"Hey you! Stay where you are!"

Upon glancing up I see the silhouette of a police officer outside the playground. I let my toes catch onto the wood chips beneath me and slow my, already gentle, rocking.

He's going all the way around the fence to the gate, so he can come and get me, instead of just using the gap in the fence that I came through. So let's just say I'm not really in that much of a hurry.

I let him pass the corner of the building, then hop up, and wander back through the fence.

Now he'll think I disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Maybe grew wings and flew over the fence. Or summoned a griffin and-

Not the time to get lost in a daydream Adam. You're in a new town, and the last thing you need is to get lost.

Shit. Where the hell am I?

All I can see are trees. I was so lost in thought about not getting lost, that I didn't even notice I'd entered a forest, and immediately (you guessed) was lost.

And now I'm lost in the woods in the middle of the night. Full moon. Spooky noises. Really all that's missing is a graveyard or some sort of wild axe-wielding murderer...

You know what, let's put a pin in that daydream until I get the hell out of dodge.

I think back to survival techniques I learned in the first grade. Stop drop and roll... Look both ways... Don't run with scissors... Don't approach the big bad van... Not really much for my current situation, so maybe skip a few grades...

Stay put and let someone find you. I think that's more for places where people are. So, next one.

Build a fire to keep from losing your mind. I actually feel okay right now. Mostly just curious. Plus, in the movies, the guy gathering firewood never comes back.

My mind goes back to a quote from one of my favorite comedians, Mitch Hedberg: "If you ever find yourself lost in the woods, fuck it. Build a house. Well, I was lost, but now I live here! I have severely improved my predicament,"

Why not? I've got nothing better to do. And there's plenty of wood around (But it's not firewood. No Jason, this is not firewood. It's house wood. So you go take your machete and hang it right back where it came from).

Thanks, comedy. You've saved my life.

I walk around for about half an hour picking up sticks, paying very little attention to fact that I don't really know how to build a house. Then walk up onto the porch and grab a sizeable log from under a rocking chair, thinking it might make a pretty solid railing.

Wait a second... Porch? I look up and find myself staring at the door of a very quaint, old, cabin, surrounded by trees. No lights are on. But the door is wide open, slightly swaying in the wind.

The house is waving at me.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Creepy cabin. Creepy woods. Don't go inside. Right?

Wrong.

Now I invite you to observe my thoughts here: I just picked up a ton of wood to build a house. I have now located a house, which means I don't need to build one.

So what is this wood for? That's right, a fire. It's firewood. I've already signed my fate, so I might as well check out the fucking house anyway.

First I test the floor right inside the doorway. No booby trap. It creaks, but honestly I'm pretty sure the house itself is creaking. Just in general.

I peek in the door and find myself staring into what looks to be a living room. It's small, about the size of my old bedroom. Little streams of water drizzle down onto the soggy floorboards, from the low ceiling. There's what looks like two old armchairs (from different sets, not matching) up against the wall, a small coffee table made of crates, and a little bookshelf in the corner.

There's a kitchen, too. Well, sort of. There's no fridge or microwave or anything. Just a wood burning stove, a cooler, and a table. The counters were smooth, and there was an apron hanging on the wall.

I pull the slightly moth eaten cloth out a little and see hand painted words on the chest, reading HOME SWEET HOME.

Off the side of the kitchen, there's another doorway. It's about the size of the living room, if not larger, and it has an old spring mattress with coils popping out. There's a dresser and a mirror. A bedside table. Even a closet with a clothing rack inside. Someone obviously payed a lot more attention to the bedroom in this house, considering it only had one minor leak.

I can't help myself. I'm a dreamer, like I said. But I'm also super nosey. And there might be something in those drawers of interest. I open up all the dresser drawers and find loads of clothes. Guy clothes in the left, girl clothes on the right.

True to my perverted lifestyle, I go through the right side. And, might I tell you, this lady was itty bitty. I weigh a hundred pounds and I could barely fit inside (Do not try this at home).

But also, whoever wore the dress couldn't have been more than 5' 2". At max.

Once I was finished on the right, I moved to the left. The first thing I found was a dress suit, which was just my size. A little tight around the shoulders, but that didn't stop me from posing in the dirty mirror.

Then I remembered the bedside table, after spotting it behind my reflection. I folded back up the suit and left it where I found it, carefully selected a part of the mattress that was 99% less likely to puncture my butt, sat down, and pulled out the drawer.

All that was in there, was a book wrapped in a plastic bag. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching ('cause I'm weird like that), I reached in and pulled it out.

The spine creaked in protest as I gently pried apart it's pages... And saw pencil markings.

June 6, 1964

Dear Project,

Natalie refuses to stop bugging me until I repair the leak in the living room. It's not much a problem right now anyway, so I don't see why it's a big deal. It's not like the ceiling is going to turn into Niagra Falls before I get back to it.

(Hate to break it to you, buddy)

I complain about her, but she's everything that drives me in this world. Her smile is the reason I'm out of our bed early enough in the morning to get back to mine before my parents wake up. Ha! As if that bed is mine anymore. It's in the bedroom designated for me in the house my parents live in, but it's not mine. I didn't build that room. Not like I did this one. I built this one to live with Natalie. I built everything here, to be with her.

We. Correction. WE built everything.

It seems like a childish game, disappearing in the woods to play house with a girl. But it's more than that. It's... it's more like a dream. And no children play the kind of games we play in this house of ours. These will be the golden days of my life. I'm sure of it. Fifty years from now I'll be holding Natalie's hand on our porch, with our grandkids playing at our feet, and we'll be reminiscing of the days when we were young. Playing in our house in the woods.

Yes, Project, I will fix your roof. In fact I'll do it right now.

M. Jennings

It's a diary. Whoever built this house, lived in it with his girlfriend, and he built it. Well, actually, M. Jennings could very well be a girl, too... But anyway.

I have to get home now, before my folks realize I'm missing.

I snap the book shut, and, in a split second decision, take it with me.