The Cabin
Elly’s POV;
God Damn by Maella pours from the speakers as I steer through the winding lanes in my convertible PT Cruiser. It’s a mellow, vibey kind of drive—the road calm, the sky quietly awakening; it’s peaceful. With the top of my car down, my hair dances to the beat, and the breeze joins in, creating a pleasant duet that keeps me smiling as I sing along.
“I’m going mad... Yeah, you make me dizzy... It’s something you said... About how you want me, God Damn….”
Taking a cleansing breath, I let the feel of the road, the heat of the sun, and the rolling melody of the music chase away the stress that’s been gnawing at me lately. Hands at ten and two on the wheel, I imagine the tension dissolving with every mile I drive, like steam from a hot mug of mocha. I’ve never done anything this dramatic for work before, but as the miles pass, the stress loosens, and excitement stretches out, ahead with the road.
‘This is the right thing to do.’ I tell myself.
The afternoon sun is high, warm, and golden. I love days like this, when the forest feels alive and even the plants seem to cheer for it. Everything feels fresh, energetic, and happy… even me. The heat through my windshield keeps sliding my glasses down my nose, testing my patience. But I’m determined to hold onto my happy vibes today, no matter what. I’ll need the energy for what’s waiting at the end of this drive. With a defiant shove, I push them back up, chewing on my lip as I glance between the creased map braced against the wheel and the winding road ahead, hoping I don’t end up lost in the middle of nowhere.
Most people would mount their phones to the dash and follow a cheerful GPS voice to their destination. Not me, though; I brought a printed map instead, considering how deep into the forest I’m venturing and the spotty reception I’m sure to find. Plus, I’m in my forties—midlife quirks are claimed with confidence.
The private cabin I’ve rented for this little adventure of mine is in the Cascades of Washington, near Mount Rainier. It’s said to be the best place to find Bigfoot, tucked away where the forest swallows the roads and cell service disappears. According to the directions, I’m close. It should be just around the next bend. And sure enough, as I round the curve of the road, I spot a yellow flag posted to a tall wooden statue of the mysterious sasquatch man, himself. He’s waving at passersby, with a big cheese grin, while holding a plaque that reads, ‘Yeti or Not Cabin, this way!’.
And so, the adventure begins...
I pull in and turn off the engine. The forest absorbs the sound almost instantaneously, leaving only nature’s silence—and the steady cadence of my own breaths—to fill the area as I take it all in. The small cabin sits in a little clearing, old yet solid looking. Someone stopped by and turned on the porch light, making the cabin look more inviting. A few yards away, a half-circle of chairs surrounds a firepit, waiting for someone to bring it back to life.
Beside the firepit, a scarred stump waits. I’ll haul out my own axe soon and see if I can add my mark to it. Near the tree line, I notice a scatter of downed wood—broken trunks and fallen limbs—waiting in a rough pile for renters to comb through for use in the pit. I make a mental note to build one later if I have time, tomorrow for sure if I don’t.
The quiet of the forest wraps around me, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the scurry of small creatures. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let myself recognize that I’m here, alone, and undisturbed. The nearest neighbor is at least a mile or two off which is perfect for what I want, for what this whole trip is about… the chance to focus and meet my looming novel deadline without interruption of the human variety.
Here, there’s no blaring city traffic drifting through my windows. No uninvited knocks with pamphlets shoved in my face. No calls from my editor reminding me how little time I have left to finish. No notifications chiming with men sliding into my DMs as if I owe them sex. Out here, it’s just me, my laptop, and the quiet pulse of something pure, yet untamed.
I sit with the car door open, my phone pressed to my ear, with the call I make to my bestie, letting him know I made it, sliding into voicemail.
“Hey, I’m here, safe and sound. You’re probably tied up in court, so I’ll be quick. As planned, I’ll stay about two weeks and call when I’m heading back. Thanks for watching my place, Levi. Wine and pizza when I return. Love you, bitch. Bye.”
He’s rarely unreachable, especially for me. Only in court does his phone ever go dark. But it’s our ritual for staying safe: whenever one of us leaves town, we check in… a call when we arrive, and a call when we leave. Since we’re both single and without families, we only have each other, and we make sure to care for one another as best we can.
Platonic soulmates, that’s what we are: two sensitive souls who never quite fit in anywhere else but fit perfectly with each other—just not romantically. We’ve been besties for fifteen years now. Sometimes I think about how small and quiet my world would be without Levi, and the thought makes my chest ache. He’s the closest person I have in life, he’s not my real brother, but I call him that anyway, because in all the ways that matter, he is. Well… maybe more of a sorority sister, if I’m being honest. He can be a bad influence, but in the best kind of way.
