The Light in the Window

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The two brothers dropped their kill on the bare dirt ground in front of the ancient wood cabin. The pine and beech trees shook their leaves in the early spring breeze, reprimanding the intruders. The full moon played tricks with the leaves and shadows.

The older brother sighed and side-eyed his younger brother.

“You left a candle burning.”

“It wasn’t me, John,” the younger brother said, his eyes wide and voice an octave higher. “I might be new to hunting, but I know you’re not supposed to leave fire unattended.”

Shaking his head, the older brother still clutched the strings tied to the feet of the animals that had dropped. He lifted the strings across his shoulder, and the small animals, mouths dry, black eyes milked over with the cloud of recent death, dangled down his back. A twig snapped behind them.

The younger brother spun toward the noise and shifted his weight as he scanned the darkness.

“What’s with you, James?” John whispered harshly. “If it’s another animal, your jerky movements are just going to scare the small ones and attract the bigger ones.”

“You don’t remember the story,” James asked his older brother.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” John snorted at his brother and started towards the cabin.

His whole childhood he’d been told stories, but every kid had some version of a decrepit house, with rotten wooden steps, and crumbling chimney. He’d been hunting the woods once a year for the past decade during the fall months. He’d made a killing too. Before he found the cabin, he’d slept on the ground and returned to town in the morning. This was the third time his brother had joined him, and that was only because their mother had recently bit the bullet and couldn’t keep James from coming anymore.

“John, stop.”

John slowed, turning with narrowed eyes to look at his younger brother. He regarded him for a long time, taking in his wide eyes, his kill still lying on the ground. He heard his brother’s breath quicken as he teased and took another step toward the cabin.

“James, you don’t seriously believe that story.”

“You’ve never been out here in the spring, have you? You always come in the fall. The story happens in the spring. John, it's spring now! That woman died in the spring!”

“Keep your voice down,” John hissed. “First, it’s not spring yet, it’s still early March. Second, it was a stupid story that our stupid mom told us… told me, to keep me from becoming a hunter like one of her distant relatives we never even met.”

James took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Mom’s not stupid. She wanted to keep us from becoming killers, not hunters. We weren't supposed to take more than we needed. You’ve been taking more than we needed this whole time, haven’t you?”

“And this is your third trip out here with me,” John snapped. “Someone had to keep our mom alive. Someone had to keep you alive. No one was looking out for you while she was dying in that bed back home.”

“I know,” James said as he hung his head and picked up the strings tied around the small animal’s hooves. They swung limp as he threw them over his shoulder. Their tiny, squirrel-sized bodies were dark with shimmery fur, foxlike bushy tails and nubby, two-pronged antlers.

“But we shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have helped. These are forest spirits. That’s why that candle’s burning in the window.”

John stalked back to his younger brother and grabbed the animals from him.

“Are you serious? Why'd you even come with me if you think these are forest spirits?”

“I just,” James shuffled his feet in the dirt, “wanted to spend time with you. I don’t have anyone else. You’re my family.”

John stopped for a beat and looked from the candle flickering in the window to his little brother. It was uncommonly warm for an almost spring night, comfortable with a slight breeze that kept the flies away, yet his younger brother shivered.

“Look,” John said as he started toward the cabin again, “can we talk about this later? We need to clean these up.”

James hesitated, wrapping his arms around himself, and looked at the light in the window. “Can we do it somewhere else? I don’t want to go in.”

John sighed. He knew if someone other than James had left the candle lit, they would probably still be in the cabin. John also knew that he would have heard their voices. He would have heard the creaking of the ancient boards under foot. The only thing he heard now was the shifting of trees, the high-pitched chirping of a bat, and a night owl off in the distance.

Besides, no one knew about this cabin. It was far up the mountain, well away from any of the known trails. Not even the most experienced trappers or hunters would have been able to find the secret markings of his route to this overgrown, forgotten cabin. He’d found it one lonely winter ten years ago, the winter his father died. It had been the first time he’d trapped one of the night dox, the deer-like fox creatures.

John had been told by the game merchant at the market that no one had brought him at night dox before and had been happy to pay a premium price for it. The cabin was his secret. The location, something he kept tight. It was the only area he’d found the specific fungi that the night dox ate.

John shifted the animals over his shoulder and looked at the candle again. No one could possibly know about it, right? No one but his idealistic younger brother could have left that candle lit. But why? And why hadn’t John noticed the light as they were leaving for the hunt? If it had been lit before they left, why hadn’t it fallen off the sill and burnt the ramshackle place to the ground? Why did it look like the candlestick itself wasn’t melting?

Had his brother lit it to make a point? To scare him? He didn’t know what went on in his younger brother’s head. He always seemed scattered, distracted by everything, like a million things were going on in his mind at once. John had tried to spend more time with him, but the way he laughed and loved everything reminded him too much of his mother.

