The Cabin Read online

  I nodded, “Of course...It’s only a bit of mess to clean up,” I said. I tried to act cheerful although I’m not entirely sure if I managed to pull it off. Neither of the kids said anything so I guess all was good. “Soon as I’m sorted I’ll give you a ring.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Jamie.

  “We can’t stay here,” I said saving Susan from having to tell a lie as I know she hates them. “I’m going to stay behind, clean up a bit and fix the door and then come and meet you guys...”

  “Well where are we going?” Jamie asked again.

  “I’m taking you to your grandma and grandpa’s. We’ll spend the weekend there...Be grateful,” said Susan, “at least they’re close to the beach.” Susan did well. Had I not been part of the conversation in the cabin, I’d have believed everything was fine. I certainly wouldn’t have believed someone had been killed. She turned to me, “You have got your cellphone, haven’t you?”

  I nodded, “Actually, that reminded me...Jamie, can I see your cell?”

  “Why?” she asked from the backseat.

  “Jamie...Your cell!” I held my hand out. I’m fed up with having to justify everything to her. She moaned under her breath and passed me the handset.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  I didn’t tell her. I just opened up her contacts and found Josh’s number. As soon as I had it highlighted, I deleted it. Goodbye Josh.

  “Thank you,” I passed her phone back. “You best get going,” I said to Susan. “Drive carefully, won’t you.”

  “You sure you aren’t coming now?”

  “I need to fix this,” I said. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can, okay?”

  Susan looked as though she was going to cry but managed to hold it back. She looked like she wanted to tell me how scared she was, how she was worried about what was going to happen but she couldn’t. Just as I couldn’t tell her all the things I wanted to.

  “Love you,” I said once more as I closed the truck’s door.

  She fired the engine up and, after a beat, started to reverse down the dirt track towards the main road. I stood there, in the clearing, watching them go. Susan did a three-point turn when the track presented an opportunity. I could see Ava, she had turned her head to see out the back window - her little hand waving frantically. I gave her a wave back. In the panic to get them out of here, I forgot to say goodbye. I forgot to say how much I loved both of them dearly, just as I loved their mother....Even if I could be temperamental from time to time. I’ll just have to remember to say it when I see them both next. Hopefully it won’t be long before we’re together again...And away from here.

  5.

  The sheriff, and his partner, didn’t take long to get to the cabin. I gave them a minute to get out of their car before I walked over, having stepped down from the porch when I saw their car coming down the dirt track.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said. I was unsure of what to say given the circumstances.

  “Well that’s what we do when someone phones up to report a murder,” said the Sheriff; an older, stern looking man who looked as though he had lost every ounce of whatever patience he had. “Now care to explain why my partner and I are way out here instead of sitting down to supper with our respective other halves?”

  I looked over to his partner. He also looked as though he had little to no patience in him. I guess it must have been a tough day for law enforcement in the little town of Brattleboro...

  “There’s been an accident...” I went onto explain.

  The Sheriff cut me short, “Accident? We’re here for a murder. Which is it, son?”

  “Accident...Well...Murder....”

  The two officers looked at each other wearily before turning their attention back to me. “Why don’t we take it from the top?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure whether to own up to spraying dirt and crap over Josh earlier or whether I should just keep that to myself. Was it relevant? Would I be seen as provoking what happened in the shop?

  “If it’s easier we can do this down the station,” said the Sheriff. He walked to the back of his car and opened the door so I could climb in.

  “He had a gun...I tried to get it away from him but it went off...” I said. “It was an accident but the store clerk, he got hit...”

  “What store clerk?” asked the Sheriff.

  “I don’t remember his name!” I said. I could feel myself getting upset as I recalled the look on the old man’s face when he noticed he’d been shot. I remember the look in his eyes as he went to say something to me. I wish I could remember his name.

  “Get in the car, let’s continue this conversation down the station,” said the Sheriff.

  I didn’t argue with him. Not whilst he had that stern expression on his face and six-shooter in his holster. “I’ll just close the cabin up,” I said. The two officers stood and watched as I pulled the door to - as much as the broken hinges would let me. “I don’t suppose you know someone who could fix this?” Neither of them answered me. “Well, maybe you’ll be able to point me in the right direction after we’ve spoken down the station,” I said. I walked over to the car and climbed into the back whereupon the Sheriff slammed the door shut. I put the seat-belt on and waited as the two officers climbed into the front of the car. The Sheriff started the engine. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever been in a police car...” No one said anything. Not even a ‘well done’.

