Spooked!

“The Cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window… That’s your assignment, GET ON IT!” That is written from Burton’s text message.

“Who the hell Burton thinks he is?” I growled and I continue pressing the elevator buttons to close. It was a stubborn button. Next to it was our company name, SPOOKED! Magazine.

“Tyson, careful or you’ll break the damn thing! Stop fidgeting on the button like it’s the mouse when your computer freezes,” jokes Guevarra.

Guevarra was too much in a good mood for my liking this morning.

This whole office space was a run down and in the heart of the ghetto. Burton promised that once the magazines sales would be up, they’ll move to a better spot downtown.

I remember that promise. I guarantee after we get that surge in sales this Holloween... We can move out of here! Maybe I can even hand you all a raise…

It is already July.

Same old office space.

No raises.

More people cut.

And this damn elevator won’t close fast enough. We are slow to get up, and this time, I flicker the open button with my index finger.

“Patience is a virtue,” teased Guevarra.

We ascend to the eight floor. We were lucky that we got the whole floor to ourselves. It seemed bigger now. Not like it was. It was crowded then.

There he was, Burton. His desk positioned like it is the head of the table. He wore that pink polo shirt with the popped collar and the fake gold chain he tucks in. But not tucked in deep, so we can all still see that fake gold glisten. He was on his phone again. Probably swiping, hoping to get lucky and find a date online.

That didn’t matter. I charged at him and slammed my palms to his desk. It kinda hurt. But I got his attention. Guevarra almost soiled his pants.

“Why are you giving me this abandoned cabin story?” I questioned. “I thought you gave me the green light to cover that public school with the buried children?”

“Yep, buried children!” echoed Guevarra.

“Tyson,” Burton said, trying to calm me down. “Yes it was the prior arrangement. I have handed out the assignments to everyone here… but as you can see there is no one else.”

Me and Guevarra looked around. We scanned the office. Burton was right. There is no one else. At least the space is bigger.

Guevarra laid his belongings to his desk and sat. He took of his rimmed glasses off and rests his head to his meat filled palms, “Are we closing down?”

“No, no. Not quite,” said Burton. We got one more issue to run. And in a few months, we get assimilated to Pandora.”

“The lifestyle magazine?!” I can’t believe it. Burton was sleazy but he was never gonna sell out. He enjoyed a good piece on the paranormal activities as much as I do. “I was here when you started this publishing!”

Burton jolts up from his chair, “You need to calm down, Tyson! You need to understand, no one reads horror magazines anymore! Anyone just uploads a scary story on their smart phone, real or not, they get ‘likes.’ More ‘thumbs up’ than our total sales in a year!”

He was right. But I fire back, “But why is the cabin story more important than my proposed public school story. Mine has said to have echoes of crying children heard in them. If I could record that, we could have a bone chiller piece!”

“Answer is no,” blurted Burton.

I will fight this man. “Weak answer!” I said.

Burton pulled some documents from an orange envelope. Out came images of condominiums, town houses and strip malls. These promotional images laid array on top of Burton’s desk.

Burton clears his throat, “We weren’t even supposed to be running an issue this month. But Capital Developments insisted that we ran a last issue of SPOOKED! and use it as a platform to get word out of their project.”

I get it. The cabin was located just outside the development. I scanned the promotional images. The apartments look posh. Better than mine. “This is the worse idea ever! How could you even say yes to this circus?”

“This circus is going to get us paid for another month!” said Burton.

“Screw this! Screw Pandora! And Screw you, Burton!” I yelled at him and asked Guevarra to come with. “I’ll write this last piece, and we are quits!” I walked out with my middle finger out.

If only this elevator door would close faster, so I don’t have to see Burton’s face, grinning at me.

“Better slow down when you switch lanes!” Guevarra howled.

I kept my hand on the steering wheel, gripped it tight. I chucked the folded map to Guevarra’s lap.

The slow car in front of us decided to signal right to the next exit, at the last moment. I palmed the honk as long as I could. Poor Gevarra jerked forward as I stepped on the brakes.

“Geez, Ty! My mother just paid for repairs for this car! You’ll mess up the brakes! Why are you in a rush?” Guevarra said, shaking his head, then scanning the map.

“I just want this crap to get over and done with! I’m done with this magazine!”

“According to this map, we are still far off. Outskirts I tell ya,” informed Guevarra.

“What the deal with this cabin story again?” I asked him.