“Would it make you feel better if you told me the story again? Got it off your chest while we cleaned the animals? We can clean up over there by that dead log.”

“I really don’t want to be near here. Can we go to that clearing we passed?”

John rolled his eyes. “Fine, it’s not that far, but then we’re coming back.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re the only one who could have lit that candle. Just tell me the story while we walk.”

James looked down at his feet, uncrossing and crossing his arms. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

John shook his head, shoving the strings tied to the night doxes into his brother’s chest, forcing him to put a hand over his and take the bundle.

“Oh, no. Blood is already on your hands. You’re helping.”

In the window, the candlelight flickered.

— — — — — —

Many years ago, when few still believed magic worked in the world, and most had traded their superstitions for industry and profit, a woman named Sarah lived with her husband in a one-room cabin up the mountain. It was a small, hand-hewed, oak cabin with a stone fireplace and one window on either side of the front door. Two handmade chairs sat under the covered porch.

Sarah had grown up in these woods, loved the feel of the moss beneath her feet, the smell of the sweet, wet air and knew how to use the steel hunting knife they kept by the door. She mended, patched, cooked, tended the rocky garden, and told her husband the stories of her childhood.

Her husband, Thomas, hunted for food and for trade. He had grown up in the village on the other side of the mountain, so he didn’t believe the stories that Sarah shared. Didn’t believe that spirits protected this forest.

Sarah loved him despite his disbelief and told him the stories of the forest guardian anyway. She would send him hunting with a kiss and the words, “don’t take more than we need, the forest will know.” When he left, she would leave a candle burning in the window to guide him back home.

Thomas loved his wife despite the silly stories she believed, and always did his best to heed her words. He got one of the new licenses for hunting and only took what they needed. He came home every night after hunting at the same time, cleaned up behind the cabin, took the candle off the windowsill and went to the bed they shared. After blowing out the candle, he kissed his wife good night, and she would smile in her sleep.

One night, he trapped an animal he’d never seen before. It was small and foxlike, with short, inky black fur, a large bushy tail, and small antlers on the top of its head. The tips of its ears and snout had faded into gray, which made him believe the animal was very old.

Walking back to the cabin that night, the air felt wrong. There were no bird calls, no insect hums. The fir trees made no sound as they shook thier branches. Thomas quickly went to the back of the cabin to clean up, but hesitated. He stared at the animal’s fur as it shimmered like stars in the moonlight.

Was this one of the forest spirits Sarah had told him about? No, that was silly. Spirits were ephemeral things, whispers of shadow, murmurs of mist. They took shape as figures in the distance, not physical beings. They weren’t animals that bled.

Thomas took a breath and made quick work of the cleaning. He stored the animal safely away until he could take it to market the next morning. Walking in the cabin’s front, he took the candle off the sill and headed to bed. He dressed in his nightshirt, pulled up the quilt, and blew out the flame. Thomas lay in bed staring at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on his chest. Only when he heard the crickets again and a night owl in the distance did he lean over and kiss Sarah goodnight. Sarah furrowed her brow, but still smiled.

The next day, Thomas took the animal to the game merchant at the market. When the merchant saw the animal, he grabbed Thomas by his arm and pulled him further into his canvass-walled stall and closed the front curtains.

“Where’d you find this?”

“In my usual hunting spot. What is it? I’ve never seen one before.”

“Its name means night glory. We call it a night dox. It’s rare. Very rare.” The merchant muttered to himself and stroked the soft fur and velvet antlers. “This one’s old.”

The husband licked his dry lips and took a deep breath. “Is it - is it a forest spirit? Is that why you brought me into your tent?”

The merchant burst into laughter and slapped Thomas on the back. After catching his breath, he chuckled, “No, no, no, you misunderstand me. I don’t want anyone else to see what you’ve got. This is rare and I’ll pay you for it, better than you've ever been paid before. This isn’t a squirrel or rabbit or even a small deer. There are other people that’ll pay me, us, more than you could imagine.”

“So, it’s not a forest spirit?”

“This is an animal, plain and simple.”

Thomas left with more money than he’d ever seen in his life. He forgot the heaviness he felt that morning and bought Sarah all the things she had needed and a few things she wanted. He bought new boots for himself and still had money left over.

Once home, he presented the gifts to Sarah. He said he hadn’t taken more than they needed, but the forest had provided just a little more. The next time he went hunting, the forest provided just a little more again. Same as the next time, and the next. Soon, Thomas couldn’t tell if the forest was providing more or if he was taking more. But Sarah wasn’t smiling in her sleep.

Thomas had gotten good at hunting the night dox, knew their mating habits, where they made their burrows, and knew their primary food source. He knew the older ones brought home more money. He’d almost stopped hunting anything else until one early spring night, earlier than he usually went hunting, he caught a glimpse of a white stag.

