Hallon Seed Day 01

"Well, it certainly doesn't look like a house that's been sitting unused for over a century," Julia Trent observed.

"No, it doesn't," Mark Hallon agreed.

They both stood just in front of the first step up to the large porch of the even larger two-story house. It was Mark's understanding that no one had gone anywhere near this place for about five generations. Nevermind the fact that it was in the middle of the woods, 12 miles from any other person.

Apart from the design, and the fact that the paint had all but completely weathered away, the house looked like it may have been only a decade old. The wood was in surprisingly good condition.

"And your great, great, etcetera grandfather had this built," Julia asked, hesitant to believe it was the truth, though not suspecting Mark of lying. If there's one thing she could trust, it's that Mark would not lie to her... even when she sometimes whished he would.

"That's what the deed says. I mean, you saw it yourself," Mark reminded her.

"Yeah," she remembered. "Yeah, this box is getting heavy, so can you maybe open the door?"

Realizing her ordeal, he moved suddenly, sprinting up the porch steps to the door. The wooden steps and porch were in far worse condition than the house. If appearances were not enough, Mark's every footfall caused a creaking sound that made Julia worry for his safety. She glowered disapprovingly at his willingness to put so much force on those wooden steps.

"And why am I carrying this box instead of you," Julia inquired playfully, as she carefully took each step up, not fully trusting the integrity of the wood.

"Uh, because you volunteered to help," he answered, holding the knob in one hand and searching his pocket for the key with the other.

"Pretty sure I said that I'd keep you company."

"Yeah. That too." He inserted the skeleton key, and it turned with some resistance, creating the sound of rusty metal against metal, as the internal mechanism moved the bolt into an unlocked position. He turned the wobbly knob and pushed the very worn door open, observing dust falling from the door frame. He stepped aside to allow her through.

"I recall no additional agreements," she said walking along the porch, stopping in front of him.

"And yet...," he smiled, gesturing to the box she was holding completely of her own free will.

"A momentary lapse of judgement, I'm sure," she said, smiling back, and dumping the box into his arms. She took a few steps inside and looked around. He followed and was standing beside her once more.

"Wow," he remarked. "That is a lot of cobwebs."

"You packed a broom, right?"

"Yeah. Probably should've pack a rake."

Almost every vertical surface of the inside of the foyer was covered in cobwebs, and every upper horizontal surface was brownish-grey with dust. Since it was an open foyer, they could see that a couple of other rooms were in the same state.

"Good thing you're not afraid of spiders," he added.

"A spider," Julia replied, emphasizing the A. "I said I wasn't afraid of A spider. Singular. Fifty million spiders is a completely different matter."

She remained calm, in the knowledge that, because they were cobwebs, they were not in use, but there was still the uneasy insight that it probably meant that all of the spiders were just somewhere else instead. Someplace hidden, no doubt.

"Well, maybe you'll get lucky, and it'll be just one gigantic spider," he joked, dryly, then looked at her.

She looked at him and just raised an eyebrow, not giving him the satisfaction of a verbal reply.

"You know, this box is starting to get heavy. Would you mind," he joked, extended it toward her a couple of inches.

"Ooh, look. A table," she replied sarcastically feigning surprise. She pointed to the narrow table against the foyer wall and then immediately turned and started back toward the open front door.

He smiled to himself and walked over to the table. About five seconds after he set the box on the fuzzy surface, the whole thing collapsed, and the crashing sound echoed through the house, stopping Julia in her tracks.

"What the fuck," she exclaimed, turning abruptly.

Mark just stood there looking down at the mess.

"Hmm," he pondered. "Hundred year old house looks great. Hundred year old furniture... not so much."

"I'm getting the broom," she said, turning toward the door, once again. "And maybe some matches," she added, out the door.

"We're not setting the house on fire," he said casually, though loud enough for her to hear.

"We'll see," she shouted back while descending the porch steps.

The plan was to come check the house out and stay a week, regardless of what condition it was in when they found it. They packed camping equipment, just in case it was too far gone to safely shelter them. That didn't seem to be a concern... unless you were a safety code inspector.

