Her Face in the Fire

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

To Anthony and Beth the candle seemed like a godsend, I’ll tell you. A beacon in the wilderness promising a safe place to hunker down for the night.

By the time they’d spotted the light through the trees, they’d been stumbling in the dark for what seemed like forever, searching for the lost trail, getting thirstier and hungrier and more and more turned inside out. They were in a bad way, on the verge of giving up their wits, and the candle showed itself just in the nick of time, almost like it was meant to be.

Whether it was or not, I’ll let you decide.

Before I get too far along, this all happened coming up on fifty years ago. I could be fuzzy on some of the details. But it’s one-hundred-percent true, just as I heard it from my granddad way back when.

Seems like we ought to start at the start. Before we do though, toss another log on there and poke it good, won’t you? We’ll want the flames nice and high for this one.

Well now, Anthony and Beth had set out early that morning for a lake tucked way up in the mountains, maybe a four or five hour hike, I’d put it. It had been a hot stretch and the notion of diving into icy-cold water struck them like a real fine idea, their reward for that long and dusty of a walk. I can’t say I disagree. Sounds pretty darn good to me.

Anyway, they made it, no problem. It wasn’t a hike they’d done before but the trail was pretty well marked and gave way to a steady climb. The plan was to take a dip, nibble on something, lay back in the shade, and head home once the worst of the heat had burned itself down.

Except it didn’t work out that way. Anthony and Beth, well, they nodded off. Some say the heat made them lazy. Others say that it was the swimming, that after the hike all that splashing around wore them out.

Me? I’m guessing they’d had themselves a little fun out there in the alone and were sleeping it off, if you get my meaning. They’d been together all through high school, you see, and Beth was about to head off to college come fall while Anthony stayed behind to work the family farm. But it don’t matter why, in the end. All that matters is that when they woke up, the last of the light was just about gone.

At this point, they weren’t much worried. They figured they could make it back OK, even if it meant walking the trail after dark. As I said, the hike in was pretty easy. They could refill their canteens at the lake. Plus, the moon was going to be more than half full.

What they say is true, though. After the sun goes down the woods have a way of making fools of even the most levelheaded of folks. Course, what we all know is that they should’ve stayed put. Make do for the night. Head out the next morning.

But they didn’t or I wouldn’t be telling their story now, would I? Nope, Anthony and Beth laced up their boots and started back, just as the night began to settle in and take hold.

Now, if you’ve ever been in the forest after dark you’ve been witness to how it changes. Even if you were to wander just out of sight from this campfire here, it would become something completely different real quick, believe me.

In the dark, nothing is where it’s supposed to be. Nothing is what it seems, either. Trees move. Trails vanish. Roots, they’ll creep. Seeps and springs come alive, bubbling up out of the ground like some kind of black magic.

Worse yet, every deadfall is a dragon, every boulder is bigfoot. It’s like you’ve found yourself to another place, another time, hell maybe even another planet.

But it’s more than that, right? After dark, the woods feel different. You’ll slip between warm and cold pockets that make you break out in a sweat and then the very next moment start to shiver. There’s this static all around, prickling your skin and raising your hair. As if someone–or maybe worse, something–is watching off to the side or just overhead, licking its chops, waiting for you to let your guard down.

That’s what those two were up against out there. It gives me the willies just talking about it.

Now, luck was on their side, at least at first. The moon was casting just enough light to see by, the air was heavy with pine, and they were in good spirits, holding hands, making jokes, that sort. It felt like they were on an adventure, you see.

I reckon they hiked an hour, maybe two, before things took a turn. One minute they were making pretty good time and the next they were stopped in their tracks by a stream they knew they hadn’t crossed on their way in.

Naturally they figured all they had to do was backtrack to find the main trail. There was no telling how far they’d been walking wayward, but it couldn’t have been too long, could it?

So that’s what they did. But after a time, it was Beth who saw they were headed in the wrong direction. They’d still been walking downhill all this time when they should’ve been going up.