  The rest of the drive down the dirt track and through the pretty town of Brattleboro was done in relative silence, other than a strange whistling noise from the Sheriff’s nose and a funny ‘throat-clearing’ noise he’d occasionally make. I didn’t think anything of it other than he must be coming down with a cold, or something. I didn’t feel the need to ask given how chatty both the officers had already proven to be.

  “We conducting the interview tonight?” asked the Sheriff’s partner.

  “Not sure,” the Sheriff replied. “Already got one in the holding cell. Could just wait until morning. I have things to do tonight.”

  “Sorry but can we do it tonight?” I asked having presumed they were talking about me. Nothing gets on my nerves more than being spoken about as though I’m not there; like I’m not worthy enough to talk to. “It’s just my wife is expecting me.” The officers didn’t acknowledge that I had even spoken. “Well, if that’s the case, can I at least call her when we get back to the station?” Again, they didn’t give me an answer one way or another. “This is fucking ridiculous,” I snapped. “I want to report a murder to you and...”

  “Accident,” said the Sheriff’s partner.

  “What?”

  “You said, earlier, that it was an accident. A night in the cell might help you get your story right in your own head,” he said. He twisted in his seat to look at me, as though he wanted to gauge my reaction. I tried my best not to show one.

  “Look, I saw someone get shot today...The store clerk...He’s dead and I saw it happen. I just want to tell you guys what happened and get back to my wife and children.”

  “And where are they now?” the Sheriff’s partner asked.

  “They’ve gone onto my mother-in-law’s house. I didn’t want the children involved with any of this...”

  “If they were witness to a crime...”

  “They didn’t see anything. They were at the cabin. I had popped to the stores to get some cleaning products to try and sort out the mess...You did notice the graffiti, right?” The Sheriff’s partner gave me a stern look. He obviously didn’t like the tone of voice I was using despite it being their fault I had a tone in the first place. I tried to get it back to a more ‘normal’ tone. No sense getting angry with them, despite wanting to...Not whilst they’re already being difficult. It’d only make things worse. “My wife and children waited at the cabin,” I said. I didn’t bother telling them Ava was in the truck while I went into the store; didn’t want them deciding they have a need to question her too.


  “So what happened at the store?” asked the Sheriff’s partner. He was still twisted in his seat looking back at me.

  I fired a quick glance to the Sheriff. He was staring dead ahead, at the road he was driving down, unblinking. Was he even listening?

  “There was a group of kids there...”

  “How old?”

  “What?”

  “How old were they? How many were there?”

  “What? I don’t know - late teens, I’d guess. Six or seven...I can’t remember. They stopped me from going into the store. They blocked my path...”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just having a laugh? They said some stuff to me, I said some stuff to them...”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t remember! I didn’t think I’d be needing to recall the conversation later on...Anyway, it got heated...”

  “How so?”

  “They started squaring up to me. One of the teenagers was encouraging the older of the boys to hit me and that’s when the store clerk came out. He had a shotgun and scared the group off before letting me into his store.”

  “And they just left?”

  “They had a shotgun aimed at them. What were you expecting them to do?” my rhetorical question earned me another stern look from the Sheriff’s partner. “I went into the store to get the cleaning stuff I wanted and that’s when the oldest boy came back - this time with a gun.”

  “A gun? What sort of gun?”

  “I don’t know...The firing kind. He was waving it at the store clerk...saying how it wasn’t nice to get a gun pointed in your face and then he turned to me. He wanted an apology from me. He wanted me to say sorry for how I’d spoken to him...”

  “So why didn’t you give him an apology?”

  “I did! He had a gun in my face.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “He wanted me to beg for my life.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “What was the store clerk doing all this time.”

  “I had stepped between the two of them. He had picked up his shotgun. He told me to step aside. I didn’t want to because I thought I could still talk the lad into putting the gun down. Had I stepped aside, the store clerk would have shot him. You know he would...”

  “The store clerk was protecting his business and himself, maybe even you. The other was waving a gun around in a threatening manner. I know what I’d have done...”

  “I didn’t think anyone needed to die!”

  “So what happened?”

  “I went for the gun and we wrestled with it...It went off...I turned around and the store clerk had been hit. He just dropped to the floor...”

  “And now who had the gun?”

  “I did.”

  “So you shot him?”

  “What? No. It was in the lad’s hand when it went off...I then got it free from his grasp and turned it on him...”

  The Sheriff’s partner looked to the Sheriff to see his reaction but even he couldn’t get one from him. He turned back to me, “So where’s the boy now?”