Except for a lunch break, they spent every remaining daylight hour, of the first day, just removing cobwebs and dust from the more important rooms and furniture.

There was also intermittent debate about whether or not to utilize the outhouse in the back yard. Julia's position was a pretty firm, "No way in hell am I setting foot in there", while Mark's opinion was a less dedicated, "Best not tempt fate", so they both agreed that Mark would dig a hole behind the outhouse.

They decided to risk lighting the living room fireplace and the wood-burning stove in the kitchen when the temperature started dropping noticeably.

The larger furnishings seemed to still be in decent condition. They guessed that the table in the foyer collapsed simply because its legs were so spindly, and probably were not intended to hold any real weight to begin with. Old furniture was typically built to last, after all.

Upstairs, in the master bedroom, they both stood at the side of the large bed with a massive, wooden head board. Even through the thick coat of dust, they could see that the blanket was fairly moth-eaten.

"Five bucks says there's some animal's skeleton under there," she wagered.

"I'd take that bet if I disagreed." He paused. "So, you wanna do the honors," he asked, referring to the task pulling back the blanket.

"No. No, I really don't."

He grabbed the nearest top corner and quickly threw the blanket down to the foot of the mattress. A dust cloud bloomed, making both of them immediately regret that decision.

They coughed and waved their hands through the cloud, and when they finally got a look at the sheet below, they were both surprised to find it still in relatively good condition.

"Darn," he said, flatly. "Should've taken that bet." He pressed a hand repeatedly into the mattress, testing it. Seemed okay, but there was no creaking of springs.

"Must be set directly on slats," he guessed. He used both hands and gave it more force, but it still held up. He turned and sat down on the mattress, seeing Julia scrunch up her nose and upper lip in mild disgust.

He bounced up and down a little. Nothing. He stood up, held out his arms and fell backwards onto it. The structure didn't budge. The mattress itself was a bit lumpy with internal degradation, but otherwise it seemed like a decent place to sleep. He got up and stood beside her.

"Dibs," he said.

"Right, like I'm sleeping in any of these rooms alone."

He looked at her and smiled for a few seconds, then wrapped his arms around hers and laid his head on her shoulder.

"Awww," he teased, implying that she just wanted to be with him.

"Yeah, you can stop that."

He moved a hand to repeatedly stroke down the back of her head, kicking the tease up a notch.

"I will hurt you," she warned.

He lifted his head and gently kissed her on the cheek. She jabbed her elbow hard into his ribs, making him release, but he laughed through the pain. She just stood, facing forward, but she was smiling, too.

If she were to be completely honest with him, she actually did want to be with him. When they first met, three years ago, he was not her type, and she was clear with him on that, but he was fine with them being friends, so they kept it a platonic relationship.

He was cute enough, but definitely too nice of a guy for her to find attractive. On the other hand, she was running low on decent friends. Her last boyfriend, Jerry, really crystalized the fact that she had some pretty lousy priorities, when it came to relationships. She had a habit of falling for jerks, but Jerry took the cake.

He took her for granted and used her in almost every way: financially, emotionally, sexually, and for too long of a time, she let him. When she'd finally had enough, she broke it off, which did not set well with Jerry, at all. She decided to go on a relationship hiatus.

Mark was very supportive. He made sure she didn't get depressed about it, while never actually bringing it up. After a couple of weeks, Mark had inherited the deed and key to his long lost great, great, whatever number grandfather's property, and wanted to check it out.

He said, and she agreed, that a vacation from her normal life was exactly what she needed, so she helped him pack up his jeep, and they were off.

The long drive let her meditate a lot on her life choices. She began to appreciate Mark more, realizing that he was a genuinely good guy. She worried about him a little for it, actually. Part of her felt like she needed to protect him, but whenever she thought back, she noticed that there had never actually been any times that she did need to.

Since she was the one that had friend-zoned him, she felt a little bad that now she wanted more. She didn't have the slightest clue how to try to change things without feeling like a completely hypocritical asshole. Maybe she was the one from whom he needed to be protected.

As a defense mechanism, she had started behaving a little more harshly toward him. Not bad enough to hurt his feelings, or anything. Just enough to be able to lie to herself about how she really felt, and she was doing an excellent job of it, until he wrapped his arms around her.

