Journal Entry 4

Some of those revelations would turn out to be confessions of crimes, though the evidence would never make it into a court of law.

August 6

Were you to notice the dates of my writing, you’ll see significant gaps. That’s due to my personal struggles, resulting in large part from the consequences of this misadventure. There are days and nights when I’m simply unable to do much, and writing, however easy that might seem, becomes a herculean task. At the same time, I realize I won’t always be able to record these events, barring a miracle, so I will continue attempting it as best I can.

To say I was hungry by the time we headed to the lodge for dinner is an understatement. I hadn’t eaten anything that day other than a bag of cashews I bought at a gas station outside Easton. Other than that, my only fuel had been four cups of coffee—I admit to having a caffeine addiction that, if not fed regularly, gives me crushing headaches. I even travel with my own small percolator and can of coffee. It has proven prescient on more than one occasion.

We had been told to arrive by three p.m., which was after lunch. It seemed like the standard check in time for a hotel, so I had assumed it would  be much like staying in one. I was wrong. There was no one at a front desk—no front desk at all—and only signs posted on the driveway saying ‘Men’s Cabins’ and  ‘Women’s Cabins’ with arrows pointing us in the directions of  them.

I ignored the sign at first and went directly to the lodge, only to find it locked. How strange, I thought. Had the retreat been cancelled and I hadn’t been notified? Then, of course, I noticed the other cars. There may not be anyone in the lodge, but there were certainly people in the cabins. I made my way to the men’s quarters, met the other gentlemen, and found the note on my mattress. Five mattresses, five notes, four men—which meant, of course, I was not the last to arrive. It was only later I would find out I had been. The mysterious fifth man, whose bed remained empty and whose fate would be revealed before the end of this misadventure, would never be encountered.

At five-thirty we heard a dinner bell ringing. Clanging is more accurate, yet when we went outside there was no one responsible. The bell was outside the lodge, and it had sounded several times, but whoever did it was quick enough that we didn’t see anyone. The door that had been locked before was now open, and we made our way into the lodge.

The women were already there, and it was my first chance to meet them. I have a tendency, which sometimes makes me mistaken, of forming opinions about people very quickly. That’s what happened with each of my retreat mates, whom I described in shorthand earlier. I’d already judged the men when we were in our cabin, and my views of the women formed almost instantaneously. Yoga mat Claire was sure of herself, walking around the lodge and looking at everything—which wasn’t much, given the sparse interior decorating—talking to herself as much as to us while she prattled on about various energies she was experiencing. Cheerful dumpling Benita gave of an air of insecurity, while Eileen introduced herself to me while taking hold of my hands, as if blessing me or checking to see how warm I was.

We could smell food in an adjacent room, and when we wandered toward it I saw a large dining hall appropriate for a place that held retreats. Much larger, in fact, than was needed for eight people. There was a large communal wooden table, with place settings for each of us and, to our surprise, name cards. Thankfully was were not segregated by sex: I was to sit on one side between Clair and Phillip, with the other four opposite us. Had I been paying closer attention I would have noticed there was no eighth setting.

Any hopes I had of meeting food servers or anyone else at all were dashed when we saw the food had already been placed on the table—we were to serve ourselves. A large pot of stew, an equally large bowl of salad, already dressed. A basket of bread, a butter dish, and two pitchers of water. Whoever called us to dinner would not be joining us. And any staff, assuming there must be someone, would remain unseen. I began to wonder, as I suspected we all did, what the purpose of this mystery was. It would begin to be revealed that night in front of the fireplace, but for now we all sat, ate, and got to know each other to the extent we were willing to reveal ourselves. Some of those revelations would turn out to be confessions of crimes, though the evidence would never make it into a court of law.

– Anonymous