Stay

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

The woman slowed her pace on the same path she jogged every day. Most days, she ignored the house with little more than a glance. But then again, there had never been any signs of life before. On this night, the front picture window, its shutters charred and hanging by loose hinges, was lit aglow by a dancing flame. The woman stopped and removed one earbud, using the last vestiges of sunlight to take in the cabin's exterior.

It had probably been beautiful in its prime, when the bushes lining its face were full and manicured rather than singed and lifeless, when the slope of the roof was slight and rolling instead of a patchwork of hollow points, seared at their edges. The old cabin’s bones peeked through the openings, grinning into the sky. Its once-white veneer was yellowed with age, blackened from smoke. It seemed as if it would crumble in on itself if the wind blew too strongly.

And yet, someone had lit a candle. A signal? A warning?

The woman debated whether to continue her run. She could be out of the woods by twilight, finishing her routine under streetlamps. But the cabin called to her, inexplicably beckoning her to explore. It was not a choice but a need. With a final glance at her surroundings, the woman stepped off the worn path, careful to avoid visible roots underfoot. Curious, she walked slowly, each step in rhythm with the beat from her earbud. The trees gave way to the space, allowing the house to breathe. And breathe it did, groaning as she approached.

She hesitated in the doorway, her own breath in her throat. The air was stiff, thick with dread and dust. The small candle did not illuminate the entire floor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see shapes, but little more. Still, there was no one else in the room. And the staircase was demolished, leading to nowhere. Where did they go, the person who lit the candle?

“Hello?” Her voice quivered.

The house moaned and the woman stood still, afraid the sickly structure would collapse. When it didn’t, she moved further inside. Coughing, sputtering, choking on the dust her footsteps unsettled.

A movement caught her eye from across the room. It was swift, almost imperceptible. The woman followed – forward, forward, forward, slowly at first, then more quickly. A sense of urgency overwhelmed her, as if finding the person who lit the candle was of utter importance.

The woman found herself in a corner of what was likely once a kitchen, her back to the wall. Whoever had made the movement was gone. Were they ever really there to begin with?

There. By the stairs, another movement. Nothing more than a flutter, but she had seen it. Perhaps no more than a trick of the mind, the flickering flame creating something where nothing existed. Yet, someone had to have lit the candle. Someone existed.

Before she could move to find the flutterer, the air grew cold, heavier than it had been. All around her, wisps of shadows, flickers of something she couldn’t quite see, hung in the air. They were somehow darker than the dark, opaque tendrils snaking through the gloomy space.

When the howls began, the woman knew it hadn’t been the house settling or speaking. It had been those… things. Were they ghosts?

At that thought, the back of her throat felt watery, that involuntary response that occurred prior to vomiting. Sweat broke out across her forehead, but she made no move to wipe it.

“Who – who’s there?” She asked, even though she knew.

Unsurprisingly, she received no response.

And then the frenzy began. The wisps moved with certainty, a dance she did not follow. Up and down the half-ruined stairway, around the remnants of living room furniture, toward the window where the candle illuminated the view of the outside world. The sky outside was dark. The woods weren’t safe anymore; if she hadn’t stopped to explore, she would have been through them before nightfall. The woman edged along the wall, trying to avoid what she had deemed spirits, headed for the doorway.

The door slammed shut, causing the cabin to creak. Pieces of the ceiling tumbled to the ground, light debris left floating in the air. The woman took a deep breath. Her nostrils filled with the smell of old smoke. The debris created a black cloud between her and the living room – her way out. Panic rose in her throat as her eyes began to burn. She coughed. The frenzied spirits continued to flitter about.

The woman eyed the candle. She could barely see it through the soot and ceiling fragments in the air. But she could cross the room quickly, ghosts or not, if she kept sight of the light.

The wisps grew in size and number. Their shrieks grew in strength. They hovered near the window where the candle sat, as if taunting her.

When the candle fell, it did so in slow motion. The woman screamed, her sound lost in that of the spirits. She was too far away to try and save the candle. Instead, she watched as the half-burned drapes caught ablaze. Her stomach lurched when the fire spread quickly to the front door.

She turned abruptly, searching for the back exit. When she found it, she let out a whimper. The back door was boarded up from the inside, several pieces of wood nailed over it. She was trapped.

Remembering her childhood lessons, the woman dropped to her knees. The smoke would rise. Maybe she could crawl through the house, past the ghosts, and to the relative safety of the darkness outside. As she moved – hand, hand, knee, knee – the wails surrounding her began to subside. She crept through dark fog, the upbeat music from her earbud drowned out by the crackle of the burning building.

Voices murmured in her ear, as close as a lover might say them. “Stay.”

She shook her head and took another deep breath, sputtering again. Suffocating.

“Stay.”

The room spun in her mind as smoke and fear overtook her. She was halfway to the door. She crawled faster.

“Stay.” The word grew louder, a mixture of several voices.

Hand, hand, knee, knee. Flames surrounded her, threatening to engulf her. Three-quarters of the way to the door.

The voices commanded she stay. So, as blackness closed in, she stayed.

An eternity passed in a moment. When she was conscious, she took in her setting. She was in an old cabin, burned beyond recognition. A faint memory tickled at her mind, but she couldn’t grasp it. She floated through the house – down the partial staircase, around the couch, past the headphones on the living room floor.

She couldn’t be sure how much time had lapsed in the darkness of the old house. But she knew instinctively when it was time. She gathered with the others in what was left of the front room, their essence willing the flame to life, calling to the mortal world.

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