[Tom Watowski, Journal entry]

Cynthia and I’s relationship ended with a fight (her last ultimatum did the trick) shortly before I took the two of you up to the cabin. I’m sure you remember this trip fairly well, Sydney. I picked you and Nadine up about half-way between here and Lansing, a hangover still splitting my head in two, but otherwise, functioning. I’d gotten used to not being alone, and having the both of you around right after my breakup was a welcome distraction. We’d gone camping together as a family every summer since I’d moved to the UP and I was excited to show you the new cabin. I already had plans for setting up a fire pit and clearing a space for badminton (the rackets, birdie, and net were in the trunk).

The drive up to the house in Manistique was uneventful. Sydney, you were glued to a video game in the backseat if I recall, and your sister spent a little time telling me about her kindergarten teacher from the previous school year before falling into a deep sleep. As raw as I was feeling about life, being with my children again was a salve I hadn’t realized I needed quite as badly as I did. The first few days at the house flew by. Sydney, you were especially focused on the impending trip, possibly out of boredom, and a desire to rattle your little sister. When the time came to go to the cabin, you’d already invented a long list of precautions to help deal with the inevitable battalion of bears and coyotes surrounding the imagined destination. I told you and Nadine that it wasn’t going to be a problem because I’d already installed a perimeter of dragon scented talismans around the cabin. But that you would both need mosquito repellent, because mosquitos weren’t scared of dragons. Nadine found this somewhat comforting, and amusing. 

After the initial exploration, Sydney, you, unsurprisingly, were quick to voice your displeasure. You would’ve preferred it, I think, if there actually were a host of vicious animals surrounding us. I was a little disappointed by your reaction, but I’d seen it coming. The summer previous, you were already starting to complain about our camping trips, something, you claimed, you could do just as easily in the backyard at home (meaning at your mom’s). The new cabin, as it turned out, wasn’t far enough removed from what you now deemed as “lame”. An unfortunate side effect of parenting is being judged. But I had one more ace up my sleeve, and I knew you’d be powerless to resist it. I don’t think the idea of hunting had ever even occurred to you. The look on your face, Sydney (that reluctant wonder and curiosity), was absolutely priceless. I told you we would be going out with the neighbor to shoot, and that you would be allowed to fire the gun. I’ll never forget it.

Sullivan brought out a .22 rimfire and a 12 gauge. Anne came over with him, and I knew immediately she would be great with Nadine. She swept her into her arms and had her laughing in no time. She told Nadine they would go on their own walk through the woods together, pointing in the opposite direction of where we were going. Sydney, you hardly noticed the interaction, too preoccupied with the guns slung over Sullivan’s shoulder, but too nervous to talk to him. I could tell this was going to be a great day for us. And for the most part, it really was. 

A cooling breeze lightened the heat considerably. We followed Sullivan’s lead as he led us deeper onto his property, which had the sort of variety of terrain (according to what I’d read online) that deer preferred. We weren’t hunting them today, obviously, being out season, but we saw two groups of does with their fawns and yearlings, and a lone buck. We stopped in an open meadow after crossing a small brook. Sullivan handed me the 12 gauge loaded with slug (mostly he’d brought birdshot, but he wanted me to try the heavier round). I managed to keep a hold of the weapon as the recoil drove the barrel up. In anticipation, Sydney, you had your hands planted firmly over your ears, and I imagine you flinched as the round hit a nearby tree. Sullivan and I fired off several more rounds before we started shooting the .22. You seemed happy enough to watch, and looked taken aback when Sullivan offered you the rifle. He explained about muzzle awareness and helped you with your stance. The first shots disappeared into the foliage, but after a couple minutes, you managed to strike the sacrificial tree at least once. 

That’s when Sullivan lifted the .22 out of your hands. His attention was fixed on the meadow grass in the other direction. His focus was complete. He raised the rifle and sighted through the scope in one rapid motion. After a moment of stillness, he shot it. Afterwards, he let out a whistling breath and relaxed his shoulders before stalking through the grass to where he’d aimed it. A woodchuck lay there, dead. It might have been sleeping. You squatted down near it, not wanting to get too close, as if you expected the rodent might get up at any moment. Sullivan was already scanning the area. He pointed up at a sapling across from where we’d been practicing. See that? he said to you. A starling. It’s ok to shoot those. Here. He shoved the rifle into your hands. You were still so skinny and small back then that the rifle seemed disproportionately long and difficult for you to lift, much less to hold steady. He helped you out, using one of his massive hands to support the weight from the front grip. In the quiet, I focused on your face, which screwed up in concentration. You repeated the same mistake you began with during target practice, pulling too hard on the trigger. The starlings took flight before you could recenter your aim. 

