Incessant

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

I don’t know how I know that. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I am, but I know that candle. It’s bright and dancing in the dirty window. I can almost feel the warmth after being in the cold of the forest.

Has it been days? Years? Since I dug myself out of a shallow grave. I can still taste the dirt, can still feel it clinging to my skin like a slimy film. The branches have left scratches across my body and they ache from the cold. The tattered fragments of clothes do nothing to protect against the frigid temperature.

Can whoever is in there help me? With weak steps I approach the cabin. It’s not large, but it looks threatening somehow. The woods have been quiet and in my haste to figure out what happened to me, I failed to realize the situation I’m in. I just need to warm up and maybe drink something. Surely someone has to be in there or the candle wouldn’t be lit.

I knock on the door, soft taps really. I didn’t realize how weak I was. It’s as if my body is ready to stop fighting at the first sign of civilization. The door creaks open just a crack. “Hello?” I try to call out. But my voice cracks and it feels like sandpaper was dragged up my throat. When no one answers, I push the door open more. The only light is a soft glow from the candle in the window.

There is nothing to distinguish any rooms inside the cabin. There aren’t any rooms. There’s a small kitchen on one side, a bed on the other, maybe a bathroom on the wall between the two. A door next to the bathroom, maybe a cellar of some kind. A table sits in the middle of the room with a glass of water and a bowl of what I assume is soup.

I rush to it, grabbing the glass and taking large gulps. Halfway through I start gagging and coughing. It lights my throat on fire, but I drink more. Slowly this time. The soup is warm so someone must have been here not long ago. They wouldn’t mind given the circumstances, right? The warmth of the soup is a balm to my raging throat. I sip it in slow gulps.

My head splits and I cry out in agony. It feels like something is cleaving my head in half. Fragments, dirt, water, the color red… they move to fast. Bits and pieces. Who I am? Where I am? What happened to me? I stumble up, knocking the glass to the floor. It shatters. The bed is only four paces from the table, I fall. Then darkness.

A cold weight on my temple. My eyes open, surroundings only illuminated by the soft glow of the candle. A gun. That’s what that is. “Why are you in my cabin?” Deep, dark. Old.

“I don’t know.” I rasp. I stay still. Will this man kill me?

“Where’d ya come from?” I slide my eyes to the side. He’s rugged, hair everywhere. His clothes are dark, dirty.

“The woods. A grave I think. I mean no trouble. I just need some help.” I swallow, attempting to soothe my miserable throat. He lowers the gun. “Thank you.”

He points past me. “Bathroom is there. You can shower if you’d like.” He tosses a piece of fabric to me. A shirt. I nod and stand on wobbly legs. The bathroom is small. There is no door, but the stand up shower has a curtain. I step inside, remove my ripped clothes and turn the water on.

I sigh as the warm liquid glides over my body. A weight washes down the drain with dirt and blood. I will never take a shower for granted again. I turn the water off, slide the shirt onto my wet skin and leave the bathroom.

The candle in the window has been blown out, it’s light replaced with artificial ones from tiny lights in the ceiling. “You blew the candle out?” I ask the man.

“It’s a special one. Don’t need it anymore.” I watch as he moves about the small kitchen space. He’s sitting various things on the table. Food, I think. “I’ll be leaving. Eat. Rest. Stay inside the cabin. It’s not safe out there alone.” With that, he leaves and shuts the door hard.

I look at the snuffed out candle. It’s large, with melted wax running down the sides and onto the windowsill. The lights hurt, so I turn them all off. With the cabin cloaked in darkness, I lay back on the bed. Rest. He said to rest. Then he will help me.

I wake with a startle. It’s still dark. Am I sleeping through the days? Has it even been days? I sit up, my head swims. I close my eyes, flashes burn through my eyelids. I snap them open, it’s still dark. A loud bang sounds, and a cry slips from me. I can’t see. Scratching sounds all around me. Every wall of the cabin, as if tiny creatures are scuttling up and down. Up and down.

My skin pebbles. “Hello?” I call out. Nothing. The scratching grows intense, then a low humming, then nothing. Total silence.

I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. On light feet I approach the door. Maybe he’s just right outside. I pull the handle. It doesn’t move. It’s not locked in here. I pull again. It won’t budge. Am I locked inside? I back away until I bump into the bed. Why would he lock me inside?

Everything has blurred. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I’m not sure I’m even still alive. The scratching never stops. The fragments never make sense. The humming gets louder and louder. I ran out of food. The man has not come back. I’m sitting on the bed, staring at the window with the candle. I’ve never seen daylight. It never comes here. Nothing ever comes here.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My eyes look through the window. A vicious smile greets me. Slimy lips pulled back over crooked teeth. It laughs at me. It mocks me. It drains me. Then its gone.

How long has it been? Where am I again? Was is fire that brought me here? Or was it sunlight? No. I’ve never seen sunlight, right?

My eyes roam the space of the cabin, stopping on that door by the bathroom. Have I ever opened it? Surely I must have. I think I’ve been here for a while. I go to the door, place my ear against it and listen. Nothing.

I turn the knob, it clicks. I pull the door open. Stairs. Down. I go. A switch to my right provides low light accompanied with a soft buzzing. All the way down I go. Dirt floors. Concrete walls. Chains, buckets, weapons… and on the furthest wall, photos. I step closer. I think, I think they’re photos of me. The body looks like mine. I don’t know what my face looks like. I don’t know who I am.

Chained. Broken. Scratching. Humming. Laughing.

The scratching surrounds me. It’s so much louder here. Like they’re moving towards me. Closer and closer. I run for the stairs. I stumble up. I fall. My chest hurts. My head splits again. Screaming.

The smile chuckles at me through the window. I yell, barreling into the door. I kick it, I slam my fists into it. “Please! Let me out, please!” I sob. I yank, using all of weight. The door gives and I fall with the force of my pulling. I stand and run. I don’t look where the smile taunts by the window. I don’t see if the scratching has hands. I run into the woods.

My heart beats hard in my chest. I can’t stop the sobs spilling out. I have to get out. I have to get away. My feet ache from the rough ground. I’m freezing from the cold, but I don’t stop. I run and run. Until I can’t breathe.

Diving behind a large tree, I lean against it. Willing my breathing to even out. Willing myself to remain quiet. I hear the twigs crack before I see him. His eyes are clouded with a darkness I didn’t see before. I put my hands in front of me, placating. “Please. Please don’t make me go back.” I cry. He advances toward me. I turn.

Throbbing pain meets my head. Warm liquid runs down the back of my neck. My vision swims and I collapse. I see his dirty boots before I feel his fingers tangle into my hair. He tugs, drags me. I kick. I scream. I try to pry his hands off. “Please!” I beg in between gasping breaths.

He tugs me up, shoves me back. I fall. Into a hole. I stand, seeing him just over the edge of the hole. No, a grave. He begins throwing dirt on me. “Why are you doing this? Please.” I sob again.

“For the good of all, one must endure.” He keeps throwing dirt. The laughter returns. The humming grows overbearing. Like millions of cicadas surround us. I try to scramble out. He knocks me on the head with the shovel.

The dirt is cold. I can feel it rattle in my lungs. I’m going to die. I’m going to suffocate. Dirt hits my face, mixing with the tears. A slimy film. I can’t fight anymore. Everything is fading away. Cold and then darkness.

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

I don’t know how I know that. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I am, but I know that candle. It’s bright and dancing in the dirty window. I can almost feel the warmth after being in the cold of the forest.