  “He knew I wasn’t going to shoot him...I’m not a murderer...He went for the clerk’s shotgun and I ran...”

  “You ran?”

  “Yes. I ran. I’m not in the business of shooting people. I didn’t want to shoot a boy...A fucking child...So I did what felt right and ran to my truck...Got in and sped off. As I was driving away I noticed the boy, in the rear-view mirror, standing in the middle of the road with the shotgun in his hands.”

  “Did he fire?”

  “No. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to hit me. I wasn’t exactly taking my time to drive away from there.”

  “And where’s the gun now?”

  “I left it in the cabin,” I said. A genuine mistake. I didn’t mean to leave it behind. I had meant to tell the officers where it was immediately so they could take it away and do whatever they had to.

  “You keeping it as a memento?” asked the Sheriff’s partner.

  “Look, this is all happening quite fast...I called you guys to tell you what happened and you’re not exactly being the most warm and friendly, you know what I’m saying?”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” I realized he wanted the answer regardless, “I’m an author. I write books for a living...”

  “So you’re good at making up stories then?”

  “You think I’m lying?” I asked. The officer smiled and turned to face forward, in his seat, again. “You think I walked to the store, shot the clerk and then left without taking the bits I needed or any of the money in the register? Why would I do that?!” Again, my question was ignored. “I want to call my lawyer,” I said.

  “You’ll have your chance to make a phone call when we get back to the station,” said the Sheriff, finally breaking his self-imposed silence.

  Maybe Susan was right. Maybe we should have all just left and hoped for the best no one noticed and reported my truck leaving the scene.

  Back at the station I was frog-marched through to the holding cells at the back of the building as though they had already decided I was the one who murdered the clerk. Once there, the Sheriff opened the cell door, and invited me to step inside with a helpful shove from his partner.

  “What about my phone call?” I asked as they closed the cell door.

  “You can have your phone call in the morning,” said the Sheriff.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, “you’re treating me like a fucking criminal.”

  “No, we’re treating you like a material witness,” said the Sheriff. “This is for your own protection.” The sly smile on his face suggested otherwise.

  “Look, Sheriff...”

  “Why do you keep calling me Sheriff? I’m not the Sheriff...”

  “What are you talking about? It says it on your badge...”

  “Oh, I know what it says on the badge, it’s the reason I took it off his bloodied shirt. I thought it looked good.”

  “What?”

  The man I thought was the Sheriff pointed over to a desk at the far end of the office. A foot clearly sticking out from behind it. “That’s the Sheriff...Well, it was the Sheriff anyway.” He laughed, “I think it’s fair to say the inmates are running the asylum now.”

  My heart skipped a beat as panic set in...

  * * * * *

  I opened my eyes with a jump. I was sat on one of the living room chairs. I don’t even remember falling asleep; only that I sat down because the room had started to spin due to the stress of the situation, lack of proper food and general tiredness. At least, I presume it was because of those factors. I never intended to actually doze off. The longer I leave stepping forward, about the murder, the more suspicious it will be. What’s the betting a store that size doesn’t have any CCTV which actually works?

  I stood up and walked over to the door, which I had blocked shut with the single seat before I had sat down on the other chair. I pulled the chair away and the door slowly swung open. It’s getting dark outside.

  I forgot how creepy the woods were, looking out from the cabin, when darkness fell. Years ago, I used to sit on the end of my bed and shine a torch out of the window into the darkness beyond just to check that nothing was out there that shouldn’t be. I blame my father for scaring me with all the local ghost stories before I was supposed to go to sleep; they never did invite me towards a peaceful slumber. I don’t believe in ghost stories and I don’t believe in things that go bump in the night but, even so, I’d give my right arm for a torch right about now.

  I reached into my pocket, for my cell phone. No sense putting the phone call off. The body has, no doubt, already been reported so they’re probably already looking for me. I’m sure the Sheriff will believe what I have to say. After all, I have no priors. Never even had a speeding ticket or parking fine. Shit...I checked my other pocket. Nothing. Where the Hell’s my phone? Don’t say I dr
opped it back at the store when I went to call the Sheriff’s department? I remember having it in my hand...I don’t remember still having hold of it when I got to the truck, though. Or did I? I might have thrown it onto the passenger seat...Shit. I think I did.

  I looked outside again. I don’t fancy walking through the woods in blackness. It’s about a two hour walk to get to the main road from here. Yet, when driving, it feels like no time at all. Still walking in the darkness, that’s probably asking for trouble. Dammit. Why didn’t I check I had my phone before Susan drove off?