A few pitched notes, delivered in quick succession but following a distinct rhythm, broke the man’s impassionate speech. He stares at me.
Where am I?
Get your bearings; look around.
The cabin takes shape; its badly-kept condition stands out: moss and ivy cover the outside, choking the timber-made walls and roof into submission.
The background sky and trees that seem to form the rest of the scenery are exactly that, a background. As if taken out of a landscape portrait, they are hazy and uninteresting. I make an effort in trying to distinguish their features, but they seem to be wrestling with my sight, pulling themselves farther back.
I notice a brush of my arm. I bring my focus away from the distance. There is a crowd gathered around; my father among them. All look up to the man, standing in front of the cabin, who in turn holds his gaze on me.
Dim light radiates intermittently from within the building, projecting an aura of majestic evilness that orbits the figure of the man.
And he stares at me.
I pinpoint the origin of the ongoing melody that disrupted the ceremony. The cabin is the main suspect. It seems drunk and about to burst on its gluttony. The door holding the building together has a bent over backwards posture, too much weight being pushed onto it. Light is not the only element being emitted from the inside of the greenish loggings.
I break free from the crowd, walking up to the cabin. The man turns on his stand, facing me. My numb legs unconsciously lift themselves up the stairs that lead to the door. Although he stands to the right, I can feel his breath creeping behind. His presence making a turn, cutting corners to get to me.
My hand reaches out, grabbing the doorknob firmly. Turning it, the cabin releases its heavy load, as if it were unfastening the erupting button of its tight pants after a hard day’s work.
One eye at a time, no hustle.