I have heard it asked several times, but I repeat: she is here. She is with me.

It happened one long, bitingly cold day, upon which the sun seemed eager to quit. I had
been driving east into the Ozark Mountains, hardly able to see the road from the oppressively dark forest. My vehicle hit a bump and careened into the ditch. It was of little concern to me; I had been returning (rather late) from a camping trip. So, said I, why not stay another night?—as if I had much choice.

Taking a flashlight, I hiked into the thicket, searching for a suitable place to pitch my tent. The Ozarks made flat land scarce.

Eventually I happened upon a spot not far from the road, a flat clearing. I set up the tent.
Moments before I stepped inside, I saw a light turn on, and with both hope and terror, I followed the shining to a cabin. Knocking on the door, I was greeted by a rather beautiful young woman.

“Pardon me,” said I, “but my car crashed along the road and I had intended to spend the
night on your property. Would that be alright?”

“Would you please stay here instead?” she said. “You’ll freeze to death out there.”
There was something in her voice—some melodic, inexplicable sweetness. I quickly agreed to stay.

She showed me to my room, which was the only spare. After providing me clean sheets and warm blankets, she offered to heat up dinner. I found myself agreeing to everything she said, and then asking her to repeat things.

When it was time for sleep, I could only hear the deliciousness of her voice, see the
delectable and perfect shape of her body. She would not leave my mind. I realized I had met an angel, or a Greek siren. Yes, that had to be it. Once I left she would be lost to the world forever. So I must not let her leave, thought I. How then can I say where she is?She’s nowhere but with me.

She was too delicious not to eat.

Brandon Schettler