AN, to those of you who noticed that my wood buring Aga had a wooden door, well spotted, I was testing you, it should be glass.

I awoke to the familiar sound of rain tapping against the window, I kept my eyes shut at first, trying to believe that it was all just a nightmare, I'd open my eyes and be back in my room at home, with Charlie downstairs in the kitchen.

I opened my eyes. I wasn't at home, I was in the little log cabin in the woods, a hundred miles from nowhere with no clean underwear.

I tried not to think about Charlie, it was just a bit too painful.

I wriggled out of the sleeping bag, and ended up on the floor, legs still twisted in the dratted bag. After a bit more kicking I was finally free and I stood up, grateful for the thick rag rug on the floor that had softened my landing. I eyed the clothes from yesterday with mild disgust, I did not want to have to wear dirty clothes but I didn't really have much of a choice.

The jeans and t-shirt weren't too bad, but the dirty socks and panties were decidedly unpleasant. I went to the toilet room to take care of business then decided that my number one priority was to get some new panties from somewhere. I wasn't going back to town to get some, and there weren't any here, commando wasn't an option, I'd just end up with dirty trousers, so I'd have to get creative. I headed into the sitting room, to the baskets I'd seen the day before. I dug through them to find some crochet cotton and a hook, I had to rip out half a doily, but doilies weren't as useful as panties, so I felt no guilt. I sat in one of the comfortable chairs by the windows and set to work. Once I was done with these I'd be making socks.

There was half a sock in one of the baskets though, so that would be a nice quick project. The rain tickled down the window pane and little else moved. The house was silent and the damp forest was deserted. It was just me and my crochet and thoughts of Grandma Marie who'd taught me to knit and crochet. I wondered what she'd have thought of me crocheting panties.

The morning passed away until the silence was broken by my stomach, so I picked up my work and went through to the kitchen, serving out a portion of rice and curry onto a metal plate and heating it on the camping stove. Looking at the quantity of food I'd made the night before and considering the lack of a fridge, I was going to have to find some way of keeping food chilled.

An ice box ought to do it. I'd have to wait for winter to get the ice, it was July at the moment, but the meadow at the back of the house would give me straw, if there was enough dry weather. I'd read Farmer's Boy by Laura Ingles Wilder, they'd kept a shed full of ice all through the summer by insulating it with straw. I'd fix something up when the time came, but for now, I'd just have to make sure I ate things before they went off.

After eating and washing my plate and cutlery I went back into the sitting room to continue working while there was still light to see by. I sat for another hour or two until I had something that would work as panties. They resembled a thong in that there was only as much material as was absolutely necessary, but without there being so little that it would end up giving me a wedgy.

I got up at this point and walked over to the social area, the fireplace with its sofas and coffee table. I had a quick look through the games, there was a pack of cards, but everything else needed more than one player. I turned my attention to the pictures on the mantelpiece, wondering who it was who gathered around the fire to play cluedo, monopoly and mousetrap.

There were prom photos of a beautiful tall blonde and her dimpled smiling boyfriend. They looked like the stereotypical football player and cheerleader couple. They smiled blandly at the camera, as if they were only posing for the sake of the photographer and really just wanted to leave already so they could spike the punch before heading out to whatever after party all the cool kids were going to. There were school photos of the same two and of three others, two boys and a girl. One of the boys was tall and blonde, bearing a great resemblance to the cheerleader the other had a messy mop of reddish brown hair and wore braces and thick rimmed glasses, he looked miserable. The girl was smiling brightly, she had short black hair and a nose that turned up a little at the end.

There were also plenty of candids; Christmasses and birthday parties, summer holidays and just everyday life, as far as I could tell. The same five kids, I call them kids but they looked about the same age as me in the more recent photos, and two adults. The father looked familiar, I'd seen him somewhere before I was certain, but I couldn't quite place him.

The parents both looked too young to be the birthparents to a brood of teenagers, so I assumed that these were adopted. Certainly none of the photos went back further than a few years, and the older Christmas photos had fewer people in them, the little dark haired girl and the dimpled football player were missing up until a couple of years ago, and the two blondes only appeared a year or two before that. The red head boy had apparently been with the family since he was about 10 years old and there were plenty of awkward photos of him, with his braces and glasses, all long limbs and acne.

The mother was knitting in a couple of the photos and I spotted a few hand knitted jumpers scattered through the photos, not helping the red head's case any. The quality of the hand knits increased chronologically through the photos as well, and the frequency decreased, as she had more people to knit for, though everyone wore one in every Christmas photo. The mother was classically elegant, with wavy caramel coloured hair and a gentle smile, a black and white photo of her could have been from fifty years ago and she would not have looked out of place.

The father was tall, handsome and blonde, and managed to pull off even the ugliest of the Christmas jumpers with effortless style. I was sure I had seen him before, met him somewhere.

It didn't matter, even if I was going to stay in his cabin, I probably wouldn't see him again. Chances were they were all already dead, this beautiful smiling family.

I returned to my seat by the window and picked up the half sock on the double pointed needles, it was a simple pattern, worked cuff down with the start of a short row heel done in a variated vibrant purple. If I had to guess I'd say it was meant for the black haired girl, she had a vibrant wardrobe in the photos. It was a good fit for me though, so I continued where Martha had left off. I don't know her name, so I'm going to call her Martha, it means "lady of the house" and it seemed to fit the classical beauty in the pictures.