We continued for a couple more hours. An air of concentration prevailed, everyone searching for game. You kept pointing out robins and blue jays, which Sullivan preferred to leave be. For a non-local (he’d only been in the state for two years), he had a surprisingly extensive range of knowledge about plants and animals in the area. Apparently, he enjoyed knowing the names for everything just as much as he enjoyed the hunt. Less so for insects, which you stopped to examine and slay on several occasions. You had another shot at a group of starlings, missing several times before I used the 12 gauge to kill one. Sullivan managed to shoot two squirrels and another bird with the .22 before we all succumbed to afternoon heat and hunger. You were quiet as we tracked back through the woods, contemplative and lost in your own world. Sullivan didn’t talk either.  

The first sign that something was off wasn’t anything obvious, though everyone seemed to sense it. I don’t know why I was so worried as the cabin came into view. We approached from the back side, which was a blank wall of wood beams. Thinking back on it, I wonder now if there wasn’t a sudden silence and stillness of wildlife around the place. A deadened feeling. Honestly, I can’t remember. As we rounded the corner I saw you, Nadine. You had a dazed expression on her face, one hand in your mouth. I called out sharply to you (you looked overwhelmed), and it seemed to snap you out of something. You looked at me and started to cry. A panicked crying, with fast, deep breaths, not at all the sort of thing I’m used to seeing out of any six year old, especially you. I broke into a run and knelt in front of you, telling you to breathe. Sullivan was suddenly next to me, probably hoping to hear an explanation of some kind.  

The strangeness of seeing Nadine's shock, the sharpness of my own adrenaline, etch these moments indelibly in my mind. You’d think I’d see it, but I don’t. I only see the cabin and its surrounds. Not that I even knew it existed. But it must have been there. Sullivan must have shouted, looking around for Anne, who I didn’t see either. I asked you, Nadine, where is she? You pointed toward the front of the cabin and Sullivan ran, a loping, ground eating sprint. I stood and waited, keeping a hold of your hand. When I didn’t hear anything straight away, I trailed after, pulling you along. I honestly don’t remember what you were doing amidst all this, Sydney. I think you must have stayed behind me. I found Sullivan on his cell phone, kneeling on the wood decking of the porch. Anne was lying there, to one side of the door, her body unmoving. My first thought was that she’d been attacked, although I didn’t see any sign of it. I took a moment to confirm the rise and fall of her chest before focusing on what Sullivan was saying. He was trying to give directions. His voice shook uncharacteristically, but he was very calm. 

I had to pry your hand off of mine, Nadine, so I could check inside. I told you to wait with Sydney and Sullivan, but found only the bare interior, everything just the way we’d left it. Our clothing-stuffed duffle bags were piled in one corner, along with plastic grocery bags filled with folded air mattresses, sheets, and blankets. Nothing looked out of place. I came back out and Sullivan was talking to the 9-1-1 operator, gently stroking Anne’s upper arm as if reassuring his unconscious wife. He kept reiterating how difficult it would be to find the place, giving them more and more detailed directions. Her head lolled to one side, her expression serene.

By the time the ambulance arrived, maybe forty minutes later, you managed to tell us everything you could, Nadine. How, after returning from your walk, you played a game around the cabin. Anne would have you run to the opposite side so you could guess which direction she would chase you from. On one such attempt, you circled, thinking Anne was running parallel to you. You continued, stopping, changing direction, trying to fool her into showing herself. You finally decided she was hiding inside. Racing up the steps, you came to a sudden halt, finding your new friend lying to one side behind the railing. I’m sure that for a moment you must have thought she was only playing. But she remained flat on her back and unresponsive, and stayed that way for almost an hour before we returned. It scared you a lot. I can’t be sure if that’s all that happened, and I can’t invent the scene more truthfully for you or with any greater clarity than that. I’ve asked you if you remember visiting the cabin (we didn’t talk about the incident for years and years afterward), and you said you don’t. Not surprising. It’s not as though we ever went back there as a family again. 

According to Sullivan, Anne woke up in the ambulance, just as it passed by the driveway leading to their house. She looked confused, and kept talking about a dream she’d had. Sullivan didn’t think much about it at the time. He was overjoyed to see her conscious again and talking. He assured her that everything would ok. Anne, on the other hand, was sure that something terrible had happened to her body. She said something had reached into her. She was hysterical. The paramedics gave her a sedative. 

At the hospital, the doctors ran a battery of tests, trying rule out and narrow down potential causes. Although there was a swelling bump on the back of her head (likely from the initial fall), there were no signs of significant head trauma to explain a prolonged lapse in consciousness. She herself couldn’t remember any blow to the head. Routine blood tests did, however, uncover an unexpected condition. She was pregnant.

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