Page 5 of Beware of Hodags

RACHEL

I’m glad I came to this town. It’s a pleasant surprise that everyone here has been nothing but nice because the older generations in my family always warned us kids to stay away from here.

Nobody quite remembered why, so the reasoning was mysterious.

Thus, when I found myself needing to get out of Dodge, naturally the first place on the map I was curious to sightsee was Rhinelander.

I didn’t come here with anything like a plan to stay, but the cabin rental opportunity is too good to pass up and I’m not sad at all at how things are working out.

I learned of the cabin’s existence from a chatty gas station clerk when I'd topped off my tank (where I also got the recommendation to try Spider and the Fly’s coffee shop).

When I called the number the clerk gave me, I learned the cabin was located outside of Rhinelander by about ten miles.

Loads of farmland runs along either side of the road. It’s so picturesque it doesn’t look real. Fall wheat fields, cornfields, and dairy cows are my view until it gives way to thick autumn woodlands.

I roll the windows down to enjoy the last traces of Holsteins and suck in a lungful of pine and the subtle sweet scent of sun-warmed maples. This is my favorite kind of place. Nice and rural. Peaceful. A good place to lie low for a while.

The narrow driveway entrance I’m looking for is so well tucked into the trees, I nearly miss my turn.

I wouldn’t have caught that there’s a driveway here at all if not for the mailbox on the other side of the road.

And the only reason I noticed that is because it has a rather hideous wooden hodag statue guarding it.

My car protests as it climbs the steep, curving, partially washed-out hill that serves as the driveway itself.

To my surprise, at the top of the hill is a stand of trees that hides a well-graveled parking spot, tidy and neat.

The cabin stands not far away, looking like a picture from a magazine.

It’s situated so that its windows will face the trees, not the view of a car’s nose or bumper.

There’s an overgrown gravel track that forks around the cabin, probably to the back of it for maintenance and whatnot. Deep tire grooves prove this secondary driveway sees some use, but only on occasion if the sparse shoots of grass trying to take it over is any indication.

I opt to park in the tidy parking spot. The trees curve around my car so snuggly on three sides that I feel hugged by nature. Smiling to myself, I grab my bag and hop out of my car. Moving across the gravel, my steps are light with excitement.

That is, until I reach the cabin door and run into a problem.

I promptly call my sister. She answers on the third ring.

“Hey,” I say to her. “I finally made it here and—”

“Did you drive all night?!” Adrian squawks, almost in horrified admiration.

“No. I made good time and stayed at a hotel in Escanaba. Got here this morning.”

Adrian’s betrayed gasp is loud. “You went to Escanaba without me? Did you eat at Drifters?”

I can see her face. The playful outrage—but also the longing because Drifters really is that good. She looks a lot like me, just without the birthmarks. The tradeoff for her being born unmarked, though, is that she didn’t inherit the family ability to shift.

“You bet I did,” I say, and I don’t have to rub her nose in it by sounding smug.

We both know that I inhaled a plate of fluffy waffles, and we both know I enjoyed every syrup-slathered bite.

“You would have done the same.” Drifters is the world’s best restaurant and my family has been enjoying it for over twenty years.

No way one of us would miss stopping in if we were in the area.

She pretends to cry. “Tell me it was terrible!”

“It was just as amazing as we remembered. But back to the reason I called. I rented a cabin named the Rhinelander Retreat.”

“Sounds adorable.”

I turn back to the door. “It is. It even has a hodag statue next to the mailbox.”

Adrian’s voice is hesitant. “What’s a hodag?”

Gravel crunches under my sneakers. I toe my duffel bag, which I set down while I tried to tackle the lock.

Not only because it’s heavy but also because I needed more range of motion to karate chop the bugs that are dive bombing me while I stand in the woods like a self-serve buffet.

“Apparently, it’s a really big deal in this town.

Maybe in Germany too. I’ll tell you about it later.

I’m calling you because I can’t get into my cabin. ”

“I thought you rented it?”

“I did.” Trapping my phone between my shoulder and my ear, I very carefully use my finger and thumb to gently grasp behind the front legs of a bark-colored tree frog that’s attached itself to the screen door and I relocate it to a nearby red maple, affixing it gently to the textured trunk that’s virtually the same color.

I start to wipe my fingers on my pant leg, but think better of it. With my clean hand, I opt to go fishing in my purse. “Over the phone. I called the owner this morning and he said he’d swing by to set up a payment plan with me later, but he gave me the keycode and told me to settle right in.”

“Nice of him.”

“I’ll say.” My fingers close around a package of hand sanitizer wipes.

Success. I tug a wipe out and make use of it.

“Problem is, I can’t figure out how to unlock the door with this keycode.

It has a keypad instead of a traditional lock.

I tried calling him again but I’m only getting his machine.

I'm guessing he's at work. I’m sending you a video of me struggling with the sequence.”

“You want me to help you unlock a door from five hundred miles away? Do I look like a locksmith?”

I tap the speaker button so we can communicate while I send her the video, super relieved I have cell service here.

A nice surprise after I spent pretty much all of yesterday without it, a phenomenon that most travelers experience once they hit US-2.

“Four hundred and eighty-eight miles if you want to split hairs. Let me know when you get the video.”

“Got it,” she murmurs.

The video shows the brushed metal lock plate with ten rubber numerals, one through five on top and six through nine on the bottom, followed by a zero.

Above these numerals is a small lengthwise rubber button, worn away so that I can’t see what it says, but when my finger taps it all the buttons blink once then go dark.

Touching numeral keys make them turn green and bleep.