She knew he was just teasing her, but underneath that humor was still a loving embrace, and it sent a flood of sadness, anger and joy rushing through her, all at once. It was all she could do to keep herself in check. She did not want to suddenly break down right there in front of him, so she relied on her defense mechanism to keep her safe.

When he started stroking the back of her head, her eyes closed involuntarily, and she almost let herself get lost in his touch, but she amped that defense up even further.

And then he had the audacity to kiss her on the cheek. That nearly broke her. If she hadn't jabbed him, she would have started bawling uncontrollably. Tears started welling in her eyes, and she had to remain motionless in order to fight them back. She didn't want him to see her cry.

Instead, she smiled. She decided to focus on the joy instead of the pain.

"How 'bout some dinner," he asked, rubbing his ribs.

"Sounds good," she replied, her voice threatening to crack.

He walked out of the room and headed downstairs. She stood there long enough to take a deep breath and more fully collect herself, and then she headed down behind him.

Mark rummaged through their provisions box. "You want an MRE or shall I open up a can of stew," he asked. "We'll have to heat up some water, either way, if you want the stew warm."

It wasn't exactly cold in the house, but she definitely wanted something warm. "What's easier? Been a long day."

"MRE." He held pouches up to the lantern light in order to read the labels. "We have Mac and Cheese, Stroganoff, and... Thanksgiving Dinner, for some reason."

"Not really feeling like cheese, tonight," she offered.

"Turkey, it is," he said, pulling out a Thanksgiving Dinner for her and a Stroganoff for himself.

He poured water from a bottle into a pot and set it on the heated stove, took two forks out of the box and handed her one, and then two fresh bottles of water.

He sat down in his canvas camping chair next to hers and they waited for the water to heat up. Minutes passed.

They both looked up suddenly at the sound of something falling from a different room. There was a door in the kitchen that was closed, and they had not yet explored beyond it. Judging by the direction and volume of the sound, they both figured there was some sort of cellar or basement through the door.

"Maybe we should check it out," he suggested.

"Because we've never seen any horror movies ever?"

He smiled. "Okay," he agreed in a somewhat patronizing tone.

"If we don't get murdered in our sleep, then we can check it out tomorrow, at, like, noon, when the sun is at its highest. How about that, genius?" She smiled.

He chuckled. "Okay. Sounds good."

A few minutes later, the water was warm, and he finished preparing their respective meals. He handed hers to her and then sat down to eat his own.

"Thanks," she said, in a moment of sincerity.

"You're welcome."

She stirred the contents of her pouch. Thinking back on her past relationships was almost like watching someone else's life. She couldn't believe how much she let people get away with treating her badly.

It's not like Mark had chopped vegetables or anything, but she couldn't remember any of her boyfriends ever cooking for her. They certainly never dug a hole in the ground for her to shit in... not that they needed to, to be fair, but the point being that they would not have done it.

When the food looked ready, she scooped up a spoonful and sniffed it. It smelled a little odd, but she was hungry, so she put it in her mouth and chewed.

"Not too bad," she said, with food still in her mouth.

"Mine tastes weird." He shoveled another spoonful in without hesitation.

"They probably all taste weird."

He raised an eyebrow and nodded in agreement, digging in for more.

He finished eating before she did, and put his empty pouch into a garbage bag.

"I'm going to check and make sure under the bed is all clear."

"'Kay," she mumbled through her mouthful. She finished chewing and swallowed while he gathered a lantern, the broom and a can of bug spray. "I'll get the sleeping bags out of the jeep," she volunteered.

"The bed already has sheets and a blanket," he joked.

"That's not happening," she informed, as he walked out.

His footsteps trailed off as he ascended the stairs. She suddenly felt a little uneasy being alone in the kitchen. She quickly finished her meal and threw away the empty pouch.

As she walked by the unexplored door, on her way out, there was another sound of something falling. She jumped, "God! That better be a raccoon." Lantern in hand, she left the house, collected their sleeping bags, as well as a very large mover's blanket, and carried them upstairs.

