An Overdramatic and Only Vaguely Accurate Account of My Weekend In The Woods

The GPS said, "turn right onto Bushy Road." I knew it wasn't the same way we traveled the first time we went to the cabin a year ago, but it was beginning to get dark and my traveling companion had chosen "quickest route". There were four of us in the car and we were headed to Metamora, Indiana to spend the weekend with some of our closest girlfriends. The four of us all worked that day, which accounted for our late departure. Everyone was already there waiting for us, and we were anxious to finally arrive. Therefore, "quickest route" seemed like a great idea. The little car turned right onto Bushy Road and the atmosphere in the vehicle electrified. We would be there soon.

As we drove down the seemingly innocent road, it began to curve; first gradually, and then very sharply. We were suddenly plunged into darkness as the path narrowed considerably and twisted with a sinister regularity. The thick forest on either side became almost suffocating. I'm not entirely certain, but a few times I actually saw branches reach out in an attempt to snatch our vehicle right off the road. I cautioned our driver to be wary of the way the pavement drops off, as one slip into the ditch might mean a lost tire, and then most likely the four of us running through the woods trying to escape a leather-faced man wielding a chainsaw. We've all seen the movies. This was prime material for the beginning of a horror movie. The opening scene in which nobody survives and it sets everything up for the rest of the movie. In that moment, we were Drew Barrymore in Scream...and it was a terrifying feeling.

After what seemed like three hours, but was actually maybe five or ten minutes, we reached the main road. Still reeling from our experience, we struggled to catch our breaths and relaxed a little. We were pleased that we found the cabin with considerably more ease than we had the previous year. The very long lane, not unlike Bushy Road, was frighteningly ominous. Finally, we saw the lights of our weekend sanctuary, glowing warmly amidst the cold and bleak darkness. We pulled into the parking area as our welcome party cheered our arrival from the balcony. We arrived and in one piece, and I had never needed a beer more desperately in my life.

Laughter and hilarity ensued until we all decided to turn in for the night. Being one of the last to arrive, I ended up on the top bunk in the loft area. My view was beautiful, but slightly creepy. The full moon lit up the otherwise pitch dark cabin with an eerie bluish tinge. I heard an unsettling clanging noise and my heart started thumping out of my chest so violently I could almost hear it. It was then I felt it, that dreadful urge which required me to stealthily climb down from my bunk and feel my way to the bathroom. Once there, I couldn't find the light switch, so I did my business blindly and felt my way back to the top bunk, where I let escape a few grunts and groans as I hoisted myself back up the ladder. Having forgotten about the evil pots and pans monster, I drifted into a restless sleep until I was awakened by the smells and sounds of breakfast below me. Upon inquiry, I discovered that the psychotic-but-indiscreet murderer was only a wayward ceiling fan.

That afternoon, as we played games and enjoyed the beautiful weather on the spacious deck of our cabin, we found ourselves under attack by mutant killer bees. We tried to ignore them, and when that proved impossible, we tried swatting them away. However, it only angered them and provoked more violent attacks. As I sat in my lawn chair sipping my drink, I raised a hand to slap one of the insects away, when a broom came down hard and killed the little bugger. I looked up to see my aunt, broom in hand, a determined set to her mouth, "I'm in the mood to kill," she said. I knew then we were safe from the horrors of being stung by such a creature; and I slept that night knowing that we were in no danger, because my aunt was in the mood to kill. Furthermore, unless I misinterpreted her intentions earlier in the day, I was pretty sure her mood was meant as a reassurance of protection; and not a threat to our general well-being.

When I awoke the next morning to the sounds and smells of breakfast once again, I knew I was right to trust my own instinct. Our last full day passed easily and pleasantly, until that night. While I was...um...indisposed, I heard my own mother say, "Let's take a walk!" Even more shocking, were the emphatic affirmations of her "great" idea. I busted out of the bathroom and exclaimed, "Taking a walk out here in the dark is just asking to be hacked to bits by a deranged killer!" They all laughed at me and prepared for their excursion, which included finding a candle to light their way; because despite everything we had packed for the weekend, a flashlight was not among any of it. For good measure, I executed a crude holographic will...just in case...and off they went. I waited for them on the deck, straining my ears to detect any shrieks or screams; and I would be lying if I said I didn't hear any. Just as I was preparing to gather the remaining occupants of the cabin to head off in search of them, they returned. Some of them were covered in wax, and some in dirt, but they were in one piece; and for that I was grateful.

As we drove away the following morning; down the long path, past the abandoned gold mine, and finally past Bushy Road, I found myself already feeling nostalgic. I now eagerly await our return next year. I love the fall season, especially in Indiana. It holds the perfect spooky air, without all that pesky danger.