Cabin Fever - An Erotic Novel

Chapter 26 - Wakey, wakey (FINAL EDIT)

I woke up on the boudoir floor hours later, cradling the still half-full whisky bottle.

At some point, I must have closed the window, or there would be a pile of snow inside – plus, I'd probably have frozen to death, which would have been an unfortunate end to a bizarre night.

Judging by the light, it was well past dawn. It was still snowing, but not as heavily as before, and the wind had died down. Heavy clouds obscured the winter sun, making what light there was pale and weak. I wasn't wearing my watch, but I guessed at half-past ten, maybe eleven o'clock.

My head was pounding something awful. My mouth was bone dry – and my stomach pretty upset. That's what you get for fighting werewolves, then shotting single malt on an empty stomach. I remembered something about deciding to go downstairs for eggs and bacon. Apparently, that hadn't happened. I had remained upstairs, drinking and talking with myself. Until I passed out.

Great. Another sterling decision by Mr. Felix.

I left the bottle on the floor and got to my feet. The room started spinning. I grabbed the little table for support and managed to get up. My stomach felt like it was on fire. I was afraid I might throw up, but the moment passed. I blinked my eyes a few times. The room stopped spinning. More or less.

I let go of the table and headed for the bedroom. I managed to reach the doorway without falling.

Felix 1 – 0 Whisky. Or maybe it was more like 1 – 1. Who keeps scores anyway?

The bedroom was pristine. Strangest thing I ever saw. No blood, no werewolf fur, no messy bed linens, no nothing. The bed was made to perfection, just the way Bella would have. Even the bloody pillows had been fluffed and arranged with a womanly touch.

My first impulse was that Bella had returned during the night and fixed things while I was passed out.

Only that didn't make a lot of sense. No sense at all, in fact.

I walked over to inspect the bed – there was no mark from the axe, and the wall behind it was equally untouched. The blood was gone. Not a single little drop remained. Not on the floor, not on the linens – which I could tell was exactly the same set as the night before.

So no, Bella could – theoretically – have made the bed and fluffed the pillows, but she could not have wiped away all that blood or removed the deep gouges made by the axe.

Except she was a witch. Maybe she had like a cleaning spell or something. Like speak the magic words, wave the wand – and everything would be nice and clean. That would certainly explain a few things – Bella's place was always very tidy, yet didn't strike me as the type to do actual housework.

I had always assumed she had servants or something. Only come to think of it I had never actually seen one at her house. And definitely never at the cabin.

My clothes were on the bed, all nice and fresh and folded. At that point, I wasn't surprised anymore. I put them on and went back out to the boudoir.

I looked around the room. The axe was gone. There was no water or bloodstains on the floor by the window. The little lamp was back on the table, the lampshade in perfect order. It was as if last night had never happened.

The only thing slightly out of order was two glasses, both of them clearly used, and the whisky bottle. A bottle that was now sitting on the table next to the glasses. I was absolutely, positively sure I'd left it on the floor.

Magic.

I felt a chill down my spine at the thought. Magic was real, wasn't it? Werewolves, withes... magic. It was real. All of it.

I had to laugh again. Magic was real. I knew that now. The only 'proof' I had was a very tidy room. Still, I knew it with such a deep and profound conviction that a priest might have called it faith.

"You're some witch, Bella," I said out loud, mostly for my own benefit, but also in case Bella was actually around, actively performing witchcraft.

I got no reply – and there were no more 'miracles' to be seen, so I left the boudoir and headed downstairs. I fully expected the bottle and the glasses on the table to be gone when I returned, tidied up by some unseen force.

"Hello?" I said in a loud voice, coming down the stairs. I didn't get a reply. Worrying. If the guests were still alive, and it was a big if, they should have made their way here. It was noon or something. The chances of everybody sleeping in that late... not good.

I was famished, but couldn't in good conscience go make myself eggs and bacon while there were potentially seven dead people in the cabin.

As much as I dreaded finding out – I had to know.

But first, I needed to take a leak. A major leak.

I went down the stairs to the ground floor and over to my rooms. The door was unlocked. No surprise there, since I had left it like that.

I went inside and locked after me. Then I changed my mind an unlocked it again. There was no point. Witches and werewolves – what use would a light lock on a flimsy door be against such creatures?

There was a pair of women's shoes in my entryway – a pair of white sneakers, quite wet, probably from walking through snow. There was also a coat carelessly tossed on the floor next to the shoes. Weird, but nature was urgently calling.

I went straight into the bathroom – it was right next to the suite's entrance – and had a long, good piss. I looked in the mirror as I whistled a little tune. I did not look good. Not at all. Actually, I pretty much looked the way I felt: like shit.

I flushed, stripped, and jumped into the shower. It did wonders for my aching body and throbbing head. Few things more soothing than a shower when you're hungover and hurting after a werewolf fight.

I also knew that the effect would wear off the moment I turned off the water. After shampoo and soap, I just stood there for a long time, leaning my head against the wall, letting the water wash down the over my head and back. It felt unbelievably good.

I looked down at my feet. Wiggled my toes.

Shoes.

The shoes in my hallway. And the coat. Someone was here!

I nearly tripped and fell in my rush to get out of the shower, but managed to catch my balance.

The coat belonged to Bella, but she would never have put it on the floor. So who was it? One of the guests? Wet white sneakers and a borrowed coat? Maybe Donna or Emma, since they had to go outside to reach their rooms?

Had Greg killed one of them in my room?

Not good. Definitely not good.

I moved towards the bathroom door.

Then I backtracked and stopped in front of the mirror.

I turned my back towards it, looked over my shoulder. There were some light bruises and some red lines, but nothing like you'd expect. No blue-black bruises the size of footballs. No gouges where Greg had clawed me.

Weird. Baffling. Like everything going down at the cabin.

I moved over and slid the bathroom door open. Padded towards the sitting room. No one there. The door to the bedroom was ajar. I pushed it all the way open and stepped through.

There was someone blonde in my bed. A shapely leg sticking out between the sheets, and mass of hair across my pillow. A short dress piled on the floor. Glasses on my bedtable. Donna.

There was no blood.

He'd strangled the poor thing. What a bastard.

I moved over and pulled at the sheets.

Donna rolled over on her back and opened her eyes. She was all nude – and very much alive.