“You really got your head right up your ass, Ty! You have no idea what else is going on besides your own affairs,” Guevarra said. I can tell he was rolling his eyes, as I have mine straight on the road.

Guevarra begins, “That cabin we’re supposed to write a piece on, was said to be cursed.”

“Bullshit!” I answered.

“That’s why it is abandoned. Anyone that comes in doesn’t come out,” warned Guevarra.

I snickered, “So Burton is buying in this whole story? This is a bigger waste of time than I thought.” I slammed my palms once again, this time at the wheel. I clicked my tongue, having heard enough of Burton. “Where did you get that info from?”

“Terry.”

“Who?” I wondered.

“The guy who always wear the yellow, short sleeved, dress shirt.”

“Oh, that guy… That’s Terry?” I just realized. “Is Terry’s source reliable?” I asked.

“Terry got his info from a colleague that also got fired,” explained Guevarra.

“So this assignment has been passed around many times?” I joked, but I was the only one laughing as Gueverra was snoring.

Few more exits and slow drivers passed, and we are close to the location. Far out from the city. Like off grid. The winds have settled the sun’s scorch. Still bright out. The houses around the area are so far off from one another. No one is gonna notice, if anyone screams murder.

Finally, a strip mall. A run down, store-signs-withered collective establishment. A gas station was most noticeable along the strip.

Guevarra was still snoring as I parked the car. Not a lot of cars in the area. I snagged the map and head out. The breeze was nice, so I studied the cabin’s location from Terry’s files, to see which streets to turn. There’s so many scribbles, I can’t even tell if it is a road, walkway or just pen strokes.

I sat by the hood, and the scorch still lingers and smacked my ass to crisp.

A convenience store at the far left corner could help me. I head in, welcomed with a ‘hello!’ from an old man and the aroma of an array of wrinkled hot dogs, parading for the last twenty-four hours.

He wasn’t from here. I am certain. Showed him a map anyway.

Pointed to the nearest rural road and I wonder which is the fastest route.

The old man shook his head. I could’ve sworn he muttered some words that I never understood. He braced his forearms intersecting one another, like an X. The old man ran at the back office, grabbed a younger man.

I showed him the map and asked the same question.

For sure, he was more fluent, and yet he said, “Can’t help you, I’m sorry!” The younger gestures me to leave.

Unbelievable. At the door, Guevarra was there. “I’m hungry, I want to pick up snacks!”

I yanked him back to the direction of where we parked.

“Screw that store!” I said to Guevarra. There’s a diner at the other side of this strip.”

We entered and sat by the bar. The diner was baron, dried up like the patrons. Sipping on cheap liquor, and laughing at cheap jokes.

I wonder if there is anyone sober enough to ask for directions. Few of them had a whiff of me and Guevarra and the stares turned to glares.

“Help you?” asked the barmaid.

“I think we’re lost,” I said.

“You think?” the barmaid repeated, as she sized me and Guevarra, head to toe. She then explodes to a labored laugh. More like a wheeze, exposing her smoke drench gap teeth. “Lighten up!” she said and pops open two beer bottles.

Guevarra was quick to snag the bottle and chugged his first taste.

I paid no mind to my bottle and showed the barmaid the map. “We are running a story about an abandoned cabin, northwest from here, that all of the sudden had a candle lit by the window.”

The barmaid’s smile faded. She studied the map. She bit her lip and looked at the patrons of the diner. Barmaid knocked twice on the counter.

The patrons then approach me and Guevarra.

“Best you turn back,” one them said.

“Nothing to see here,” said the barmaid.

The patrons begin to hiss, murmur, and whisper at us. We jolted up our seats, to make our way out.

“We apologize,” stammers Guevarra.

Their intimidation forced us out of the diner. One of them glared at us through the glass door, making sure were don’t return.

“Hope the bulldozers trash your shitty diner when the development comes!” I yelled.

“But I’m still hungry,” complained Guevarra.

If only Guevarra can quit his whining. “Great… How are we going to find a lead if the townsfolk won’t even talk to us?”

“Suspicious, no?” whispered Guevarra.

“It is,” I agreed. No one dared speak of the cabin as if it is taboo… We got no leads.”

We decided to fill up gas. I ask Guevarra for his card.

“I’m not the one driving!” objects Guevarra.

“But it is your mother’s car!” I fired back.

Guevarra was reluctant to hand me his card, I snatched it away from him. As I turn around to the pin pad, a boy greeted me.

