The Gift of Fear

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

My dad and I had regularly gone camping in these woods and the cabin was always empty. I was much younger then, just old enough to hold a rifle but still needed my dad to help empty and reload the chamber. We used to go hunting up and down the nature tracks. We would try to hunt during the winter for many reasons but mainly because we didn’t have to worry about bears. They always hibernate during winter; we could sleep a little easier knowing we were most likely the biggest thing lurking around in the woods. Food became scarcer and so animals would break away from their usual spots and get caught off-guard. Most importantly, the snow covered our tracks and scent, and the fog covered our movement, creeping in during the morning mist and the nightly glow.

I learnt all this from my dad after many, many attempts to bring back home the biggest prize of them all, a full-grown stag, the larger the antlers the better. Some consider such stags to be like hunting unicorns, as elusive as the ghostly voices in the wind. You’d see one, blink, and they would be gone forever.

The best way to find one was the most obvious but the hardest. You had to be patient and willing to wait it out. It could take hours, days even until you catch a whiff. We had to travel deep, way deep into the woods, climbing up and down a narrow path following a nearby stream. We’d make sure we had packed enough food and water to last us a week out here in the wilderness. We both would bring a backpack and sleeping bag with our rifles slung over our left shoulders. After a few hours of walking, we would finally arrive at an opening in the woods. Right in the middle of the field, there was this cabin – it wasn’t ours, but we made good use of it. It wasn’t anyone’s. Right smack bang in the heart of the woods it had stood for many years, the trees surrounding it all cleared an opening in the sky so that the sun and moonlight could shine through and light up the surroundings. It was magical, so peaceful and quiet. I think back to that cabin and long for those simpler times.

Whole logs were stacked neatly on top of each other making the four walls, the front wall had a doorway and an opening for a window. The window though served no real purpose as it was barred to keep the frost out. We would camp out in the cabin, light a little fire, and try to keep warm until the next day, eating our rations of tinned fruit and jerky. Once it was sunrise my dad would wake me up and we would pack everything and seal it back up the way it was. The cabin wasn’t much to look at from the outside, and neither was it much on the inside. No one else would ever come to this spot, every year when we returned, we would see the place was exactly the same way we left it.

I miss those days; it was a lot of fun. We never managed to catch one of those stags in the end. I was determined to try every year, still coming back home empty-handed. I missed one year because I was sick. It was late in the season, and rather than being stuck at home with a sick kid, my dad ventured out on his own. He said, “Don’t you worry. I’ll get that stag of yours and we’ll mount its head on the wall.”

When he returned, something was different, he had a limp, he told everyone he took a wrong turn and fell, but he was always so careful. It was odd. The limping got worse by the hour. He refused to let us have a look, he became delirious, even just the mention of the trip would get him worked up. “There’s nothing there! Nothing! Don’t go there, forget it, never go back! Those woods are cursed – cursed… Cursed!” He began to have a fever and started mumbling to himself, “What was that!? – show yourself – I’m not afraid of you!” We thought it would be best to call an ambulance to get him checked out. When the paramedics arrived, he was in a daze sitting in his rocking chair and staring at the fireplace. He looked obsessed with that fireplace, or more precisely, the fire, the way it would crackle and snap made me think he was reliving something in his mind. He was constantly muttering about “the light.”

Before the paramedics took him into the ambulance, he grabbed me by the arm and stared into my eyes. What he said, I’ll never forget. He whispered, “You ever wonder why you suddenly wake up just before you are about to die in a dream?” I froze, unable to make out if it was a rhetorical question, a serious question, or a joke waiting for a funny punchline. But there was no punchline, the ambulance doors closed and they drove away. He died in the ambulance, the coroner said it was because of an infection in his leg. The same infection that caused him to limp all the way back home. When I asked what caused the infection, if it was a cut or a graze, what they told me sent chills down my spine. “He was impaled,” the doctor said as empathetic as possible. “Impaled? Like from a broken branch?” I pressed. “No, not from a tree or plant, like from a tusk or an antler,” the doctor said. “That can’t be, he said he fell,” I insisted but the doctor simply shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder.

In that moment of loss, I recalled all the stories my dad would tell me all sorts of strange stories on our trips to pass the time. He would tell how we learnt to be afraid of spiders and snakes through our bloodline. “Our ancestors encountered snakes and may have not known they were deadly; some would have found out the hard way and would have learnt to fear snakes for their deadly bite and soon the mere sight of one would make your stomach curl. Eventually, it became imprinted in our blood, our DNA, we learnt to fear them and many other creatures of the woods.” He called it “the gift of fear," which had ensured our survival all these years. Passed down from generation to generation, the fear was inherited through our DNA. That sense you get when the hairs on your neck stick up. That’s your ancestors saying, ‘Don’t go there, don’t disturb that, run!” There are so many things in the woods that you are naturally afraid of without even knowing exactly why. Truth be told, there are many other things in the woods that you should fear but have never encountered.

