The Child

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It just so happened to be this same cabin that lies behind us. The same cabin that we will be sleeping in tonight. A candle lit in that window there. You see, years ago a family had just bought this cabin as a vacation home. A newlywed couple and their baby. Even back then it was old and run down. Perhaps more so than it is now, and that’s how they could afford it. So they spent that summer rebuilding it, or at least the husband did while the mother went to work at a nearby diner.

Every day he worked on making that cabin the dream home that his wife envisioned. Every day he looked at his baby and smiled, knowing that it may one day be passed on to him.

But happiness can only last for so long. The charade broke and the mists had cleared. The husband had discovered that his wife had been cheating on him. He held onto this information in silence, never letting on what he knew to his wife. Resenting her in secrecy, he wondered if his child was even his. The more nights he spent dwelling on it, he figured that it must be the bastard child of the man his wife was fucking.

Wanting to get back at his wife for what she did, what she was doing, he decided to enact his revenge on her in a more horrible way than he ever could by directly hurting her. He hurt her child. A child he was unsure if he could call his own. Not only would he hurt the child, but he did so in a particular way that would directly affect its mother. When she would leave for work at the diner, he would dress up in one of her dresses. Then he would put on her perfume and some lipstick, as well as wear a wig that resembled her hair. Imitating his wife, he ensured he would leave no marks, he would stare the child down in its innocent eyes, as if it were an adult with whom he had a qualm, he would stare into that child’s soul with its mothers eyes, then he would start.

Sometimes if the mother caught on to one of the injuries when he went too far, he would tell a tale of an accident that had happened while she was gone to cover his tracks.

After he had hurt the infant enough for the day, he would leave the room, dress in his own attire, and come to rescue the baby. He hoped that the baby would come to fear its own mother, and adore him, see him as a savior, for no reason other than to hurt his wife. And it worked. It worked very well. Until one day.

On that particular day, the wife only pretended to go to work. She had become suspicious of the injuries of her baby, and began to fear the worst. Coming home at the right time, she found her husband, dressed in her clothes, holding her dear baby, her flesh and blood, upside down by its leg. He had been doing something, some other torturous act, but had stopped the action when the door had burst open. She had walked into that cabin prepared for the worst, knife in hand, she took the child, set him down, and confronted her husband. She lost that fight. The only wound she inflicted was from her own fingernails, clawing for her own life.

The husband’s DNA was ultimately found under her fingernails, and he was charged with murder and child abuse among other heinous crimes. He was imprisoned for life without parole. As for the child, he grew up in foster homes. Remembering nothing of his life in that cabin, only having scars to tell fragmented stories until he later discovered the truth. When he did discover the truth of what happened to his infant self in that cabin, it seemed to all make sense. He was no average kid, he was angry and curious in the most gruesome of ways.

Committing several muggings, just for fun, he had found himself yearning for something more. Nothing seemed to do the trick. Not a goddamn thing. Killing animals sure didn’t work. But what’s the difference between an animal and a human anyways? Does a knife pierce the flesh any differently? Surely the sounds they make when they sob are different. But is it really that different than the sound of a pig squealing at the slaughter. I don’t know for sure. But he knew that there would be a day, soon, when he would find the answer to all of these questions.

Today is that day. And if you are wondering the point of this “fictitious” tale, I can tell you that it is not to frighten you. I just thought you might want to know why…

This story is by no means a work of fiction. No no. That child is real. And no, he’s not wandering those woods, searching for some people to kill.

He’s right in front of you. And I’m just so fucking curious as to what you all look like on the inside. OOOOH I just can’t keep it in any longer. It’s like ever since I was born, there was some purpose I needed to fulfill. NONE OF YOU HAVE A PURPOSE! Or rather, you do…

A purpose that I will gladly help you fulfill.

And I want to thank you so much for being here to help me with my purpose.

So again, if you really want to know the point of this story, it's to let you know…

Why you’re going to die.