Cabin 43?

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I expected at any moment to be caught by a ranger or police cruiser. Why would they tear down a cabin? Maybe I was mistaken, maybe this was a new plot for a new cabin.

I spied something bright yellow stuck to a low branch. Despite the churning of my stomach I approached it. It twisted in the breeze. I squinted at it. Finally I recognized what it was, a piece of caution tape, the kind they use to secure an area for investigation. I grabbed it. I gasped.

The cabin was roped off in yellow caution tape. My hands shook around the mug of coffee that I didn’t drink. I never drank coffee. I was wrapped in a quilt of white, red, and blue squares. Squares of comfort. Lights flashed in the early morning, red and blue, on and off, signaling the catastrophe site to all. A stretcher was wheeled out with a long black bag upon it. I closed my eyes.

What happened here? I stuffed the piece of tape into my pocket. Someone’s last living moments happened here. This was hallowed ground.

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