Unexpected Guest
Serial Short Fiction - The Treehouse Part 2
Previously, Rufus and his human companion embark on their exploration of the first few miles of the patch of land they hope is home to the mysterious treehouse.
In Part 2 you’ll find out our main character’s name and a surprise even she couldn’t have expected.
*Everything in this story is fictional and not to be regarded as fact or inferred in any way.
The Treehouse Part 2: Unexpected Guest
Rufus heard it first and his barks woke me up just a moment before the roaring sounds of an old diesel motor confirmed that someone was driving down this dirt road in our direction. And since the road dead-ended at our camp spot, I figured they’d either turn around once they realized they’d gotten mixed up on the wrong road, or my fear, that they’d park exactly here.
When the motor stopped abruptly I rolled my eyes, huffed in annoyance and was hopping out of the tent barefoot while I tried to figure out what the hell was being dragged out of the back of the pickup, the screeching sounds of metal scraping on metal even more annoyingly loud.
“Seriously? It’s 6am!” I not-quite yelled.
“Does your face always scrunch like that first thing in the morning?” He quipped in response.
“What?” I said surprised, wishing I’d had a more witty comeback.
“I’m Oliver and I’m doing some work on the property, and yes, I usually start at dawn.” he said calmly, but with a spark of arrogance.
“Okay Oliver. Well no one owns this land so what are you even doing?”
“What are you doing….ma’am?”
At the “ma’am” a large thud hit the ground so I wasn’t exactly sure of his tone, and how condescending it was, but I assumed greatly. “Camping. With my dog. Obviously.” It sounded less pre-teen in my head.
“Alright lady camper with dog. I've got work to do and don’t have time for unnecessary conversations with strangers half-dressed and clearly before their much needed coffee. If you need anything, just holler.” And with that he attached the large wheels on either side of the steel contraption and started for the path Rufus and I took yesterday afternoon.
Errrrrrrgh I fumed under my breath, properly annoyed now, mostly at his deflection of my prying. It wasn’t my land either, I knew, and Rufus didn’t seem too ruffled, which annoyed me more.
“Come on, buddy.” I beckoned to Rufus while he alertly watched Oliver walk out of sight beyond the treeline.
***
Once my tea was brewing in my favorite speckled camp mug on top of the stump adjacent to the tent, I pulled out and unfolded the paper map with my notes from yesterday’s initial exploration, marking our route, the fish-shaped tree hollow, the out of use two-track road and the tree with the bulleted “NO SHOOTING” sign. I cross-referenced it with the digital topographic map on my phone, downloaded in case I lost cell service, planning out our route for the day, bare footed, legs crossed at the ankles, resting next to my mug while I slumped in the camp chair.
“You a modern-day Sherlock?”
The voice came from behind, too close, over my shoulder. “My god, what do you want?” Again wishing I had a more witty remark.
“I’m just curious what a woman and her dog are doing camping out here, on my land, mapping things. You know, normal level of interest given the circumstances.”
“Your land? What do you mean? There’s zero record of anyone owning this. I did my research.”
A large laugh escapes his mouth, then he almost doubles over for dramatic effect, right forearm crossed over his stomach, before finally responding, “You must not be from around here.”
I roll my eyes so he can plainly see, annoyed again at his deflection, and cross both arms over my chest, waiting.
After several beats and some direct staring by both parties, he breaks the silence, “Okay, I get it, you’re here for The Treehouse.”
Astonished at first, then after a few more beats I realize it may have been naive to think he wouldn’t have heard about it.
“In fact, we are.” Arms still crossed over my chest, still feeling like I can’t respond in a more adult way. What is it about this guy, anyways?
“Well good, because I’m hosting tours daily, there’s one starting in…” he checks his invisible watch, counting freckles “ten minutes.”
“Okay, smart-ass. You know I know there is no record of you owning this land. What’s your deal?”
“I generally prefer to have drawn out conversations with people who I at least know their name. You give me that, and I’ll tell you ‘what my deal is,’ okay?”
“Ha- ...I’m Hazel.”
“Hi Haz, great to meet you. I charge $15 a night to camp here. You can drop your cash on the driver’s seat on your way out. I’ve got another group showing up at 3.”
“First, don’t call me Haz. Second, what’s your deal?”
“Sure, here’s my deal. I’ll do my best to ignore your audacious requests, since this is, in fact, my land, and you are here, in fact, uninvited.” He took a beat to observe my face, but I showed no signs of standing down, pure stone. “Since you did your research, you’ll know that our little county’s a bit behind with paperwork, still stuck in the stone age. After I bought the land outright about 10 years ago, the county records office burned down some years later, electrical fire, and they haven’t been able to get caught up since. So either you knew that was a possibility, from all your research, or you’re just not good at doing research. Either way, I need you to you leave by nightfall.”
“That doesn’t make sense. No one has ever owned this land. Who did you buy it from? I spoke directly with the people of the Skokomish Tribe who told me no one owns it and gave me permission to camp here. You know who that is? Probably not because you’re so caught up with pretending like you own this place.”
“Oh, then you know Eddie.” he said, surprising me again.
What the fuck? How does HE know Eddie?
“Exactly. So you know you don’t own this land.”
“So you do know Eddie?” he questioned, confused, but trying to hide it.
“Yes, I know Eddie.”
“How do you know Eddie?”
“Okay, Oliver. Let’s just hash this out, but can you please do your best to just answer me straight? No more stupid, witty comments.”
“Deal.”
“Okay, then. Yes, I know Eddie. He’s actually my father’s old friend. I didn’t meet him until about a year ago, when I started my research, after I found out about The Treehouse. They’d known each other doing volunteer search and rescue around Washington before I was born. And stayed in touch even after my father stepped back a bit from all that. Long story short, I got connected to Eddie and he told me they, the Skokomish, had authority over the land and that they never sold it, but they don’t take ownership of it, and because we’re friends, told me I could come here.”
“Got it. So you and Eddie are close, then?” he said, lacking his usual snarkiness.
“Don’t be cute.” I replied, assuming he actually meant to add some snark.
“Sorry, I’m actually asking seriously. I know Eddie pretty well and he didn’t tell me any of that.” He said, almost kindly.
“Oh. Well, I mean, we don’t text on the regular, but he seems fond of me. He and I hit it off right away the first time I visited, introduced me to his family. Invited Rufus and me to stay for dinner.”
Silence grew in the small divide between us, suddenly unsure how to communicate if we weren’t arguing.
“How did you meet Eddie?” I said to break the silence, eager to know more.
“He’s my uncle.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
A brief beat, and then: “I didn’t grow up on the reservation because my mom fell in love with my dad, he’s Spanish. My mom saved up all her money and when she turned 18 left for Europe. Her big adventure. Tired of res life. She stayed in hostels and the day she arrived in Spain, met my dad.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t explain how you somehow own this land.” I questioned, determined to bring the truth to light, not necessarily up for sharing life stories.
“Well it took a lot of red tape, but I got the Tribe to agree to sign a deed with the county and the county was glad to have some paper trail of at least this part of the land. Probably hoping they could buy it back off of me someday.”
“Why would Eddie tell me no one owns it then? Tell me to come on down here like an idiot? There’s probably no treehouse, is there?”
“Because Eddie likes you.” Then he walked back to his truck, a smirk plastered over the side of his face as he hopped up to plop down on the tailgate. Rufus followed and laid down next to him, tail wagging while Oliver scratched him just behind the ears.
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