That was when it came to them that they might be in a bad spot. They didn’t say so out loud, but I’d imagine a spidery fear started to weave about in their guts. It would me, I’m not too proud to say.

Well, hour by hour, mile by mile, them two kept working their way deeper into the woods, with Beth getting more upset and Anthony sinking deeper into his stew. Everything looked familiar and then nothing did. They thought they heard the stream again, but it turned out to be the wind rustling the leaves. The moon had gone and hid behind some clouds, so they couldn’t figure their direction. They had gotten themselves into an honest-to-terrible fix and had no idea what to do about it.

And that’s about when Anthony caught sight of the candle.

I believe it must’ve felt like they’d found heaven. That full-body flood of relief, like when your plane touches down after a real bad, stormy flight. You’ve made it. You’re on the ground. You’re safe, and soon enough your fear burns off like fog being hit square by the sun. One second it’s there, the next, pfft—gone, and you’re left thinking whether it was a thing at all.

The cabin was set in a clearing of tall grasses, backed up against the trees. The sort of scene that might find itself on a general store postcard, were it daytime. Against the dark, they could just make out its lines—a squat box, more wide than deep, with a steep pitched roof, jutting stovepipe, narrow porch, and just the one small square window where the candle shone. Nothing special, nothing fancy. Just a trapper’s cabin left to rot and return to the earth.

Yet that candle meant otherwise, didn’t it? There was someone holed up in there. There had to be. And they wanted to be found, otherwise why set a light in the window for anyone to come along?

Even in their state, Anthony and Beth knew enough not to rush the cabin. There was no way of knowing who might come to the door or what they might be carrying at their side. It paid to be smart about this.

Anthony told Beth to stay out of sight, but she wasn’t about to be left there in the dark. After a back-and-forth-and-back again, Anthony knew when he was good and beat. He squeezed Beth’s hand in surrender and the two of them picked their way across the clearing until they got to the foot of the porch.

Up close, the candle seemed a bit brighter, like it had been fed more fuel. And the more they looked, the less they could look away. It was mostly in how its lick of flame danced behind the pane glass, how it swayed from side to side like a snake tempted up out of its basket.

They took the three steps slow, feeling for punky boards that might give way. They weren’t trying to sneak, but they didn’t want to thump too loud, either. Just enough to let whoever was inside know they had visitors.

They stepped to the door, with Beth taking Anthony’s hand. He could hear her breathing but didn’t dare look over for fear of giving away his own nerves. Instead, he stole a glance at the candle, raised a loose fist, and rapped the door twice.

He aimed for it to be a friendly knock, but in the dead of night it came out a touch impatient. Then he called out hello, said it was only the two of them, wanting no trouble, just a bit lost, hoping for a little help.

They waited. Beth shifted her pack and Anthony cleared his throat. Both tried on a smile.

But nothing stirred. Not even the littlest hint.

Anthony worked the door again, with Beth adding her voice. She said they were sorry to come knocking, they knew it was late, but the two of them would be forever grateful if whoever was in there would please let them in.

Again they waited. Other than a soft wind swaying the treetops, the night was stubborn still.

Anthony turned to Beth, whispered what was she thinking. She offered maybe the person was a deep sleeper. Could be, Anthony said, but could be they’re not here. Maybe the candle is to help them find their way back.

Beth asked, if they’re coming back, what if the door is open.

Anthony gave it a jiggle but found the lever fast, locked tight.

Someone’s either in there or they’re not, he told her. But from the looks of it, we’re stuck here on the outside.

But Beth wasn’t having it. She reached past Anthony, and slapped the door, once, twice. Hey, she called, please. We’ve been walking in the dark for hours. Please open up, please.

Nothing doing. That door, it stood proud.

Beth stepped past Anthony and moved to the window, thinking maybe she could see if someone was hiding inside, maybe catch their eye and make it plain they meant no harm. She leaned in close, her nose nearly touching the glass.