I tuck my phone away and step out of the car, the gravel crunching under my flip flops. After pulling my first few bags from the backseat, I climb the short steps to the porch. The keypad waits beside the doorframe where the wood is worn and chipped from years of use. I punch in the code from my confirmation email, and the heavy wooden door creaks open, spilling a faint scent of cedar and something older into the air. I step inside, taking in the space I’ll be calling home for the next two weeks. It’s a simple setup; one room with a vinyl-covered foam bunk, wooden dresser, a small kitchenette against the back wall with a table and chair, and a side door that opens to a modest bathroom.
It sits in the heart of some of the most breathtaking mountains I’ve seen in the U.S., surrounded by rainforest and waterfalls that make you feel like you’ve stepped into another world—an enchanted one. I wanted to be immersed in nature, to soak in its sights, sounds, and emotional textures, gathering inspiration for my writing, and this place seemed perfect.
I’m searching for lived experience, for truth in the scenery I describe for my work on a short erotic novel featuring the Sasquatch. Of course, I know the hairy beast isn’t real, but I’m a writer who aims to tell stories that feel raw, lived-in, and possible, no matter how fantastical they might actually be.
While I know I can’t have firsthand experience of Harry Henderson’s cousin, I can at least connect to the setting; the forest itself, where the story takes place. Right here, where once upon a time legend says the Yakima Tribe held a respected companionship with the Big Foot, a massive, hairy creature that they once called the Ste-ye-hah’mah. But my story and its deadline aren’t the only reasons I’m here.
Part of me just feels this need to be in this place right now. Like something here is exactly what my soul craves. And whatever that is, it’s drawing me to it, it has been for a very long time. I can’t explain it any better than that, but it feels silly to admit anywhere else but deep in my thoughts, so I’ve kept it to myself. For everyone else who knows I’m here, it’s just to write.
As I settle into the cabin, I unpack slowly; setting up the sparse space so that it feels like my own little sanctuary. Pivotal for getting into the headspace I need for my writing. Afterall, my main character is a human female staying away in a cabin in the deep woods, where she somehow discovers Big Foot, and they somehow fall in love and then fuck—it’s a work in progress.
I place my laptop, writing supplies, and old camera gear on the table near the kitchenette, then sort out my clothing on the dresser. Next, I pull out the bedding I brought. To me, comfort is a priority, especially in a place like this. I run out to grab more from my trunk, like my thick mattress pad that I then fit over the foam one provided by the cabin to give it that extra plushness. Once in place I slip off my flip flops and climb up to make my bed, using soft pink sheets and pillows, as well as a big cozy yellow comforter. It all comes out, piece by piece, like a happy little ritual.
I hang up fairy lights next, along with a few bits of decor, like the photo of Levi and me at karaoke night that I set up in a frame on the table. That night was a drunken mess that somehow ended up with us rapping Korn’s version of Word Up before a full bar of strangers. I had thought I’d be like one of those popular cute girls who could siren song a man to follow me home and ravish me hard, I’ve been single quite a while so I may have fed myself a few too many fantasies.. and shots. Levi humored me though, and came up to help bolster my confidence, acting as my wingman.
The moment the song started, however, I froze, paralyzed with stage fright. But Levi, being the best friend, I could ever have—rapped louder and even danced silly, drawing attention off me until I pulled myself together for the last few lines, red-faced and all. To my disgrace no one swooned; no one followed me home either—but the drinks were strong, the friends were great, and the charge on my industrial vibrator was thankfully at 100% when I got home.
I add the photo to remind me of my humanity, of my small quirky and clumsy life, as lonely as it can be at times. The reminder is a good one as I delve into a world of primal lore far from civilization. And smiling at that reminder, I move on, continuing to make the space mine. The cabin may be bare, but by the time I’m done, it’s starting to feel like home. There’s just one last thing to complete my little setup.
Slipping back into my flip flops, I open the front door and dash out to my car one final time before locking it all up. Then I move over to the fire pit, where a small table sits between the chairs. I set down a basket of fresh apples I’d collected earlier—an offering, of sorts. I read somewhere that Bigfoot likes fruit and might not eat me if I bring gifts. Though, to be fair, I wouldn’t mind being eaten by a man—just not in Bigfoot’s sense of the word. I’ve added a mix of McIntosh, Red Delicious, and Honeycrisps, just in case he’s picky.
‘Elly, you’re losing your fucking mind!’ I say out loud and giggle to myself.