He was barely of five feet. Wore a cap with smudges of dirt peppered on his cheeks. He was scrawny but got a fight in him. Maybe it was the smug look on his face.

“Heard you city folks looking for a scoop on the cabin,” the boy said.

I snickered and look back at Guevarra then back to the boy. “What if we are?”

“I can take you there,” the boy boasted. He held out his hand, “Allan.”

I shook it. Kid’s got a firm grip.

“I don’t trust this little runt,” sneered Guevarra. His fist was coiled and ready to strike the kid.

I crossed my arms and examined Allan. “Are you trying to hustle me?”

“No. I’m trying to help.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I’m all you got,” said Allan. He emptied his pocket and handed me his wallet. I flipped his wallet and see a glimpse of his face on a school ID. “For collateral,” the boy said.

“Smart,” I reply. I took his wallet and placed it on my pocket. “But you still haven’t convinced us!”

“This town has a secret,” hushed Allan. He leaned in closer, “Terrible secret. Must be brought to light.”

I loaded on the gas and threw Guevarra his card. “Go to the convenience store, stock up on your snacks and flashlights!”

“Yeah, that’s the turn,” Allan directed. I steered the car left along the uneven road pavement. We entered acreage. Or what seemed like it. There was a sign of the Capital Development logo plastered there.

At its far end as my vision could see, is the shroud of greenery.

Guevarra was annoyed, sitting in the back, muttering curses under his breath, “You’ll screw up the suspension of this car, driving that bumpy road.”

“It’s the only way!” Allan said.

I checked the map once more, there was no trail, no road to lead to that acreage.

“So, how did anyone see that candle lit by the abandoned cabin? This place is in the middle of nowhere!” Guevarra exclaimed.

I agree.

“People come here to party. Do all sorts of wild stuff,” Allan explains.

Guevarra scoffs, “So you’re telling us that the candle light seen was from a drunkard’s account? Ty, let’s leave this kid here and go home!”

“I see you still need convincing!” said Allan. “Alright we walk to the greenery, and along the woods will be the cabin. We wait til the evening, and at the strike of eight, you will see the flicker of light by its window.”

“Will be dark by then!” Guevarra said.

“Not that dark,” I tell him. “Days are longer this time of year, there will be light.”

“Of course,” Allan said.

And we set off, towards the woods by the acreage which will soon be imprinted with the urban development. Guevarra has began taking notes.

Allan led the way. I worry of the snapping of twigs of each of my step. Who knows what wild animal lurks these woods.

I was wrong.

The stillness of the woods was off-putting. One would usually hear a distant movement, leaves ruffling by the wind, an animal howling.

Nothing.

There was not many markings of a walkway if not any.

“These grounds used to be a campground, based on Terry’s notes,” Guevarra says, flipping his notepad.

“Long time ago,” Allan added. “The cabin was a rest station.”

Guevarra jots on his notes, as I followed Allan.

Allan halted our trail, the kid tells us to crouch low. I didn’t even ask why. But we did. We lowered behind a shroud.

Allan then points to direction of the cabin.

There it was, modest in size. Made of dark withered timber. Seemed like there are two entrances on both sides.

“Shhh. Must be quiet,” Allan whispered.

“Time?” I asked Guevarra.

“Seven.”

“Not wasting an hour watching a window!” I hissed at Allan. I grabbed the boy’s collar, “Don’t mess with me!”

Allan just places his index finger to his lips.

I let go of his collar and shoved him aside.

We waited, the light was gentle to fade. The trees made it darker. Shielding us away from the bright.

I was tapping my foot on the grounds. Allan held my feet to stop.

Guevarra opened his bag of chips and munched in discrete. He was reluctant to share with Allan. I did not have any.

The two snacked on. I just stared at the window, being constant on the clock.

After the snacking, Allan was starting to pass out. Unbelievable.

“Ready your phone. Record soon,” I ordered Guevarra.

“We still got ten minutes,” he replied.

“I don’t care.” I zeroed in on that window. Not even sure how many ticks of the seconds has passed.

“Ten seconds,” said Guevarra.

I swallowed a lump by my throat.

“Five… Four… Three… Two… One…”

Darkness was still by that window.

Then it did flicker. A light was lit.

Guevarra gasps.

There was something more. It wasn’t just a flicker of candle light. There was something of a red flash.

Guevarra has it all recorded.

We re-watched.

Zoomed in close at the exact same time the window flickered.

We slowed it down.

Someone set the light up. That someone isn’t quite like someone.

