Look in the box

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Carol provided the location for her old family log house before inexplicably vanishing. She wasn't the first of my comrades to disappear as if snatched away by the hours of twilight, but up to this point, she was the last. I traveled to this place in hopes of finding more survivors -- perhaps relatives of hers, but I’ve mostly observed the same desolate, abandoned hovels scattered throughout the forest. Every now and again, I can almost hear children frolicking about the dark woods or even birds singing. Perhaps an echo of happier times before the great purge.

Ethereal singing floats across the frosty forest air from within the cabin, or from within my own imagination, more likely. Watching the cabin from midnight to 3AM has tested my resolve to find sanctuary. I’ve been cautiously waiting for someone to enter or leave, but frustration is the only reward for my patience.

For the past 8 months, I’ve come across raided shelters, abandoned vehicles, and putrid human remains. Bugs certainly consume rotting corpses, but these slayings involve dismemberment on a level that I have never witnessed. Sometimes, it’s a torso, and other times it’s an appendage removed of any visible meat. I’ve seen rib bones, skulls, and scattered entrails. I suspect the small intestine isn't very palatable to the beast responsible.

My trek to the north has produced little results so far. What’s worse, I know I’m being stalked by something. I’ve seen no predators and observed no tracks other than my own in the cold mud, but I can almost taste the violent intention. Much like prey, aware of the killer's gaze, but unable to reveal the angel of death's locale. Whatever it is, I’ve managed to remain one step ahead of it.

Soon after the great purge, I encountered survivors like myself; usually one or two, but never any communities. With no exception, they vanish whenever I slumber. The solitude alone can drive a man to madness. I’ve been methodically searching each potential safe zone, but haven’t seen anyone since Carol disappeared a week ago. Hers was the last human face that my eyes encountered. Part of me envy’s her journey to the other side if she is indeed deceased. Were the dead blessed to be free of life’s post purge burdens? Most of the initial survivors likely succumbed to extreme famine, as I have found little sustenance throughout the wasteland.

The only living companions I’ve observed since her departure are a few rodents, and hordes of scavenging arthropods occluded by the night but given away by the susurrus of their tiny legs about the rotting leaves and motionless skeletons. No doubt still feeding off the fetid remains of folks that once enjoyed this place as a hiatus from the banal activities of daily life. I wonder what these people were doing when the purge came. Were they like me—possessing enough naïveté to place faith in humanity’s resilience?

Drowsiness elicits images of Carol sitting by my side. Gray hair, a soft wizened face, and her motherly eyes bringing me a modicum of solace. It’s almost like she’s been guiding me to the cabin. Despite this, instincts tug at the fiber of my soul to abandon this apparently cursed land, but Carol would never direct me to a place of danger, would she? With only a machete for a trusted ally, I’ve decided to enter the dimly illuminated log house.

The ethereal singing intensifies as I approach the cabin, but abruptly stops once I grab the cold brass doorknob. I'm immediately greeted with a blast of stale air, dust, and cobwebs as I enter. The candle generously reveals a place that must have been quite cozy at one point. I blow the dust off an old chair near the central, wooden table and rest there while observing my surroundings. It's far from capacious, but it's quite dry and warm. There's a chest in the far corner, a small fireplace in the back center, and an old dusty bed on the far side away from the entrance. I stare at the bright candle and began to feel the weight of my eyelids.

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“Welcome.” Much like the ethereal singing, I'm uncertain of the voice’s genuineness, but it is calm and motherly.

“Carol?” I ask.

Then, as if she had been there the entire time, I saw her sitting on the other side of the old, wooden table. She seemed blissful and at peace, but also held an elaborately decorated Victorian mirror in one hand and proceeded to groom her hair with a brush in the other. This continued for what seemed like several minutes before she smiled, and her eyes fixed upon me.

“We forgive you.” She said, while continuing to brush and inspect her shiny hair.

It was good to see her again. She appeared exactly as I remembered her, but with glowing skin and a white gown. “Did you light the candle to guide me here, Carol?”

This question gave her pause and her expression transitioned into a solemn stare. “Look in the box.” She said to me.

I glanced over to the chest in the corner. “The chest?” I asked.

She slowly fixed her eyes on the small chest sitting in the corner of the cabin. “Look in the box.”

“Carol … the purge has ferried humanity into an existence of pure savagery. I maintain my civility, but the solitude is maddening. I’ve found no food, no settlements, and no one to trust. Worse still, I fear a monster stalks me across the barren wasteland. I don’t know what to do.”

She rose from her chair and either walked or glided over to the chest. She looked at me again and nodded her head in approval. “Look in the box.”

I blink my eyes to correct my vision, thinking that she might disappear if this were some kind of dream, vision, or hallucination. “I don’t understand. Open the box? What will I see, Carol?”

She places her left hand on the chest. “The only thing that can stop the monster.”

“I'm exhausted, Carol. I just need to rest for a few minutes. Why can’t you open the box and bring its contents to me?”

She slowly motioned over to where I was sitting and placed her hand on me while looking down into my eyes for several seconds, and finally broke the silence and said to me, “I think you know why.”

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The sun’s light shining through the window lifts the weight from my eyelids, and when I look around, I once again find myself alone in the cabin. A solitary, pristine candle with virgin wick sits within its holder on the table before me. The room was bright again, but the morning air outside was still frigid. I managed to find the strength to stand and walk over to the chest in the back corner of the room.

I knelt down before the chest and placed both hands on it. Stringing together Carol’s words was easy, but making sense of them was difficult. Was it just a meaningless dream, or was there more? I quickly open the box, sending clusters of silver fish and small roaches over and outward from the edges, before observing the one item left at the bottom of the chest – a mirror.

It was the same elaborately decorated Victorian mirror that Carol held, only the silver was old and tarnished. I held it up and removed the dust from the cracked glass to reveal my own reflection and in that very instant, I felt a rush of emotions all at once—fear, anger, compunction, and surprisingly … gratitude.