Throwback Thursday: ‘Cabin Fever’ by KT Wagner

The breakfast I’d fixed for the dead man three days earlier — his last meal — congealed in an iron skillet as far to the other side of the hearth as I could push it with my makeshift cane. Maybe if I’d found a way to cover his body, I’d have been able to tolerate the presence of the corpse longer, but Hamish had left me only two blankets. I needed both to avoid freezing to death. 

A month earlier, Hamish had introduced himself as I stepped off the ship’s gangplank. He placed a ring on my finger. I accepted. I had little choice.

He’d removed the ring after I became a burden. When he claimed the Hudson Bay blankets were fair trade, I tried to argue. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He tethered the pack horse to his mount and rode off, promising to send back help. That was five days ago.

Spots of cold sunlight shone through gaps around the door and the window’s shutters, skittering across the corpse’s twisted features. The chill muted the stink.
My focus narrowed until the black lump protruding from its mouth consumed all my attention. The tongue echoed the darkest parts of the corpse’s shirt, whereas in life the whole face had reflected the bright red in the plaid. Without that terrible tongue, I might have believed he was napping.

I stared and stared and stared. 

The light turned golden, heralding the approach of night and her demons. The harsh grate of my breath filled the cabin. Occasionally, I remembered to blink.
Three days sharing quarters with the block of flesh, and I’d approached the point when I could no longer tolerate its company. 

With the dark came an obsession. A profound worry my arm might swing out, independent of my control, and connect with rotting meat. My unswollen eye refused to close, even though it couldn’t see anything. 

The weather shifted. Banshee screams punctuated the wails of wind writhing through the forest. The fourth morning dawned, the forest calm again. 

All I knew for certain was I had to do something about the body. I could not face another night in the company of a dead man.