Forgive Me

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The flame danced, enticing those in the shadows to come out. Becoming a beacon to all things lost. As the light grew, so too did the shadows of the trees surrounding the cabin; morphing the branches into fingers clawing towards the candlelight like the hands of someone buried alive desperately trying to grasp at anything to pull themselves up.

The woods, usually filled with the familiar sounds of the night, were silent except for the distant rumble of heavy footsteps. The sound of branches snapping and leaves crunching echoed through the woods. Each heavy stomp made its way towards the cabin. As if sensing what was to come, the door began to open.

Darkness. That’s all there is. A cold, lingering darkness that seems to expand past time and space. The kind of darkness that swallows you whole with the promise of never letting go. Just as the void yawned into silence, a cacophony of twigs breaking and leaves rustling came crashing in. The darkness is replaced by hands pushing aside branches, clumsy feet moving through the undergrowth, and a light in the distance. It takes me a few moments to realize that the ungainly limbs I’m seeing are my own. Everything feels disjointed and wrong, but something about the light feels familiar and warm. A jolt of panic runs through my body. Something is telling me to get to the light. Quickly. I move my body as fast as possible through the woods, feeling the tiny cuts the limbs leave behind as I brush past them. Eventually, the trees give way to a clearing that houses a small, derelict cabin with a candle burning in the window. The door gently sways open, inviting me inside. I call out but only receive silence in response. I make my way inside the cabin and my heart drops. It’s huge. I feel like I just walked into the tent from Harry Potter. The cabin I saw outside is much too small to house such a grandiose display.

Upon entry, I find myself in a large, open living room. There are neutral-colored rugs overlapping one another that covers the wooden floor. Two large windows frame a fireplace alongside the wall directly in front of the door. A mustard yellow couch sits in front of the fireplace and is framed by matching loveseats. The left wall has a console table placed in the middle of it, with a mirror directly above it. To the left of the door is the window that holds the lit candle that led me here. To my right is a staircase, and beyond that, I can see an open kitchen with an island sitting in the middle of it. Looking up, I can see the exposed wooden beams and a huge chandelier, made up of antlers holding the lightbulbs, hanging directly in the middle of the living room just behind the couch. The whole cabin glows with warm lighting, making it feel like home. I make my way further into the living room and see that the walls are covered in framed pictures. It looks like the same family pictured over time; a mother, father, and daughter. None of the pictures look like they were taken inside or near the cabin. Instead, they seem to be in various locations: a home in the suburbs, on vacation in Paris, Greece, and Australia, and a few school pictures of their daughter. The family is beautiful. The mother and father have jet black hair, icy blue eyes, and porcelain skin. Their daughter has a mess of bright red unruly curls, huge green eyes, and is covered in freckles. They feel familiar in a strange way. Like the families on sitcoms; you see them every night, but only know them through the context of a screen. But something about the dad stirs a sense of sadness inside of me that I can’t quite shake. I start to turn away when a sharp ringing in my ears begins. The pain is so blinding that I fall to my knees and instinctually cover my ears. I begin to scream. Howling like a hurt animal. Then as suddenly as it began, the ringing stops. Hesitantly, I remove my hands from my ears and wipe at the tears and snot that have flooded my face. Afraid to move, I curl into the fetal position in front of the couch.

I wake to a loud bang. I jump up from the floor, searching for the source. It was the chandelier. It had dropped from the ceiling and shattered on the floor. Pieces of glass and antler are scattered across the rugs. What the hell caused that? I turn towards the kitchen to look for a broom and see a shadowy black figure standing in front of the island. As soon as I realize it’s there, it’s gone. I look around, trying to find a glimpse of it moving somewhere along the walls, but there’s nothing. Even with it gone, I can’t shake the feeling of someone watching me. I still need a broom, so I work up the courage to go into the kitchen. I find a storage closet next to the fridge, but it’s empty. I glance around and see that the island is decorated with fresh fruit, and a bouquet sits in a vase. Curious, I turn to the cupboards and open up the doors. What? Instead of food, there are bottles upon bottles of liquor. I pick one up and it’s lighter than it should be. Empty. I grab another one and it’s also empty. I open the fridge and there’s more. The whole kitchen is full of empty liquor bottles. The room starts to spin and my stomach rolls as if I’ve just spent the whole night drinking. I stumble towards the sink. My empty stomach balls itself into a fist and contracts. I feel something moving up my throat, sharp and jagged. The force of it moving upwards causes my eyes to bulge and water. With relief, something falls out of my mouth and lands with a plink into the sink. I look down and it’s a set of car keys. Heavy tears run down my face as I slump to the floor. What the hell is going on?