Now, Beth was a pretty girl, but when the candlelight lit upon her face it revealed something altogether rare, a glow of pure wonder. Her eyes shone with the richest of blues, the sort of color where a lake drops sudden from shallow to deep. Stray strands of her hair, honest to god, they turned to spun gold. In that moment, she became the most glorious sunset, a sugar maple in riot, so beautiful it nearly stopped Anthony’s heart for wanting her so bad.

But Beth, she had no notion of the light’s magic on her and most likely wouldn’t have cared, fixed as she was to see into the cabin. She cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her body up against the logs, spying for any movement, searching for any shapes.

How long they stood there—Beth peering, Anthony gawking—I can’t rightly say. What felt like an hour might’ve been only seconds.

But when time snapped back, that’s when everything changed. All at once, the door swung open, the candle winked out, and the darkness poured in.

It was something terrible, like out of a nightmare. Beth made a rabbity squeal and stumbled from the window, her feet twisted up together. The porch thudded with her fall, and she began moaning, a broken and sorrowful sound pulled up from her deep.

Anthony dropped to his knees, searching for her with his hands, his eyes gone blind by the sudden pitch night. He knew she was just feet away, but his frantic grasps came up empty.

Beth’s moans filled the night with a sort of wordless grief. I don’t think there’s a way for me to describe it quite right. You know when you blow across the top of a bottle—that low, sad tone? It was like that, but more ragged and raw, a desperation that would make most anyone cry along just from hearing it.

Anthony was in a mad state. Try as he might, he couldn’t find any shred of Beth. He felt all about but what came back was only grit and splinters from the scuffed porch boards. He began shouting her name, asking Beth what happened, I’m right here, are you ok, talk to me.

But I doubt she could have heard him, let alone said anything in return, no matter how loud he yelled. Beth had gone over, taken by whatever ugliness she’d spied before the candle was put out.

At last Anthony found her boot with his fingertips and strained forward, grabbing her ankle, and then her leg, pulling himself to her and then her to him. On his touch Beth quieted, gone limp in his lap.

After a minute, he asked if she was hurt anywhere and she nodded. Her knee. She didn’t know how bad.

Then he asked what she’d seen.

Her body went stiff. She took a deep breath and shook her head. He didn’t know if that meant she wasn’t sure or if she couldn’t bring herself to say. All he could do was pull her close and sit there leaning up against the cabin, right below the window, stealing a moment to think things through.

For Beth to fall apart that way, well, he knew whatever it was had to be pretty bad. And he didn’t feel the need to stick around and see it himself. It was well past time to get off the porch and into the woods.

But he found he couldn’t move, not quite yet. He was fixed in place like the bedded-down fawn he’d nearly stepped on that time he was fishing. It had stared at him with pleading eyes, begging to let be. Now he understood why it had froze like that.

Turning his head, he could tell the door was open a few inches but the angle wouldn’t let him make out much else. Just a sliver into the cabin’s void. There had to be someone in there listening. Maybe standing right behind the door, waiting. Perhaps plotting what came next. There was no rustle, no sign of life, but they were in there, sure enough. And he couldn’t count on them letting him and Beth be.

He leaned in close and whispered whether she could stand, if she thought she could walk.

She wasn’t sure. Maybe if he helped her up and they took it slow. He took her hand as he got his legs under him and ready to rise.

And then—as if someone had flipped a switch—the porch was awash in light. From its place just over their heads, the candle burned again. But it seemed much too bright, brighter than before, brighter than a lantern, so bright it cast quivering shadows of the railing and its splintered slats out to the clearing and onto the nodding heads of grass.

I’m not one for art, but I was told it was something to behold, almost otherworldly. I believe mesmerizing was the word my granddad used.

