I had just bought a cabin right off the shoreline of Crystal Lake... Well, what used to be Crystal Lake. Now it was just a river and the muddy remains of what used to be a lake. The dam that kept the reservoir filled was decommissioned about six months ago. Now that the lake was gone, the cabin I bought hit rock bottom prices and it would have been idiotic for me not to buy it. All I wanted was a nice hunting cabin, somewhere to stay for a month or two each year. I didn't care about the lake being drained and the river was still flowing so there's plenty of fish to be caught.

After signing, I drove up to the cabin to start the renovations. It hadn't been used for decades and it needed some repairs. Luckily, the foundation was sturdy and the damage was only cosmetic.

I arrived early in the Spring and my to-do list was endless. The roof had small leaks, the window shutters needed to be replaced, the doors needed new hinges, there was dirt, plants, and debris everywhere, and that was just scratching the surface. It was a mess... but it was my mess now.

A few weeks passed before I noticed the boarded up door on the far end of the house. Between the repairs and fishing trips to the river for food, there wasn't much time to make new discoveries. It wasn't easy to open either. Whoever nailed the boards to the wall really didn't want this door to be opened easily.

I got to work and an hour later the boards were removed. The room was blanketed in a thick layer of dust. There were no windows but there was another door on the outer wall. I didn't notice a door from the outside and after examining it, I found that the door was completely covered by bushes on the other side. I wish I could say there was some kind of treasure but there were only gardening tools, shovels, and some old books. One book in particular caught my eye.

It was an old journal written by a woman who lived here in 1922. I wasn't much into snooping but it's hard to resist reading someone's one-hundred year-old journal. She was a thirty year-old woman who had moved to the cabin with her husband. Her name was Isla. Her husband was a dam operator and was sent out here to replace the previous operator after they went missing.

***

July 17th, 1922

I am not too enthusiastic about moving out here but Edgar went on and on about how great it would be to get away from the city and do something meaningful. The dam is only a few years old and the reservoir is filling up faster than expected. The reservoir is going to supply water to the nearby farms during the dry season so it is important that this dam is maintained well. It is an important job for an important man, my husband. Even as reluctant as I was to move, there was no way I could say no to him as excited as he was and I could finally start the garden I have always wanted.

July 22nd, 1922

It's been a few days now and we're settling in. Edgar has been working hard at the dam the last few days so I've been tending to our cabin. Whenever I have time, I work in the garden. The weather is great and with any luck, we will have plenty of vegetables to eat in a few weeks. Edgar went into town yesterday and bought me new tools with the stipend his company gave him. He even brought back a necklace made by a local jewelsmith in a nearby town. It has the most beautiful amethyst surrounded by small obsidian shards and swirling silver rings.

August 1st, 1922

Oh, I have really messed up. I lost it in the garden. I have been digging holes everywhere to try and find it but I just can not find it. Edgar is going to be disappointed with me when he finds out it is lost.

***

It was getting late so I decided to wrap up for the day and it wasn't much fun to read a journal in a room filled with one-hundred year-old dust. At least the dozens of shovels stockpiled in the room made sense now.

The sun was setting, dark clouds were rolling in, and I still needed to get the generator running before it would be too dark to see. I couldn't help but wonder what she lost. A ring? Some money? Maybe some kind of family heirloom? I wondered if it was still in the garden, buried for over a hundred years. I decided I'd take a look soon. I have to dig up the old garden to install a new septic system anyway, I might as well dig around a bit while I'm at it.

The weather worsened as I finished starting the generator and by the time I was in my new bedroom it was already pouring. I sat down and started to read Isla's journal again. I was hoping I could figure out what she lost but the next seven days of entries just repeated how "she lost it" and how "it must be buried here somewhere." I realized I wasn't getting anywhere with this and decided to sleep. There was plenty of unfinished work to be done and I needed to conserve my energy.

That night was the worst I've slept in years.

I've had the same recurring dream the last few nights. The dream starts with me waking up on the couch downstairs. I look out the window and the sky is washed with smoke and the deep burgundy glow of fire. I try to rush out of the house but when I open the door the cabin is on an island of dirt surrounded by a pit so deep the bottom is shielded by a thick, black fog. I always wake up before I can do anything else.

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Tonight, the dream was different. When I open the door, the smoke filled sky turns into a wall of dirt, as if the cabin was swallowed by the earth. I remember the shovels in the gardening room and begin digging my way out. No matter how much dirt I moved, all I accomplished was filling the house. There was no end. My only choice was to fill the hole behind me as I continued to dig. My shovel breaks and I wake up drenched in sweat.

The night had just broken and the sun was barely higher than the mountains in the distance. There were still light orange and red hues refracting through the clouds. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and made breakfast. It was a smoked fish I caught at the river a few days prior.

I was done repairing the roof, walls, windows, and anything else that would let the outside in and it was time to start the septic system. It was only a hunting cabin but I planned on staying a few months at a time. An outhouse wouldn't cut it.

Digging the trenches for the sewage piping was taking much longer than I expected. The issue wasn't how hard it was to dig, it was how much of a bore it was to dig for hours. As soon as I remembered Isla losing whatever "it" was in the garden, I was already digging. Before I realized how long I was at it, the sun was already setting. I could feel the pit in my stomach tighten as I became conscious of my hunger.

