Five-Star Cottage

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I knew the cottage was cursed as soon as we arrived.

Jarrad said it was all in my head, but the goosing on my skin was real enough. It was nearly dusk when we parked on the dirt driveway. A cold wind blew across the hilltops, unsettling branches, shaking free the remnants of afternoon rain. I yanked my hood over my head.

“You’re being dramatic,” Jarrad teased. He stripped off his jacket and held his bare arms out, basking under droplets splashing from an olive tree in a garden bed. He’s in his element out here.

I bit my tongue and began unpacking the car. After all, aren’t I in my element with him? Besides, hundreds of five-star reviews can’t be wrong. Our trip would be luscious and romantic and wonderful, “the most peaceful couples’ retreat,” according to Andi from Toronto. “The sounds of nature really capture the imagination here,” wrote Gwilym from Wales. And Mildred from Kentucky said she never wanted to leave.

The website didn’t do the cottage justice. It’s much creepier in person, with stonework encumbered by creeping moss and ageing brick in need of fresh paint. And a hacksaw—thick ivy twisted and wound from ground to thatched roof, encroaching as if the forest beyond the tree line was attempting to devour the property.

“I guess it’s beautiful in its own way,” I ventured, ignoring the chill in my spine, determined to hold up my end of the bargain. I’d said no camping, he’d said no civilisation; this was a fair compromise. “Jarrad?”

No answer.

“Jarrad, where are you?” I dropped our bags and sprinted around the side of the cottage. “Jarrad!”

“Casey, over here! Come check this out.”

I met him at the bottom of the garden, my heart going like I’d just run a marathon. “What the fuck, Jarrad?”

“How cool is this?” Bundled in his jacket was a harvest of white mushrooms. “They were growing behind that fallen tree. I thought we could have them with dinner.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat creepy forest mushrooms.”

“They’re not creepy forest mushrooms. These are the same ones we get in the grocery store. And this place is miles from the nearest anything and on top of a hill. It’s not like there’ll be toxic run-off.”

He tucked the bounty under his arm and put his other arm around me. “Come on, you put your feet up and have some wine. Let me do the cooking. We’ll have a great weekend. You’ll love it, I promise.”