Mother's Bane

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Emily shifted at the sight, she had always hated the forgotten little shack between the trees and yet the sudden warm glow emanating from it felt like an oddly fitting tribute. The car trundled on down the road and around the bend until the cabin was out of sight and only the lingering unpleasantness of it’s presence remained, like another’s shadow clinging to you. Not harming you but never quite leaving you. Neither of them spoke of the unusual sighting though Emily was sure her Father had seen it too, the uncomfortable silence between them felt somehow more unnatural and his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Emily took a moment to get one last look at him while he was distracted by his thoughts, he had dressed smartly for the occasion, there was no denying that and yet his total lack of heartache shone through his clothes as though he were wearing high-vis. Perhaps wearing black to funerals was outdated. An onlooker would think he had stepped from the office for a pleasant stroll and had the misfortune to wander into the midst of a funeral procession, but being the stand up man that he appears had simply been too polite to excuse himself during the ceremony. Or maybe they might think he was one of those strange fellows that gets his kicks from sitting in on a stranger’s funeral, that would at least make him a little more interesting.

There was no reason this should be goodbye for the two of them and yet the wall that had been building between them for years felt infinitely more palpable than ever before and Emily found she no longer cared, if she ever really had. He looked as though he wanted to talk to his daughter but the difficulty in finding anything to say just sat on his face as an ugly contorted mask rather than produce any sound of note, until he was finally able to blurt:

“You could sell the house?” When this was met with nothing but a sardonic scoff he continued. “You could move to be nearer to us… I know the boys would love to see you.”

“No they wouldn’t.” Emily said without emotion and her Father’s face contorted further, the situation commanded that he be soft with her so he took a few deep breaths before responding.

“Of course they would dear, Jessica too, they were all so sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. You could… you could stay with us… if you really needed to.”

That might be the first genuinely funny thing her Father had ever said and Emily exaggerated her laugh to encourage him. His face turned a violent shade of puce and Emily thought he looked really rather pathetic. Sitting there, a gnarled tomato for a face, sucking in deep gulps of calming air, Emily even pitied him, albeit for a very fleeting moment.

“You know you really haven’t made a lot of effort-”

“Effort?” The shriek in her tone surprised even her. “Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to care for someone who cannot care for themselves? Particularly as a young child who’s Father…” she spat the word, “thought she could manage alone and swanned off to his new life?”

“Swanned off, Emily? Is that what you think?” He turned to face her, his fury radiated from him like a desert heat, while his foot pressed harder on the accelerator in it’s disconnected display of obstinance. “How could you dare-”

Emily was denied that particular challenge as it was rudely interrupted by a sickening crunch against the bonnet. They both fell out of the car immediately, Emily’s rage for her Father swelling in every passing moment until she felt dizzy with his disregard for other’s lives. He was stumbling around on his silly trembling legs, searching the ground but not really seeing anything and clutching his chest until he was the picture of detestable self concern.

“I-it came out of nowhere, you saw it, there was nothing I could have done.”

She ignored him, his feelings didn’t matter to her. He slumped by the tree line, his act of worrying about the injured party apparently complete and thus his maniacal running of fingers through thinning hair could begin. Emily inspected the car, a smear of crimson shone against the silver metal, though not as much as she had expected. There was a small dent to the corner near the blood, whatever they had hit, they had only clipped it and there was now no sign of it on the road. Her father was staring deep into the trees when she approached him and there was look in his eye that was both tortured and confused when he turned back to her.

“Did you see it?”

“I think so...”

“And?”

“It’s running away.”

“What was it?”

He didn’t respond, instead he turned back to the trees and watched for a while longer as though he was trying to convince himself he had been deceived.

“What was it?” She nudged him with her foot, softer than she would have liked but he looked alarmingly close to having a breakdown and she knew she would feel obliged to sit with him for longer should that happen, so gentle was the nudge.

“Not… not sure, deer or something.” He mumbled, struggling to his feet. “Let’s... home, should...get you home.”

“No thank you.” Emily turned on her heel and started walking up the hill.

“Emily-”

“It’s not far.”

“It’s not safe around here, when people find out you are alone-”

“Goodbye, Dad.”

“When will I see you again?”

“I’ll call.” The words were hollow and they both knew it.

“I’m sorry... about your Mother.”

