A blazing sunset painted the far horizon as the young real estate appraiser drove toward the western edge of the county where she had an evening appointment.
"Please be careful, hon, you know it's dangerous out there," her husband had reminded her at lunch.
"Oh, don't worry. I'll be all right," she had said. "I can take care of myself. I'm not exactly helpless, you know."
Dana was dark-haired and confident, somewhere in her mid-30s. Sometimes, she was afraid. She would have to admit that. But not very often. In her purse was a potent can of pepper spray, which she would not hesitate to use if the situation ever called for it. Also in her purse was her trusty cell phone, which was like an extention of her right arm. She used it often and had massive bills at the end of each month. But where would she be without it?
The two-lane road seemed to grow more and more deserted as she neared her destination, the old Remshaw place, which was about 10 miles past the last gas station and over a steep hill near the edge of the national forest.
She hadn't seen another vehicle for miles, not since she had finally been able to pass the dilapidated logging truck, which seemed to be near death. It had been creeping along at a snail's pace.
Just when she thought she would never get there, Dana spotted what had to be the old Remshaw place. It might have been an attractive piece of real estate, had it not been so neglected. But in its present state, the seller would be lucky to get half of what it could be worth with just a little effort.
About a quarter mile off the main road on a slight rise at the end of a winding dirt road, the old Remshaw place was an imposing site with its two stories, expansive front porch and towering live oaks flanking the sides.
Dana didn't think anyone was home, at least that was her understanding. The boards creaked as she stepped on the front porch and opened the envelop that old man Remshaw had given her. Inside it was the key, which was a bit cankered. Without bothering to knock, she turned the lock and opened the front door.
A musty smell greeted her, permeating from the dim interrior, which was lit only by the sinking sun and would be dark in a few minutes. Old man Remshaw had told her to look in the front closet for a keresene lamp, which should provide her with more than enough light to perform her inspection of the rambling old Southern home.
Right away, Dana noticed that the floorplan was a bit odd.
"Yeah, when I got bored, I just built another room," old man Remshaw had bragged. "Did it all myself, I did."
Making notes, she walked through the living room with its high ceiling and massive fireplace. Who wouldn't like this, she thought. With a little work, this place could be really nice.
Suddenly, she was a bit startled. She thought she heard a noise coming from one of the back rooms, but it was probably nothing. It's probably just somebody's cat prowling around, she thought.
This might be a good investment, she decided. Maybe she would recommend it to her uncle who bought and sold real estate. Or maybe she would even mention it to her husband. They had talked about one day moving to a more private location with a little more room. This place certainly qualified as private and the rooms were even larger than she had imagined.
Walking down the hallway, she thought about how the place could be decorated. If it were hers, she would probably choose a folksy, country decor to create a laid-back, downhome atmosphere, something just plain everyday people could enjoy after a hard day's work.
Continuing to jot down notes on her pad, she checked each bedroom. They had no closets, but they were larger than what one would find in most more modern homes.
Then, it was time to check a room that jutted off oddly to one side near the rear of the home.
When she opened the door, for a moment, she could not believe her eyes. She screamed, then dropped her notebook. To the rear of the room in a far corner was an unshaven, naked man in a whirlpool.
He looked even more surprised than her, as his jaw dropped.
Not knowing what to do, he jumped up, splashing water everywhere.
Then, as if he had forgotten that he was naked, he covered his private parts with his huge hands.
"Just who the hell are you," he said, squinting just a bit.
Red-faced and trembling, Dana tried to regain her composure. She had never had anything happen like this before. The home was supposed to have been vacant since the last renters moved out a couple of months ago.
"Uh, hi there. My name is Dana ... Dana Smith ... Mrs. Dana Smith. I'm a real estate appraiser from the city. I'm here to give a fair-market appraisal of this home. Uh, who are you?"
"Well, well, well," said the man, who appeared to be about the same age as Dana. "You don't say."
