She feels her eyelids growing heavy and the side of her face is throbbing; it’s time to get up and go to bed. As she steps from the bathtub onto the bathmat, she has the strange sensation of a sharp twinge from within her womb. She feels woozy and holds onto the side of the bath for support. A dark drop of blood splashes onto the bath mat. Then another.

41

Kristina

It is the most disgusting, terrifying sensation and I instinctively wipe my hand down the front of my jeans, streaking them maroon. I shine the beam onto the door and its handle, and both are streaked with dried blood. The handle has significantly more blood on it, and some has dripped onto the floor below. There are also several patches of it on the floor, almost indistinguishable against the slate floor tiles, and I didn’t notice it in the meager light of the little vestibule when I arrived – you’d have to direct the beam of a torch straight at it. There seems to be a trail leading to the bathroom. I step inside the bathroom and, shining the torch around, I spot another few small drops alongside the sink. There’s a bio compost toilet I am familiar with from other trips to similar cabins. There’s a bloody fingerprint on its closed lid and I shudder at the sight of it. There is also another door in the far corner of the room, impossible to see from where I stood before in the doorway of the vestibule.

I open it and realize that the cabin has been extended and is bigger than I thought. There is a pine-clad corridor with a door on either side and a floor-to-ceiling window at its end, with sweeping valley views. I shine the light onto the door on the left, which is ajar. I push it open with my foot to reveal a small but cozy bedroom with a built-in triple bunk, presumably for visiting children. I climb onto the bottom bunk and shine the light into the middle and top bunks in turn, but they are empty and neatly made up. There is a cupboard, also empty, and there are no signs of bloodstains anywhere in this room.

I go back out into the corridor and shine the light onto the second door, the one on the right. There is a rusty smudge on its door handle and I cover my hand with my sweater sleeve before grabbing it. The door doesn’t open easily, I have to lean against it to get it to budge inwards into the room, as if something is blocking it on the other side. Is she in there, dead? I pause for a brief moment, but find that I am strangely freed from fear or hesitation in this moment and know that it’s because I am high on the adrenaline surging through my veins.