She pretended not to hear him and continued up the hill towards home, after a short while she heard his ignition start and the car turn around, she listened to the sound growing distant until finally she was left alone with the stillness of the night.

A warm September breeze drifted through the trees and even with the exertion of climbing the hill, Emily found herself pulling her jacket tighter around her frame, determinedly facing anywhere but the surrounding woodland. Retrieving the key from the lock box was an automatic movement, without thinking she rolled the code in until the small door swung open, removed the key, unlocked the door, returned and re-sealed, making sure to jumble the code once more. For a while now she had believed she could crack the code without looking, the 2 made a slightly different click to the others, the 4 always felt stiffer, the 7 wobbled in it’s seat and then she had a 1 in 9 chance of getting the 8, but she hadn’t had the heart nor the motivation to test her theory of late. Emily paused at the foot of the stairs, torn between her grumbling stomach and the need to wash the day from her skin. Moments later she was in the kitchen, a brief swirl of guilt tugged at her stomach as she pulled another ready meal from the freezer and tore the box open with her teeth. She thumbed listlessly through the channels and grew immediately restless, so began to read the first line of nutritional information on the packaging before letting the box fall to the floor. In the end she leant on the worktop and stared into the fading tiles. After around ten minutes, the aching in the back of her thighs nudged her into motion and she set about retrieving her cutlery and dinnerware. A box of her Mother’s medication fell to the counter as she reached past it for a plate, a bitter reminder, as if she could forget. Her world before had been what most could consider miserable, perhaps they were right, for as long as she could remember she had lived for her Mother, her only reprieve was during school hours when trained nurses would take over. When she left school it had really only been the two of them, aside from the frequent but terrifying occasions that her mother had been beyond the help Emily could offer. It was exhausting for someone to depend on you so wholly and yet now in the face of freedom Emily craved nothing more than a purpose and the feeling of being needed. She had bonded with her mother in the way few would understand. Emily had a handful of memories of her mother before her accident, though they had warped and blurred over time until they had grown unreliable and likely the result of watching too many life-time movies. Her mother never spoke again, nor could she control her limbs and Emily considered most days, at least for a short while, what quality of life she had, if she wished it would all be over rather than painfully stretched across years of misery. In the face of that heavy question and the ever elusive answer, Emily sought to make her happy in small ways, whenever she could, she would play the music and films she thought her mother responded most positively to, her Father had once told her that she loved flowers so she always made sure there was a vase of fresh flowers in every room even though Emily thought it bitterly ironic. The strangest of all, at least to Emily, was the way her Mother always appeared to feel more relaxed when facing the cabin. As far as Emily knew, the cabin had never been anything but a scary hut in the woods, used only by teenagers to frighten one another but there was something slight in her Mother's posture that eased whenever she could look down on the forest and see the small slanted roof between the trees. The head of a long passed rose fell on the counter beside her with a soft thud that pulled her from her reverie. A fresh anger welled in her heart at the sight of the leafy cadavers and she threw them into the sink with more force than necessary. It had been flowers, the doctors claimed. Her Mother had had always said the cabin boasted the most beautiful flowers in the summer and had set off to pick some for the garden. Her Father had found her the following morning, when she had failed to return, her muscles strained against unnatural angles, the only thing she could move being her jaw that crunched erratically against her tongue. The doctors claimed she had touched the petal of the highly toxic, aptly named, Mother's Bane and would have been paralysed almost immediately. She perhaps might have stood a fighting chance, had her Father been concerned sooner. Emily wasn't sure whether she believed the flower theory, how could she? She had been picking fresh flowers for years and never laid eyes on anything remotely like the described Mother's Bane but searching for any other explanation had quickly grown fruitless and tedious so in the end she had just stopped wondering.

