Just fucking great.
Grudgingly, I couldn’t blame them since severe writer’s block had crushed some authors’ careers. I held out hope it wouldn’t end mine.
Hence, the reason I stood where I currently did.
Shoving those depressing thoughts aside, I concentrated on the depressing view directly in front of me instead.
At first glance, it appeared as if no one had been inside recently except for local wildlife.
I walked deeper into the twelve hundred square foot cabin. It wasn’t a bad size for me since I’d be living alone and I didn’t need much in terms of space. A place to lay my head, a place to eat and somewhere to write.
The cabin had only two rooms walled off—the bedroom and bathroom—but other than that, the floor plan was completely open. Dust kicked up as I wandered around the main area of the cabin, inspecting everything a bit closer and making a mental checklist of what needed to be done.
It wasn’t long before I realized I should actually write it down since the list might be longer than my brain could handle.
The little bit of furniture the previous owners left behind was covered in an inch of dust or was broken. All of it needed to be either tossed or broken up and used for firewood. The kitchen cabinets were empty with the doors hanging wide open as if the contents inside had been stolen or packed up and removed.
Ghost-like cobwebs clung in every corner.
Every window was cloudy from years of neglect. One was completely shattered and would need to be replaced. Actually all would need to be replaced with new double-paned windows to help keep in the heat come winter. Even with the light early spring breeze, drafts could be detected when I ran my hand along the edge of the nearest window frame.
I shook my head and spotted scat on the floor. Lifting my gaze, I saw why. A half dozen bats clung to the open rafters above having a little afternoon siesta.
Fuck.
Besides the bat shit, I recognized what animal the little black grains of rice come from. A small rodent related to Mickey.
“You’re all getting your eviction notice in the next day or so,” I warned the bats and any mice listening. “Freeloaders.”
I continued around the main living space. Luckily, the large fireplace built out of mountain stone seemed to be in good shape. As was the thick, wide wood mantelpiece over it. At least something wouldn’t need replaced or repaired.
Actually, the structure of the cabin was basically sound. It had “good bones.” Most of the repairs would be cosmetic or to make it more energy efficient. The wide-planked wood floor boards simply needed a good scrubbing, as did the kitchen sink and appliances.
Luckily, that was something I could easily handle on my own. I didn’t mind using a little elbow grease.
The filthy woven rug in front of the hearth needed to be tossed. Firewood scattered on the floor needed to be neatly stacked. The pile of cold ashes in the fireplace needed to be removed and a chimney sweep would be hired to avoid any fires in the flue.
I peeked my head into the bathroom. Since it was the only one, it was a decent size. It didn’t include a tub, only a stand-up shower stall missing a shower curtain, a filthy window, a toilet that needed scrubbed, and a free-standing sink marred with hard water stains.
Next to the bathroom was my bedroom. Also not a bad size since it was the only one. A broken metal bed frame sat in the center of the room, and an old wood dresser was against one wall. I was afraid to open the drawers since I was sure families of mice had turned it into a condominium complex.
But it was the large windows in the room that caught my attention. They might be dirty now, but through them the view of the lake was spectacular. I imagined myself opening them wide and hearing owls, fox and even loons at night, along with getting a breeze.
I added several ceiling fans to my list. One for the bedroom, as well as a couple for the main living space.
My king-sized bed would fit perfectly in that room, as well as the dresser I brought along and waited to be unloaded from the U-Haul parked at the bottom of the mountain.
Both my SUV and the enclosed trailer were packed full with only the necessities, like clothes and my bed. Everything else I had given away to organizations that helped veterans and the homeless after selling my house on Long Island.
After stepping out of the bedroom, I headed to the back door—No, the front door—to find it had been left unlocked, too. Pulling it open, I walked out onto the covered porch that spanned the whole length of the cabin and stared out at what I now owned.