MY GRANDPA'S HOUSE WAS CUSTOM BUILT in the 1960s in the north woods of Minnesota along the banks of the Big Fork River. I am told there used to be more yard on the southern side of the house, but years of erosion down to the river have left only a strip of land before the rugged, steep bank begins. The house is in the middle of the woods on my grandpa's tree farm. So secluded, in fact, that there have never been curtains over the windows -- none that I can remember there being, anyway. My grandpa loved the wilderness and so never shut it out, I guess. His custom house features floor to ceiling windows all around the living room, which sticks out toward the river, and so the windows are featured on all four walls.The house is empty now, save for when extended family members use it as a luxurious getaway at times throughout the year. When I arrived for a weekend of solitude in late September, I was surprised to drive down the miles long, winding driveway through a few feet of snow. It was still hot in The Cities, as they call it, if you found a spot to get out of the wind. It was a nice combination, the snow and the warm sun.
When I entered the house, things needed to be taken care of -- turn on the water, turn on the heat. I walked around the living room; not as big as it had seemed when I was a toddler, but still spacious. There were flies lying in the bottoms of the window frames -- hundreds of flies. I made plans to vacuum them up after I unpacked my things. Turns out that wasn't such a good idea. As the house warmed, the flies slowly began to come out of their state of suspended animation. Everything seemed especially quiet, as it tends to be when there's snow on the ground, and me padding around in socks on cushiony berber carpet. All that was left to hear were these flies beginning to buzz, a growing buzz, interrupted only by their clumsy knocks against the giant picture windows. I vacuumed them up alive, as fast as I could, and dropped them out in the snow.
I ended up walking around a bit. There are a few old shacks out in the surrounding woods, one or two closer to the house than others. My grandpa would let travelers stay in them -- they'd be men in need of work, so my grandpa would offer them work in the pole yard, or in the forest chopping trees.
After clearing my head of the eight hour drive and all the work of unpacking and vacuuming, I realized I should get back to the house. Being alone in the woods was suddenly a little bit scary -- the wildlife has probably gotten used to there not being any human activity. I didn't want to startle anything that may have started visiting a little closer to the house than usual. There was no cell phone service out here, so I couldn't call for help if I needed it. Also, it was dusk. And I was getting hungry.
I opened a can of ravioli and heated it on the stovetop, put on my pajamas, and settled in for the evening. It's strange how the woods change when it gets dark and there are no curtains to pull over the windows. I kept from stirring myself into a scared little ball by reading and doing a few easy crossword puzzles. I came up here with the intention to write without the distraction of an internet connection or television, but I'd get a fresh start on that in the morning. My long day had caught just caught up with me. I had just enough energy to brush my teeth before going to sleep. Instead of sleeping in the bedroom, I brought my sleeping bag and pillow and just set up camp on the couch in the living room.
It was so quiet and so dark. There was only the tiniest sliver of a moon. I lied on the couch, paranoid that maybe I hadn't turned off the stove. Or locked the door. Had I remembered to shut the trunk of my car? My mind whirred from being groggy and into a frenzy of what-ifs. If I had, in fact, left my trunk open, my battery would surely be dead by now. I wouldn't get any writing done because I'd have to take an hour and walk into town to find one of my aunts or uncles to come give me a jump. Ugh, it was going to be quite a day tomorrow.
I finally succumbed to these restless thoughts, even though I knew better, and did one final check of these things before returning to the couch. Sure enough, everything was closed, turned off, and locked. Now I was wide awake again. Then I remembered one of my favorite things to do when I'm up here -- look up at the night sky. This far north, especially on a chilly night, the sky is so crisp that looking at it long enough, it's easy to make out seemingly the furthest clusters of stars. I decided I would look until I saw a shooting star, and then I would go back to bed.
It didn't take long before a brilliant white speck streaked across the sky, like someone briefly scratched a needle across a soft, dark, self-healing surface. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I looked down at the treeline to see if there were any deer walking out in the open. I didn't see any animals while scanning the line where the yard area meets the heavy treeline. There was a telephone pole at the midpoint, with an electrical box, and the wires ran from it to the house. On that box was a light. I stared at the light for a moment and thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I saw it glow brighter for a moment before softening again. My heartbeat got loud in my ears and my entire body became prickly and hot. I imagined my eyes having no color to them, as my pupils dilated to try and see -- to try and confirm -- it was only an indicator light on the electrical box. I tried to be as still as I could, but it was difficult. My pounding pulse bobbed my body against the window.
I stared until my eyes felt dry. I didn't want to blink. I wanted to make sure that the light did not move. But it moved, ever so slightly, and glowed brighter -- someone was taking a long drag off a cigarette. I could see it now -- the person's breath in the cool air, the smoke being exhaled. I couldn't move. The pouding in my ears was all I could hear, and it took all of my strength not to blink.
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