The master bedroom smelled heavily of bug spray, and, under the circumstances, she didn't mind one bit. Mark was on his knees thoroughly fumigating the space beneath the bed. She stepped over the cobweb-covered broom that lay on the floor, and dropped the rolled up sleeping bags onto the mattress.

Not wanting to sleep anywhere near the filthy blanket, she pulled it the rest of the way off the bed and tossed it into the far corner of the room.

She spread the mover's blanket across the old, musty sheet, and then fully opened one of the extra large sleeping bags on top of that.

Rolled up inside her own were two king-size sheets, which she spread out, one on top of the other, and then the second fully open bag topped it all off. She zipped the bottom of one bag to the other, and a little up each side, essentially mimicking normal bed covers.

Completing his chemical assault, Mark stood up saying, "Okay, if there was anything alive under there, I highly doubt it is now." He looked at the setup she had arranged. "You've used a sleeping bag before, right?"

"A few times, yes," she replied, anticipating his next comment. She stared at him staring at the bed, as he searched for the best way to point out the fact that they would be sharing a bed, as opposed to being just circumstantially next to each other while separated in their own individual cocoons.

She decided to put him out of his misery

"Sleeping bags feel too confining to me," she lied. She immediately felt bad about lying, but she definitely wasn't going to tell him that she just really wanted to share a bed with him, even if they were not going to do anything... extracurricular.

Even though she had no intention of actually doing it, she wanted the option of reaching across and touching him as they lay together. She wanted some realistic element to the image in her mind of her wrapped in his arms, in the center of the bed. Her back pressed against his chest. Her head nestled under his chin.

"Okay, then," he said, accepting the lie as a reasonable excuse. "I sleep on this side at home." He pointed to the left side, right in front of him.

"You're not at home," she argued. Him on the left side also didn't match up with her mental image.

"Well, this is technically my house," he countered, raising his hands in a shrug.

She knew logic was not on her side, here. She just gave him a half smile and raised an eyebrow.

"Right side it is," he acquiesced. He looked around the room. "Pillows still in the jeep?"

"Yep."

He grabbed his lantern and left the room. She realized they still hadn't brought in their clothes and tooth brushes, so she chased after him before he got too far away with the light.

They brushed their teeth outside, and then brought in the rest of what they needed for the night, dumping everything on their respective sides of the bed.

She took a long t-shirt and pair of thin, small shorts out of her duffle bag. That's what she had brought to sleep in, though she debated whether on not she wanted to actually bother wearing the shorts. She didn't want to make Mark uncomfortable, but the idea that he might catch a glimpse of her panties tantalized her.

Just as she finished that thought, Mark pulled off his t-shirt, began kicking off his shoes and started unbuckling his belt. He paused and looked up at her watching him.

"You wanna...?" He twirled his finger, suggesting she turn around. He was teasing her again, of course.

"Oh, shut up," she smiled. She lowered her head, looking back into her duffle bag. Out of her peripheral, she could tell that he was pushing down his jeans. She snuck a glance of him standing in his boxer briefs. He really is an attractive man, she thought to herself

She wondered why he spent so much time alone, between his only... how many was it... two girlfriends. Of course, at the moment, she was glad that he was not attached. And who was she to judge his relationship choices, after all?

He stepped into a pair of gym pants as pajama bottoms, and she returned her attention to her own clothes. She looked up at him, pretending to see him for the first time.

"No shirt, huh?"

"Hey, you're lucky I'm wearing pants," he replied.

She silently disagreed.

"I mean, it's chilly up here," she smirked. Even though it was a bit chilly, that was not at all what she meant.

"Uh huh. And where are your flannels, then?" He pointed to her chosen night attire.

"I didn't expect it to be chilly. You wanna...?" She mimicked his finger twirl.

He pretended to be put out, crossed his arms and turned to face away from her.

She pushed off her shoes and looked at him as she started unfastening her own jeans. Would he sneak a peek, she wondered. She became a little aroused by the prospect. The room was suddenly a little less chilly for a moment.

She pushed down her jeans and stepped out of them. She pulled her shirt up. As the material covered her face, she moved slower, giving him an opportunity to glance back unnoticed. She dropped the shirt on top of her jeans, on the floor. Did he look?