Rizzo’s cabin
1217 Words
As the footsteps drew closer, Heather's heart pounded in her chest. She knew they had to get out of there, fast.
She turned to Marco, but before she could speak, their eyes met. And in that second, a flicker crossed his face. A glint… quick, fleeting but familiar.
Recognition?
No. She must have imagined it.
It’s nothing, she told herself. I’m just tired. Shaken.
She waved it off immediately.
*it’s nothing* she thought to herself.
The woods fell into silence again.
“But someone was just here…” She muttered looking at Marco to see if he was weird out like her.
“Just animals,” he said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.
Heather blinked toward the trees, her breath misting faintly in the air. The sound of footsteps soft, and deliberate had come from just beyond. But now, there was nothing and Marco is saying it was nothing too.
Only the rustling of leaves stirred by the wind and the faint hum of insects returning to life.
She clutched the strap of her bag tighter.
No one was there– she assured herself
“We will keep walking” Marco adjusted himself
Heather trailed behind as Marco led the way, his footsteps steady, hers unsure. Her leg ached, and her eyes darted through the thick trees. Why were they even here?
He’d abandoned the car… the guards… for this? Wandering aimlessly through trees?
They have been in the woods for what felt like an hour now and it just felt like they lost their way.
“I can’t walk anymore, Marco,” she muttered, leaning heavily against a tree.
“We could just go back to the road,” she offered, pushing off the bark.
“Stop whining,” Marco muttered, yanking her forward.
“I can walk fine on my own!” Heather protested as she tried to wriggle her hand from his grip while still keeping up with him.
“I can walk without you holding me! My leg hurts and you walk too fast” she stated while trying to pull away from his fierce grip. He looked back at her irritatingly before pushing her away.
She staggered, tried to catch herself but it was too late.
Her back hit the ground with a thud, and a soft cry escaped her lips.
The shock of the fall pressed the breath from her lungs, her spine aching where it met the forest floor. Bits of dirt clung to her skin as she tried to wipe them off.
“We need to keep moving. I have a cabin up there” he stated pointing ahead. Her lips quivered at the mention of a cabin in the wood. She was with the famous Marco Rizzo and he is talking about his cabin.
People in Folktale whispered about Marco’s cabin that once you went in, you didn’t come back out.
She remembered Aunt Mel, who disappeared after owing Marco. The rumor had been that she was taken to his cabin.
Heather had laughed then. But now… not so much.
Marco was staring at her. Not with guilt. Not with regret. But with a blank expression that made her chest tighten.
“Walk carefully” he stated walking away. She winced in pain as she took every step behind him while watching his broad shoulders sway back and forth.
The rest of the walk was quiet, saved for the rustling leaves beneath their feet.
When the cabin finally came to view, she almost didn’t believe it.
It stood tucked behind a thick line of pine trees. Wooden steps that looked like they would give way with any weight on them. The window at the corner of the step was cracked and it made creaking sounds. The wood made everywhere dark. It looked like a place where people went to disappear… never to be found.
Marco walked up the steps and pushed the door without hesitation.
She hesitated but soon walked in with him.
The air inside was colder and stale. The smell of old wood and morning dew filled her nose. There was an unlit fire place, a single couch with worn cushions, an old wooden table that had damp papers, and an open chest with thick woolen blanket inside.
At the far end of the cabin was a small drum with a steel cup on it. She also noticed a portrait backed against the wall. It reminded her of her painting back in folktale.
Heather stood leaning against the door as she watched Marco fidget with his phone.
She wanted him to notice her. Just enough to ask her to sit. But it felt like she wasn’t even there.
“Sit” he ordered almost immediately like he was reading her thoughts.
She walked quietly to the couch where she sat at the edge staring out at the window. Not like she could see anything- just trees and nothing.
“I didn’t think you’d keep up” he muttered under his breathe
“you are not as soft as you look” he added
She swallowed, unsure if it was meant as a threat or a compliment for her resilience.
“We will be gone by morning” she heard Marco say. She nodded and he looked away before walking to the door.
“Are you leaving me here?” She asked, eyes fixed at the door like it might vanish if she blinked.
“We need wood for the fire place” he responded walking out almost immediately like he regrets putting her mind at ease.
As the door creaked shut behind him, Heather let out a slow, shaky breath. She had never seen anything like this before. For the first time since she left folktale, she felt utterly alone and abandoned.
The silence in the cabin returned. Heavy, unmoving. She stared at the drum, the portrait and then to the old table.
She stood, walked slowly toward the table, her heart beating with every step.
*why so many papers* she thought and soon, her eyes caught one of the papers lying at the edge of the table. The ink faded and the paper very old and fragile. She reached for it and then froze immediately.
It wasn’t a paper. It was a picture.
Old, rumpled and slightly torn at the top.
She wiped it gently with her palm as she raised it up to the window to get a better look at the picture.
It was a girl.
The picture so old that it looked like it was dissolving. The face of the girl nearly erased with time but her curly hair stood out.
She raised the picture higher. The girl’s features were faint…blurred by time. But the necklace glinted faintly. A simple chain, a strange gem at its center. It was identical to the one in Emelda’s unfinished painting.
Her stomach twisted. That painting had always unsettled her, and now here it was real. Tangible. Proof of something she couldn’t name yet.
She walked closer to the window to get a better look at the picture again but before she could raise the picture up, a sound snapped her attention to the trees.
A shadow moved across the window. Not Marco.
Someone else was out there.
- Writer