Emily’s meal tasted of the bland flavours that the world now hummed with, colour had lost it’s vibrancy, bird’s song had lost it’s cheer and each morning rang a new, woeful lament. All senses were awash with greys and beige. Once in the shower, she slid down the tiles and crossed her legs on the floor, allowing the tepid water to wash away her tears. She couldn’t be sure if she had heard the doorbell or if the soft vibrations in the tiles made her think she had heard it. After fumbling for the dials for a few moments in her lather-faced haze, Emily held her breath to see if she heard it again. The only sound was the slow dripping of the shower head splashing against the floor. Relieved she wouldn’t have to act pleased to see anyone but chilling from the lack of water, she struggled to her feet in the small cubicle and padded across the landing to her bedroom, only wiping her face. She was deciding which style of comfort would best suit her today when there was a loud bang on the front door. Emily was on the floor and crawling to the window before logic could prevail and tell her to dress. She peered over the windowsill and could just make out someone pressing themselves to the door, there was no sign of a vehicle that would have carried this uninvited visitor here and so Emily presumed it must be one of the teenagers who had undoubtedly been messing in the cabin. She let out a short sigh of relief and ignored her racing heart as she pulled her pyjamas from the discarded heap beside the bed and put them on after a brief sniff test, which they marginally passed. The sound of the lock clicking rang through the empty house. Emily rushed back to the window to see the door swinging shut. Once more she was on the floor, now pressed to the carpet until the fibres burned at her cheeks. The person below had not come for a friendly visit, that was immediately apparent in the way they thrashed around in the lounge. Emily was sure her heart would give her away with it’s incessant thumping against the floor so she slowly sat up right and pressed her hand to her chest hoping it would force some inspiration into her muscles. The image of a gun, stashed in the back of her cupboard danced in her mind, the one useful gift, if vastly inappropriate, her father had ever given her. Avoiding the creaking floor boards, she crept across the room and retrieved the weapon. Now clutching it to her chest she had a choice. Fight or flight. Were her chances of survival higher should she just try and escape or was confrontation the way to go? She did have the element of surprise in her favour and yet part of her knew should she be faced with the chance to kill another in the sake of her own longevity she likely would fail. She was not sure she had a great deal to live for anyway. So despite the thought of a stranger rifling through her things and taking them as their own hummed in her chest as a disgusting violation, she pressed the pistol into her waistband and made her way to the window. From the window she eased herself down on the trellis and thought she had gotten away with it until she messed her footing on the last step and fell atop her bins, which betrayed her magnificently. The sound rent the air like rolling thunder. Emily scrambled to her feet and ran without looking back, the weighing of her options was pitifully brief, forest or road, neither appealing but now the forest that had guarded their home for years like a silent sentinel called to her.

Branches crawled across the ground like veins of the earth and the thrashing blood in her ears acted like a heartbeat to the forest. A teenager would surely not break into her home, that was her only hope, her misguided trust in today’s youth. And so she made her way to the cabin, seeking the company and assistance of those who were doing whatever they were doing there. The trees creaked and groaned in the growing wind, the ones behind her swayed in warning, waving her deeper into the unknown. The waning sun was struggling to force it’s way through the thick canopy and she was afforded only brief glimmers and spots of light which were more disorientating than helpful once her eyes had adjusted to the umbra. Her body glistened with a cold sweat in the dullness, the muscles around her face and throat were taut and painful as they fought to contain the pulsing fear raging against them. A mild discomfort throbbed against her bare limbs where the forest had scraped and torn at her for her trespass. Adrenaline kept her moving but the way the sweat licked the edge of the wounds swirled around her mind between the suffocating terror. The pistol remained in her waistband, lodged unnaturally against her hip where it had chafed the skin raw. Her fear ebbed and flowed as she rationalised, it was more present than not and quite often unbearably so, but in the few moments of respite where she felt jarringly relaxed, she spared a few seconds to feel foolish for bringing the gun at all. Twice, she had fired it at some empty cans in the garden. The first time, the sound had immediately chased the birds from the trees and that alone had frightened her enough to put the gun away. The second time, months later, she had managed to hit three out of the five cans but the kick against her palm had been so unpleasant it over shadowed her swelling sense of thrill.

The sound of twigs snapping reached her on the fingertips of a taunting breeze, carried from the direction she had run. Emily stumbled as her legs lost their strength and for a moment she considered laying down, at first to hide but the confirmation that she had been followed piqued her fear to such a dizzying new high she wasn’t sure she could take much more and maybe she should just let them have her. A wave of unfamiliar determination to survive struck her like a slap to the face and she cursed her jelly legs and cowardice before pushing on with renewed vigour.