Whatever my dad encountered broke him. I wanted now more than ever to find that elusive stag my dad and I had never managed to catch. I could finally put this behind us as well as let my dad rest in peace if I could bring home the prize. I told myself that I would make one final trip out there, stay at the cabin in the woods, this time I’d planned to stay there for as long as it takes, just one last time. In hindsight, I wish I had that fear my dad spoke of. If only I had listened to him and never gone.

I ventured out on my own, packing my backpack and rifle – now old enough to handle a rifle on my own. I followed the usual path, retracing my dad’s steps, climbing up and down a narrow path following the nearby stream. Finally, after many hours of trekking, exhausted from the cold, fatigue was setting in. I was looking forward to getting into the cabin, getting a fire started and calling it a night. The relief of seeing the cabin was soon replaced with a different feeling, a feeling of bewilderment but most of all, confusion.

There it was, the cabin stood high on the open field as it always did, surrounded by trees and an opening in the sky. Yet, instead of me seeing it light up from the darkness surrounding it from the treetops by the moonlight, it was lit up by candlelight. The candlelight was coming out of the window, a window not known to be used or left open. There I was, in the darkness of the edge of the woods, staring at the abandoned cabin, only appeared it was no longer abandoned – someone was in there. I could just make out the candle in the window, a singular, tall white candle, thin like the thickness of a finger, it looked clean, with no drips of wax hardening around it, like it had recently been lit. Someone must have been living there, or at the very least camping there for the night.

But something was a bit off about the way the cabin looked. It looked fresher, not like someone has spent a couple of days cleaning up the place, more like it looked as if the wood was freshly cut. I could even smell it, the crushed-up pine oil and smell of sawdust in the air. It seemed to emit a glow, like when you shine a torch over your hand and you see the light seeping through your skin. The windows had always been sealed with planks of wood, but not anymore, the wind below all around.

“If this is another hunter, I best let myself be known,” I thought. I would hate to be shot by accident or worse. I sat for a little while in the shrubs, thinking about my next move. It was like a game of chess, one ill-judged move, and checkmate. I had to be careful, think four moves ahead and have my wits about me. I had to refuse to give into the temptation to blindly walk towards the cabin I could accidentally trip into a trap or a snare. It was quite common for hunters to set up a perimeter of wire around their sleeping ground attached to bells and other loud noisy instruments to wake the sleeper so they could quickly take aim.

Just then, stepping out of the darkness of the woods directly across from me stood clear two large antlers appointed upon the elusive stag. It sniffed the air and licked its nose, then it began to walk slowly towards the cabin. I was in shock, I wanted to take aim, but then I decided against it. Taking aim and firing now would only startle the person inside the cabin, who may even think I was after them. I watched the stag closely, it walked right up to the front door of the cabin and the door opened. He stepped inside and the door closed behind him. I rubbed my eyes…what had just happened? Did I just dream, did that actually happen? Suddenly, I too felt compelled to come closer, to step out of the dark cover of the woods and enter. The smell of the sweetest apple pie lingered in the air; I could taste it on my tongue. Whoever lives here mustn’t be a hunter, no trip wires or traps had caught the stag, and the stag willingly stepped right inside. Perhaps, it wasn’t a hunter, maybe it was the original occupant. I had waited long enough, I approached the door, and before knocking, I called, “Hello, is anyone in there, I’m friendly I mean you no harm.” I thought to myself “why would I say that?” Surely any person who meant ill will would say the same thing, although conceivably a predator would not make their presence known at all.

The door opened up widely, and to my surprise, I saw the unexpected. What appeared to be a senior old man, skinnier than most, with pale white skin that seemed to glow. His eyes were bright blue, he looked at me and seemed to recognise me, welcoming me like an old friend. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here” he exclaimed, “Such wonderful timing.” he looked upon me like a shipwrecked soul lost at sea and I was his rescue. I was confused by him, not an ounce of caution or wariness towards a stranger. He seemed pleased with the arrival of another person in these woods, though the woods wouldn’t be a place you’d expect someone to seek company. I thought, “He must’ve mistaken me for one of his own kin or perhaps he has gone mad from the loneliness.”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you sir, I was just out in these woods hunting and I’ve never seen anyone else out here before, I thought I best let my presence known in case we accidentally get in between our crossfire… Are you a hunter?” I said sheepishly, trying to make myself look less threatening. The old man stared right into my eyes, almost in a trance, hanging on my every word. “Hunter, you? You don’t look like a hunter, nor smell like one, come in – come in, you must be so cold, I have some hot food inside.” He gestured with his hands to come inside and stepped out of the way of the entrance. I was so caught off-guard by his hospitality and his fragile state that I obliged him without much thought. “Thank you” were the only words I could reach for as I entered.

