Chapter 10: Shirt

"Are you sure we're not lost?"

"Trust me. Everything is just like on the map."

"Are you sure you drew the map right?"

"Yes, because everything is just like it. It's just a long walk, that's all."

Brian and Tristan still seemed skeptical, but they'd see soon enough that I knew where we were going. A thick fog crept through the area, washing between the trees and obscuring everything further than twenty feet from us.

Brian moved up next to me. "Your uncle was gonna leave the door unlocked, right?"

"Yeah." I got the impression they weren't worried about what would happen when we got back so much as while we were here. The fog gave the impression that anything might be hiding behind it.

Finally, I recognized a curve in the trail that meant we were very close. I turned to my friends, put a finger to my lips, and whispered "Be careful. I think maybe some homeless guy lives here."

Brian crouched down, ready to slink silently into the clearing. Tristan, however, stayed rooted where he was.

"What if he has a gun or something?"

"He doesn't. How could he afford one if he's homeless?"

"He's not homeless if he lives in there."

He had a point. Nevertheless, I took the lead and stepped out, squinting at the two-story shed through the mist. It looked like it was about to fall apart. I turned and waved the others to follow.

I wondered if anyone was inside. I looked around on the ground and picked up a good-sized rock, despite the others' frantic, silent protestations. "Move back onto the trail," I told them. Then, I backed up towards the bushes, threw the rock at the door as hard as I could, whipped around and ducked out of sight. I tumbled forward into the ferns, curling into a ball and clenching every muscle in my body as I waited for the rustling to stop.

I breathed in the scent of the forest floor for a full minute in silence. When it seemed as though no response was forthcoming, I slowly crept back out of the bushes.

"I think it's okay," I told the others, loudly enough to let them know I wasn't worried about us being caught. Taking a deep breath and willing my still-pounding heart to relax, I strode towards the door, grabbed the handle, and opened it, all without thinking.

I was relieved to find that the inside was very dark—that meant no one was home after all. Strangely enough, the inside was somewhat nicer than the outside. There was a desk with sheets of yellowed, blank paper sitting on a table next to an old-fashioned ballpoint pen, with a radially asymmetrical tip. There were splintered stairs leading up, and a machete, a shovel, shears, and other tools scattered around on the dusty floor.

"What's this place even for?" asked Tristan as he followed me in. "It's in the middle of nowhere. What's the point?"

I shrugged and walked up the stairs, lifting the trapdoor, careful for hidden spiders. I peeked up into a room that was bare except for a couple windows and a wooden box with a hinged lid. Treasure chest, I thought.

I waited for my friends before lifting up the lid. Inside lay a wrinkled, tattered, light blue t-shirt, wedged against the far corner. I lifted it out, shook it off, and turned it around. It was sized for a child and appeared to be fairly new.

"I have a really bad feeling about this," said Brian.

I frowned. "Me too." I set the shirt back inside the box, careful to put it in roughly the same position I had found it. We all crept out of the shed, bound together in our guilt and fear.

The shed watched us and judged us as we went back onto the trail, out into the fog.

"Whose do you think that was?" asked Tristan.

"Maybe it belonged to some kid he kidnapped," said Brian.

I looked from side to side, sure that some maniac was waiting for us, ready to jump out from the bushes and slit our throats. I quickened my pace.

Minutes passed. I realized I was afraid of nothing—if we were going to be attacked, it would have been back in the shed. "Should we tell someone?" I asked.

"What would we say?" asked Tristan. "'There was this weird shed in the woods with a kid's shirt in a box.' What if the kid just left it there? It's not like the police are going to investigate something like this. There's no evidence."

"But why would someone just take off his shirt and leave it there?"

"I don't know. Why does anyone do anything?"

…

Eventually, we made it out of the woods and back to the safety of my house, where we dined like kings and played video games to celebrate the fact that we were still alive. It wasn't long before we all forgot about the box and its mysteries, lost in the camaraderie of a lazy day.

…

That night, I lay awake wondering if the shirt was intended for me.