That red flash was an entity. With streaks of yellow and black.

I zoomed in closer. The red entity had blots of black in different shades. Like eyes, staring at us.

I felt a cold chill run my back.

He was smiling at us.

“We got the footage. We can make high quality images of this!” said Guevarra. “But we need to go!”

I smacked Allan, to wake him up. The kid scrunch up his eyes.

“You were right,” I told Allan. “A light flickered by the window. But wasn’t just a light. The was something there. Someone.”

“You’re not thinking of going there are you?” asked Guevarra. “We got a footage we need! That will be enough content for this issue!”

“No,” I disagree. “That is not enough footage. We get more, we won’t need the magazine. The footage we attain will be worth something.”

“But people who walked in, never come back, remember?” hesitated Guevarra.

“What else do you know?” I asked the kid.

Allan fidgets to himself, “I’m sorry this is far as I know… If I get a share of how much you make from the footage, I’ll come with.”

“There’s three of us, not need to worry,” as I try to explain to Guevarra. I swear, he’s about to breakdown to tears. “Ready your flashlights, both of you… Guevarra, strap in the camera to your head, get recording!”

The dawn was swallowing the sky, it usually does not get this dark in July. It does not matter, we are going in, we are getting this scoop.

We creep along the nearest door. It has to be the entrance. I push Allan to lead, but this time, he was reluctant. I took point and scolded the boy, “Don’t dare try running away.”

It was a slow walk, as if the grounds are sacred, like wandering in a cemetery. We were light on our feet, but there it was. The door. Its handle, calling for my hand.

I expected it to budge, but it just creaked to a graceful swing. Right in front of the entry was another door at the other side of the cabin. Like which door we enter matter.

We are in.

Empty.

We were greeted with a foul stench that pierced our nostrils. Poor Allan and Guevarra almost threw up. I kept it together. Not sure for how long, I haven’t eaten anything.

The cabin was dark, but where was that flickering entity that was smiling at us?

Allan jerked back, dropped his flashlight and retreated to me for a hug.

I picked up the flashlight and shun it to the floor.

Crimson symbols smeared on the timber floor. We can’t make out what they are. Not western for sure. Not Arabic. Not Kanji? I have no clue.

This was written in blood. It has been dried up, the characters are starting crust and fade.

“This is some culty shit!” Guevarra muttered as he was examining the symbols on the floor.

“I’m scared,” Allan panics.

“Can we still head out?” asked Guevarra.

“Fine! I’ll run a test,” I told them both. I walked back at the entrance. It was darker on the outside. I got my one foot out of the door. “See? I’m already outside! That debunks one of Terry’s claims!”

“Ty…” Guevarra whispered. He shunned his flashlight to me and then to the door at the opposite side of the cabin.

There I was standing on the opposite side.

Allan shrieked and held on to Guevarra.

I ran through and ended up on the other side.

“What the fuck?!” screamed Guevarra.

I looked around the cabin. My flashlight shuns every corner. One thing odd was a yellow fabric that has been balled up.

I picked it up. It was drenched in blood.

“Didn’t you say Terry like wearing yellow dress shirts?” I clarified with Guevarra.

Guevarra just covered his mouth, but fear soaked his eyes.

Outside, the sky darkens then tones to a blood-red, with black fog.

There was no where to go. I considered breaking the window, but I doubt we will be back at the woods.

Allan began shaking. The boy was scared. His shakes grew violent as the seconds pass. Like he was having a seizure. He sprawled out his limbs. He opened his mouth as if he was to gag. His eyes were tearing. Then it starts to glow.

Allan’s head was jerking.

Out his mouth, emerge smoke. Then a flame blasts out of the boy’s mandible.

The flame broke free from the boy.

There he was, the flickering entity.

The red glow with dark eyes and mouth, with streaks of yellow and black on its facade.

“Who… What… are you?!” I asked.

The flame sneered just like in the footage.

I ran to Allan, but he was cold. I shook him many times, “Who the fuck are you!? You led us to this trap!” I scrambled to my pocket to and flipped the boy’s wallet.

I should have paid attention. His school ID was a fake cut out.

“Not… a… trap…” the flame spoke. It sounded like a static signal.

“Are you recording any of this?” I asked Guevarra.

He just nodded.

“Must… remain… closed…” the flame spoke again.

“What needs to be closed?” I repeated.

“Other… side…” it said.

“Keep it talking,” urged Guevarra.

Guevarra was right… this will be gold. “What’s on the other side?”

