The formula: lone woman staying in remote cabin; the outcome: an intense and immersive reading experience. This story poses more questions than answers: why should a woman feel guilty for spending time away from her child? Is the unnamed character, a scientist, someone I can trust? Are there phenomena which science cannot explain? Not a book to be read late at night if you are home alone, it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
The tracks around the cabin, the prints in the snow from foxes and mice and hares, are clear and to be expected in a place like this. But I notice something else. Something more. Here. In the bay. And maybe inside the cabin too. It is possible that the captain's visit has activated my senses and caused me to see this place, my experiences here, from a more obscure angle. But I have no idea what it is, this thing I'm detecting, and thus I have no solid data to confirm its existence. Only a certain unease. Recurring physiological fluctuations that grow in frequency as they rise from my stomach to my chest. An unease that, if it were plotted on a graph, would show a marked and rapid escalation in both scope and intensity.