Growing up on the other side of the mountain, Thomas wasn’t told the stories of the forest spirits, but he knew the story of the white stag. It granted unimaginable wealth and wishes to anyone who could catch it. He didn’t believe in magic, but believed that a white stag would bring him more money than a little night dox.

That night, Thomas got ready for a hunting trip. Sarah sat on the bed mending a sweater, rolls of brand new, but unused fabric leaned against their bed. She watched him tie his third pair of new boots, while the old solid ones sat in a corner untouched. She felt his eyes wandering around the room, looking for anything but her gaze. Her husband checked his gear and got up to leave.

“My love,” she said, stopping him. She put down her mending and walked to the door. The candle was already burning on the windowsill. She turned Thomas around to face her and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“I don’t need more things. Together we’re enough,” she sighed as he shifted and looked at the ground. “Don’t take more than we need, my love.”

He grunted his response and closed the door behind him. He had spotted the white stag about a half mile from the cabin and decided to start there.

— — — — — —

The darkness whispered to Thomas as he crouched down to feel the soft earth where hooves had been. He noticed the bend of the broken branches with new buds and held his breath. A twig snapped ahead of him and off he went, silent as he could.

The clouds made shadows that raced across a clearing in the woods. On the edge of the other side, he spotted the old buck. It was at least two heads taller than him, with faded gray fur, and a black-tipped white tail. Its antlers hung heavy with moss. Pink flowers sprouted from the green covered points. He heard the animal snuffling on the ground and took a small, slow step. The deer’s head rose and locked eyes with Thomas. The night slowed, the deer turned into the forest and, with one leap, was completely inside the arms of the trees. Thomas took off after it.

For hours the man danced with his prey, cutting him off before the stream, leading the deer around rock formations he didn’t recognize, deeper and deeper into the woods until, crouched down at the foot of an oak on a mossy patch of ground, he realized he didn’t know where he was.

He’d been all over these woods, had spent years learning the area and tracking, but didn’t recognize any of the rocks or even this tree. The glow of the moon on the ground was different. There were animal calls he didn’t recognize. Was that a bird or a mammal? He’d never been out so late, either. He’d always been able to get something and bring it back quickly. The way the moonlight reflected off something in the distance reminded him of Sarah's candle. Had the candle gone out already? Had it fallen? Was Sarah all right?

He saw the stag panting hard a few feet away. Thomas knew he’d worn out the deer and could bring it down. But could he bring it back to the cabin by himself? He felt a twinge in his side and suddenly felt foolish. Who was he to do this on his own? How was he to clean an animal this size and then find his way back? What if the candle had fallen? How long would it take him to retrace his steps back to Sarah?

A breeze shifted through the trees, and the buck stiffened. Thomas cursed himself for sitting upwind. But the deer lowered its head, went down on its knees, and huffed into its bedding position, all its fight gone. Thomas knelt in the dirt against the tree and stared at the deer’s peaceful resignation.

Thomas was tired, bruised, his hands were bleeding, his clothes torn from scrambling over unfamiliar terrain, and, of course, his new boots had given him blisters. He could make do without the stag. They had enough, more than enough. He thought of the candle possibly still burning in the window and his heart yearned for his wife.

— — — — — —

The candle had indeed burnt down low. She never went to sleep on the nights that her husband went hunting, but stayed up, reading, or knitting, to watch the candle. Only when she heard him at the back of the house did, Sarah put her things away and close her eyes. But she hadn’t heard him. She had been awake for hours, pacing and going onto the porch and back inside. She had straightened, swept, organized, and folded everything twice. An hour went by, then a second, then a third, and then she got up.

She took out a second candle and lit it from the stub of the first. Sarah took it out onto the porch and scanned the darkness, the shadows playing tricks on her eyes. A breeze rustled through the leaves around the cabin.

Through the beech and the pine, she saw a figure. It shifted among the branches and called to her.

Sarah whispered her husband's name to the darkness. She stepped off the porch and stood on the dirt with her bare feet and lifted the candle to get a better look.

“Is that you?” she called.

“Sarah, I need your help,” her husband moaned and stumbled back into the trees.

She grabbed the hunting knife she kept on the table by the door and with candle still in hand, went into the forest toward her husband’s voice.

“Sarah, where are you?” he called out.

“I’m here! Look for my light! I’m here!” Sarah tripped after her husband, saw him stumble and grab his chest. There was a clearing up ahead. Thomas would be able to see better in the clearing. He would see her there. When they reached the forest’s edge, the clouds cleared from the moon, lighting the mossy floor.

Sarah saw her husband fall into the clearing, then disappear among the white flowers dotting the ground like fallen stars. She stopped in her tracks.

