What We Do in the Dark

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The hand that struck the match that lit the candle wasn’t the pale, wrinkled hand one might expect from a story such as this.

It wasn’t the hand of Crazy Sadie the Bag-Lady who hid in this very same cabin after her killing spree in the summer of 1982. The fathers of the teen-age boys she shot were not unhappy to hear how her body festered and melted through the floor boards before deer hunters found her fully-clothed bones stuck to the crimson stain, a bony finger still locked on the trigger of a .38 Special, in the fall of 1987.

Nor was it the hand of widow Perch who rocked near that window every night and looked up to the moon, believing her husband would be gazing at the same moon from half a world away. The Sheriff said she weighed no more than twenty-pounds (the average weight of a human skeleton) when he discovered her still in the rocking chair. Her ashes were spread on the beach that Sergeant Perch died upon, having never lived to see the moon over France or the birth of his illegitimate daughter.

And it certainly wasn’t the hand of Elizabeth Willis whose sons built this cabin after the local sanitarium’s bloodletting, clitoral stimulation therapy, and near lethal doses of laudanum could no longer abate the wailing and violent paroxysms of her hysteria. She had chewed her way through too many gags and restraints to safely keep her. It was as her boys later stated, for her own good that they built her this retreat, with doors and shutters that locked from the outside, so deep in the woods. Designed to keep her and her demonic screams and maniacal laughter in, they proved no match for the pain she was dying to escape. One son thought an animal had chewed its way in— the other thought she had clawed her way out. What the wolves left behind was found on the banks of Sutter’s Creek.

No. Deep in these woods on a moonless night, in a cabin as full of death as it was vacant of light, the hand that struck the match that lit the candle was that of a child.

Norma knocked on the worn door and waited patiently for nearly a minute before trying the handle. It certainly appeared uninhabited, but she had been raised to believe above all to treat one’s neighbor as one would like to be treated and she knew that if it were her home she wouldn’t want to be disturbed in the middle of the night by an insolent girl barging in—no matter how desperate she may be.

With one window shuttered and the door safely closed behind her now, only the one window, its glass and shudders long destroyed, provided any hint of light. For a humid midwest summer night, the musty air in the cabin remained cool, if not chilly.

“Hello?” she whispered. While it was clearly a structure that had evaded human contact for possibly decades, she felt a presence the way one might feel a mountain lion in the pitch blackness of its den. No answer. “Anyone here?” She waited silently for a response. Or for the sound of breathing. Alerting the world to her arrival was the last thing she wanted to do, but seeing the morning was the first, and so she needed to make sure she was alone before deciding her next move. She slid her backpack from her shoulder and placed it softly on the floor. Her hands slid along the rough log walls beside the door. No light switch on either side. Eyes wide, hands out to the side, fingers, like the hairs on her arm, feeling the air, she ventured to the middle of the room. The floor whined beneath her feet as she felt her way to a wood stove. Nothing above or below and only ashes within. “I’m only looking for a light,” she said, partly to announce her innocence should there be a sensitive being sharing the space with her, but partly because that’s how she has always calmed herself. Her sixth grade math teacher was well-aware of her need to talk her way through her problems. So much so, that he had to put her in the hall when taking tests to not also guide those around her to the answers. “Just one little light, I promise. Just so I can see I’m safe.”

She made her way to the far wall until she came across an open closet door— and the black void within— its smooth, glass knob spun ineffectively in her hand. If something were hiding, “that’s where I would be.” She softly closed the door only to hear its hinges squeal as it sagged open again. Next to that door, a horizontal surface. A countertop? A butcher’s block? A cabinet suspended above it. “A kitchen?” Though only a cabinet door, she hesitated opening it. Spiders were the least of her concerns, knowing far more venomous beings could be coiled up in its cool darkness. “One, two…”. The full weight of the door fell toward her when it detached from its rusted hinges. She jumped back as it crashed to the floor and splintered into wooden daggers. Instinctively she lifted her foot and lost her balance. When her hand landed on the unstable countertop she felt the small box. She picked it up and shook it. “Matches.” She struck the first match. Nothing. Another. Nothing. Who knows how long these have rotted in this damp air?

“C’mon, please.”

The last one. Not a spark.

A muffled thud behind her halted her heavy sigh. She spun around to see the silhouette of a rocking chair by the window creak forward and come to a full stop.

Norma held her breath, waiting for the chair to move again. Then she saw it. A lone candle in the window beyond the chair.

