Cabin

 On the afternoon of Hollow´s Eve, John took a train in his city. 

After two hours he got off, walked the few meters towards the bus station  without his facemask on and  then rode a coach for another half an hour.

He stepped out in a small village as the sun started setting down and walked for thirty minutes into the hills until he reached the end of the road.

For the last few minutes he turned on the flash-light on his phone to rid himself of his fear of darkness.

Usually, he would have driven here with Mark, but that was all over. He can´t drive himself and they are history. That is why he is here, to get their cabin ready for sale.

He crossed the little bridge over the creek, he shed a light on the house, exhaled with pain and went around to get to the door facing the steep hill.

Once inside, he turned on the electricity, locked the door behind him and walked under the stairs and through the corridor into the kitchen that lead to the living room. Next to the fireplace there was enough wood for a few days. That would do.

It felt very cold, although he used to believe weather always got warmer on Halloween, because the souls of the departed came back to visit and heat up the air. Maybe not this year. Maybe not here in these mountains, where nobody comes to visit their holiday homes.

John never felt safe in the woods, Even inside the cabin, unless Mark was with him. He started a fire with great labour, then took some chips and two bottles of red wine out of his backpack.

He picked up a tumbler from the kitchen and curled up in a blanket in front of the fire.

Suddenly, the emptiness started filling up with joyfull memories that now had the aftertaste of a paradise lost. An unreachable  melancholy nostalgia.

He thought of the romantic weekends, playful summers with their sibling´s families, tours in the mountains. That one august when it rained an entire week and the adventure planned turned into a cosy cocooning or that skiing holiday without any snow that turned into a drinking game that grew into a fight in the cold outside and than a week in bed cared for by their friends. 

He loved the memory of them fighting, if nothing else, if no good memory remained, he even loved fighting with Mark, and making up and then being angry for not standing his ground, but being grateful for going through it together.

When he finished the first bottle the place was warm already. He put some extra logs  into the fire, turned down the lights and went upstairs to the bedroom. That spot as well, felt more empty now, that he was here alone. But after the journey, the wine and the memories, it didn´t take him long to fall asleep.

Just before midnight, John suddenly woke up to the sound of an approaching car. He looked out through the window, but there was nothing, even by the dim light he would see it, and this was the end of the road, no other house had lights on. Neither did his.

He heard a car door slam, so he looked outside again, but could only see the outline of the mountain across the valley. He tried to turn on the lights, but the electricity was out, maybe that was the slam he heard.

He walked downstairs to get his phone and maybe some candles.

As he was crossing the corridor again, he got a scare as he heard a thud from the living room. John is already anxious as it is, this situation is not helping his fear of darkness and loneliness. He tried the same exercise as when he wakes up in the dark of the night with an anxiety attack.

Name four things he can see: -not much in this darkness- the stairs, the window, the door, his own bare feet. Three things you can touch: the jackets hanging next to him in the corridor, the knob of the the door leading to the bathroom (but what if someone is hiding in there?).

He reminds himself he locked the door and the windows are shut as well, but maybe somebody slipped inside while he was turning on the electricity and was hiding in the toilets all this time, just to murder him.

The electricity, how could he have forgotten about the switch, he went for it, but it was on, no blown fuses, there must have been a power-cut or maybe he forgot to pay the bill. But what company would cut off your electricity just before midnight on the last day of October?

He walked to the room to grab his phone then look for some candles in the kitchen. He remembered he didn´t finish his counter-anxiety exercise. But what comes next? Things you can see, things you can touch, things you can taste? Maybe things you can smell? He can smell Mark´s perfume. It is virtually impossible, they haven´t been here in months.

Unless...that must be it, they didn´t change the drapes and maybe some of his perfume stayed and it rubbed into John´s nose while he was muffled in the covers.

Steps are approaching the cottage. That is impossible, he can´t think of anyone at this hour, on this day. He grabs a ladle in a sensless act of selfdefense, he crosses to the corridor waving the scoop menacingly at the door.

Another thud comes from the kitchen and he immediately turns around, there ain´t no more movement, he can hear the blood pumping in his ears and the fire cracking in the hearth. 

Suddenly the electricity turns back on, it appears he turned the corridor switch on as he is blinded by the brutal change, 

He covers his eyes and turns back to the entrance. As he slowly lowers his arms to get used to the light, he is taken aback in a silent fright. 