Now, mesmerized or not, put yourself in Anthony’s and Beth’s boots. With the candle lit again, what do you do? Do you stay hunched under the window and out of sight? Do you try to make a break for it even though Beth’s knee is hurt? Do you take the chance that who’s inside will stay there or do you figure it’s only a matter of time before they check the porch? And by the way, are they even looking for you—or have they relit the candle because they think you’re gone?

Those questions, Anthony spun through in just a second or two. He wasn’t sure what to do. Then he felt Beth shivering next to him and it made his mind up for him. They needed to get away from the cabin, fast, no matter what.

He put his mouth to her ear and told her to get ready. On the count of three, he would lift her to standing, steady her at the waist, and they’d make a beeline down the steps and to the side of the cabin, out of the light and toward the trees. It was a dash of maybe a hundred feet till they would be swallowed up by the dark. He guessed they could cover it in 10 seconds or thereabouts if Beth could manage a hobble. It was no guarantee they wouldn’t be followed but they’d have a better chance once they were clear of the candle.

Beth took Anthony’s hand. He tapped her shoulder once, twice, and on the third stood quickly and pulled her up in one motion, the both of them breaking into the light. Then he took her fast by the hip and shuffled forward as hard as he dared.

They might have made it had Beth not lost her balance at the top step. Her knee couldn’t take her weight and she pulled Anthony down with her. He tumbled hard, hard enough to knock the wind out of him and bang his shoulder something bad. He felt it pop and squeezed his eyes shut.

He waited for the footsteps. He figured there’d be angry voices. Shouts. Curses. Maybe the click of a hammer being pulled back. Whoever was hiding out in the cabin would be wanting answers.

But there was nothing. No footsteps, no voices. The only sound was the roar of blood in his head.

Until Beth said, Look.

Anthony rolled onto his side and followed Beth’s point.

Crazy as it sounds, the candle wasn’t a candle, not any more.

It was a face. A face made of fire.

Now, let me be clear. I don’t mean what they were seeing was a person burning up. No, what was hanging in that window was pure fire. Only its flames, they held the features of a face. Long waving hair. Two eyes, burning bright. The swoop of a nose. A woman’s face, as plain as day.

And she was smiling.

It sounds fearsome, and it was. Not likely that you come upon a face of fire smiling back at you from a window deep in the woods and not be scared.

But Anthony wasn’t full of fear, not exactly, not all at once. It was more like the fear was a tickle at the back of his thoughts.

The more he looked, the more her smile seemed friendly. Open and inviting. What he was feeling was more like an ache, a sudden desire. All he knew was to make his way closer. He had to meet her. He needed to know her.

Beth did too, it seemed. She’d begun crawling up the steps. As before, the light upon her was something grand and wondrous, a swirl of honey, the stuff of amber. With just that glance, Anthony's head spun with a fierce and terrible devotion.

But Beth didn’t go to the window. She made for the door. From hands and knees, she pushed it wide and looked inside.

Anthony grabbed hold of the railing with his good arm and heaved to his feet. The cabin lay open, lit by the fire within. There was a small wooden table, set for one, its chair pulled out. On the back wall, a narrow bed, made up neat. A rocking chair in the corner. Some shelves, full with books. The floor was held down by a braided rug.

Beth had paused to take stock, too. Now she glanced over her shoulder at Anthony, a faraway look in her eye. Like she didn’t know him, not anymore.

And then she smiled. A sad smile, a tired smile, the sort of smile you give as a goodbye.

Anthony’s tickle of fear forced its way forward and began a furious scratching. Beth didn’t need to be going into the cabin. Not alone, at least. Not without him.

He called for her to stop but she was already on the move. Beth crossed the threshold and scrabbled toward the bed in the back.

Anthony took the steps in one stride and made it to the door in two. She was quicker though and was already pulling herself up by the edge of the quilt when the cabin door slammed shut, nearly taking his hand clean off.

He grabbed the handle but it was scalding hot, too hot to touch. The door was locked fast.

The light grew brighter still. He smelled smoke. All around him, shadows danced.