A chill unrelated to the wind spread slowly across her body and made her hair stand to attention. Initially she hadn’t understood why she was reacting this way, perhaps just a delayed fear response, but then her mind, minutes behind her subconscious, told her that she should have seen the warm glow of the candle by now. She almost walked straight into the wall of the cabin, cast completely in darkness, but her outstretched fingertips brushed the ancient wood before she collided. Desperation was a vice around her neck, stifling her oxygen as once again she was faced with being alone. The crushing blow of the empty cabin felt like a physical puncture in her heart and she finally conceded to the tears that had long been promised. Once she had started crying she couldn’t stop herself and before long her breaths had become painful, racking sobs that shook her knees and tore at her final thread of hope. A small but very insistent voice in her mind, the same voice that had sent that wave of determination told her she must carry on or at the very least be quiet. She placed her hands on her knees and gulped several steadying breaths until the sensation returned to her face and her jumbled thoughts had been ironed down into a more manageable train of thought. First she entered the cabin. The night concealed enough of it for her not focus on her child hood fears and concentrate on finding the candle. The smell of rotting wood and moss mingled with something bitter and decidedly far worse, enveloped her body and infected her lungs the moment she stepped over the threshold. She stumbled backwards and pressed her camisole over her mouth and nose, dry heaving into the delicate fabric. The voice in her mind persisted and with a deep gulp, she set about searching for the candle. Her fingers felt clumsy and alien to her as they thrummed across the various surfaces of the cabin. Her knees occasionally knocked into the forgotten furniture and creatures unseen could be heard scurrying from the sound. She sought comfort in the scent of her perfume, woven into fabric of her pyjamas, a layer of defence between her and the unholy scent the building bathed in. Though this left her stomach cold and exposed to the horrors of the night, she fought hard not to think about it.

Something moved beneath her hand, small, metal, it rotated on contact. In the excitement of her discovery, her second hand dropped the camisole from her face and rushed to the counter beside the first, where it slipped against a slick substance. The smell and the sensation churned her stomach and in a heartbeat the dull flavours from her dinner were burning at the top of her throat. She grabbed the metal object and fled the building, crumpling to her knees by a nearby tree and relieving her body of the day’s ingestions. The voice in her mind was screaming at her, nonsensical terror, wordless urgency but she couldn’t move, each retching motion racked her body in a unique mix of pain and numbness. When only bile remained in her stomach, she dragged her arm across her mouth and sat back on her knees. Her fingers wrapped around the metal object and she clicked it. A small flame flickered from the lighter and shadows of the forest danced around her. The gun had fallen to the floor at her side and now shone ominously in the golden glow. She raised it with a trembling hand, enclosing it in her fingers. The feeling of being watched gripped Emily and dragged her back to reality in a sickening rush. She was about to stand when a rasping breath washed against her neck, the unmistakable smell of blood lingering in the air. A clammy hand gripped her shoulder and without a moment to consider Emily had turned, pressed the pistol to flesh and fired.

The body collapsed on her and the dead weight pushed her to the ground. She could feel the warm blood pooling around her and soaking into her clothes and skin. Slow wet breaths rattled from the dying mouth and disturbed her hair as she wrestled the body away from her. She scrambled to her feet, horrified by what she had done but knowing she needed to carry on. One look at the dark liquid smeared across her own body almost pushed her back to the floor but she shook her head until the forest swayed. Stumbling away from the gasping figure, she fell against tree trunks and struggled blindly over their roots. The weight of the pistol and the lighter had grown inconceivable in her delicate palms and she threw them at the cabin, hearing the windows shatter. The same feeling of eyes on her persisted from where the body lay and Emily started to run, a feral scream building in her lungs.

Blindly, frantically, she ran. Not knowing if the exertion or guilt would suffocate her first. Her skin itched where fresh sweat met drying blood. Tears streamed down her face and she had no recollection of them ever starting. Her thoughts so fixated on what had happened, she had lost all bearing. She was a murderer. She had taken a life and she had run from the body. Was still running from the body. Her feet faltered as her brain registered a change in terrain, the suffocating closeness of the forest had dissipated and she found herself in the middle of the road. Pain tore at her sides and her lungs, she bent forward to vomit once more when the glow of headlights rounded the bend. The car was travelling too fast and swerving across the road. She had only a moment to register her imminent danger before leaping out of the way. Rolling forward into the trees, Emily felt a brief moment of relief before a searing pain exploded in her ankle. Her mind was a jumble of words and worries. The people who were after her could have found her again. Even if it wasn’t them, she had just killed someone and was covered in the evidence. The car had screeched to a halt and she could hear the slamming of doors from where she huddled. She wasn’t safe, either way, she had to carry on. Despite the vehement objections from her ankle, she ran as fast and as deep as she could until the car lights no longer breeched the darkness, there she collapsed and allowed pain to consume her.

