The thunderstorm rolled in faster than I had expected. One moment, I the trail was silent except for the rhythmic sound of my boots hitting the damp ground. Next, a wall of rain swept through thetrees with a roar, and the sky cracked open with lightning.
I made it to the shelter just in time—barely enough room for me, my soaked pack, and the gathering shadows of dusk. The wind howled through the gaps in the rough-hewn logs, and thunder rattled the boards beneath me. I was cold, wet, and grateful. And I had the perfect thing to pass the time.
From the side pocket of my pack, I pulled out a dog-eared journal that my brother back home had for left me. It was a handwritten note along with the journal that had been tucked inside, and it read: “Read this on a rainy night. Trust me.”
