The Old Cabin

It was way overpriced for what it was. 3.78 acres consisting of an abandoned mansion, some outbuildings, and yards and gardens that were untended for at least five years. But, the agent said, word was that it could be re-zoned. For condos. Developers, he added, were starting to sniff around. It’d go fast if I didn’t move he said.

I, of course, remembered it. We were told to keep away. Ghosts. Or worse. But, of course, we didn’t keep away. We never saw a ghost. That might be because brave as we thought we were we were not brave enough to venture there after dark.

The financing would not be an issue, and after a consultation with my lawyer and a site-planner, I made an offer. After some back-and-forth and the agent’s assuring me that other developers were about to appear to steal—his word—the property from me, we had a deal and the property was mine.

On the afternoon of the closing, after it was mine, I drove out alone. I wore long trousers and long sleeves. I’d be walking through high grass and among unruly trees. I did not stop at the house. It’d be gone within the month. I didn’t care. I headed past it, brushing aside vegetation as I went.

At the crest of a slight rise I could see why I overpaid for the property. It was boarded-up now and it had been then. It was where I gave myself to someone for the first time. On that one night I was brave enough to enter the property. Where I gave myself to someone.

If I entered the hutch, perhaps he would have me again. And that I could have him.

Thanks to Bunny’s Red Flame, Challenge 11 @BunnyDarkness