Enigma

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Agatha had been waiting for quite some time to sit down and finish her story. She had procrastinated, as most writers tend to do, long enough. She needed inspiration, so she decided to write in the creepiest place she could find. The light sound of tree branches tapping on the roof, the whistle of the wind, and the slight flicker of the candle flame added to the eeriness. The atmosphere was unsettling to say the least, yet she could only reread her opening line.

“Look out your window. You are being watched.”

She leans back in her chair and looks around the cabin. It had stood abandoned for as long as she could remember. The story was that, should you linger, a creature would appear from the woods and drag you away, never to be seen again. Some say it would take your body and devour it. Others claimed it would transport you to an alternate dimension. Most believed it to be a demon straight from hell, taking souls to add to its collection. Of course, Agatha didn’t believe any of it. How did the stories come to be if people were dragged away never to be heard from again? Not just that, but it was just so cliche. She glances down and reads her line out loud.

“Look out your window. You are being watched.”

She glances out of the window and peers into the darkness. Nothing but the reflection of the candle. A ghostly flame in the night. A tingle at the back of her neck. Goosebumps on her forearms. She shakes it off and begins to put pen to paper. Just writing is supposed to get the juices flowing, so she decides to write different variations of her opening line. Hopefully this would spark some sort of inspiration.

“Look out your window. It is in the darkness. Look out your window. It is at the wood-line.”

Over and over again she repeats different choices of her first sentence. Still, nothing else comes to her mind. It’s as if her pen is manifesting the words itself… flowing steadily across the paper. After writing a dozen alternatives she drops the pen, aggravated that her imagination won’t seem to work. She takes a pause and glances out of the window for a moment longer than she did before. The candle flickers and the tree branches continue tapping at the wooden ceiling. The darkness is vast. Hard to tell what was out in the woods surrounding her. She listens and thinks she hears rustling leaves. The footsteps of a deer or some other animal maybe? Definitely not human. She glances down at her paper before writing another line.

“Look out your window. Its footsteps grow closer.”

A shiver travels down her spine imagining what it would be like to be watched without knowing. To be stalked in the night by an unknown predator, like a helpless animal in the wilderness. Another hour of creative nothingness passes by. The tapping of the tree branches has ceased. Quieting the space around her. She turns to face the window again, resting her chin in her hand. The candle has melted halfway and the wax drips steadily. It is hard to see over the glare being cast onto the glass but she swore something was out in the woods moving around. Her eyes linger for a few more seconds before returning to her work.

“Look out your window. It is approaching the cabin.”

She begins writing frantically for the next hour. Anything with sustenance would be better than repeating variations of her opening line, but she could think of nothing else. She continues writing anyway.

“Look out your window. It can hear your heartbeat.”

She hears something and pauses. She glances out into the night. This time she definitely sees the outline of some figure, slowly making its way toward the front porch. She freezes. The flame dances wildly. She watches for a moment, her heart beating in her chest. After a moment, she laughs at herself and returns to her writing. Her imagination was surely playing tricks on her.

“Look out your window. It is on the porch.”

The next time she checks the figure is on the front porch, staring at her through the window. Her heart is pounding in her chest. She closes her eyes, hoping the enigma will vanish. She can feel her hand moving across the paper as she continues writing frantically.

“Look out your window. It is at the door.” She tries to stop but the pen continues scribbling, as if possessed. She tries to cry out for help but no voice escapes her lips. She hears the door knob rattle but she can’t stop writing.

“Look behind you. It is opening your door.” The door creaks. She is panicking. Her heart is in her throat. She is stuck again, writing the same line over and over.

“Look behind you. It is there. Look behind you. It is there. Look behind you.”

The tentacles wrap around her skull before everything goes black. She feels the searing pain and smells her flesh being melted and ripped apart. She hears her skull cracking under the pressure. She feels herself painfully dying and then…

She wakes up. She is sweating. Her breath is heavy in her chest. Darkness is all around her. It takes a moment to realize she had fallen asleep while writing. The candle had gone out. Almost burned down to nothing. She listens. The light tapping of the tree branches on the roof. The whistle of the wind. The sound of leaves rustling as animals run around in the darkness. She chuckles to herself as she realizes it had all been a dream. Her imagination playing tricks on her. What a great story to tell. She sparks a match and lights the candle once more. As the light falls across the page her breath catches in her chest. Only one line is written. A line she couldn’t remember writing.

“Look behind you.”