The light had changed little when she came to, but the warm blood dribbling down her cheek confirmed that she had collapsed and hit her head. She wanted to cry again but felt overwhelmed by how pathetic she was being. Struggling to her feet once more, she slowly stumbled through the woods towards her home. The journey felt long and arduous but the road was not far from her house and so she knew it couldn’t have taken as long as it had seemed, even the sun was still hanging in place on the horizon. A fresh wave of dread washed over her as she remembered the intruder but she could see no other option than to try and call for help. She threw her weight against the door handle but to her surprise it did not budge, what kind of an intruder locks the door behind them? She slumped against the frame, darkness ebbing and seeping into her consciousness and somewhere in the distance she heard her doorbell ring and faintly registered the small button pressing against her arm. Her body was wrought with pain from the night’s turmoil and her ankle undoubtedly broken by the car. Closing her eyes felt pleasant, a comforting warmth almost. Her fingers flicked clumsily at the key safe while she swayed on her feet, barely fighting to stay awake, her head rolling against the door in her struggle. The metallic ding of the key hitting the floor surprised her enough to be pressed into action. Crouching to collect the key proved very difficult on her ankle but she just needed to get inside, get to the phone.

The totally ordinary appearance of her living room shook Emily to the core. Not a thing had moved, or appeared to have been touched at all other than by herself, earlier that very evening. Returning from the funeral felt like a life time ago, so much had changed since then and yet everything was just as it was, even if just on the surface. What had the intruders wanted, were they still following her? If the car had truly been one of them then surely they would arrive at any moment. Fearing she would waste time in being cautious, she forced her way passed her dining table by shoving the chairs out of her way, wincing slightly as they splintered against the floor. She grabbed the old corded telephone from the wall and immediately dialled the emergency services. The only sound was the thrashing of her heart, thumping in her ears. No answer, no helpful voice, no life line, no dial tone, nothing. A large crash sounded from the front of the house and she knew that they had come for her. Her blood congealed in her veins and her muscles turned to lead as she sat, temporarily frozen in place, the useless phone sitting limp in her hand. Once again, she would be forced to return to the forest, she had taken one of them down already, what they wanted with her no longer mattered or concerned her, survival was her only motivation now. She slipped out of the back door, careful to avoid being seen by the new arrival in the front. She waited for a breath in the line of the trees until she was confident she couldn’t be seen. The gun. She needed the gun. It was her one, flickering, ray of hope.

Her journey back through the forest was a slow torture. Her fear of what lay among the trees had abated slightly, in it’s place was an angry resolve for vengeance but the pain she was forcing her body to endure had long exceeded any threshold. The noisy crunching of branches underfoot told her she wasn’t alone and she had no choice but to assume the person ahead of her was against her rather than with her. They were on their way to finding the body she had left, it was only a matter of time. Could she kill again, if it came to it? Would her determination carry her that far… would she want it to? She decided not to think and struggled on in breathy silence until she could see a small light in the distance, beyond the cabin. The person was crouching where she had left the body, she was sure of it and yet their silhouette unsettled her. She had imagined her pursuers as large, imposing figures, but here crouched a small, slight frame, they even looked as though they may be trembling though it was likely a trick of the light. Was this just a hiker who had happened upon the body? She stepped as lightly as her broken ankle would allow, needing to buy herself time to make a decision. Friend or foe? As she drew closer it became clear there was no body on the floor, just the figure on all fours. Was this the person she had shot, had they survived after all? All logic drifted away in the relief she may not be a murderer and she reached out to the small person before her. As her fingertips brushed the naked shoulder she had only seconds to register the point of the gun pressed against her chest before the shot tore a hole in her heart.

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Emily shifted at the sight, she had always hated the forgotten little shack between the trees and yet the sudden warm glow emanating from it felt like an oddly fitting tribute.