The two-hour truck ride passed in silence. As we bounced down the road and I watched the highway slip by, the exits getting farther apart, glad that Corin’s dad never tried to engage in small talk, because that’s how horror movies start. Mr. Perry parked behind Corin’s truck in the gravel drive and I was glad he hadn’t just given me the address. Lost in the woods with the LaSabre rock-pinged and dirty was not how I’d wanted to spend Christmas.
I followed Mr. Perry through the door, carrying the Best Buy bag and careful to not trip going up the steps. The cabin wasn’t very cabin-y. There were no mounted deer heads over the mantel piece or bear skin rugs in front of the hearth. The kitchen opened into a large living space with a vaulted ceiling and off to the left a set of stairs lead up to
