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Inside the Midnight Hour

A Writer's Journey Inside

By π•Ύπ–†π–Žπ–“π–™ π•΅π–†π–’π–Šπ–˜Published about a year ago β€’ 11 min read
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Inside the Midnight Hour
Photo by Will Smith on Unsplash

We drove up the snowy, winding road toward the cozy A-frame cabin. The snow had freshly fallen, sparkling a luminescent blue hue in the evening light. The place I booked was about an hour's drive north, and the only way to get there was via a long winding road that seemed to disappear into the Northern Vermont forest.

I couldn't help but replay my life up to this point on the long, rather tedious drive – A failed mystery writer who let life cloud his vision of becoming an author.

The thoughts of spending the last three years in the cramped cubicle of a bland, monotonous office, peddling life insurance policies, and signing away my life to pay the bills was too much to bear. So, here I was, driving up this road to finally give my dream and my future a fighting chance.

"Such is life, right, Pep?" Pepper is a three-year-old Dalmatian I adopted after moving back home. She's the Watson to my Sherlock and a friend, unconditionally, who always seems to know when I need encouragement. Pepper curled up on the passenger seat and sighed deeply as if she understood exactly how I was feeling right now.

The drive was beautiful, but the cabin was even more wondrous. The infinitely long driveway was lined with evergreens powdered with soft pillows of snowfall that started days ago and has yet to let up. It was just as quaint as the pictures online had described; wood-paneled exterior with enormous old windows. The cliffside cabin was tucked away in a grove of evergreen trees, overlooking rolling hills blanketed in snow and an expansive view of the mountains behind it.

I could feel the crisp, cold air fill my lungs when I stepped out of the car. The snow crunched beneath my boots as I headed to the cabin, and I was already feeling re-energized. Pepper barked and leaped around me, obviously just as excited to have escaped her home for the weekend.

I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and instantly felt a wave of warmth wash over me. In front of me was a large stone fireplace with an inviting sectional laid in front, waiting for me to curl up and relax. Blankets were strewn across the furniture in the dimly lit living room, and a kitchen was stocked with the finest gourmet ingredients ready for me to conjure what any struggling author needs to survive; a good meal.

And that's how it all began - a small escape from a mundane reality to finally focus on my dreams, an opportunity to write and chase after something I was passionate about instead of settling into a life of mediocrity and routine.

A quick tour of the cabin revealed that the interior was just as magical as the exterior, with rustic wood flooring, a living area adorned with antique armoires and Renaissance art, and a loft bedroom that rivaled any Swiss ski lodge.

Afterward, we settled into the living room in front of the fireplace while I flexed my Eagle Scout training and built a fire. As we sat there, taking in the warmth, I felt my mind start to clear and my creative juices flowing again. It was like the distractions of everyday life had been lifted away, and suddenly everything was so simple: just me, my dog, and this cozy cabin in the solitude of the wilderness.

As the fire crackled, I settled into the comfort and quiet of the cabin with Pepper by my side. Something told me this would be an incredible place for us to stay and for me to write, relax and, most importantly, find myself again.

I felt something inside me shift; my heart was lighter, my creativity was flowing, and I could feel a newfound energy that I hadn’t felt in years. Somehow, I was finally in the place I was always meant to be, and it felt amazing.

With Pep curled up in her bed at the base of the fireplace, I took a seat at the massive oak dining table, cracked open my laptop, and found my way to a figurative dust-covered file titled "Inside the Midnight Hour,"; an idea I hadn't visited in years. Nonetheless, as it unfolded onto the screen of my laptop, I continued writing where the blinking line still stood from long ago. I let the words flow from me as if they had been inside me all along, waiting for a place free of distractions to come out.

The mystery of being somewhere new, immersed in nature and uncertainty, was captivating, and as I wrote, ideas opened up around me. The whispers of the wind against the forest outside transported me to a place I had never been before, and suddenly, the world felt bigger.

By Robert Katzki on Unsplash

As the snow continued to fall, I found myself taking in my new space by exploring the grounds around the cabin and watching Pepper romp in the newly fallen snow. The beauty of nature was overwhelming; majestic silhouettes of trees surrounded us as if they were standing guard, and the snow glistened in the moonlight. Everywhere I looked, it was as if art had been painted across the landscape, nature's canvas of white and blue set against a starry night sky.

The tranquility of this place aided me in becoming one with my surroundings, to feel connected to something more powerful than myself, and that's when everything changed. For the first time in years, I felt truly alive.

The wind howled louder, and the trees began to sway violently when suddenly I heard a guttural roar that shattered the night. Pepper ran to me and I to her, both of us terrified. I made a hastened call to take her inside the safety of the cabin until I could figure out what was out in the darkness beyond the cabin.

Closing the front door behind me, I felt the full weight of my actions hit me. I had chosen to come here, I was the one who started this journey, and it was in my hands to find out what lay beyond those trees. Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage, grabbed the flashlight by the door, and ventured out into the unknown. As I faced down whatever awaited me outside, I couldn't help but see the irony in the situation; a mystery writer turned protagonist in their own story. β€œAt least I’m not a horror writer,” I said, nervously laughing, pushing the door open with my shoulder blade.

