The Candle on the Sill

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The grizzled man stepped back from the opening, shaking out the lit match in his hand as he did so. “That’s better,” the man said, taking a seat in the decrepit rocking chair in the corner of the small room. Cobwebs that had sat undisturbed now swayed and tore as he began rocking back and forth, an uneasy creaking noise filling the room in response. The light was barely more than a tiny flicker, but it sufficed to cast eerie shadows all about the room. The old, moth-eaten trophies that lined the walls seemed to writhe and dance as if in a perverse mockery of their previous existence. The small, bouncing flame illuminated the age in the man’s weathered face, the grey in his shaggy beard, the discomfort creeping at the corners of his mouth. Yet the light did not reach his sunken and tired eyes. They were as still and unreadable as those of the animals on the walls as he stared at the small mass curled up on the far side of the room. With a series of grunts and groans the figure began to regain consciousness. It was a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties. A worn bag lay open next to her, the heavy books that were its contents strewn across the floor. She was likely a student, perhaps studying business, law, or medicine. It was possible that she had grand dreams of helping others, or maybe she simply desired money. It hardly mattered in the end. No, the grizzled man mused to himself, his face expressionless, the only thing that mattered now was that she was here, in this cabin, on this night. On the window sill the candle burned lower. A date carved on to its side which read “August 19th, 2079” began to melt and drip down the side of the candle.

“Hmm,” grunted the grizzled man, flicking his eyes away from the woman for the briefest of moments to observe the slowly dying wick. Startled by the noise, the woman jerked and rolled over, confusion and terror writ upon her face as her eyes grew wide, locking onto the man in the chair. She certainly would have shrieked were it not for the band of tape placed across her mouth. Instead, all she managed were muffled yelps as she began to thrash against the cords which bound her hands and feet. With an ominous creaking the grizzled man leaned forward fully into the light, illuminating his watery, jaundiced eyes. Silently he brought a single finger up to his lips. The woman ceased her thrashing, but continued to whimper and shudder. A small smirk curled at the edges of the man’s mouth as he nodded in approval. “That’s better, birdy. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m sorry for the theatrics, but you were making a right racket in your sleep. And we really don’t want anything to hear us tonight.” As if in response to his words, the wind suddenly picked up outside, whipping the flame of the tiny candle into a frenzy and threatening to snuff it out. The man shot out of the chair, kicking one foot back to hold it in place and prevent its incessant creaking. His eyes were locked on the small, fluttering flame. The woman held her breath as her eyes darted between the flame and the candle, terrified she might disturb his alarming focus. Her lungs began to strain with the effort, yet she dared not make a sound in that moment. Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the wind subsided, leaving the candle to gently burn once more. The man turned his attention back to the woman, crouching down in front of her as the flame crept down past the date “May 23rd, 2062”.

“I’ll take it off you now,” the man said, pointing at the tape, his voice coarse and gravelly. “But you gotta promise to keep quiet, can you do that for me?” His hot breath stank of stale tobacco and booze as it washed over her face. The woman’s eyes began to water, but she managed a shaky nod. Content with her response the man reached out and grabbed the corner of the of the tape, and without preamble, ripped it from her mouth. To the woman’s credit, she did little more than wince and grimace at the flash of pain. Satisfied, the man turned and walked back to the rocking chair, sitting down carefully so as to not make noise. “Can’t you untie me as well?” the woman asked, her voice low and shaky. Her eyes darting around the room in search of an exit. “Fraid I can’t, birdy.” said the man in a whisper so low it almost didn’t reach her. “Not until you understand at least.” His eyes darted back to the candle once more as he reached a calloused hand up into his tangled beard to scratch his chin, dislodging several lice onto his jacket in the process. He casually swept them onto the floor as he looked towards the woman once more. “If this is about money, I can get you some. Really, it’s no trou-” The man let out a small scoff, brushing aside her attempts to negotiate as casually as he had the lice. “This isn’t about money, birdy, heh, this isn’t even about you, not really.” The man reached into his boot and pulled out a worn-down bowie knife, which he then proceeded to trim his nails with. “You got any fears, birdy?” He asked, abruptly changing the subject without looking up from his task. A cold shiver shot down the woman’s spine as she lay transfixed by the sight of the large knife carefully peeling away the ends of each of the man’s filth encrusted finger nails. “Just one at the moment.” She eventually managed to say. The man finally broke his eyes away from the task at hand and glanced at her prone form. He let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Clever little birdy, but I mean something deeper. Something that left its mark on you and won’t let go. Not abrupt, like a car veering into your lane, or someone pulling a gun on you at the gas station. No, I mean a real fear. The kind that is always at the back of your mind, the kind that keeps you looking over your shoulder, the kind that’s there whenever you try to sleep at night.” The man spoke in a low, almost melodic tone. As he did, the light from the small candle on the sill caused the shadows throughout the room to dart and sway. It almost felt as though they were alive, their creeping intent attempting to dart in and smother the both of them, were they but given the chance. As they leapt and grabbed for her ankles and hair, the flame burned past the date “December 23rd, 2045”.

