Narrator

Inside, it smelled like cold wood and old smoke.

There were thick braided rugs, iron cookware, a faded quilt over the back of a couch.

Everything clean, but not hotel clean.

Clean like someone had come through and made sure nothing obvious could hurt you, but also like nobody had lived there recently.

I remember noticing the windows right away.

Not the glass, those were new enough, but the frames.

The inside edges had scratches, long and shallow, as if something hard had been dragged along them repeatedly.

Not random scuffs, parallel lines.

Nora noticed them too because she ran her thumb along one, then wiped it on her jeans like she expected grime.

Probably raccoons, Eric said.

He was carrying a cooler and wanted everything to be normal.

Raccoons don't scratch like that, Maddy replied, and then immediately looked like she regretted saying it.

She didn't want to be the anxious one.

None of us did.

We were there to relax.

We did the normal cabin thing.

Unloaded groceries.

Claimed bedrooms.

Made a first night meal that was too heavy because we were hungry and excited and still operating on road trip energy.

There was a binder on the coffee table labeled cabin notes in thick marker.