“May I?” Norma said as she skirted the chair and made her way to the window. Years of melted wax had affixed the delicate white candle to the sill. One more match lay next to the mound. “Is this for me?” Her last hope for light. Her alabaster fingers carefully struck it against the rough sill. “Thank you,” she whispered as it flared and lit the candle.

If there were another presence in the room with her, it remained hidden in the dancing shadows of the corners, for most of the cabin’s interior became clear to her: the cabinet, now doorless, above a sagging countertop, a rusty spigot and handles jutting from a blackened porcelain sink, the closet’s interior, clearly empty aside from a single wire hanger dangling from the pole, the cast-iron stove, a small table and an overturned chair, and the wrought-iron frame of a double bed, its mattress and springs, no doubt, lost to rot, rust and wildlife years ago, a bed of pine needles, leaves, and shredded remnants of sheets in its stead.

Yet while there was no sign of life other than Norma in the room, she continued to speak aloud to the presence she still sensed.

“You have a lovely place.”

She said this without a hint of sarcasm or overstatement. The structure was indeed solid. Aside from the hole low in the corner of the front wall that perhaps an animal scratched through, the walls appeared sturdy and weather-proof. A deep crimson stain on the floor stood out, but otherwise there were no hints of water damage from a dripping ceiling. This, Norma decided, was a place that could protect her from elements and the cruel world she had escaped.

“Norma!”

His call shattered the silence and stopped her breath. Instantly, she wanted to run, to fling open the door and throw herself into the dark woods. But it was too late. His flashlight, as ominous as his voice cut through the candle light and stretched the rocking chair shadow across the back wall.

“Norma, darling?” The front porch ached with each clomp of his boot as he approached the door. “I know you’re in there. It’s all right. Daddy’s here.”

Norma froze. It was too late to blow out the taper and pretend to not be there. It was too late to run. It took everything for her not to call out. Not to yell “Leave me alone your fucking monster!” She closed her eyes. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to be dead. Her shoes remained planted in the dust-covered stain in the middle of the floor.

“Come out, darling.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “I don’t want to invade your space here, hon. But we need you to come on home.”

Like a human moan, the low creak of the closet door opening wide behind her called for her. Slowly she lifted one foot and placed it behind her. Then the other. Eyes locked on the front door latch, waiting to see it depressed, she backed her way into the closet.

“That’s all right. I know you’re scared. I’m coming in, okay?”

The bright beam of his flashlight slicing the cabin floor was the last thing she saw before pulling the closet door shut. She knew it would turn into a futile struggle, her straining to hold the door shut, him overpowering her and pulling it wide open, spilling her, screaming and sobbing, out into the room. But she had no other choice. Not anymore. She had literally backed herself into a corner. Her only recourse now was to fight and probably die doing it.

“There it is. Your pink backpack. I knew it.”

She hated his voice—its arrogance, its confidence, its condescending tone. Everything about it. It was deep and strong and he spoke with a familiarity and smoothness that made people feel at home. Yet he wielded it like a pry bar. It would open you up then beat you to death. She could see his beam of light from under the door, sweeping the room. She knew it was only a matter of time until….

“That’s where I’d be.” The beam locked on the door. Her grip on the knob tightened.

“Your mama and I love you. I love your mama and she loves me. You know that, right? You’re old enough to know that sometimes moms and dads get upset. They yell. Just part of being married. Why, she’s sitting in the car out on the road right now, probably laughing her ass off at some dumb thing she’s reading. She’ll be fine. She always is. Why don’t you come on out and see for yourself?”

He made no effort to hide his position. The heavy fall of his boots announced each step as he inspected the cabin.

“You want to play a game, Norma? You like games. Remember the scavenger hunts we did around the house when you were a little girl? We’d give you and your sisters clues and send you off to find the hidden prize. I know you loved those. Just for fun, I’m going to follow your clues. Don’t get me wrong; I know exactly where you are. But I sure would rather you came out on your own accord so I don’t have to get upset. So, how about this. I follow your size eight sneaker tracks all the way until I get to where you are now. I’ll bet I can even tell you everything you did since you stumbled into this God-forsaken place. And if you come out before I track you down, no harm, no foul. But if you don’t. Well, you know that for your own good I don’t spare the rod.”

Norma’s heart raced. She feared her trembling hand would rattle the door knob.

“Deal? All right, here we go. Let’s start with your pink bag here. Hmmm. What’d you bring?” She heard him pulling things out of her bag, her change of clothes falling to the floor. “Forty-five dollars and some change. Won’t get you far in this economy. What the hell? That my Visa? What were you thinking?”

