The Cabin

By Christopher Setterlund

Will Frank is in need of a break from his hectic and stressful life. His idea of a vacation up in the untouched wilderness of Northern Canada seems like the perfect solution until the beast arrives. Over forty miles from the nearest town, Will must try his best to survive the terrifying attacks perpetuated by the beast on the campground where he is staying. A classic tale of terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Setterlund
• Release date: Nov 20, 2009
• ISBN: 9781102468318

Christopher Setterlund

My name is Christopher Setterlund and I was born and raised on Cape Cod. Being the oldest of five siblings, and coming from a large family mixed of many different nationalities, I enjoyed hearing the stories my elder relatives would tell. I was a born storyteller from the time I was eight years old and writing tales of adventures that my friends and I would take. As time went on my passion changed to film and producing, even going to college with the intention of becoming a film director. Still, throughout all of my time making my own home movies with my friends it was the stories that I enjoyed creating the most. Nothing is better for me than creating your own world or characters and bringing them to life.After losing interest in directing I spent much of my twenties writing poetry that described my world and emotions surrounding it, it was quite a growing experience to be able to open my heart but also do it in a concise and interesting way. Eventually I wanted to try my hand at taking the chains off of my mind and creating a full-length story complete with many interesting characters and a great plot. Second Coming was that story and since then I have never looked back.My biggest hope for all of you that choose to read my books is that you will be able to lose yourself in the world I create; sights, sounds, and emotions. Much the same as I did with my poetry I do not limit myself in one specific genre of writing; I want my words to reach as many people as possible and realize that different people like different types of stories. I believe that there is something for everyone in my collection, and if there is not keep checking back because I have many more books to come in the coming months and years. Thank you for taking a chance on my books, you will not be disappointed.

Book preview

1The Cabin

Christopher Setterlund

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 Christopher Setterlund

Discover Other Titles By Christopher Setterlund at Smashwords.com

I had moved to Toronto about three years earlier with the promise of opportunities for growth if I switched allegiances from my then-current job of Internet Analyst at Matthews, Raker, & Palmer to the new, up and coming company called NorthNet. That company was owned by an immigrant from Panama named Henry Martinez. He was a middle-aged Hispanic man with dark eyes and receding dark hair, certainly not the look of a genius businessman. However the one quality that Mr. Martinez possessed, and the one which convinced me to leave my cushy desk job at Matthews, Raker, & Palmer, was charisma. It was this charisma that had allowed him to step into the computer programming field as quietly as a mouse, with little more than the shirt on his back, and become one of the largest and most successful technological companies in all of Ontario. When he spoke of the hardships he had faced in his native country and how he, his wife, and five kids had followed their dreams to the ‘Great White North’ of Canada you could not help but feel inspired. I felt the passion and determination flow forth from his lips and could see the fire in his eyes. Henry Martinez made you feel what he was saying. With that power in his back pocket I practically fell over myself to leave my childhood home in Buffalo, New York. All I had known in my life was located just south of the border but I up and left it behind to join him and be a part of what he was doing in Toronto. From day one I regretted it.

Like a mouse traveling my way through a maze, I was so hypnotized by the empty words of Henry Martinez that by the time I wised up I was too lost to find my way back out. In the nearly three years since I had become a so-called ‘valued member’ of NorthNet I had seen my free time dwindle to a wink and a breath here and there and seen next to no increase in salary. I had made the mistake of being the young go-getter from day one. Mr. Martinez liked my drive but for the wrong reasons. He liked my drive because it meant that I was always willing to do the extra bullshit that some of the more senior employees refused to do. After about a year of doing everything but wipe his mouth after he ate, I began to see Mr. Martinez in a less flattering light.

For all of his charisma and passion there was a major flaw in the personality of Mr. Martinez; he had no feel for the common man. He worked his employees to their breaking point, because that was what it had taken for him to become a success as a Panamanian immigrant in Canada. What Mr. Martinez failed to realize was that not everybody had the same drive and determination as he did. All of his attempts at compliments seemed false and forced. For every time Mr. Martinez came up to me and placed a hand on my back as I typed away in my cubicle and said, Good work, Bill, there were ten times that he demanded I stay late to finish a project that he ‘just didn’t have the time for.’ It was a very unhealthy relationship he had with all 125 of his employees. Not surprisingly, for as much success as NorthNet had, there was a tremendous turnover in employment. Sadly though, the company had made such a major dent in the market that there were endless streams of young go-getters, like I had been, just waiting to get a chance to step into the front doors of the building. Mr. Martinez never had to worry about the idle threats of angry workers; he knew that there was always somebody to take their place.

My life outside of NorthNet? It had been nonexistent since arriving in Toronto. Considered the cultural and entertainment capital of Canada I was very excited to get the chance to live in Toronto. Even though I was a bit sad when I had left Buffalo I was intrigued by the images and stories of the city. There were so many places I wanted to see and things I wanted to do there, but work came first upon arrival. I knew that there would be plenty of time to see the sights, after all Toronto was all around me all of the time.

