51 - Cabin full of boxes.

joneworlds@mailbox.org

I had to hike back out into the woods the other day, after what happened. I had to go back and see where that path by the 9-sign went. It takes me almost two hours to get back in there, what with the rain and the mud. And by the time I get there, I wish I was back home with my radio and my twenty christmas trees and my staring wall. But I still go ahead and follow that track deeper into the woods. Though it's barely there to the point where I wonder if I'll find my way out again.

And then I see it. There's a small clearing, and this cabin. Its logs are all somehow stained turquoise. There are no windows, but there is a door. Even under the deep woods the rain is soaking me, so a door and a tight house seems fine to me. I knock and there's no one, so I try the pull and it's open, and I go on in.

And there's nothing in there but wall-to-ceiling shelves, lit dimly with some battery powered tea lights. On those shelves I see several large bottles of ibuprofen, which is sort of weird. But most of what's on those shelves is hundreds of little wooden boxes. They're stained in a bluish color like the cabin, and all alike. The rain is pounding on the ceiling as I go to look at some, and in the gloom I see that each has a tiny blue jewel set above a brass latch with a keyhole lock. And they have this look like you could just bust them open easy, but feeling it I can tell it's solid. Real solid. I can't even see the crack where it's closed.

How long has all this been here, deep in the woods. How long, and why, and by whom. I may never know these things, but I think I know who it is for. And now I do know what I have to do next.

Next - 52 - Dropped off the keys.

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