The Siren of Vanavara

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The old Vanavara house was the only structure of the village that was still standing after the inhabitants had been removed following Mikhailov’s visit. The initial story still stood as one where the village had been deemed unsafe for an undisclosed number of reasons, but the villagers paid no mind. None of the observers sent into the village encountered anything like what Doctor Jacobs was now looking at. Even if one of the prior observers had left the candle in the window, it would have been long burned down by the time he arrived.

Jacobs approached the cabin slowly, his boots crunching in the thin layer of snow that collected the night before and had yet to melt away. He kept his eyes fixated on the small flame with his backpack clutched firmly to his chest. His knuckles grew white around the straps and his arms shook with what he could not tell was anxiety, fear, or anticipation. As he drew closer, he saw that it was not just the one candle it was a collection of them, their bases all melted together into a brass tray. His breath hitched as he leaned his face closer to the flames. They gave off the faintest bit of heat against his face, briefly staving off the cold morning air.

Focused on the dripping wax, his watch ticked over to the next hour and let out a small chirp. Startled, Jacobs screamed and fell over into the snow flailing his arms and sending his backpack rolling until it slapped against a nearby rotting log. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at the windowsill where the candle still sat, but it no longer burned and there was no whisp of smoke rising from the wick that said that it had been lit at all. Jacobs cocked his head inquisitively. He was certain that he saw that the candle had been burning only moments ago but saw no sign of it. Not that it was lit or any sign that it was snuffed. Not a single leaf stirred in the trees above him. He let it fall from his mind as a figment of his imagination.

Jacobs got to his feet and grabbed his backpack from up against the log and went into the old cabin. The door creaked as it struggled against its old rusty hinges and it had to be forced shut again. Jacobs heaved a heavy sigh as the latch finally clicked back into place. With his back pressed against the door, he took a look around at the inside of the single room shack. An old brick fireplace sat against the far wall where there rested a single table and chair. The bed that sat in the corner had been replaced by an aluminum cot where he set down his backpack and pulled out a recorder, a small notebook, and an old case file. The name ‘Henry Mikhailov’ was scribbled onto the file’s cover.

Jacobs flipped it open and the first thing he saw was a black and white photo dated back to the early 1900s, but it was horribly faded. He focused on the front window in the picture where there was a light blue silhouette. The only color in the black and white photo. It looked like it could have been a person, but with the quality of the picture, it was dismissed as a lens flare. He pushed it aside and looked at the one-page memo written by the deceased doctor detailing the events from his initial encounter in Vanavara which led to its inevitable ‘cleansing’ as they had called it. He closed the file after he reached another page that detailed the death of the cabin’s previous owner. No matter how many times he had heard the story, Jacobs could still not bring himself to read the actual file. He decided to rest for the night.

Jacobs dropped his backpack onto the floor next to the cot and unlaced his boots. Sitting down on the cot proved that it was as uncomfortable as it looked, the canvas cover being as stiff and rigid as it was. He was beginning to wonder why the cabin needed to be observed at all. If the other scientists had gone missing, than it was because of their own flaws. He shrugged as he laid back. In a few days, it would all be over and he kept that thought as he slowly closed his eyes.

His watch started to chirp incessantly and he rolled over to turn it off. A bright light filled the darkness of the single room and was near blinding when Jacobs opened his eyes at it. The candle that sat lonely in the windowsill was lit once again as its small flame danced in the darkness. He could not remember lighting it before going to sleep. Maybe he had lit it and just did not remember having been so tired from the day’s traveling. He got up and blew out the candle, sending the room back into darkness. Not even half way across the room, the candle came back to life. Jacobs turned and as he did, he caught glimpse of a pale blue light fade from the corner of the window. He walked back over and peer his head outside, but saw nothing and blew the candle out again. He stared at it this time hoping that he would actually see what kept relighting it. Nothing happened to it, but he felt strange. Like someone was watching him. He felt like he was not alone. The blue light was behind him now as his shadow was cast through the window frame. He turned slowly to look behind him and saw a woman.

She was dressed in all white with silver stitching and long silver hair. Her skin seemed fair enough and soft. He stepped toward her with the thought in his mind thinking she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The song emanating from her lips was drawing him in and he kept stepping towards her with every hitching breath that he took. He wanted to feel her touch, he wanted to see her full beauty up close, he wanted to hear her song whispered in his ear. Everything he saw about her was beautiful.

A pain in his ear drew his attention away from her briefly and he reached up a hand to it. It was wet and sticky, and warm. When he pulled his hand away, he saw the streaks of blood that was dripping through his fingers. He looked back up at her and her face was twisted in anger, but her song was still calm and beautiful. He kept walking until his head gave him another warning. It felt like his skull was trying to split itself open. Both of his hands were covered in blood now as he pulled them away from his aching head. Her face now was furious and she screamed at him. Her song no longer filled his ears and he crumbled to the cabin floor.

He turned over to look up at her and she was leaning over him almost like she was hovering. Her face contorted to reveal the black pits of her eyes and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth that was pulled back into a devilish grin that sent a chill up her spine. Jacobs thought he heard a soft chuckle before she reared her head back and screamed. Jacobs looked deep into the gaping spaces between her teeth as she closed herself around him.

Martinson came trudging up the soft grassy path turned to slush with the melting snow. A small wisp of smoke rose from the cigarette in his mouth as he puffed on the slightest bit of warmth that he could grasp at from the small ashen cherry on the tip. He looked ahead of him at the dingy rotting cabin ahead where no signs of life rested within the trees, except for a small candle that sat lit on the windowsill.