The Gate

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

The boy had been there many times. For him and his friends, the cabin was a fort, a clubhouse, a castle or a spaceship. For others, it was just rubble on the wayside. Today it was a mystery waiting to be solved. Intrigued by the flickering flame, the boy started walking towards the cabin. As he came closer and closer, the dim light rekindled an old memory.

They had spent the afternoon down by the lake and after the day had cooled off, they were sitting under the oak trees with their swimming trunks still wet, towels on their heads, eating ice-cream and talking trifles that kids talk on summer afternoons. He could still taste the strawberry ice cream, still smell the damp fabrics. When it was time for dinner but they didn’t want to go home yet they decided to hide inside the cabin.

Outside: the eery twilight of a late summer evening. Inside: laughter, jokes and friendship. Incapable of empathising with their parents’ growing terror, they enjoyed their extended time together. One of them, and the boy couldn’t even remember who it was, found a charred piece of paper between two floor boards. On it, in the most controlled, practiced handwriting, it read:

If you find a candle lit

quickly run away from it

the rest had burned away.

Immediately the boys started spooking each other. Shrieking in the most bone chilling pitches, but it all sooner or later turned into belly tearing, eyes watering laughter as they started rolling around on the floor, gasping for air. The room heated up as their rapture filled the cabin. More and more voices chimed in euphorically.

Then they saw a light flickering through the window. Menacingly drawing dancing shadows on the walls of the cabin.

Their laughter suffocated. Eyes focused on the window. They held their breath. There were footsteps outside. Coming closer, approaching, fast. Suddenly the door flew open, and light, now bright as day, blinded them as they tried to make out the silhouette that was standing in the door.

A deep, angry voice ripped through the cold summer air: “You better get your asses home or I will hand them to your moms in pieces.”

Despite the horrific nature of the scene and the unspeakable amount of trouble they were in, they just couldn’t help but burst out laughing again, leaving the boys’ dad disarmed, then visibly confused and lastly even more furious than before. The boy remembered this day well. The fun they had. Being grounded for a week. The note.

If you find a candle lit

quickly run away from it

When the boy came back from this memory, he had already reached the front door of the cabin, clenching the handle. He pushed it open. The air inside was warm and dense. A sweet smell emphasised the candle’s pleasant lighting. In an instance, many more memories chased through his head. Laughter, companionship, belonging, joy. All connected to this place. He felt home.

Recalling the note over and over again, but unable to sense any fear, he closed the door and then his eyes. He stepped in the center of the cabin, layed back his head, spread his arms. He took in the sweet warm air in long, big breaths. Filling his lungs, calming him, tiring him, but in a good way. His body felt heavy now. Almost too heavy to stand, certainly too heavy to run. From a distance he could hear voices. Yelling, cheering. His friends at the lake. Playing, scuffling. Screams. Was it joy he heard, or terror? He was starting to get confused.

He snapped out of it, opening his eyes. His body was numb, but his head was clearer now. The cabin didn’t feel warm anymore, it felt hot. He turned to the door. It was time to leave. Whatever it was that was going on here, started to frighten him. Almost unable to move his feet, he looked around. Then he saw it. A piece of paper. A folded note lying in the abandoned wood-burning stove. Just barely lurking out the half opened cast iron door.

Something compelled him to move towards the note, away from the door. Away from the world outside the cabin. He inched forward. No sense of steps, or walking, it felt as if he was hovering. His body bent down against his will and picked up the piece of paper. In his head now his memory roaring, chanting, begging him to listen.

"If you find a candle lit

quickly run away from it

If you find a candle lit

quickly run away from it

quickly…

quickly…

run…”

Now on his knees, he opened the note. On it, the same handwriting that was carved in his memory. How many times had the author written those lines? Curved every letter to perfection. The boys mind was descending into madness. Clearly sensing screams from inside the firebox. His body now unbearably hot, sweat pouring from every pore of his body. A thousand burning hands clinging to his legs. As the stove ignited, and the flames swallowed him whole, his eyes read the missing words:

If you find a candle lit

quickly run away from it

break the flickers lulling spell

it will send you straight to hell

The candle had died out. The cabin once again a neglected shack. On its floor a paper note, halfway scorched.