I hold my head in my hands, grab fistfuls of my hair, and watch my tears land on the wooden floor with a soft splat. Trying to get a grasp on the situation at hand, I close my eyes and try to think. Where was I before the cabin? Before the woods? Scanning through my mind I only find darkness where answers should be. I don’t even remember my name or what I look like, for that matter. I scramble up to my feet as a memory comes flashing in. The mirror. I make my way to the wall where the console table is, the circle mirror hanging just above it. I look into it and see a sallow, pale man wearing a torn black shirt staring back at me. A patchy beard covers the lower half of my face. Dark, heavy bags have a permanent place underneath my dull hazel eyes. Disheveled brown hair flops lazily on the top of my head, threatening to fall into my eyes with one wrong turn. No longer interested in seeing the man in the mirror, I turn my attention to the table. A few drawers span the width of it. I take each one in turn. None of them budge until the last one slides open. Inside is a box of matches and a folded-up piece of notebook paper. I gently pry it open and find a handwritten note with the words “Forgive Me” in flowing cursive. As I stare at the apology, a drop of red falls onto the paper. The words are no longer formed by ink but by blood. I look up at the ceiling and see that a pool of blood has gathered directly above me and is starting to leak. I look back down into the mirror. The staircase behind me is covered in blood like someone had dragged a body or two upstairs. Every part of my body screams for me to run, to escape this hellhole. But something else is forcing me to turn towards the stairs, to take me to the crime scene that waits for me. I move up the stairs, careful to avoid the blood. At the landing, the trail of blood leads to a door left slightly ajar. I push through the door into a bedroom. On the floor lay two bodies, covered by sheets. Blood seeps through the thin cloth and pools beneath the bodies; blue and red lights flash through the room from an unknown source. A man sits on the bed above the bodies and sobs. Tears well in my eyes as the man’s cries fill my head. Overwhelmed by grief and sorrow, I lean against the wall and sink to the floor. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. As the words leave my mouth, the man stops crying. He turns his head sharply and glares at me with such hatred that my heart skips a beat. “You’re sorry?” He yells incredulously, “You don’t get to be sorry!” Suddenly, he’s pulling me up to my feet by my shirt. His face morphed into a mask of sadness, pain, and hate. I know you. Even with his features twisted, I recognize the man as the father in the pictures downstairs. “I’ll kill you!” He bellows in my face. Still grabbing me by my shirt, he pushes me through the door and sends me tumbling down the stairs. I hit my head hard on the bottom step, and it all fades to black.

It’s dark, but it isn’t silent. I can hear the squeal of tires and the hum of engines flying past me. I look down and see asphalt. I’m in the middle of the street. Although I can hear cars, I can’t see them. It’s like I’m hearing the sounds of the past echoed on the empty road. I search for any sign of life and see what looks like a campfire further down. I run towards it. The closer I get I realize it isn’t a campfire, but a car burning. I slow my pace and hear wailing. A man is standing by the burning car, screaming at the sky. It’s him. A spike of adrenaline runs through my body. I’ve gotta get out of here. I turn to run away from the horrific scene and am blinded by a pair of headlights speeding toward me.

I wake with the sound of squealing tires in my ears. Trying to shake the nightmare from my mind, I lift up from the couch. That’s strange. I don’t remember laying down. To add to my confusion, the cabin is pitch black. Even the candle in the window is snuffed out. I walk to the window on the left of the fireplace and peer out into the woods. It’s just as dark out there as it was when I first arrived. How long have I been here? Panic rises in my throat. I’ve gotta get out of here. My dream echoes into reality. I walk to the window, grab the candle, and walk back to the table where I found the matches. I light the candle and a flash of orange catches my eye in the mirror. My black shirt has been replaced by a prison jumpsuit. I feel sick just looking at it. I turn away from my reflection and walk towards the door. I twist the knob, but it doesn’t move. It’s been locked from the outside. Damn it! I turn back towards the cabin, surveying my surroundings. Moving the light around, I see that the chandelier is no longer shattered on the floor, but hanging once again. There’s also no sign of blood on the stairs or the ceiling. The facade of normalcy the cabin has put on doesn’t hide the tension thrumming just beneath the surface. I walk to the kitchen, hoping I missed a back door. Flies buzz around and the smell of sickly sweet rot fills up my nose. I gag and look towards the island. All of the fruit has begun to decompose and the flowers have wilted away. I cover my nose and search, but there’s nothing. No door. No open window. Nothing.