The room looked full, like someone has been living here for years, strange because I was only there a year ago in summer. What I was seeing made no sense at all, carved tables and chairs, a bed with a mattress and linen, cups and plates and what looked like a big cast iron pot in the centre of the cabin boiling away, and a delicious-smelling apple pie was on the table. That reminded me, the smell of the apple pie must’ve lured the stag into the cabin but he was nowhere to be seen. The old man went across to one of the chairs and threw over a fur pelt that looked like one from a wild wolf, he patted it down and gestured for me to take a seat. “Please, sit down and take off your gear.” I slowly took off my backpack and dropped it to my side, the old man came over to assist, although I was a bit wary of him going near my gear, especially my rifle. I unslung the rifle off my shoulder and he went to grab it off me, assumingly to place it somewhere safe but I did not let go of it. Instead, I looked at him with a smile and nodded saying “I got it to thank you.” He took no notice and instead brushed off the cold from my jacket. After pulling the chair up and sitting down it dawned on me how peculiar this all is. I look around the walls looking at trinkets, dream catchers, tapestry, and a few animal pelts lining the inside of the walls. The old man began humming away and walked back to the end of the cabin where the candle stood near the window. He was cutting up carrots and potatoes on a chopping board, celery and pumpkin could also be seen on the bench.

“You out here alone?” I asked curiously. “No, no, I’m never alone” he laughed. I felt a bit uneasy about that answer, and I think he could sense that too. “Are you?” he peered over to me seeking an answer. “I am,” I said, he nodded and smiled, continuing to hum an unknown tune, and then gasped, slamming down the chopping knife. I thought he cut himself but he ran over to the table with a plate and cutlery and picked up a kettle. “How rude of me, I didn’t offer you a drink, you must be thirsty!” He began pouring the tea into a mug, the loose leaves falling in with the steamy water. “No, thank you, I have my own” I insisted. He walked over to me and without any thought, gave me the cup. If I hadn’t taken it out of his hands, it surely would’ve spilled all over me.

“Thank you,” I said trying to be as polite as possible. The longer I stayed the more uneasy I felt. “What was I doing here? When would I leave?” I felt a sudden compulsion to get up and pardon myself like an inner voice was shouting within “Get out now!” But I suppressed it, I still had unanswered questions to ask. “Sorry to pry, but before I entered, I saw a stag come through the front door, but I don’t see it anymore, is it a pet of yours?” I said trying to gauge what on earth was going on in this cabin. “Stag?” he scoffed “You know, a male deer with antlers.” I pressed. Boom! He banged his hands down on the bench as if he had enough of the chatter. “I believe I best be going,” I said, finally realising this old man is too unstable for his own good or mine.

Doubt began to run through my mind, maybe I took a wrong turn, maybe this isn’t the same cabin my dad and I would stay at, perhaps there are many cabins similar to the abandoned one and this was not it. I got up and started for the door when the old man’s voice croaked, “I thought I recognised you, you smell just like your father.” His back still turned to me, the chopping stopped and the room was filled with silence. “What did you say?” I asked, unsure if his senile mind has tricked him into thinking I was someone else. He slowly turned around, “You ever wonder why you suddenly wake up just before you are about to die in a dream?” My eyes widen, and he smiled at the sight of my fear as all the blood in my face vanished. He continued as I stood frozen, “It’s because the brain has no idea what happens after death… but I do.”

The candle snuffed out and the room suddenly became dark again. The entire cabin looked exactly the way I remembered it a year ago. All the trinkets and dream catchers on the walls disappeared as if they were just a mirage. The only difference to the cabin was the old man was still standing across from me – except he no longer looked like the old man he perceived himself to be, bare just skin and bone. He was hunched over, he began to contort and jerk back and forth, his limbs cracking and popping as he swayed from left to right. With every crack of a knuckle or joint he changed shape, getting bigger and bigger. He stomped his feet until they were feet no more but hooves. His hands covered the top of his head as lumps began to protrude out piercing his skin. They continued to grow and grow and spread like a branch of a tree, they looked very much like the antlers of a stag.

