48 Years of Guilt

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

29 November, 2022: I knew that candle was burning for me, like an anti-lighthouse, issuing a warning that I was unable to heed.

A large moon was already overhead, its glow unrestricted on the still and cloudless, late November night. I moved towards the light, resigned to my fate, boots crunching through the frozen autumn leaves. I didn’t need to silence my approach. I knew they’d be expecting me, and they knew I’d come.

Heading to the window, I surveyed the scene inside.

Five young friends were gathered in a circle, two on an old but comfortable sofa, oblivious to what insect or rodent life might be housed inside. Two more sat on the floor, long legs stretched out in front as they leaned against an upturned bench. A third sat, cross-legged, on a folded, tartan blanket.

Three girls and two boys. Of course, I recognized them all.

Close together on the sofa sat Angie and Alex. ‘The Two As,’ we called them. They not only shared the same first initial, but were born on the same day, each within minutes of the other, they lived next-door. Their earliest collective memory was playing together in one or other of their houses. Clearly very much in love, it was just accepted that they’d marry and raise the perfect family. Angie had no desires other than to marry Alex. Alex had a bright future lined up in the town’s top accountancy firm. We all knew he’d make partner one day. He was clever. We could tell by his “Buddy Holly” specs and the fact that he favoured short back and sides while the rest of us grew our hair as long as we could get away with.

‘The two As’ were one of those couples destined to feature in a newspaper article on celebrating their Platinum wedding anniversary, giving readers a warm, fuzzy, feeling as they read about the childhood sweethearts.

The stretched out limbs belonged to Kate & Gary. Two fiery personalities, their relationship was on and off more times than a cowboy at a rodeo. Still, we all knew they’d last the distance. They only fought because they were both so passionate.

Their passion extended to everything they did, including their involvement in local politics and charities. Kate was planning to study law at university, assuming she got the grades (which we knew she would). Gary was older, already working an apprenticeship in his Father’s garage and a board member of two charities – one for children, the other for animal welfare. He was young for such roles, but his excellent debating skills and caring personality made up for what he lacked in birthdays. We envied Gary for earning a wage, owning a car and having longer hair than the rest of us.

And then there was Julie.

Even though I knew she’d been running round after her disabled Mum all day, she looked fresh and vibrant. I could swear there was a light shining from within, but maybe that was just the love-light in my own eyes, for Julie was the love of my life. We’d been dating for almost a year, since I plucked up the courage to ask her out. No mean feat for a gawky 16-year-old. It took months before I was convinced she actually liked me and wasn’t just accepting out of kindness or pity. I planned to propose on her 18th birthday, by which time I’d be 6 months past mine.

The coziness of the candle-lit scene contrasted with the chill that crept down the back of my neck. Was it from the physical cold or something else? I couldn’t tell, but I knew I couldn’t remain an observer. It was time for me to join my friends so I headed toward the door and lifted the rusty old latch.

As I entered, I was met with a blast of warm air. The aroma of the cabin’s heated wood mingled with the smell from the old paraffin heater. I suppose it wouldn’t pass muster with Health & Safety these days, but in the mid 1970s in an abandoned cabin in the middle of thick woods, who was checking?

Without removing my coat, I took my allotted space on the floor beside my beloved Julie, my arrival barely acknowledged as all attention was directed toward Gary, an excellent raconteur, currently in the middle of a riveting, and no doubt massively embellished, story.

I waited, loosening my scarf against the sudden heat but not removing my coat. I knew I wouldn’t be there for very long.

With a quick grin in my direction, Julie reached over and took my hand. I savoured the feel of her slim fingers and smooth skin. Her delicate perfume replacing the paraffin odour. I closed my eyes and drank it in, wishing with all my heart I could stay in this moment forever, never moving on to the inevitable conclusion of the evening.

But I knew it could never be.

Even as I glanced down at Julie’s wristwatch – the one with the pink strap and the diamante face that was a gift from me for her last birthday, I saw the time approaching 11.48pm.

I wondered whether I could just keep my eyes on that watch face, but as the second hand ticked around, a chill and a deathly silence descended upon the cabin. Simultaneously, all the candles extinquished, although there was no wind. The paraffin heater’s blue flame had ceased to burn. The room was brightly lit by the moonlight that flooded in the windows. Still, I kept my eyes down.

Julie’s voice: “Look at me, Frank.” It was a command, not a request and I turned to her.

For one bittersweet moment, I once again locked eyes with Julie’s baby blues before her face began to distort into a mask of fear and horror.

Powerless to look away, I watched as Julie’s beautiful face and body crumpled inward, as if crushed by an invisible force. There was a chorus of snapping bones while her head was flung back so violently that her neck split open, producing a plume of blood jugular blood rising in a fountain that smacked against the cabin ceiling before spreading and dripping back down. All movement stopped and her body remained fixed in that unnatural, grotesque pose. Blood soaked every inch of her torn clothing. And I was helpless to intervene.

Julie hadn’t even had time to scream in her final moments, but somebody was.

I looked across to where Kate and Gary sat, leaning against the bench. Gary’s anguished scream filled the room as the hair and flesh were torn from the crown of his head to his chin, taking with it his right ear and half of his face. Whatever hit him crushed his right eye socket and the eyeball burst out and exploded as if someone had stamped on it. His scream became a gurgle as blood from his ripped neck filled his throat. The damage continued down his body, ripping his right arm from the socket so it hung by the material of his sweater. Then, just as quickly, the carnage stopped and Gary slumped to the ground in a bloody heap.