I get four bleeps before they all turn into strobe lights and a buzzer sounds, and the door remains locked.

Just entering the code gets me nowhere, and I’m growing a little concerned that I misheard the owner. Maybe I’m entering the wrong numbers.

After a moment, Adrian exclaims, “Oh my land, it’s like a Nancy Drew game!”

“See? I knew you’d get a kick out of this. Can you help me solve it, Nancy?” I tease.

Delighted, after only two tries, she freaking solves it. “Press the top button, wait till it flashes, then enter your code!”

Easy as that, my cabin door unlocks with a low buzz. I swing the door open, relieved. “Thank you.”

“That was fun! ”

I hoist my duffel onto my shoulder. “Yeah. Loads. I’m sorry for all the times I complained that you were hogging the computer when you were obsessively beating the pants off of The Secret of Shadow Ranch.”

“Awww, that was a good one,” Adrian reminisces wistfully.

“And Curse of the Blackmoore Manor.” The cabin has an interesting layout, with two half bathrooms immediately on either side of the front door entry and a little quarter-bath on the right behind them.

Straight ahead is an accent wall painted in a bold chipotle color.

It’s otherwise undecorated, save for a thermostat, and to the left is a hallway that’s pleasantly scenting of freshly laundered linens.

It probably leads to bedrooms. To the right should lead me to the kitchen and living room.

“That one too!” she agrees.

I continue to peek around the entryway. Slate tile floor, oak trim, walls painted a honey wheat color.

Man, it smells good in here. Whatever they use in their plug-in air fresheners?

I need to get me some of that. I clear my throat officiously.

“And Danger on Deception Island, and Treasure in the Royal Tower, and—”

“Are you thanking me or are you passive aggressively trying to say something?”

“Right, right—I’m thanking you,” I assure her.

“Your ingenuity and skills have saved my day, and all of your many, many, many hours honing your puzzle solving skills with amateur detective games has paid off.” Opposite of the quarter-bath is a vanity with three sinks and a huge, beautifully lit mirror.

A cursory glance at the bathrooms and quarter-bath reveals simple commodes and a shower box—there are no mirrors or frills of any kind contained in them.

Which, I suppose, isn’t surprising. The owner said this retreat caters mostly to groups of hunters.

“Thanks a lot,” Adrian drawls.

“Seriously.” I hitch my duffel bag higher on my shoulder. “Thanks. You saved me from being eaten alive by mosquitoes.” I lock the door, securing myself inside .

On Adrian’s end, an electronic whirr starts up, low enough not to interrupt us but pesky enough that I don’t want to stay on the line and subject myself to it for much longer.

It’s the sound of her mixer. She's making goodies or bread.

Maybe today she's making both. “Are they as bad as the UP mosquitoes?”

The UP is the upper peninsula of Michigan, where the only thing bigger than the moose are the mosquitoes.

Tapping my phone to return it to the squish-to-ear mode, I do just that, pinching the phone between my ear and my shoulder blade again, and walk to the coat rack to divest myself of my purse’s weight.

“Almost. They're a little smaller but still basically flying vampires. But that’s not all.

I was warned that there are ticks. And you know how people say it doesn't hurt when they bite? I was also warned that they lied.”

I make my way down the left hall and find there are three bedrooms to choose from.

Also a locked door, but I’m not my sister and I don’t feel any burning need to solve the mystery of what’s behind it.

The three rooms are nice ones with big windows, big beds, and full-size dressers and closets.

I pick the room with the comforter that has moose and bears on it and drop my duffel in front of the dresser.

A faucet kicks on, then off. Like Adrian is rinsing her hands. “Hmm. Except for Drifters, you’re not making any headway at making me sorry I didn’t come with you.”

“And yet the offer for you to join me is still open.” Gratefully, I fall back on the bed, enjoying the slight rebound.

“I might show up for hot single guys. Keep me posted if you run into any.”

My lips quirk. “My boss is pretty cute. You might like him.”

“If you're offering him to me, does that mean you don’t like him?”

I sigh. “He’s super nice. But he’s not…”

“Your mate,” she finishes.

“Exactly. ”

She sighs too. And her voice gets serious. “Speaking of matches that are never meant to be, Dylan has been asking about you.”

In the act of wriggling around to find the perfect spot to nap, I freeze.

My stare goes unfocused, barely registering the wilderness painting above the bed, or the two big windows that showcase the backyard, which is a sweet little meadow butted up against a steep rock-strewn hillside. “What have you told him?”

Dylan isn't trying to date me. Dylan is trying to catch me.

“Nothing. No one has told him anything except for the shocking fact that you up and moved. He asked where, and we said you hadn’t found a place to settle yet.”

“Keep to that story even though I think I’ll settle here for a while.”

The problem with Dylan is that he believes I'm a supernatural creature. Which thrills him, because supes are what he hunts for fun.

Although he calls us cryptids. He’s into cryptozoology. And I mean he is deep into the Kool-Aid. He calls himself a cryptid hunter.

Cryptid hunters believe that creatures of myth, legend, and extinction not only exist but have been sighted—and they chase them. As a hobby.

Thing is, creatures like wendigos and Dogman have a tendency to return the favor. Dylan regularly posts on Facebook about being hunted, especially by wendigo. He’s not crazy. He’s lucky they haven’t killed him yet.

“Will do,” Adrian says. “But back to your boss. Cute, huh? I could go for cute. Send me a picture.”

“I will,” I murmur, trying to set my Dylan problems aside. It should be easy; I’m almost five hundred miles away.