Page 3 of The Intruder

When I go back inside the cabin, I turn on the radio. Reports of the storm are dominating the local news cycle.

Thunder and lightning. Gusts up to sixty miles per hour. Stay off the roads except for emergencies.

Somehow, I hoped things would turn around. Maybe the storm changed course or lost strength. They do that sometimes—you think it’s going to be a disaster, but then all you end up with is rain showers. But based on the urgency in the newscaster’s voice, this will be pretty intense.

I glance out the window. Rudy’s truck is out of my driveway, which means he must be gone. I head back outside to take a look at the sky and to make sure the outside of the cabin is secured.

The clouds have darkened, eliminating any trace of the sun that was shining so brightly early this morning. The large cloud directly above my head looks like something dark and dangerous giving me the evil eye.

A sharp gust of wind hits me then. It lifts the strands in my brown ponytail clear off my neck, and it seems to go right through my puffy winter coat like it’s made of nothing. I shiver. Any second, those scary-looking clouds will break open, and all the rain will come pouring down.

Fortunately, there’s not much left to take care of. I find a few large stray branches scattered around that could be a hazard, as well as the dirt-cheap lawn mower I bought when I moved in. I take the branches and the lawn mower, and I carry them to the toolshed just on the edge of my property.

I rarely use that toolshed. It’s mostly empty aside from maybe a rusted old rake shoved into one corner of the small space.

It has an even more questionable roof than my house, so I figure it’s best to avoid it.

But it will serve for keeping the lawn mower from flying through my kitchen window in a gust of wind and mowing off my head. (Hopefully.)

The shed is dark inside because all it has is one small window and no working lights.

I toss the branches and lawn mower inside.

Before I shut the door, I see a glint of something in the corner of the shed, probably some sort of old gardening tool.

Once this storm is over, I’ll have to take a closer look at the contents, but now is not the time.

I close the door as tightly as I can, knowing the odds are fifty-fifty it will get ripped off when the sixty-mile-per-hour winds start up.

As I walk back to the cabin, I take one last look at my roof.

I assess the possibility that it might blow away at some point during the night.

It looks sturdy enough to me, but the whole cabin is quite old and decrepit.

The doorknobs come off in my hand a lot, which doesn’t make me feel optimistic about the roof.

As I squint upward, an icy drop of water smacks me in the forehead.

Another sudden gust of wind hits me in the face, making my eyes burn, then water.

Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now—this storm is coming, and there’s no way Rudy can fix it in time.

I’ll just have to hope for the best. I’ve done all I can.

When I get inside, the first thing I do is lock the door behind me, as if the dead-bolt lock that I installed might in any way protect me from the storm. I only have one neighbor out here, and he wouldn’t bust in on me, but I don’t take any chances when it comes to security.

I locate a roll of duct tape in my pantry, and I tape an X over the windows, hoping that might help support them.

Storm shutters would be ideal, but since those are unlikely to materialize in the next half hour or so, I hope it provides some protection.

My father always said that duct tape can be used to fix anything, so we will put that to the test tonight.

After the windows are securely taped, I dig out the big box in my closet that contains an array of candles. I have more candles than a candle store. I bought these large ones soon after I moved in here, knowing that in any storm, the power would go. I’ve got enough to light the entire cabin.

I remove one of the candles from the box. It smells like cedar—my favorite scent.

I walk around the cabin, placing the candles in strategic locations since I’m likely not going to be moving them around once the power goes out. I put a few in the kitchen, a larger number in the living room, and one big one in the bathroom. Then I carry three candles into my bedroom.

My bedroom is small, with just enough room for my queen-size bed, a nightstand, and one dresser stuffed with my meager wardrobe. Like everything else in my life, it has been stripped down to the bare bones. That’s how I like it.

I’ve lived here for seven months now, and during that time, I’ve never had a visitor in my bedroom. Well, there was that time Rudy came in to fix the light socket when it was sparking, but that’s it. The only people who have slept in my queen-size bed are me, myself, and I.

If I wanted company, there are a few willing candidates.

Rudy, for one, but maybe not so much now that I nearly broke his arm.

There was a guy I met while waiting in line to buy groceries last week who asked me for my number, which I gave to him with two digits intentionally switched at the last second.

And then there’s one other person who I suspect would be happy to spend the night in my bed.

But I’m not interested. I love sleeping alone—always have. I love stretching out over the entire bed and making little sheet angels on the mattress. I don’t need anyone hogging the covers or snoring. I feel sorry for all those poor souls who have to share their beds every night.

I take a minute to contemplate the best locations for the candles. Finally, I place one candle on the dresser, then a second on the nightstand. I take the third and final candle over to the windowsill. But just as I am about to put it down on the right corner, something stops me.

There’s a pale face staring at me from outside my window.