Right on cue, Kate began thrashing her limbs around, intermittently gasping and gurgling, her skin turning white and her lips blue – although there was no water in the old cabin, it was obvious Kate was drowning, and in exceptionally cold water. Suddenly, the thrashing stopped, Kate’s eyes widened momentarily and her body became rigid as her heart arrested. All dreams of becoming a lawyer died with her in the frozen depths.

Forced to sit and watch the horror unfolding, I knew there was still worse to come.

From the overstuffed sofa came the first sounds of panic as an intense heat began to build. Angie & Alex, together from birth, screamed in unison, such sounds as I’d never heard before, never wished to hear again but could never forget. The two As mirrored each other in death throes as their outer skin began to melt and contract before the thicker layers beneath began to split open causing fluids and fat to pour from within. These bodily fluids appeared to add fuel to the fire and accelerate the process. The contraction of the skin caused their limbs to distort, their hair disappeared, and their eyelids and lips shrunk to reveal a horrific and agonized death mask. And all the while, there was screaming the likes of which I pray you – dear reader - will never experience.

Long after the screaming stopped and my friends were granted the mercy of death, their bodies continued to “burn,” but I didn’t have to watch any longer. The guilt of 48 years only kept me watching until each of my friends was dead.

I collapsed to the floor, overcome with the intensity of the horror I’d witnessed. Although I’d relived the experience every year, the revulsion never lessened.

29 November, 1974: We loved meeting in the old cabin in the woods. Not many people knew about it and nobody wanted to be responsible for it, so we made it our special place.

Gary brought in the old paraffin heater from his Dad’s garage when they got a better one, and he supplied the fuel. The sparse furnishings were already in there so all we needed were a few candles, matches, booze and smokes. Oh, and some cool sounds, of course.

We’d all pile into Gary’s six-year-old Zephyr IV, three of us in the front, sliding along the bench seat, and three in the back. Gary would belt along the narrow lanes and across the old bridge, slowing down only when we turned onto the dirt track that led through the woods to the cabin.

Once there, we’d argue about which LPs to play on Julie’s battery-operated turntable. The boys were into rock while the girls preferred Abba and Elton John. We always sorted it out in the end.

That’s how we spent most Friday and Saturday nights, and tonight was no exception. I was in particularly high spirits as I’d passed my driving test that day. I was in the mood to celebrate, and celebrate I did. Oh, I know I wasn’t really old enough to drink – aside from Gary, none of us were, but hey…

We didn’t usually stay too late on Fridays as some of us had to work the following day, so we packed up around 11.30pm. I begged Gary to let me drive back to town, keen to show my friends my new, fully-licensed, driving skills. Gary was reluctant but I worked on him. It was only four miles and we could swap over when we got to the edge of town, I promised.

Gaza was a good friend and he could see how excited I was, so, eventually, he relented. He couldn’t know that our plans rang the death knell for all five of them.

The journey began well enough. We barely needed the headlights as the moon was so bright. It was a clear night and the road surface twinkled with a thick covering of frost.

With Julie beside me and in control of 2.5 litres of V6 engine, I felt a million dollars. Then Gary, seated in the front beside Julie, reached over and slid Bachman Turner Overdrive into the 8-track. The opening guitar riff of ‘You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet’ filled the night. Gaz cranked the volume and somebody started whooping. Gary wound his window down. Kate, seated behind him, followed suit.

The heady combination of the alcohol, the music, the wind in my hair and the powerful motor under my control conspired to make me feel invincible and I pressed down on the accelerator.

As we rounded the bend just before the old bridge, the nose-heavy vehicle decided to teach this young buck a lesson. I felt the rear end begin to float, skidding on the frosty tarmac.

What happened next took place, it seemed, in slow motion.

I had time to read the date on the poster advertising the Christmas Fair before the Zephyr ploughed into the telegraph pole displaying it.

Of course, there were no seat belts in those days but somehow, the twisting of the car’s body popped open my door and I was flung free.

Julie wasn’t so lucky. As the bonnet crumpled, the heavy, hot engine was shoved directly into her and the roof was bent down, forcing her head backwards, the metal breaking her neck and splitting the skin.

I saw the jet of Julie’s precious blood at the same time as Gary’s scream drew my attention to him. He’d been thrown out, just like me, but had hit the wall of the old bridge and lost half his head, face and arm.

Although I didn’t realize it until later, Kate had also been thrown through her open rear window, straight over the bridge wall into the freezing, fast-flowing river below.

But the worst fate befell the two As. Trapped in the back where the front bench had been forced into them, they had no chance when the cigarette Alex had been smoking ignited the punctured paraffin can that Gary had used to bring fuel for the old paraffin heater. There wasn’t much in it, but enough to act as a very efficient fire starter. Fed by the combustible materials inside the car, and the abundance of nylon clothing they wore, Alex and Angie were quickly engulfed. The sound of their suffering will haunt me forever.

My friends’ horrible deaths were down to me and all I had were a few scratches.

29 November, 2022: I’ve lived with the guilt for 48 years.

You’d think time would make it easier but it doesn’t. I swear it gets worse. I don’t know, perhaps we get more sensitive as we age, or maybe every year feels like another year I took from them. In fact, with each life experience I have, I feel their loss more acutely. They never got to fulfill their potential, never realized their dreams and were never able to grow old.

One day, I guess I’ll join them but until then, I know what I must do on 29 November each year.

I have no choice, it’s my penance.