Song of the Deep

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. A man to be alone with his thoughts, what a rare thing, James thought. He smothered the match, listening to the wind howl beyond the glass pane. His pages, yet to be filled, were scattered on the aged wood of the desk, his pen waiting patiently for him to pour his imagination through it like water through a hose.

He sat, his candle-lit reflection peering back at him from the window, the darkening woods just beyond. He sighed, settling in to work. Pen in hand, he pressed it against the page, ink pooling just beneath the tip, but no words would come. His page, blank, stared back mockingly, the howling winds pounding against the window, like the laughter of a crowd, entertained by his ineptitude.

'To be alone with his thoughts,' James thought again to himself. 'What a crock.' James was never fond of his thoughts, the bleakness with which they hounded him, causing his lip to quiver and his heart to quicken.

Again, he set pen to paper, silencing the thoughts as they attempted to intrude on him once more. Listening only to the tapping on the window, ignoring the flicker of the candle as words began to flow once more. Black ink stained the page in a way that was almost satisfying. It had been so long since he'd been able to do this unimpeded by life's trials.

Tap!

The frame of the window creaked.

Tap!

The candle flickered.

Tap!

A gentle voice whispered in his ear.

James jumped in his chair, his pen flying from his hand into the darkness of the cabin. No one was there. He was hearing things. Perhaps being alone with his thoughts wasn't as good a thing as he thought it might be.

He sighed, turning on his phone's flashlight. The pen wasn't lost to the abyss, as it might have seemed. He fetched it and returned to his pages, setting pen to paper, when his heart froze, his spine chilled.

She sings, she sings...

Had he written this? The letters looked mangled, angry, violent, as if they fought to be set free.

Sings the chorus of the deep...

James sat back in his chair, blinking at the page. No matter how many times he did, the words didn't change. This was not the the plucky romantic comedy he'd intended to write!

...she sings, she sings...

They looked like the scribblings of a mad man. Was he mad?

...down in the depths below...

He shook his head, grabbing the ink stained sheets and crumpling them in his hands, tossing them away, littering the abandoned cabin. The wind's howls grew louder, the trees bending to its whim.

James ignored it the best he could, but as he tried to focus, tried to write what he intended to, nothing would come. He sighed, tapping his pen against the desk rapidly as he stared at the window, his candle lit reflection staring back at him as the trees billowed in the wind under the pale moonlight.

When he drove passed this spot it always seemed so peaceful, so idyllic and serene. 'If I had a cabin to write in, with only nature to keep me company, then I could get some work done.' That's what he'd told himself, anyways.

It was so odd how he could just arrive here, feeling so at home. He peered around the cabin. As familiar as it felt, that was a lie, because it was strange. Not for its appearance, its emptiness, the furniture left behind, but for how...oddly inviting it was.

James looked back down at his papers. Tiny dots of ink blotted the upper corner, ruining an otherwise pristine piece of paper. Another heavy sigh. He placed the pen down and stood, wandering over to the fireplace filled with rotted wood. The pictures on the mantle were coated in thick dust, the hints of faces smiling out of the frame hidden behind decades of neglect.

A lie or no, there was something familiar about this place. The winds howled even louder, rattling the windows in their frames. James sighed, looking outside to the forest just beyond the lonely road. He stared out at the darkness, the flicker of candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls.

She sings, she sings...

The gentle caress of that voice against his ear, it was...

His phone vibrated in his hands, the screen lighting up with its harsh, artificial light. A text from his wife. She was asking how his writing trip was going. Sat down he texted back, lying about all the progress he had made. It might've been pride. Or it might've been just that he didn't want to disappoint her. He set the phone down, staring at the blank pages as the wind battered the window more and more violently. No wonder it was abandoned.

The phone vibrated against the table, that same harsh light assaulting his eyes. Candlelight should have never gone out of style, even if it made the shadows do little jigs as if they were living, as if they were watching him.

He ignored the text. Surely she was just telling him she loved him. As much as he liked hearing or reading it, he needed to sit and not be distracted.

It vibrated again. The harsh light. 'You shouldn't have come.'

