Should Have Checked

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night a candle burned in the window. One night in particular, that is, every three years. August 1st to be exact. The funny thing about time, is its insatiable hunger for recollection. Legacy, memories, legends and lore are at some point sentenced to be consumed and passed through the ethereal bowels of time. Some legends and lore however, are too imposing to be fully devoured. They're spared the digestion of forgetfulness, even if they come out on the other side gnarled and barely recognizable. This legend however, is the most crucial to preserve. Not for the sake of those who share in it's history, but for those who wish to avoid the consequences of ignoring it.

Beth dug frantically through the tattered cigar box she kept by her nightstand table. She was running out of time. Where was it? She was so disciplined and habituated with its resolute storage after her trips out to the cabin. How could it be missing? Her heartrate was composed but her mind was a wreck, turbulent and racing. It wasn't exactly hard to overlook. An impressive incisor the size of a steak knife, rusted red and brown in color with a hollowed point. The only chance this town has to survive.

Most people outside of West Wenatchee aren't familiar with this rural towns unspeakable burden. And for good reason. The few remaining residents only stay to keep the town quiet and off the map, as boring and mundane as possible. Too many curious minds had ended up missing, only to be found later scattered throughout the woods. And if it wasn't curiosity, it was the most unfavorable case of wrong place, wrong time. There hadn't been an incident for the past 15 years however. Even though the sense of dread permeated throughout the town. The night of August 1st, 2007 was the last time a murder was reported in those woods. Beth, her mother and grandmother had gone to cement the binding script that had barely held for decades. It was during the summer Beth had finally come into her abilities. The strength of three was the key, but it came with an unforeseen price. An unplanned sacrifice. Her mothers life for a small parcel of the demon. The piece that would chain the entity to its entry point on the anniversary of its arrival. Which is why Beth made the trek back, every three years, to guard the cabin and continue strengthening the veil between the realms. Until she could figure out a means to send the beast back from whence it came.

The summer of 1950 had been ideal for Beths grandmother, Sable. Her parents had finally given permission to stay up at the family cabin with her closest girlfriends. Loaded with snacks, magazines and a lifted bottle of peppermint schnapps from the liquor cabinet, it was supposed to be a weekend of teenage debauchery. One last hurrah on the crest of summer, right before entering the final year of high school. On the first night there and half the bottle gone, one of the girls surprised the group with a Ouija board. It was seen as harmless at the time, a trite and overhyped board game for kids with inflated imaginations. Sable had the good fortune of coming from a strong history of diviners, and was well aware of the dangers these boards possessed. The pleas and bribes and attempted charms she cast did nothing to change the minds of her ill fated friends. The thing about Ouija boards is no matter how spectral you are, no matter your strength in medium and clairvoyance, you never knows what's on the other side. Ever.

Sable had enough foresight to etch a cloaking and protective sigil into her ankle using the back of her earing. The girls chanted, and the abstract doors opened. What happened after has been interpreted in every way possible to ease the minds of those clinging to sanity to avoid acknowledging such evil exists. Theories ranging from wild animal attacks to escaped psychopathic murderers to Bigfoot still float around to help the locals get along.

It was a group of hikers that had the misfortune of stumbling upon the unholy mess. At first, they only found Sable. Bloodied and battered, missing her tongue but otherwise alive and intact. She was found hiding behind the hot water heater, squished as far back into the corner she could get herself into. Something had tried reaching in and only managed to graze her arm repeatedly. She was in shock, pallid in the face. Eyes bloodshot and body trembling. Initially, it was speculated to be a bear or cougar. Until they found the other girls... at least what remained of them. They were strung up in the trees, their bodies turned inside out. Heads missing and muscles stretched out to resemble the sails of a boat. No pools of blood, no bones, no organs. Just the gruesome display of flagellated carcasses kiting around in the wind. The tree trunks had gashes in them no animal of notable size could have made. The hikers spiraled into a panicked retreat. They left Sable, unsure if her injuries would slow them down or even worse, attract whatever had been responsible for the desecration. When the police finally arrived, they found Sable madly scratching away at the cabin floor with a pocket knife. To the uninformed mind, it appeared to be a clutter of lines and dashes. Upon closer inspection one could see she had painstakingly filled the grooves with her own blood. Sable was later put in the local psych ward after her interrogation and sentencing, then released 12 years later. Her release relied heavily on the fact that every three years, another grisly murder scene was found within a 10 mile radius from the cabin. Each discovery stirred more fear into the community. The townsfolk came to Sable every time, pleading with her to share her experience again. Always hoping to find some overlooked insight or at the very least a helpful clue. Was it something they could trap and kill? Would it come into the town? She was subjected to an awkward back and forth dance of being praised for her survival and bravery, being begged for information and to give help. But when she recounted the events of that night, accusations of Satanist cults, necromancy and insanity were all that was left in the end.