What on God’s earth was standing across from me? Could this fowl-looking monstrosity have been the same stag I saw walk into the cabin? For surely, if he can transform into an old man or this abomination then what other form could he turn into. I didn’t wait to know the answer, I ran towards the front door and with all my might tried desperately to open it, to no avail. It was forced shut as if by some kind of black magic. I was doomed to look on. The beast standing on the other end of the cabin let out a terrible groan as its final muscles and tendons snapped into its rightful place. Now huffing like a bull ready to charge he gazed directly at me with his piercing red eyes. I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, I could sense the end of me was only moments away. With every fibre of my being, I resisted the urge to give in. I glanced over to my feet, knocking against something, my rifle now on the floor, which must’ve been knocked over during the commotion was within arm’s reach.

I leant over and grabbed the rifle, cocked, and was about to aim but the creature charged at me with such speed that I had no chance to fire upon it. The rifle was yanked out of my arms and thrown across the room before I could even blink. There, he stood over me as if the shadow surrounding him had now become a part of his body. His eyes glared at me with fierce determination. I couldn’t move, I was frozen in his eyes. “You smell of sour milk, like your father.” I tried to move but couldn’t all I had control over was my words. “How, how did my dad escape from you?” The beast looked angered by this, “He did not escape by no fault of mine” he hissed. “He tasted old and bitter, I tossed his foul stench away, I’d do the same to you if I wasn’t so in need.”

He laughed to himself which made my bones rattle. “You have much to learn and yet no more time left to learn it.” He grabbed my shoe and cuts my shoelace with his sharp claws. I shouted at him as he began to take my shoe off my foot followed by peeling off my sock. He snarled at the smell of my foot and said “Sour, he is too spoilt, I waited too long, should have taken you while you were with your father.” “You saw me go hunting with my dad? While I was a child?” His face lit up and bared his sharp teeth as if he was trying to smile. “Child, children, their unspoiled lives are like sweet honey” he proclaimed before he began to bite down on my foot. I felt the pressure get tighter and tighter until the bite started to pierce the skin, a sharp pain took over all of my senses. Blood filled his mouth as he took another bite higher up on the foot. With every ounce of strength, I had left, I tried to stay focused on my words. Thinking of the right response, only moments left to spare, time was running out, now knowing every breath I take could be my last.

My mind was racing, this monster down by my feet was slowly eating me alive. Every moment that went by was more excruciating than the last. I knew if I would pass out from the pain I would not wake. That would have been the end of me and of this story. However, I would not have been able to tell this story if I did indeed die there and then. For I escaped and am speaking this to you all now, and with no proof to show that it wasn’t all a dream. If I were to take my shoes off right now, you’d see nothing left of that bite mark. I managed to limp back home, though, I wasn’t sickened from the bite, not like my dad. I healed, rapidly, I could almost see the puncture healing slowly before my very eyes. I felt rejuvenated, I somehow managed to escape the beast with my life to tell the tale.

My dad always told me the power of fear can be a great tool if harnessed. I failed to listen to it when it told me, “Don’t go in there, leave while you still can.” If I had acted upon it as soon as it appeared things may have been different. I speak to all of you who hear my words right this very moment. You too failed, for you didn’t hear the fear in you loud enough to get up and run away, instead you sit still curious to know the end of the story.

You see, this creature long ago used to lure unsuspecting children into the woods and eat them. For every year taken away from the victim the longer, the beast could live without feeding. It was immortal as long as it took a life still full of life. The older we become the less life we have to give, and the sourer we taste. The beast must have been desperate when eating away at me.

The beast used ancient magic to lure its victims into its trap, lights, decorations, and sweet smells, even shapeshifting to make you feel at ease. With every spell, the creature spent more of its life and eventually, the creature would cease to exist. I knew what it needed and how to escape this hell. I told it that I could bring it children and youthful spirits. I also said I knew a way so it wouldn’t have to use magic to lure the children. I would devise a plan in order for the monster to take them. The woods are too far for children to walk through and no parent would ever allow them to go on their own. The beast would then travel to the edge of the woods and wait in the darkness – waiting – watching. He would know where to look, it would be rather easy too, for a campfire would be bright enough to see from a far away distance. A fire would also be distracting enough to not notice the shadows slowly sneaking up closer and closer behind them.

The only thing left to do is say why I am still alive. It’s because I am here to keep you all distracted long enough with this story that by the time I finish, you start to realise what is going on. But it’s too late. He is already right behind you, ready to grab you, and take you away with him into the woods.