It couldn’t answer. It didn’t need to.

A light scratches between me and the flickering entity. The scratch grew inch by inch.

“Not… much… time…” the flame said.

The scratch of light made a shattering glass noise. How is thin air fragmenting to pieces?

The flame grew brighter as it spoke, “I… keep… door… close… protect… it… use… blood… of… this… realm.”

“What does that even mean?” I yelled at it.

The flickering entity glowed brighter, coiled and ready to pounce. It jumped and whirled in the air, heading for Guevarra.

Just like Allan, Guevarra shook. He trembled. He opened his mouth and the flickering entity forced himself onto him. Guevarra shrieked. He did not even sound like Guevarra anymore. His screams were of a different pitch.

Guevarra dropped on the floor, face first. Then he was an all fours, crawling a few paces forward. He got to his knees and was quick to bow down to the cabin’s surface.

A thud echoed the cabin.

There was a crunch. Either it was his skull or the camera.

“NOOO!!! Guevarra!!!” I yelled.

His skull was fractured, I’m certain. He did it once more.

I stood there watching Guevarra bash his head on the timber floor, like a drum beat. Crimson strands flow through his forehead and down to his nose and cheek. He let out a growl. I could not understand him anymore.

A few more thuds to floor, I don’t even recognize him anymore.

The entrails of his brain hung loose by his open scalp. He stopped. His lid was already open. Guevarra laid there with the chunks of himself.

I finally threw up. That was probably all the way down from breakfast.

I didn’t even notice, the scratch of light that appeared has torn wider. Like a window. There are voices from the other side. I walked slow and peered through the opening. I wish I didn’t.

The other side didn’t seem to recognize gravity. Within that circular opening, there were like hymns of howls and deep snarls that sang in unison. Like a choir.

These beings were shadows with fur, and they had thick necks. Some have one, two, three eyes that glowed in red. They clad themselves in black and purple robes. They all had like horns of a ram, with their arms high up swaying. Their limbs have three fingers with sharp nails. And they start to chant.

There was rhythm in their chant, like every interval they would howl louder.

I couldn’t move. These beings are like in ritualistic trance, under their red sky and black fogs. I stood still, bathing in shock and chills. This chill does not compare to anything I felt covering the other stories. I felt detached, what is reality anymore.

Another thud impacts the floor and I see Guevarra’s body moving again. Out of his scalp emerged the flickering entity once more.

“No... time… left…” it said. “Use… blood… of… friend… trace… symbols… or… else… they… come…”

The scratch of light, grew by inches. The horrific songs grew louder.

That flickering entity went inside Guevarra once again. His body moved and got back on all fours. Using its head, it traced down the characters that was smeared on the floor.

“Must… help… me…” it pleaded.

I ran to the carcass and reached deep on its scalp. I grabbed a handful of clot. My heart was racing but I’m doing what I’m told.

“Do… faster…” the flame ordered.

I tried to copy what is on the floor. But it was difficult to make out what is written. These characters are too foreign for me. Lots of curves and spirals are smeared dry from before. I snagged the flashlight near Allan and got to work.

The chorus of howls are getting louder and their window is wider.

The carcass continued to bash itself on the floor to extract more ink and I grabbed more clots to finish off the symbols. One of the shadow furs climbed up the opening and had its upper body hang. Its limbs stretched and pulled the carcass in. I ran to what was left of Guevarra and pulled him back.

“Let… go… you… finish,” the flame said. I grabbed whatever clot I can from the scalp and let go. I ran to the last corner of the floor symbol and began to trace the last few curves.

The floor then rumbles and then glowed. Those furs from the other side has taken the carcass and yet the flame sprouted out before the scratch of light dwindles. The chorus from the other side fade. The scratch becomes a mere of a speckle.

“So this is how you lure people in? Sacrifice a life to keep what ever that window sealed?” I asked.

“It’s a good trade off,” Allan said. “The ones behind that opening are getting stronger. I needed the help.”

“All that footage is broken,” I said. “I’m going to need you to do that flame stuff you do and record it on camera for me. Then we are square.”

“I can’t let you do that, Ty,” declined Allan.

“Why not.”

“Well, for starters, you’re stuck in limbo.”

“How do I get out? Or when do I get out?”

“Depends,” answered Allan. “When we see that portal opening again, then we’ll send out a signal. I’ll light a candle by the window.”

“This is going to be a long wait,” I said.

“Patience is a virtue,” teased Allan.