After the first year had passed and I had still not checked off one item I had wished to do I began to realize that because of my ever-increasing hours at NorthNet the city had become nothing more than a backdrop for my trips to and from work. My views of Toronto extended only slightly further than the roads from my fourth-floor apartment to the bland, wide-stretched parking lot of NorthNet. I made the trek to work so often that I would sometimes see the three turns I had to make driving as I tried to fall asleep. What made it even more difficult to separate work from home was the fact that the NorthNet office building was visible from my living room window of my fourth floor apartment. On bad days I would stand at that window and curse out loud in the direction of NorthNet. Often I longed to tell Mr. Martinez that I needed a vacation, or at the very least some sort of reduction in my hours. Those urges came and went once I got back into whatever my current project was. No matter how angry or stressed out I got I knew that it was not the fault of the people and businesses we did accounts for; they deserved the best I could give, and I gave them that. How ironic it was that I did not even have the time to ask my boss for less time. I simply went along for the ride like a boat with no oars. I had spent the first year at NorthNet doing all I could to make a good impression on Mr. Martinez. I spent the second year hoping that something good would come from all of my hard work. When my three year anniversary at NorthNet passed in the middle of the summer and I was still logging major hours with no appreciation I knew something had to change.

The event which finally strengthened my position occurred over the weekend of July 13th. That was when my parents and my only sibling, my sister Janet, came to visit from Buffalo. Family visits were very few and far between, in fact it had been nearly a year, since last Christmas, that I had seen my family. Normally I would try to finagle an extra day off in addition to my normal one day off and then I would either drive or take a train down to Buffalo and try to cram a few months of quality time into a day or so. Finally though they were all able to coordinate their schedules to make it up to see me; I had been looking forward to their visit since April. Luckily for me Mr. Martinez had been feeling charitable when I asked for the weekend off on that April afternoon. I figured that three months notice would give him ample time to delegate whatever assignments he had planned for me. I was mistaken.

The afternoon of Friday, July 12th, I was packing up my second-hand navy blue briefcase and getting ready for a long-overdue, fun-filled weekend. Mr. Martinez, as he often did, wandered around the cubicles taking the time to peer menacingly into each as if looking for a reason to poke and prod someone who might be seen as ‘slacking off.’ He came to me and stopped with a, per usual, forced smile. Not having any reason to feel apprehensive I turned to him and said my goodbyes.

See you on Monday, Mr. Martinez, I said with a much more genuine smile which, people often told me, made my blue eyes twinkle. Mr. Martinez’s smile disappeared.

Monday? What are you talking about? I could see in his eyes that he was not joking and in an instant I felt my heart begin to sink.

Don’t you remember, sir? You gave me this weekend off back in April. I made sure to give you a lot of notice so there would be no problem. My family is coming up from Buffalo and I haven’t seen them in about a year. A few of the other employees seated close by heard our conversation and stopped their typing. I began to see heads appearing from behind cubicle walls; they all wanted to see and hear what was going to happen to the man who ‘dared’ to ask for time off. Mr. Martinez, as I said before, did not have a feel for the common man. He did not realize or care about how important it was for me to see my family; maybe it was because on most days a few of his own children would be running around the three floors of the ten story office building that NorthNet occupied. He stared at me with a furrowed brow, placed his bony sepia colored hands on his hips, and let out a deep exhale.

I’m sorry, Bill, he began in his thick Latin accent, I may have agreed to the time off then, but I am really swamped here and need you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to be here. If it was at all possible I’d rather you go and spend time with your family, but I need you here. We need you here. Do you see what I am saying? He threw the ‘we’ part in to try to add some guilt as if I’d be screwing all of the other 125 employees. I knew that it was more of the normal lazy bullshit that Mr. Martinez enjoyed heaping on me. Sadly, I also knew that there was no way I could get out of it. I was going to be stuck working the weekend while my parents and sister enjoyed the streets of Toronto by themselves. I took a quick look around at the gawking eyes that were focused on me, then bit my lip.

Okay, Mr. Martinez, I reluctantly conceded, I will be here at nine tomorrow morning.

Better make it eight, we are completely buried with paperwork. Thanks Bill, I appreciate it. He swiftly spun around and headed past the rest of the cubicles, the employees all pretending to be hard at work. He began coarsely tucking his powder blue button down shirt into his black slacks as he approached his huge office with the frosted windows and giant black lettering on the door as if he was a Hollywood movie star. I stared down at my meek little briefcase, feeling as sad and pathetic as it was.

Sure you do, I muttered under my breath. I took out a bit of frustration on my briefcase in the parking lot as I callously heaved it into the backseat of my black Pontiac G6. It thumped loudly off of the opposite side door and for a moment I thought I might have cracked my window. It was not damaged although it would have fit perfectly with how I was feeling at the time.

I headed home to my fourth floor apartment with my head down, slouching as I walked. After leaving my G6 in the underground parking garage I slowly dragged myself up the flights of stairs to my floor. My apartment door was cracked open as I approached and inside I could hear the raucous laughter that only my father could produce. I began smiling despite all of the pressures of work and burst through the door. My sister Janet, a beautiful blonde-haired girl of 22, rushed me from in the kitchen and practically knocked me over the small, wobbly, kitchen table.

Hey, big bro! She gushed. Look at how skinny you’ve gotten! You’ll have to tell me your secret! I wanted to tell her that all she needed was to have a job where you had no time to eat, but I figured I’d save that for later. She hugged me again then moved aside so my mother, Leslie, could take her place. A retired school teacher, my mother sometimes still found herself acting as if she was in front of a class of 10th graders. She wrapped her arms around me and then pulled back.

Stop slouching now, Will, she reprimanded, it will ruin your posture.

Sorry, ma, I replied. I often found it funny that she scolded me on things like posture when she herself was not exactly the picture of good health. Being overweight, and