I'd best name all these people, since their pictures may well be the only company I'll have for a while. The little black haired girl whose sock I was pinching I would name Vanellope, for the character from Wreck it Ralph that she so resembled. The cheerleader could only be Barbie and the football player therefore became Ken.

A photo from a school production of Peter Pan earned the red head the name Peter and a photo from Halloween of the family in costume gave the tall blonde boy the nickname Woody for his cowboy costume and the father was dubbed The Doctor for a very accurate costume of the 4th Doctor, presumably Martha had knitted him the scarf.

When the light began to fade I had all but the toe of Vanellope's sock, so I left it there while I went to fetch my supper, then I headed off to bed, adding nightwear to my list of things to make.

Another day dawned grey and raining, nothing unusual there. The cabin was silent except for the sound of the rain drumming on the roof and windows. I managed to get out of bed with a little more grace this morning and got dressed, grimacing as I pulled on the same socks for the third day in a row.

I had a banana for breakfast and considered the benefits of fruit cake over eating them fresh. I decided to make cake next time I had to light the Aga and retreated to my window seat to knit.

I finished the first sock and dug through the yarn basket to find the matching ball to make the second sock, casting on and knitting a couple of inches before stopping for lunch. Reheated stew and a glass of water served as lunch and the rest of the second sock was completed that afternoon.

I also assessed the design of the crochet panties I was wearing. They were serviceable, but had a tendancy to fall down, given I had no elastic to sew into them. The design for the next pair therefore included ribbing around the top to help with this and I worked on those until the light failed.

I heated up the last of the curry and rice, ate it and headed to bed.

There was no rain on the third day and the sound of bird song could be faintly heard through the windows. I mixed up a batch of deodorant, a simple recipe of coconut oil, bicarbonate of soda and ground arrowroot powder, simple but effective. The rest of that day passed much as the others had. I finished the last of the pork casserole and had only one portion of the chicken left. I would have to cook again tomorrow. The rain started up again around midday.

The fourth morning was raining and the cabin was chillier than it had been, though only by a degree or two. I started the Aga after lunch and prepared another stew, this one with dumplings and mixed up a banana cake and a batch of cookies. It gave me a break from the knitting and crochet, my fingers had been starting to cramp. I also started a daily log.

Day 4: raining, temperature not as warm as it was.
Cooked beef stew with dumplings, banana cake and chocolate chip cookies. Finished knitting a red sock.

Day 5: drizzle. Finished the second red sock, cast on for a silk nightgown. Martha has some lovely yarns in her collection.

The silk laceweight yarn was a pale pink colour and had been buried at the very bottom of the basket. One of the skeins had been used to make some pretty lace, but a pile of crinkled yarn indicated that frustration was the reason it had been banished to the furthest corner of the basket. I giggled a little at that and asked Martha what she had been trying to make. I got no reply.

Day 6: dry but overcast, the nightgown continues, but I'm getting bored and have started a third pair of panties, the bread I brought with me has gone mouldy, I will have to make some fresh.

The third pair used a foundation treble row as the waist band, and would hopefully solve the issue I was still having with elasticity. The bread wasn't so bad really, I could just pick off the blue bits, but it was almost certainly a herald of worse to come.

Day 7: dry and overcast, slightly warmer, finished the panties, still working on the nightgown, can't find anymore sock yarn. I've started soaking dried fruit in tea to make Bara Brith tomorrow when I light the Aga.

I was considering having a go at the spinning wheel, there was plenty of roving and sock yarn was only thin, I could make miles of it. The only problem being that I'd probably end up with miles of lumpy uneven sock yarn.

Day 8; dry and overcast, but I don't think it will rain, I've done a load of washing, heating the water on the Aga when I made pasta bake, bread and the bara brith.

I've started having conversations with them, the family who'll probably never come back here. Pretending that they adopted me too, now that Charlie was… gone. It still hurts to think about, but it hurts a little less if I can pretend that The Doctor and Martha are hugging me and letting me cry on their shoulders. Martha and Barbie helped me with the washing, we used baking soda as detergent, it will bleach the clothes in time, but there's nothing else to use.

Day 9; raining again, and noticeably cooler. I've made up to the waistline of the nightgown.

Martha was making a jumper for Peter, who only grimaced and walked away, Vanellope sat with us and I showed her how to make ribbed fabric with slip stitch crochet, so we can make more panties, hopefully these won't fall down all the time.

Day 10; rain, nightgown is down to the hips, fourth pair of panties completed. Finished the pasta bake today, will make another and some more stew tomorrow.

The Doctor and Ken were playing cards as Vanellope, Martha and I sat by the window with our needle work today. Woody came in at one point, looked out into the rain and commented on how the wet weather was good for berries and we should go out looking for some soon. I'm scared to leave the house though, even if the family come with me, I know I'll have to watch my back. They're not real, they won't warn me if there's danger coming.

Day 11; dry, but there's tension in the air, I think it'll storm tomorrow. Nightgown is down to midthigh, I will add another inch and bind off. The chicken for the stew smelt funny, I cut it small and covered it with spices to hide the flavour.

Woody watched me today, he didn't say anything, he didn't need to; we both knew I should have been hunting for berries while it wasn't raining. I was too scared, what if someone, or something, comes to the cabin while I'm away? I might lose my sanctuary. I didn't tell Woody that though, he'd only have pointed out that I'd starve in my sanctuary without food.

I know he's right; I'll go as soon as the weather clears again.

AN
Anyone else think poor Bella might be going a little stir crazy?