Like the Hardy Boys before us, (the teen sleuths, not the wrestlers) my friends and I have discovered the secret of someplace. Yes, we have uncovered the grisly truth of behind the secret of Bare Cove. Or we would have, if we hadn't bolted like Kenyan marathon runners as soon as we heard someone coming.
Here's what went down: Last month we were sitting around Nick's house trying to decide how to spend our Sunday afternoon, when it was suggested that we buy some disposable cameras and go around taking pictures of random stuff. Maybe it was the ammonia emitting from the ferret cage, but we thought it was a good idea and we were soon on our way.
After taking a few pictures at Nantasket Beach, we drove to Bare Cove, the type of large wooded area where people go to walk their dogs or to write 10,000 page manuscripts on the evils of technology. It didn't take long for us to veer off the paved path to explore the woods. Eventually, we came to a suspicious pair of women's shoes.
Two red pumps. I think they were pumps. I don't really know what the hell a pump is, but it sounds good: two red pumps. Abandoned shoes in the middle of nowhere are a little disturbing. But not as much a hut made out of tree branches sitting on a hill that overlooks abandoned shoes in the middle of nowhere.
We went up to investigate the hut. It was small; made out of branches and twigs, and what looked like maybe a piece of broken old fence for a door. There was a jacket inside. Outside, there was a hacksaw with a bright orange handle sticking out under the dead leaves.
I'm sure there's many explanations for what we found. Maybe the hut was a Cub Scout project or some handy junkies home, and completely unrelated to the shoes scattered below. It's not like I saw any blood on the hacksaw, although I didn't exactly get close enough to investigate. We all ran away when we heard someone coming. Maybe it was just a jogger. Or a squirrel. But no one wanted to stick around to find out. I'm too young to be skinned alive and worn as a coat.
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