I stepped out into the darkness, my flashlight guiding me closer toward that ominous sound, determined to discover what lay beyond the midnight hour. The brush of snow and trees was my gateway to adventure, and I welcomed the challenge. As I stepped closer to danger, I became perplexed with mixed emotions; excitement, courage, terror, and anticipation.

As if the universe felt my curiosity, my knee buckled underneath me, sending me tumbling to the ground. I was startled and confused and now lying with half of my leg in what appeared to be a mammoth-sized footprint. "That's not possible," I said, a feeble attempt at staying more than a thread in reality. But my reality was quickly shifting, and I knew it.

Picking myself up, I dared not look back at the enormous tack in the mud, but my mind couldn't focus on anything else. Without time to research cryptids in the area like I normally would, I was left with my own mental catalog of creatures, and nothing seemed to match up. I inched my way closer to the source of the noise, not knowing what awaited me on the other side.

I'll never forget that moment, standing there in a snowbank, absorbed in fear and excitement for what could be around the corner. All I could do was take a deep breath and keep going, each step more intense than the last.

As I rounded the corner, what I saw made my heart sink and yet feel alive all at once. There, before me, stood an enormous beast, fur as white as snow and eyes bigger than dinner plates.

Looking back at me were the eyes of an otherworldly wolf.

A site that looked as if it had walked out of the pages of a fairytale; its gaze exuded wisdom and age that seemed to unite us in a timeless exchange. At that moment, I knew things were not always as they seemed.

With my heart in my throat, I stood up slowly, and the wolf lowered its head in a gesture of friendship. I stepped closer to it, ever so slightly, and it remained still. We stayed there together for what felt like an eternity, standing in that ethereal space between reality and storybook fantasy.

In that moment, I understood how powerful imagination could be; I was no longer looking at a forest filled with snow and trees but a world of possibilities, each door waiting to be opened, each page begging to tell its story. The Midnight Hour was more than just an idea or an experience, it was a journey, an awakening, and I was ready to discover what lay beyond. I had written stories all my life, but now I realize that this is where the true adventure began.

As I came to, sitting back at that solid oak table by the fire, my heart pounding against my chest, Pepper's nose brushed my fingers, tightly gripping my thighs. My grip loosened, happy to feel her near and feel grounded back in reality. After a few ear scratches and a cup of Chamomile later, I sprawled out onto the billowing couch and thought about all the stories I had heard over the years and what they meant to me.

I knew this daydream was something magical– A story of my own. A story about adventure and courage; a story about facing unknowns and embracing them as opportunities; and most importantly, a story about never giving up on your dreams.

As I sipped my tea and gazed out the window at the Midnight Hour, I saw it allβ€”my future, my destiny, and the life I was meant to live. It was all there waiting for me in the depths of the darkness; if I were brave enough to venture out and find it.

Here in this little cabin, miles away from home, I had found solace. A place for me to commit to my dreams and find strength in myself again. It felt like coming back home after being lost for so long, and the warmth of this moment will stay with me forever.

When the morning light peeked over the horizon, the same blinking bar that was picked up mid-story was now finishing a fully realized novel. The Midnight Hour had gifted me with a new story, and I was grateful. Grateful for the courage to step out into the unknown and grateful that sometimes all it takes is a leap of faith to unlock a world of possibilities.

By Jonathan Knepper on Unsplash

It has been two years since I first visited that cabin, but it still serves as a source of inspiration for me. That weekend ended up being one of the most meaningful experiences of my life, a journey that sparked an unshakable passion for writing and ignited my innermost creativity like never before.

The following spring, I contacted agents, and publishers, sent dozens of query letters, and in the fall of that same year, I published Inside the Midnight Hour. To my surprise, it was met with resounding success.

Whenever I feel like I'm getting lost in the distractions and worries of everyday life, I can always close my eyes and find myself back in front of the fire. That snow-covered cabin and the sparkle of stars remind me that everything is possible, and no matter how far we wander, our dreams are always just a few steps away.

It's where my journey truly began, and that's why I needed to be there more than on an occasional weekend rental basis. With a bit of research, I found the owners and reached out to them.

I never expected much, just a few kind words and maybe an apology for not being able to sell, but it turns out the couple had decided it was time to move on after all these years and had planned to put the property up for sale within the year. I asked them what they wanted for the cabin, and they gave me a meager figure; one that I offered thousands of dollars on top of, along with copies of the novel the cabin and its property inspired and an open invitation to visit anytime.

I'm thankful for this journeyβ€”for the courage to take risks, for experiences that opened my eyes to new possibilities, and, most of all, for being brave enough to chase my dreams.

And tonight, as I sit here at this old oak table, with my dog curled up beside me, looking out at the midnight hour once more, I can’t help but feel the contentment that comes from achieving a dream and embracing life as it is.

Mystery
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About the Creator

π•Ύπ–†π–Žπ–“π–™ π•΅π–†π–’π–Šπ–˜

Dark Humorist. Writer. Memoirist.

For all things freelance, fiction, and business, or for a dose of dark humor connect with me on LinkTree. Joshua St. James is the founder of Saint James Writing.

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