MYSTERY CHAPTER THREE


I’d left my backpack on as I struggled up the rope ladder thinking maybe I wouldn’t have enough energy to do this more than once today. I’d already worked several hours at Rose’s Café that evening. It was dry enough inside the tree but almost pitch dark. I had no extra hand for my flashlight, but it was on a lanyard around my neck and I should have turned it on before I started.

I worried about spiders, about falling, about the folly of trusting a stranger. I kept climbing, the muscles in my shoulders and thighs protesting as I hauled myself ever higher. I could sense the void as I ran out of ladder. I fell across the small platform and rested before switching my flashlight on. I half sat up and carefully shrugged out of my backpack. The door facing me was about three and a half feet high, maybe three feet wide.

I scooted forward, fumbling the key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock and turned it clockwise. There was no doorknob, but the door swung silently inward. I wondered if there was a light switch; I wondered if there was any light at all. I had no idea how long my flashlight batteries were good for. I felt inside along the right-hand edge. Sure enough there was a round thing with a switch. I flipped it and the round thing turned out to be one of those stick-up lights they use in closets. I turned my flashlight off and looked around.

The place gleamed with polished wood. It looked like the cabin of a sailboat – a beautifully crafted sailboat. Three wooden steps led down into the hull. I decided to retrieve my backpack and pull up the rope ladder before I entered. Both these things required effort and I was already tired not only from the effort but also from the stress of uncertainty.

I stepped down into the cabin. I located several more lights and switched them on. I noticed several windows with dark cloth shades that needed to be closed so as not to attract unwanted attention whether from humans or moths. They folded down and sealed with Velcro on the sides.

I took a deep breath and looked around. A long bench extended along the left hand side of the room. On the right there was a tiny galley: a sink holding a one-gallon jug of water presumably for drinking; a one burner propane stove with a tea kettle on top; a stack of Rubbermaid bins with tight lids serving as a pantry. The top bin held a few pans, one plate, one mug, one glass, and silverware for one. My benefactor obviously did no entertaining.

At the far end from the door I saw a hammock and a sleeping bag. Above the hammock within easy reach was a small bookshelf holding several books on birds each in a zip-lock bag, and a pair of binoculars. In an alcove by the door I found a composting toilet. All the comforts of home, and much nicer than many homes I’d seen.

I was stunned at the amount of work that had gone into creating this safe haven. Everything had had to be hauled into the woods and up the tree. I suspected that few other people had seen this hideout. Why me? I wondered. And was I really safe?

Maybe it was time to move on. I’d already stayed much longer in this place than I’d intended to, but my riverside tent and simple existence had been comfortable enough. And I’d been trading dishwashing and other kitchen chores at Rose’s Café for meals. Maybe I’d become too comfortable, too complacent. It was already August and would be getting colder soon. What would I do for the winter?

Exhausted, I turned out the lights, removed my shoes, spread out the sleeping bag and crawled awkwardly into the hammock. I doubted I’d be able to sleep, but needed to rest if I could. I kept my flashlight close by in case I needed to get up.

I was awakened the next morning by birdsong around 6am. I almost fell getting out of the hammock. My body was sore and stiff from yesterday’s exertions. I made the rounds and rolled up the window shades. The only large window opening was placed over the galley stove and perfectly situated to provide a view of redwood branches and morning fog from the comfort of the hammock. It was chilly so I crawled back into the sleeping bag and fell asleep again.


It was almost ten and sunlight was filtering through the branches when I woke up again. As I hurried to get ready to leave I realized I not only had no idea who this man who had helped me was, but also had no idea what his agenda was. And I didn’t even know his name.

I struggled down the rope ladder muscles protesting. I found my tent and a garbage bag full of my few possessions inside the base of the tree as promised. I peeked outside and carefully looked around before emerging into the hazy daylight.

“Sleep well?” he asked. I almost jumped out of my skin. Once again he had approached silently, and once again he kept his distance. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I said feeling the full awkwardness of the situation. “Do you have a name?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” he said, “I do have a name.” A shy smile flashed across his face.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” I said. “You can call me Morgan.” And I extended my hand.

“Aaron,” he said and stepped forward. We shook hands like kindergartners following parental directions.