I feel the heat of an open fire at my back. I turn to see the fireplace crackling and the man sitting on the couch. I hesitate at the sight of him, but he doesn’t seem to notice me. His head hangs down, his body shakes with silent sobs. I slowly shuffle my way to the loveseat to the right of him. I sit down as softly as possible, so as not to disturb him, and hold the candle in my lap. At his feet is a framed picture of him and his family. They look happy. Next to it is a newspaper with a large picture of me underneath the headline: “Son of billionaire found not guilty for vehicular manslaughter, guilty for DUI.” It all comes flooding in, memories swimming to the surface of my mind. Drinks. Getting behind the wheel, speeding off. The crunch of metal against metal. Bodies covered by a piece of cloth on the side of the road. The man crying and screaming at the sky, at me. My trial, followed by probation. More drinking. More driving. Then fire.

I resurface to the present. I’m so sorry. The words dissipate in the air between us. I use this moment of silence to look at him, properly this time. His clothes look slept in. Button-down shirt misbuttoned, pants wrinkled. His hair, now streaked with gray, is disheveled. His face is scruffy with facial hair and tears. He’s hunched over holding a handwritten note that states “Forgive Me” and a gun. “I lost everything because of you.” The words come out like a whisper, but the venom still stings. “My world fell apart and you got to walk away.” I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I’m at a complete and total loss. He lays the note on top of the photo and whispers, “Forgive me, my loves.” He opens his mouth and screams. His pain radiates through me, through the cabin. His guttural cries pin me to the loveseat, forcing me to watch. The cabin, unable to withstand the grief and anger any longer, begins to shake. The windows shatter and the door bangs open. The framed photos fall from the walls, shattering into pieces. The fire threatens to crawl right out of the fireplace. The man continues to scream, tears streaming down his face. My heart breaks. I’m sorry! Please, please forgive me! I’ll do anything! The man stops. We lock eyes as he walks in front of me, kneeling at eye level. “I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.” He spits, “You deserve to suffer, like I have, for eternity.” He grabs me by my shoulders and brings me in close. I watch as his face morphs into an unnatural grin, eyes rolling into the back of his head while red tears run down his cheeks. “You will always come back to me,” he whispers, in a voice not quite his own. I grit my teeth as a wave of white-hot pain rolls through my body. I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. He tightens his hold on my shoulders, and I let out a gasp as my body spasms beneath his grip. “You will always come back.”

When the pain subsides, I slowly open my eyes. He’s gone, but in his wake, the cabin lays destroyed. I look down and see the lit candle in one hand and a set of car keys in the other. I want to scream, but my mouth won’t open. I try to throw the keys across the room, but my fingers stay wrapped around them. I can’t escape. This is my fate. I stand up against my will, a prisoner in my own body. As my feet walk me to the door, I feel the cabin beginning to recreate the scene. The windows repair themselves, the pictures take their places on the walls, and the fireplace is cooled. Everything is in its place once again. I set the lit candle in the window and walk through the open door. The car waits for me as I leave the cabin. I climb in behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition. That’s when the fire starts. I know that this is how I died and how I will continue to die. Burning in the own hell I’ve created. The heat becomes unbearable and the flames lick at my face. I close my eyes and see the family in the pictures. The father chases his daughter and wife around, as they squeal with laughter. He catches them in a hug and beams down at them. They’re happy. And then it fades away.

Darkness. That’s all there is. A cold, lingering darkness that I can only hope will keep me in its grasp. But then I hear it. The crunching of leaves and the breaking of twigs. The darkness is forcefully replaced by hands pushing through limbs and clumsy feet making their way through the underbrush. It takes a moment, but I realize that this is my body moving through dense woods. I look up and see a light glowing in the distance. A jolt of panic runs through me. Something inside of me tells me that I need to get the light. Quickly. I move as fast as possible through the trees, catching a glimpse of a cabin waiting for me.