The etchings in the floor of that cabin were a sloppy restrictive spell, meant to act like a long leash for the host of the casters choice. Anyone unfortunate enough to be too close to the end of that leash on August 1st, was met with a morbid end. Hunters, campers, hikers, religious practitioners and supernatural enthusiasts. Dare devils and nay-sayers. No one could escape or outrun the evil that resided within the bounds of that area. The night Beth lost her mother, was the night they had gone to fix the original runes. An attempt to take the beasts leash away and confine it at the gate it came through. They were successful, but only because her mother had faced the entity in a self sacrificing act of heroism. In order for the containment to take hold and remain, the conjurer needs to have a fragment of the being or presence. Whatever piece is acquired is then used as a means of control over the entity. While they couldn't change the time spans for the demons return, they could at least keep it behind the door.

This is why Beths desperation to find the prized tooth was of utmost importance. There wasn't much time left to get to the cabin. Alarm started to creep into her bones. A stillness was possessing the air, the sun was inching closer to the horizon. Even the buzz and hum of insects started to soften. Beth invoked a location enchantment, and her hand came into a life of its own. It was trying to pull her towards the closet. She flung the doors open and her hand latched on to the shabby jean jacket. How could she have been such a blockhead! She remembered now. When she had gone out to the cabin the last time. There was a meddling amateur astronomer hanging out on the dilapidated porch. The lit candle was erratic with its flickering dance. The malignant spirit sensed a prime delicacy from the other side of the door. It seethed with unquenchable gluttony. Beth had used the cuspid to scare the star gazer away. She may have been a touch dramatic when she plunged it down into her thigh, screaming out her first dictum in a language older than Latin. She was certain she'd cultured enough blood to complete the séance after that performance. That night had made her foggy in the head. Exerting the extra work to becalm the brute was taxing. All this and the ache in her leg wound up being distracting enough for her to be careless with the placement of the razor sharp fang.

Beth yanked it from the pocket and made haste. The orange and pink hues in the sky were being hounded by the deep violets and indigos that would soon resolve to the black of night. The road leading to the cabin had been neglected for years. Warning signs hollered from each side of the overgrown driveway; 'Condemned' and 'Hazardous Waste', every bit of signage that would convince even a two celled organism to rethink their decision to enter the space that lay ahead.