Somebody is standing in front of him, steam coming from his mouth, cold from the outside weather and apparently shocked at his own presence. As if he showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Mark, is that you?" John, still not accustomed to the light only sees a blurr but recognizes the silhouette and the perfume.

The person nods in silence.

John instantly calms down, all the fear is gone, Mark is here now. All is good, there is nothing they couldn´t face together.

"Come warm up by the fire, I will pour us some wine" he says as he leads the way and grabs another glass and in a hopeless act of romaticism he also takes the candles laying by the sink.

They sit down beside the fire as he opens the second bottle, pours two glasses and lights the candles to amplify the golden light sneaking around the room.

Mark raises the glass in sign of thanks but doesn´t say anything yet. The situation is akwardly unexpected. But John doesn´t mind, at least he´s not alone in here for the rest of the night. 

The silence is broken by Mark´s timid: "It is good to see you."

"It really is!" John replies and hugs himself in a joyfull feeling of satisfaction.

The quiet gazes into the fire continue until a common grasp for a question breaks the ice.

From there on, it was another slow ride accross the memory lane. All the things they went through together, the good, the bad, no sad emotions no grudges, just a present that was settling into the unreachable past. 

Mark stood up to go out and smoke, but John stopped him: "We can smoke inside, the fire will make your clothes stink so much, your mother won´t smell the cigarrettes."

He realised the silliness of his words as soon as they left his mouth. He felt embarassed, he realised Mark must have been missing his mother terribly. He approached him and hugged him. They melted in each others arms. 

The sudden, long suspended closedness felt unappropriate. They separated shyly but it wasn´t long before they were tenderly hugging again. Mark was sobbing and without understanding why, John joined him. 

They remembered with love the ones they didn´t see in a long time.

"I mostly miss talking to her, I missed talking to you too, a lot!"

"I missed all of you, badly. Your presence alone, makes me understand how much I don´t want to be without you."

They started gently kissing and delicately enjoying each other´s presence.

They finished the wine, but Mark didn´t smoke his cigarette.

They blew off the candles, added wood to the fire and moved upstairs to the bed they picked up together from a local antique shop years ago.

They made love, sorrowfully, passionately, with a joy of a newfound intimacy. It was at the same time fresh and so familiar. A hold on the past, that was again showing it´s shape in the present. They were at the same time fulfilled and void.

The sleep came by gradually, interruped by hungry kisses and longing carresses.

John was woken up by Mark tickling his face with his hair and softly kissing his cheeks.

The room was filling with twilight and Mark´s face was fascinatingly beautiful. His eyes sparkling with the joy of the shared adventure, his dark lips slightly parted and widely smiling, creating dimples at each side. They kissed again.

"I will soon have to go" Mark whispered.

John wasn´t ready to feel the sadness of their separation, yet again,  and firmly pressed Mark´s loving body against his. He could feel his strong heart beat, their skins touching in an agonizing satisfaction, he could hear his breath in his ear. He fell asleep again.

Then he woke up to the sound of a closing door. The light turned into the red of an autumn sunrise. He decided to bathe a little longer in the rediscovered happiness and snugged deep into the covers still warm from their passion.

Some moments later he woke up, the separation slowly setting in, the bed a silent witness to their battle royale, he put on yesterday´s clothes, walked downstairs into the cooling room. Two empty bottles of Merlot, two glasses a few cigarette butts in one of them. An aftertaste of wine, corn chips and cigarettes in his mouth took him back to reality.

He brushed his teeth, grabbed his coat and his back pack, unlocked the door and walked down to the village. It was All Saints, people were selling chrysanthemums at the entry to the cemetery. He bought a bunch of purple ones.

He walked hesitatingly around an ancient graveyard down to the more recent one. He stopped at a fairly recent tombstone. He kneeled down, put the flowers at it´s head, stroked the stone caringly with his hand and took out a candle and a lighter from his backpack and lit it. As his eyes started watering, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

John turned around and stood up.

"Most of all i miss our conversations, sometimes I can feel the presence, but there are no words."

"I am sure, wherever he is, he misses talking to you too!" John answered and hugged Mark´s mom as they both began sobbing in rememberance.