He’s right, she thought. What was I thinking? How long did I think I could make it on that?

“Couple of Little Debbie cakes? Some chips. Bottled water. That’s it? That ain’t much to eat for two.”

Suddenly the beam of light beneath the closet door snapped off. She heard him smacking the flashlight with his other hand. The batteries died.

“Great timing, huh? That just makes it all the more fun. Luckily, you provided me with all the light I need. You chose to light a candle rather than to curse my darkness. Hmph,” he smirked. “I think you wanted to be found.”

Again, he’s right. I’m so stupid. What did I think a lit candle would do, drive him away?

“Look, Norma. Let’s just stop this.”

From the sound of the creaking rocking chair, Norma could tell that he sat down to make his final argument. He’s running out of patience.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to your mother. And you. But two wrongs don’t make a right. And again, I am so sorry. But running away will not fix anything. It will just make things worse. You’re old enough to know the dangers out there in this world. A young woman in your situation, desperate, alone, broke. You have any idea how vulnerable you are? You have any idea how many girls in your situation end up homeless? Selling themselves? Addicted to drugs? Or God forbid dead and tossed in a river or something? Listen to me, darling. I don’t want to break your spirit. I don’t want to, I don’t know, control you. I just want to take care of you. I know what’s good for you. And there aren’t many people out there who can say that.”

He was right, of course. What did she know about surviving on her own? As bad as home was, the world could be worse. Maybe she could use this. At least for a while. She could use this to keep him at bay. She could use this to help her mother, too. And her sisters. Be good or I’m doing it. Maybe that would make him stop. At least for a little while. Then I could leave. Or maybe she wouldn’t have to.

She released the door knob and the door cracked open. She heard the rocking chair’s groan as he rose out of it and stepped toward the closet. He was inches from the other side of the door, willing her to make the right decision and step out. She rose to her feet. The wire hanger rang against the top of her head.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered. “I hear you in there. Two hearts beating as one.”

Before she could push open the door it slammed shut. She tried to twist the knob but it wouldn’t budge.

“Daddy?” She called out. “I’m sorry!”

“Norma? Nor—-!” The word cut off. A muffled scream. A heavy weight crashed down on the floor, rattling the boards beneath her feet. She hit the deck to try to peek out beneath the door, only to see the heels of her father’s boots dragged away.

Norma knew in her bones that the presence she felt earlier had finally decided to come out of the shadows. Was it a stranger? A predator? Another lost soul?

After a moment of stillness, the closet door popped and crept its way half open. Norma slowly nudged it open enough to see the broken table shredded to kindling and scattered about the cabin floor. The overturned chair in pieces in the corner. And her father, arms and legs seemingly bound by nothing to the rocking chair by the window. The candle lit up like a torch so she could see every detail of her father’s contorted face. His jaw stretched to open his mouth, but something was keeping his lips tightly shut. His staunched voice strained against an invisible gag.

For the first time in Norma’s life her father was powerless. Vulnerable. At the mercy of something else. And, perhaps most acutely, terrified. His eyes showed it. He had seen the unimaginable. She was sure that even if he was able so speak he would be unable, for once, to find the words to explain it. Yet there before her, he fought to try. She wanted to help. She wanted to free him and take him back home. Not for her. Not for her mother or sisters. But just for him. He can change, she thought. He can change.

But simultaneously, she also felt for the first time, freedom. Something or someone here had worked, suffered, and even died to lead her to this moment. Her pink backpack was once again packed and waiting by the door. She could choose to help him or simply grab her bag and walk into the forest.

Her father had stopped struggling and, horrified, focused on something behind her. On the kitchen counter lay a shiny .38 Special, chamber open, with one bullet.

His eyes said everything he couldn’t voice. “Please, don’t.”

She picked up the revolver and the bullet and studied them. He began to squirm, the bridled fury in him building. The rocking chair leapt from the floor as he fought to free himself. Face turning red from the fight, veins bulging from his temples, he managed to open his mouth enough to scream one word: “WIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!”

The cabin quaked as if his anger were enough to crush it. The candle extinguished.

Only the flash of the gun split the darkness.

Before the chair rocked again, before blood seeped between the floorboards and dripped onto the leaves below, and before the soft sounds of muffled moaning turned to giggling, Norma lit the candle and settled in to her new home.

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night a candle burned in the window. And it burned hot.