THE CABIN IN THE WOODS

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for many years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The candle burning in the window was what guided my nine-year-old twin sister and me to a safe place for the night. During the summer months, when our father went fishing, we would tag along and pick the blackberries that grew near the small pond. But this time, taking our tin buckets, we went alone and became lost.

Amazed by all the berries to be picked, we forgot how late it had become. Suddenly, night was upon us. It was so dark among the tall pines which loomed above us, that we were unable to follow our trail back home. My sister, who is twelve minutes younger than me, became frightened and began to cry. Since I was the oldest, I tried to comfort her, even though my body was riddled with fear of the sounds of wild animals that could be lurking nearby. At any minute we could be attacked by a bear, mountain lion, or even bitten by a poisonous snake. I told Marie to let’s sit under one of the pines, which we did, and wait for our father to come and rescue us. Then I remembered that daddy was away at a vacuum cleaner sales conference and mama was home alone. By now, she must be worried out of her mind. I could hear my sister’s heart beating faster and faster as we sat huddled together under a tree. Or maybe it was my heart that I was listening to, especially when things we could not recognize or see, began to crawl on and over us. Feeling hopeless, we saw a candle burning in the window of the abandoned cabin. Leaving our buckets of berries behind, we followed the light until we were standing in front of the cabin.

We were greeted by a stranger waiting in the doorway. He quickly beckoned us to come inside because it began to rain. In crying voices, we told him that we were lost, and could not find our way home. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I lit the candle and put it in the window, hoping it would lead you here and it did. Stay here for the night and tomorrow you will know the way back home.” By the light of the candle, that he held in his hand, we could see that he had a toothless grin and was very tall and slim. He wore overalls that were too short for his tall body and had on old open-toe boots on his large feet. The cabin was not neat, like our home, but comforting. We sat on a ratty sofa while the stranger went into his small kitchen and returned with two cups of warm tea and sugar cookies. We drank the soothing tea and ate the cookies that tasted almost as good as the ones that mama baked. Later, he gave us a tattered blanket to use for our cover. Wrapped snuggly in the blanket, we quickly dozed off to sleep. When we awoke early the next morning, the kind stranger was nowhere to be seen. We hurried home where our father, mother, and some of the neighbors had gathered in the yard, to come and search for us. But, because of the friendly stranger, it was not necessary.

Our father and mother were so happy that we were alive and safe that they did not scold us. All they wanted to know was, “What happened?” We told them about getting lost while picking blackberries, and our adventure with the tall and skinny man who lives in the cabin. Mother asked, “That old abandon cabin in the woods?” “Yes,” my sister and I answered, simultaneously. “It is not abandoned anymore. A tall, skinny, and friendly man is living there,” Marie answered. My mother and father looked at each other and began to laugh out loud. Dad said: “Mark and Marie you two had better come up with a more believable story.” That is when he began to tell the story about John the hermit that once lived in the abandoned cabin in the woods.

As we walked into the house to eat a warm breakfast, daddy began to tell his story. He said: “A lonely man once lived there many years ago. He was a shy man that was very tall and slim. He wore overalls that were too short for his long legs and boots that were too small for his large feet. So, he cut open the front of the boots so his toes could stick out. He never left his cabin after what happened to him the last time that he went into town. He was snubbed by the adults because he was dirty. The small children feared him, and the teenagers were the cruelest, especially sixteen-year-old Bobby Smith who called him Crazy John and once spit on him. So, he became a recluse and lived on fish and other small wild animals that he caught. But for some reason, he trusted me and your mama. He would come to our house and stare and smile at you and your sister, asleep or playing in your crib, for the longest time. Mary would always cook enough food to invite John for supper. John Henry, his real name, would gladly join us. Even though he and his clothes were dirty, and his teeth were rotten, he was always welcomed in our home. If it was a dark night, before he returned to his cabin, Mary would give John some of her homemade sugar cookies and a candle to light his way.

One time Bobby Smith went missing for two weeks before returning home. He had just run away to be with a girl, in the next town, but it was too late for the man Bobby called Crazy John. Late one night a drunken mob of men, believing the gossip that was running wild in town, that John had somehow kidnaped Bobby, killed and buried him in the woods. Drunk out of their senses, four men, including Bobby’s father, went to John’s cabin, late at night, and while he was asleep, dragged John out of his bed and hung him from a tree.” Mark asked, “Were those men punished?” “In a way, they were,” Mark’s father, Sam, answered, “They all died within weeks of each other. I guess it was the guilt of killing an innocent man. Now, you two stop fibbing. We are not going to punish you. Go on into the house, change your clothes, eat your breakfast and I’ll walk you to school.” Marie and I looked at each other and smiled. Even as adults, we always remembered our experience with John and the abandoned cabin in the woods.