To Warm Frozen Fingers // A Short Story Collection

Day Twenty-Two: The Cabin in the Orchard

Find a picture of a pretty building and use it to inspire you. 

The cabin stood in the orchard, quite out of place and yet almost invisible to the casual passer-by. Indeed, it seemed to almost have a kind of veil over the general public, and only those who knew it was there every actually visited.

The postman was the first that day. He walked over the paths in the orchard, snatching a nearly-ripe apple – clean, crispy and bitter, just how he liked it! – from an overhanging tree as he past and, when he reached the cabin, turned and threw it in the other direction. "Mail!" he called – they liked to be alerted. Today there was only one thin parcel and two letters, which he readily shoved into the cramped letter box out the front of the cabin. Within about 10 seconds, he turned around and stomped back to his van.

Next to arrive was a woman with an apple pie. She lived on her own, about a mile away down the road, and bought three apples every day from the orchard owner. About once a week, she appeared at the cabin and left the steaming apple pie out front by the glass doors, which were always closed and had curtains masking whatever was behind them. The cabin inhabitants didn't know that they were only number four on a list of seven, who, once a week, received the same steaming present. The woman waited for a moment, as she always did, hoping to get a glimpse of the almost-complete strangers who lived there, before trudging back to her house. She always wondered to herself, Why? Why should she bring an apple pie to them when she never got anything in return? But then, she reasoned, to whom would she give it to otherwise? So the apple pies kept coming.

Thirdly was the milkman. He hated coming to the cabin, but there was always an envelope of money for him, so he obediently dropped off the five – five! – milk bottles, picked up the envelope and the empty bottles – only four today, once must have been smashed, he reasoned – and disappeared again. His horse would be getting restless at the gate, and he had to finish his rounds quickly because his wife was due to go into labour any day now. He wouldn't miss his children's birth for the third time.

Penultimately was a little girl, who happened to be picking apples in the orchard. Only those who believed in magic could truly see the cabin, and as she passed by it, she stopped and stared for a moment. Her brother, a scamp and mischief maker, ran past, butting into her and causing her to spill two apples. She scrambled to pick up their having rolled in all directions, glaring at him the whole time. He yelled at her to hurry up, then came to see what she was so enchanted with. "Why are you looking at that old wreck?" he asked about the beautiful cabin, dragging her along by her shoulder even though she wanted to stay.

Finally, just as it was falling to darkness, the last visitor to the cabin arrived: a wizened old cat, with a white muzzle and grey paws and hair coming in clumps out of his ears. He sulked around the side of the cabin, having approached it from the back. Slowly, he made his way to the mail box and tugged on a piece of string to open the hatch, pulling the parcel and letters out and dragging them to the door. Next, he pushed the apple pie closer with his nose. Then, he pushed over a milk bottle, smashing it and lapped up the creamy milk, before rolling the others towards the door. He jumped up, pulled down the cabin's door handle, and it swung open inwards. Almost jubilantly, the cat took in his precious belongings, and was just about to lock up for the night, when he remembered. In great bounding leaps, impressive for his old age, he leapt forwards just in front of his cabin and picked up an apple which had fallen out of the girl's basket and she had misplaced. The stork in his mouth, he trotted back, his tail in the air.