As I sat down for dinner, I picked up Isla's journal and began to read.

***

August 23th, 1922

Edgar has been worried about me lately. I stopped swimming in the lake recently and he won't listen to me when I say I'm fine. I just don't have the time to swim anymore. There's so much to do around here. I have to tend to the garden. It's not easy to grow your own food. I wish Edgar could understand.

September 2nd, 1922

Edgar has been insistent on trying to stop my gardening. He says I spend too much time on it, that we don't need the extra food. He says that the holes are too deep, that it's not even a proper garden. He just doesn't understand. He still doesn't know about it. It's still buried somewhere. I need to find it.

September 13th, 1922

Edgar had a doctor check me. He says that there is something wrong with me because I spend too much time doing what I love. I have expanded the garden now. It extends to the treeline. I am thinking about expanding it even more. I have always heard that the forest is a natural garden. It only makes sense. I could use the extra space too. There is not much room by the cabin now.

September 30th, 1922

Edgar is mad. He fell and hurt his leg. It is not my fault he was not paying attention. He knows I like to garden, he should be more careful. I told him I started a new garden there.

***

I had the dream again. I was digging for hours... Though, it's not easy to tell time in a dream. It could have been days. Shovelful after shovelful of dirt I moved ever closer to the surface. My clothes were drenched in sweat and I peeled off each layer, burying the clothes behind me as I dug further and further, never coming close to reaching the end of wherever it was I was going. With each pile of dirt I threw behind me, my breath became more labored. My muscles ached and screamed out to me in pain, telling me to stop... to control myself.

The tunnel narrowed and I slowly became encased in the dirt around me. I was barely able to move my arms and legs enough to maneuver the increasingly damp dirt until the soil condensed and hardened around my body. I tried to scream as dirt and rock filled my lungs.

I laid there, imprisoned in an ever hardening coffin of dirt, until a crack formed above me. Was I free? Did I reach the surface? I watched as a soft purple glow filtered through the dirt and the soil around me melted away as if the light shining through was cleansing me. I was free.

Suddenly, the world turned upside down and I was falling through the crack that was once above me. I crashed into the rock below me, expelling the dirt from my lungs. I was laying in a vast cavern lined in purple gems. I reached out to grab one.

I awoke.

I wanted to find out what she lost.

***

October 5th, 1922

Edgar is becoming angrier every day. He has not tried to understand. He told me he would sell my tools and destroy my garden if I did not stop. He just does not understand what was lost! I thought maybe he would understand if I told him about it but he only became angrier. This is why I had to hide it. No one will understand.

October 6th, 1922

Poor Edgar. I told him that I would not stop gardening. I have to find it. He does not understand. I have to find it. I can not stop until I find it. Why will he not listen? Why will he not understand?

He came home from the dam tonight. He was angrier than I have ever seen him. He tried to stop me. He took my shovel. My dear shovel! He tried to take me away from here but this is where I belong. I belong with my garden. It needs me.

If only he did not try to stop me. We were so happy and now he is gone. He would not stop and so I had to stop him. I did not have any other choice... I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to find it.

***

October 6th, 1922. This was the last entry in the journal and it's likely gone unread for one hundred years. I finished dinner, well.. breakfast, and went outside to decompress.

All I could do was stare at the long abandoned garden and think about the history here that no one knows but me. As I stared at the ground, I could feel it calling me. It wanted me to dig. My head began to ache and my hands began to numb. All I could do was dig. I had no desire for anything else at that moment. I just needed to dig, to find what it was. What was Isla so obsessed with that she would murder her own husband to continue her search.

My mind jumped to the purple gems in my dream. I wondered if my dream was some sort of premonition on what lay below the garden. Maybe she knew about the gems. Maybe she had dug some up when she first started gardening. Maybe they were still there, somewhere hidden below me.

I went to the gardening room, grabbed her shovel, and started digging.

I dug hole after hole for days. First, I started near the cabin. It made sense, this is where Isla started her first garden. In each hole there was nothing and yet I continued digging. I remembered her journal. She started gardening further from the cabin. It was possible it was further out.

Days passed. I think it may have been six days of digging before I found it. Well, not it but him. I found Edgar or rather what used to be Edgar. He was wearing denim overalls and a shirt that all but withered away under the soil. He was nothing more than a skeleton now.

Reality set in for a fleeting moment. I was filled with contrition. Until now, I had only assumed Isla had murdered him but there was no way to actually know for sure. She stopped writing in her journal after that night. I knew this was him and now I knew that he was murdered. The right side of his skull was caved in as if an axe had cleaved its way into his brain.

"Why was I digging again?"

That was the question I kept asking myself over and over as I sat above Edgar's grave.

"What am I looking for?"

My head was foggy and it was hard to concentrate. I stared at Edgar's lifeless bones and remembered what Isla wrote the night she killed him. He had just come from the dam when he tried to force her to leave the cabin. There was something he learned that day that he didn't know before that night.

My answer was at the decommissioned dam.