“Thomas?”

She gripped the knife tighter.

“Is that you?”

Thomas appeared again on the other side, facing her. He was hurt, his hands scraped up, and his clothes torn. He was bleeding from above his eyebrow.

She had to get him. With a few quick strides, she was in the clearing.

“Thomas,” she called louder.

Her husband chuckled darkly and a voice like dry leaves and dead branches came from a mouth full of glowing white teeth.

“You shouldn’t have let him take my children, Sarah.”

A sour taste rose from her stomach as she took a step back.

“You,” she whispered.

The shadow figure no longer held her husband’s form or face. As it took a step toward her, the darkness from the forest pooled around it, seeping in from every direction. It grew taller, more cervine. Its eyes, two dark lakes on a moonless night. In them, Sarah could feel untold creatures churning in their depths. Antlers made of shadows and mist formed on its head. With each step it took, the deer man came into being. Sinewy arms with clawed hands hung down past its human torso. Its deer-legs were large with heavy hooves.

The hulking shadow man stalked toward Sarah and opened its mouth. All the animal voices of the forest sounded at once, a howling screech that sent shivers through the spine of every tree and animal in the forest.

“You shouldn’t have taken more than you needed.”

Sarah choked on a sob.

“I told him about the forest spirits. I told him not to take more than we needed. I told him.”

She took another step backward and shook her head. Why didn’t she tell him more often? She whipped away tears with the back of her hand that held the knife.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, dropping the steel blade. It hit the ground with a soft thud.

The shadow man took another noiseless step towards Sarah, his antlers casting shadows on her face. His face was a mob of mist that curled into a too-wide smile.

“You remember the stories of the forest guardian?”

Sarah’s eyes grew wide, reflecting the candle’s light.

“You know the forest has eyes and there’s a price for taking too much.”

She took another step backward.

SNAP! Metal clanged against metal as a trap sprung closed and the candlelight went out.

— — — — — —

Thomas had just taken a weary step onto the porch of the cabin when he heard the trap close in the distance. There was no mistaking the clear, well oiled, metal-on-metal sound. He turned from the candle-less window and looked toward the clearing where the sound had come from.

He called for Sarah, thinking she was still in the cabin, but there was no answer. He reached a trembling hand to open the door. He called again and still there was no answer. It was as cold and empty in the cabin as it was in the pit of his stomach. He turned from their house and ran toward the clearing, calling her name.

“Sarah,” he yelled as he streamed toward the open space in the forest, stopping just at the edge of the woods. There was a small, flickering light in the middle of the clearing. Thomas took a trembling step toward it, cautiously looking before each step, not knowing if there was another trap set for him.

The closer he came to the light, the more he recognized the candlestick holder. It was Sarah’s, the one she left in the window every night to lead him back home. He reached the center of the clearing, and the candle was sitting on the open trap. Around it, blood fanned out in a circle, smears of it streaked the metal.

There were no other signs of Sarah. He called her name again and again and ran through the woods till the candle burned down and the sun came up. The next night, he searched for Sarah again. And the next night. And the next. He always left a candle in the window, but Sarah never came home. Her body was never found.

— — — — — —

“That’s it,” John asked. “Her body was never found?” He looked at his younger brother as they stood in front of the cabin again, cleaned kill in both arms, candle still lit in the window. “You hear how ridiculous that story is, right?”

James still stood a few feet behind his older brother and looked at the cabin. “OK, maybe I forgot to blow out the candle before we went hunting,” he said as he looked at his feet, the trees, the cabin, anywhere but his brother’s eyes. “I didn’t want to hunt the night dox anymore. I remember thinking that if you saw a candle in the window, you’d remember the story and you’d want to stop hunting night dox too.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” John sighed heavily. “I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. I was just trying to provide for you the only way I knew how. The night dox just provided so much more than anything else.”

“We need to stop. We’ll be ok without the night dox, right? We just have to stick together, and we’ll be ok.” James looked at his older brother and the side of his mouth quirked into a small smile.

“All right, let’s just go to bed and head to the market tomorrow morning.” John started up the steps of the cabin, but James didn’t follow.

“I still want you to go in first, just to check,” he said and looked at his feet. “I remember wanting to light a candle in the window. I just don’t remember actually lighting a candle.”

“You’re still pretending you didn’t light it?” Exasperated, John stomped across the porch and shoved open the cabin door.

Every inch of the cabin’s floor held an open and waiting metal animal trap. The teeth of the traps gleamed like too-wide smiles.

John slowly placed the dead animals at the threshold of the cabin door.

“James, don’t move.”

He took a tentative step backward.

“Don’t you dare move,” he said as he took another step backward, turning slowly toward the woods and his brother.

SNAP!

Metal clanged against metal.

An older brother screamed for his younger brother as the light in the window went out.