He threw his shoulder into the door. Again and again. He screamed at the pain. But it wouldn’t budge.

He went to the window. It was full of flame, wild tongues of yellows and oranges, reds and blues, rising up, pushing past each other, reaching for the sky.

The heat became fierce and sizzled his skin. His hair began to singe. His lungs choked on smoke.

He made a fist and pulled his arm back to punch through the glass, his mind narrowed to a chant, anything to get to Beth, anything to pull her out.

Her eyes stopped him. Her face in the fire, the woman he'd seen. Just on the other side of the window, only a few inches from him. Only now she wasn’t smiling.

She was laughing. Her face a twisted grimace, all teeth and tongue.

His blood ran cold. His body went weak.

She was laughing. Laughing at him.

He jerked back, stumbling, losing his feet. The flames roared their approval, cheering his fall.

The heat was an angry bellows. He could barely breathe.

The smoke, it was a smothering blanket. He could hardly see.

It was too much. He threw himself backward, a tumbling fall down the steps and off the porch. He rolled and crawled and stumbled his way deep into the grass, pulled along by an animal instinct to get away.

At the edge of the clearing he looked back. The cabin was more fire than not, sending up swirling embers high into the canopy of trees. Plumes of smoke billowed and rose, blotting out the sky. It was no longer night but it wasn’t quite day. The firelight flickered and fluttered and shimmied and shined like it was alive. Like it had a mind of its own.

Anthony watched the cabin burn until dawn, sitting on a stump, his mind gone blank, all the while searching the dying flames. He needed to see her deep blue eyes, her long blonde hair, that smile that made his heart pound and his body sing just one last time.

But when the sun came up, he knew. The Beth he’d loved was gone for good. It was time for him to move on.

I suppose we could end it here. It’s been a proper spooky story, ain’t it? Tragic, too. That poor Beth, it breaks your heart. And Anthony—to see what he’d seen. Knowing it’s all true makes it even worse.

But to do this story justice there’s one bit more you need to know.

Come morning a pack of Scouts headed back from an overnighter ran across Anthony. He made for a damn scary sight I’m sure, what with most of his hair and clothes burned, much of his skin raised in blisters, him raving on about Beth, the cabin, a face in the fire. A madman wandering the woods.

As you might figure, he spent a good stretch in the hospital and they kept him drugged up pretty good to manage the pain. Whenever he came to, he would tell anyone who’d listen bits and pieces and ask about Beth, if anyone had gone to the cabin. The nurses told him to hush, that he needed to heal.

It wasn’t until a week later that he was paid a visit from two men who told Anthony they were with the police, detectives searching for Beth, in fact. They wanted to ask him a few questions, seeing how he was the last to be with her.

So he told them everything, from start to finish, just as I have here, and they took it all down. But all throughout Anthony went on about whether they’d been to the cabin, saying that it wasn’t any mystery what had happened to Beth. From what I understand he got pretty worked up about it, part crying, part yelling, as you’d expect.

And that’s when they told him. There hadn’t been any fire. No one in the area had reported smoke, let alone a raging blaze. They’d spent the past week combing the woods and found no traces of it, either. In fact, no one knew anything about this old cabin he was going on about.

None of it added up, you see. Nothing was what it seemed.

In the end, the case was never officially closed. My granddad said that when he was released from the hospital, those detectives came around to hector him every few months, just like clockwork. Making him go through his story all over again, every lousy detail. It got so he could tell it word-for-word, the same every damn time. But they never could find a reason to charge him with anything.

For the rest of his life, he’d make a point of going into the woods, trying to get himself lost and find his way back to the spot where the cabin had stood. Granddad said it wasn’t about clearing his name. It was about settling his mind.

Year after year, hike after hike, it came to be that he learned that forest like he'd learned his story, bit by bit and then all at once. But try as he might, as far as he wandered, Anthony never did come to the place where he’d brought Beth to die.