Beth parked in the clearing off to the side of the somber cabin. The candle was not yet aflame. Keeping distanced from the porch, Beth laid out her casting mat, bowls, conductors and charms. No improvised leg stabs or appalling palm cuts tonight. This time she came prepared with an IV catheter. She wished for a moment that she had practiced a bit more with the sticking of the needle. A few haphazard pokes later and her small brass cup was met with the warm crimson extract needed to start the tedious rite. That's when the candle flared. It was time. A hush engulfed the entire plot of land the cabin was situated on. The placidity was stifling, as if someone had sealed you inside a zip lock bag. Beth had already begun her invocations, placing the Hellions fang inside the cup with the viscous offering. The candle flame flicked blue which meant only one thing; it was here. The creaking coming from the weather aged cabin was piercing, emitting an unnatural squalling groan. The deranged incubus was thrashing at the dimensional door, frenzied and crazed. Trying to find a fingerhold in the frame to come erupting out, propelled by chaos, blood thirst and insidious intentions. Something was different this time. The force and urgency behind the monsters incessant rapping was more than Beth had ever encountered. That's when it dawned on her... she hadn't checked within the cabin before starting. Could someone be inside? The screaming was a direct answer. Her focus broke. The blood curdling sharpness of absolute fear and horror. Judging by the tone of terror, Beth knew this poor individual was already in the demons custody. With new blood spilled, Beth wouldn't be able to maintain the seal. A bout of unhinged virility wavered from the house and the air was a cacophony of indiscernible hisses and whispers, gurgling and raspy coughs. The cabin was vibrating, incapable of withstanding the dark force from within its den. There was a resounding crunch which abruptly ended the terror-stricken clamor. Beth placed herself under a cryptic and clandestine hex, to hide her presence, both visual and metaphysical. She sat, trembling in silence, her eyes locked on the monstrosity emerging with its victim dangling in hand. It was tall, 13 feet easily. Bipedal with black scaly skin and an abnormally long neck. Its tail whipped back and forth as it's raptor-like feet dug into the ground. The head was oblong with tall pointed reptilian ears. Spikes and claws littered its spine, elbows and hocks. It was horrid to behold. An instrument whose only function and desire was to demolish souls and the vehicles they belonged to. The demon was about to begin the deconstruction of its freshest catch when it stopped. Beth heard it too. A voice off in the distance, getting closer. Someone returning to the cabin. 'Go away, leave this place!' Beth wanted to scream. That would only end them both if she called. The Hellion dropped the mauled body in plain sight and slipped into a shadow, only visible by its blood red iris slits. An older man stepped into the clearing and froze, taken aback by the headless corpse who he didn't want to believe was his pal. Before he could even emit a sound or stutter, the beast snapped through him with its massively clawed hand. He never even knew what hit him, bless. They were both spared the unbearable torture that would have consumed the night. Him enduring, and Beth witnessing in revulsion. Delighted in its bountiful fare, it dragged both bodies with ease to the stairs leading up to the porch. With its back turned, the sounds of sacrilege and blasphemy pressed into Beths ears. This immobilized her further in fear. Powerless and incapacitated, she had never seen the entity in its entireness.

Beth felt sick to her stomach as sounds of wet pillaging, strained tearing and cracking snaps played out. The doctrines to damn this thing back were lost to her distressed conscious. She must have been concentrating too loudly. The demon, in an flash, was crouching down in front of her, sniffing curiously through the slits in its face. Beth closed her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to stare directly into the face of such a vile and perverse malevolence. A howl that sounded like scraping metal and lost souls spewed out of its mouth as its head craned backwards. Every fiber in her body shook. It reached its spindly fingers out as if trying to find a small suspended wire, delicately flicking the clawed ends, searching the dead space, inches from Beths face. It became irate and lurched back, slashing at the air all around, trying to find the source of its vatic disturbance. Frustration surged through the impatient blood demon and it bounded off into the cabin, dragging its flayed victims inside. The defiling continued, thankfully no longer in Beths view. She sat petrified, as unimaginable carnage took place inside the dark hell house before her.

There were eight more hours until sunlight would grace the mountainside and take her from this nightmare. Years of craft and practice. Her mothers sacrifice. Vanquished. Evil set loose upon the earth. She should have checked the cabin. The long wait lay before her like a tainted version of the yellow brick road. It seemed endless. She should have checked. To start all over again was daunting, though not futile. Luck still had its hand in the game here. The long ago etchings from her grandmothers frantic scrawling were still imbedded in the floorboards. This meant the hellion was still leashed. Bound by an intangible tether. Beth would need to come back in three years time and cage the creature once more. Shouldering this necessity solo was a guaranteed death sentence. Her grandmother was confined to a hospital bed in her old age now. Her mother gone. Beth could send the evil back behind the door, but in order for it to stay for good, she would need to go as well. It was a death sentence that couldn't be avoided. Not for the sake of the town. The innocent lives at stake. A deep sorrow fixed into her heart, alongside the determinant task she set into her minds eye. It was settled. Beth assumed a statuesque poise to ride out the night. With one single thought lulling her into a trance of disciplined quietude. If only I had checked.