James cocked an eyebrow at the text. He hadn't told her where exactly he was going. An abandoned cabin he had a strange connection to felt a little too outlandish for her to understand.

'But I'm glad you did.'

What did that mean?

No. He was getting too distracted. He shut the phone down, leaving only the candle light to keep his soul warm in this dark and strange place.

The phone vibrated once more. 'I've waited so long for you...'

James felt the hair stand on the back of his neck. It almost felt as if someone were creeping behind him, soft steps in the darkness as decrepit hands reached for his throat.

He turned.

Nothing.

Nothing except for him.

He shook his head. This was always a bad idea. The silence always got to him.

Tap!

Bang!

Well perhaps it wasn't entirely silent. Even still, paranoia gripped him. He tapped his phone, expecting it to light, but it didn't. Just as he thought. He'd been imagining things.

His phone vibrated again, and once again, that harsh light pierced the soft atmosphere brought by that damned candle.

'Come outside.'

What?

'Come see me.'

...Had his wife followed him here?

He looked outside, looking to see someone, anyone at all. The trees had stopped moving, no more branches tapping against the walls or wind shaking the pane in its frame. A chill ran up his spine like playful fingers dancing on his back.

His phone's screen remained alight, the picture of his wife staring back at him, her beautiful smile hovering above the last message.

He put it in his pocket, grabbed his coat and left for the door. The creak of the floorboards stalking him in the silence. He swung the door open and stared out into the night, the stillness that had appeared so suddenly. In that forest across the lonely road he saw...something. A person, perhaps.

Or perhaps it was a bear.

Perhaps this was all some elaborate prank.

He stepped forward slowly, until wood turned to dirt and grass. The figure didn't move much, but as he drew closer, it seemed to be the silhouette of a woman. If this was some joke of hers, he wasn't at all sure how she might've planned it.

As his foot stepped onto the road, a soft, haunting hum came from the figure, one familiar, and yet not.

“Lisa,” he called to the figure. The figure did nothing, nothing but hum. “Lisa,” he persisted, “this is all very funny and I would love to hear the story of how set all this up, just...come out from the trees, Lisa.”

The figure seemed to tilt its head, then disappeared further into the dark forests. He cursed to himself, but set off after her, turning on his phone once more as a flashlight.

Darkness clung to him, to every tree. He kept his light pointed down, watching for rocks, for roots, but was sure to make sure he could see Lisa if she tried to scare him again.

'Do you remember?'

Another text from his wife...

“Lisa! This is getting a bit old now!” he called out, but even the hum had faded. A moment of total silence later, he cursed to himself, muttering about what she could possibly mean.

Another vibration.

'The song.'

He felt his throat catch, his heart quicken, inside it beat like a drum in the quiet. He continued forward, hoping that he would find her, hoping that this would be the end of it and they could go home with her laughing at him the whole way.

His foot hit something. Pointing his light further down he saw a...well it seemed to be a toy. A wooden boat. He knelt down to pick it up, but as his skin touched the aged wood of the toy he felt something grip him. He let it go. The sensation eased.

“Lisa!” he cried, fear rising in his throat.

Forging onward, he felt another toy at his feet. A woven doll, torn in many of its joins, cotton spilling out of it, stained by the earth. He didn't dare touch it.

The humming carried back to his ear, dancing in the darkness.

...o bring me your sons...

The words seemed to fill in in his mind. The silhouette of the woman stood ahead of him in a small clearing, more toys scattered throughout the forest barely visible in the light of his phone.

...o bring me your daughters...

Sounds of trickling water began to surround him. His shoes became soaked as it rose from the dirt, up passed his ankles, and was climbing still.

...bring their toys...

The water had reached his waist, the woman seemed to stand atop it, a black veil draped on her body, flowing in a wind that wasn't there.

...to my restful waters...

Where the toys were once alone, they were held firm now by the lifeless corpses of children, their eyes staring up into the empty, starless sky. James looked at the woman as she beckoned him. His phone vibrated more as he felt himself be drawn in closer and closer.

'You're finally here.'

'You remember now.'

'The song she sings.'

'In the depths below.'

FIN