it and refrained from talking to the skull. It’d seem weird if there were onlookers. A person in thick winter clothes stood outside in the light snow. I think they were a woman, but their hat was pulled down their head almost down to their eyes and their hair whipped around in the wind.

”What are you doing?” She shouted.

I asked who she was, what she was doing there. She was far enough back that she must have thrown a snowball or something at the window. They were double-glazed but even so, the noise carried.

”What is that?” She pointed at the skull on the table.

”It’s just a sk— a stone,” I said. I’d already got so used to calling it a skull, which wouldn’t have reassured her.

”Take it out of your house. You shouldn’t have it in there.”

”You shouldn’t be out there throwing snowballs and judging me. I’ll take it out when I want thank you very much,” this was about as assertive as I can get. 

She was shouting, but the wind was picking up. I decided to put the kettle on and ask her to come inside, maybe talk reasonably about what was going on. Maybe I’d disturbed something she’d made. Maybe the stag did.

I went to open the door and was met with the harsh stings of cold air right in my face. I called out to the woman, barely able to open my eyes. She was gone though.

I made a hot chocolate for myself and moved the skull further into the cabin, to keep from bothering her if she came back.

>>>>

This is apparently the end of things being chill. We’ll see how that goes in the next few days’ entries.

Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.