The man kept his eyes locked onto hers for a moment, then returned to his task, seemingly unbothered by the woman’s petrified stare. “You don’t gotta answer right away, we still got a little time if you want to mull it over.” With that he glanced over at the candle once more. “Heh, you don’t have to answer at all. It don’t make a difference in the end.” At that the woman let out an involuntary whimper as tears began to fill her eyes. The man seemed not to notice, instead flicking the last of his trimmings onto the dirty floor. “I got one of them fears.” He said, examining his work. “Them shadows on the wall look awful hungry, don’t they. Almost looks like they’re alive, right? Ever since I was little, I couldn’t stand to be alone with them. I’d leave every light in the house on just so I could see as few of them as possible. I always thought they were out to get me. My old Pa told me I didn’t have to worry. Said he made sure the shadows had enough to eat. I could hear him, few times a year, slaughtering the pigs out back after everyone had gone to sleep.” The shadow of a bobcat mounted high on a shelf seemed to snarl down at her. “February 1st, 2033” said the candle on the sill. “But one night the shadows got extra hungry, decided pigs wasn’t good enough anymore. They ate my Pa on the spot. We never did find much of him. Just a few scraps and a plain white candle. Next time they came they took my Ma and left another candle.” Behind her, a deer was cackling and jeering down. “I kept that one. One is a coincidence, two’s a pattern. My brother and I were sent somewhere new after that, but I knew it wasn’t enough. Next time I heard the shadows start creeping I hid in my new room and lit that plain little candle they’d left us. Maybe they were as scared of the light as I was of the dark.” His eyes had taken on a hollow expression as he gazed unseeingly into the corner of the room. Very slowly the woman tried to inch her way to the open window where the candle burned. “But the candle wasn’t plain anymore. It had dates on it now. Dates that were too far in the future to even plan around. But as I watched the candle burn the dates got closer and closer to the present. The last one, at the base of that candle, was the exact date of that awful night, and right beneath it was a name. My brother’s name. I knew right then and there that the candle was his life, and if it reached the bottom the shadows would take him.” The rotting wood of the cabin floor seemed to catch and snare at the hems of her jeans with a wicked intent, as though something else was trying to keep her inside. “September 12th, 2025” said the candle on the sill. The woman had almost made it to the base of the wall. The man’s gaze was still transfixed by old memories. She carefully tried to get to her knees as he droned on. “But just as surely as I knew that the candle was my brother, I also knew that they were hungry, and if it went out early for any reason, they would eat me instead. So, I took the candle and hid, I locked myself in the bathroom and watched the candle slowly burn down. I tried to drown out my brother’s voice. Concerned for me at first, then scared as they began to creep in, then pleading to let him hide too, and finally,” The woman had managed to prop herself up high enough to look out the window, coming face to face with the candle on the sill. “I remember the terror in his voice as the candle went out.” The candle before her had burned so very low. Only one date remained, “July 5th, 2022” and below that was a single name, Jasmine Byrd. Her eyes went wide with horror as she tried to let out a scream, blow out the small flame, or perhaps knock it over. Anything to snuff out that macabre hourglass. But before any of her endeavors could bear fruit, the rough, calloused hands of the grungy man wrapped around her waist and covered her mouth, pulling her thrashing away from the sill. A minute later, the small flame sputtered out in a pool of melted wax.