The cabin smelled like a place left to live other lives. Bent playing cards and waterlogged board games held the last memories of forgotten childhoods. A creaking argyle chair sat sentry in front of a wood stove. Crocheted blue rugs created islands across the wood floor.

On a massive oak table sat an ancient leather bound book— inside held the entries of each trip to the cabin. Loose leaves of paper were tied into the book with yellowed twine.

Old books watched from the high shelves. Long unread stories of hard-boiled detectives and western excursions. Countless lives passed underneath them without the musty tomes shifting their stations.