Solitary Comfort

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

Jane woke tangled in her blankets, clammy and shivering. Damp, she must have had a nightmare to sweat through her pajamas and sheets. She didn’t want to move, touching the cold damp fabric, but she had to rise, she felt unsafe in bed. Like the old hay mattresses on rope-strung cots she and her brothers slept on in her grandparent’s barn on summer vacations, she felt as though she was sinking into the mattress, about to fall.

Now her daughter was having friends stay for a week over the summer break. As Jane tiptoed into her living room, the soft breathing of half a dozen girls on the sofa and floor stopped her from pacing. Instead she pulled on rainboots and stepped outside.

Jane wandered past the barn that was part of the farm her grandparents left her, into the woods she grew up roaming on long summer nights.

She froze, certain an animal had her in its crosshairs. She knew she shouldn’t walk through the woods this late at night alone. The wild boards were shy during the day but Jane knew they would hunt and eat a human when they’re feeling brave. She held still a few more moments and saw that the single point of light was flickering, not a face partially obscured by branches.

Deeper in the woods there shouldn’t be a light. She didn’t notice she was walking towards it until she was close enough to see the cabin. She didn’t realize how far she had walked. Jane still thought of the cabin as off-limits even though the hunters had stopped using it years ago.

Jane returned home in record time and hopped in the shower to wash the sweat and feeling of being watched. She had fresh sheets on her bed, and as she stretched out she swished her legs, feeling the fresh fabric cool everywhere she touched for the first time.

___________ ___________ ___________

She woke to mud dropping on her face. She couldn’t see well through the mud, but recognized the muttering of her step-father. Every night, the longer he was out the more anxious her mother became, until he’d come home smelling sour and sharp and she was sent to her room.

But tonight, now, she was lying next to her mother in the ground. Her mother’s body partially covering her, she shrunk into herself, the mud already sucking her down as more shovels of mud landed on her head and body.

Eventually he stopped, muttering that her mother shouldn’t have ruined his night, she heard the shovel drop near her head and his muttering faded. She didn’t want to rise; there was no one to go to other than her mother who was with her. She didn’t want to be alone with her step-father and the police wouldn’t keep him away for long; they took his word last time that the school called about her bruises and he was allowed to take her home. That was over a year ago, before they started homeschooling her and her friends’ parents stopped allowing sleepovers.

But she was having difficulty breathing as the mud settled around her face and neck. And her mother was growing cold and hadn’t stirred. She had to move.

It felt like hours of wiggling her hands, arms and legs, working her body up through the mud, despite how shallow the grave was. But then she ran, away from the house, blindly into the dark. There was no plan. No one to run to, no life to move towards, just staying away from a man who would certainly finish what he started if he had a moment alone with her again.

She would never have known there was a cabin in that pitch black, but as she approached, a racoon scurried across the deck, making footstep sounds unlike the soft forest ground. The cabin must be abandoned, she never knew anyone to tolerate pests on the porch. The door wasn’t even locked, and she settled down in a corner of the room, calm and certain that she could rest.

As her eyes closed and her head drooped forward on her knees and arms, she felt her mother’s weight against her chest, growing colder. The wood against her back and under her feet felt softer, giving in to her weight and she suddenly jumped up, feeling herself sink too far into the ground that had already almost swallowed her that night.

She fished into her pocket and pulled out the birthday candles that her mother had told her to hide and save for a safer celebration. She lit one, placing it on a shard of broken glass by the window to avoid the flame touching wood. As she sat back down in the corner, she stayed awake staring at the light, reminding herself she was still there.

When morning came, she sat under the window and finally slept with the sunshine warm on her face, waking up when the clouds passed over.

The next night she lit another candle. She had used six of the small candles the night before and only five were left, the next day she would have to decide where to go not only for food but to continue seeking the light and warmth that was keeping her alive. Once she made it through this night.

As the candle flickered out and she drifted away, she could hear girls laughing and playing in the distance. She longed for company and dreamt she was being hugged by her mother, but could not imagine the warmth of life.

___________ ___________ ___________

Jane went indoors to prepare the s’mores while the girls were running around outside chasing fireflies. She had been feeling the long days; the sun felt energizing but by evening she was exhausted, every step felt like she was pulling herself out of quicksand, the earth’s gravity drawing heavier.

She sat down to rest at the kitchen table and break the graham crackers and chocolate bars into pieces. Slowly she stopped, while the girls laid down, looking at their jars of suffocating fireflies. As the lights of the fireflies went out, the girls sunk deeper into the cool dirt, their fingers mingling into the grasses and the humid air cooling their clothes and skin.