The Thing That Lives There

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. I couldn’t help but feel a comforting darkness sweep over me. Staring at that light, I remembered I was here. I hadn’t been snuffed out by the muffled sounds of earthworms trying to find each other in the dirt. I was alive. At least for now, and that was all I could hope for. Years ago, it would have been a different story. I would have been struck with fear. Afraid to move in case I was seen. I’ve got a thicker skin now. Not because I’m tough, but because I’ve made it and am still alive to tell you what happened.

The first time I saw the candle it burnt up all the oxygen in my lungs. My eyes watched the window for so long, I felt outside of time. If I’d seen any sign of a shadow on the walls, or a slight wavering of the flame, I would have retreated. Deep into the clutches of the bony gum trees. Far away where no one could find me. Not him. Not death. No one. I’d make myself invisible if I had to, as invisible as whatever was taking up residence in my family’s cabin.

What was that? I saw something move around, making itself at home. Like a cockroach crawling across the woodwork, scavenging any warmth left in the air. I feel the cold night grab at my breath, as I cut the darkness with my stare. Where’d it go? The flame of the candle stares back at me, unwavering. Whatever it was, it was right there. I saw it hovering at the edge of the light. It was tall. Almost human. A shadow blacker than black, denser than carbon. A thing that doesn’t belong. Even its shadow feels alien in the thick, damp darkness.

A chorus of frogs starts chiming from the dam at the back of the cabin. Even though I can’t see them, I know where they are. I remember fishing for tadpoles in that dam. My bare belly to the hot planks of the dock, leaning over the slick of water, dark like oil, holding my tiny fish net. Looking for any ripples on the surface of the water caused by the futile kicking of tiny legs. I used to be able to fill a bucket with little bodies. Tadpoles. Frogs. And those weird in between things. My dad used to tell me I didn’t need to keep so many. That I should leave some to the bush, allow some to fend for themselves in there with the carp. But I wasn’t just worried about the carp, I feared the birds would take them all. Pluck them from their home and eat them on the very dock I used as a bridge to save them. Even if they die, at least they’d be dying on their terms, dad would say. I had no idea what that meant back then. Did it make me second guess what I was doing on that dock, day after day? Not once. I wanted to save as many as I could. I believed I was saving them.

Without even realising it, the bush had gone quiet. I flash my torch around nervously, hoping to awaken something. I watch the beam of light track over the teetering fence at the edge of the property. The knots in the posts like the mouths of silent, twisted screams. There’s something about tonight that feels different. Off. Whatever that thing is in the window, I don’t think the cabin can contain it any longer. Not only is it dead quiet, but it also feels colder. I hug myself in my puffer jacket to stay warm. Imagine you’re next to a fire, drinking hot soup, Romy. You’re cloaked in an enormous quilt, with a hot water bottle wedged between you and your camp chair. Well, that didn’t work, you’re still freezing.

A twig breaks under foot. Please tell me that was a roo. Then the great silence, like whatever it is, is waiting for me to make the next move. Suddenly I feel heat lap the back of my head, but I dare not turn around. Without looking, I know something is standing behind me. It’s so close I can feel it breathing into my hair. In, out. In, out. I can feel the weight of its body filling the night air. Oh god, make it stop. Please, please, please make it stop. I shut my eyes and shakily move my hand up slowly. Please don’t let there be anything there. I edge my hand up over my shoulder, before grabbing at the back of my head quickly. I swiftly turn around at the same time, losing my grip on the torch. I watch as it skids off into the darkness. Its beam carving a path to the damned across the soft velvet of leaves. There’s no one. Just me alone.

You’re not losing your mind. Are you? I don’t even know anymore. It’s been so long since I felt anything but this, I can’t be sure. How can someone live with this? This thing coming at me again and again, using the safety of darkness to find a way in. I pick up my torch, brushing a few wet leaves off it. I walk back towards the fence. It was right here... I cast the beam out like a net, but it comes back empty. The fence and any signs of the cabin are gone. I feel dread sweep over me as I grip the torch. This is not good. The car is back on the main road, which is kilometres away. I need to get out of here. My head starts ringing.

Peeeaaaa-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee. Wake up, pea-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee. Dad would sing. Dad, I need more sleep! You’ve got school, c’mon. I’ll put your favourite CD on in the car, so long as it’s not those one chord wonders. Even though I hated being woken up, I didn’t mind the singing part. That horrible nickname sung totally tone-deaf made my day. When I was particularly tired though, dad would put ice cubes down mine and my brother’s backs. Standing at a safe distance, he’d chuckle to himself while he watched us hop around the room, trying to dislodge the ice cubes. After that, the singing alone was enough to make us leap out of bed.

My mind and eyes refocus on the darkness as the ringing in my ears fades away. Looking down I notice my knuckles have gone white gripping the torch so hard, and the beam has grown weaker. Great. The fence to the cabin has got to be here somewhere. You did orienteering with dad, remember? You can find a damn cabin that you were only metres from an hour ago. Was it an hour? How long have I been out here? The torch is fading fast, I’m running out of time. Reaching into the pocket of my puffer jacket, I fish around for my phone. Maybe I can use the torch on that. Doubtful, but worth a try. I don’t have my phone; I must’ve left it in the car. The realisation makes my stomach sink, just as the torch sighs its last breath. It’s all going to be fine. I’ll just smack it a few times and maybe it will turn on again. I stand there in the deep, dark mouth of the bush, desperately hitting the torch as I feel the trees inch closer. Come on you stupid thing. Come on. It gives one last shudder of light, before going quiet. That’s when I hear it. Off in the distance, the sound of footsteps. Not light, not loud, but deliberate. They want to be known. The cabin.

Not sure whether to walk towards the sound or run, I find myself at the fence before I know what I’m doing. The footsteps again, louder now. But I can’t see anything. Where is it? The candle flickers in the window. It wants me to go in, but I’m scared. I’m so terrified I can feel the blood rushing out of my face. I either wait for it, or I go to it. There aren’t many options for me out here, all alone. I reach for the latch on the gate and fumble it open. The cold, wet metal pressing into my skin. I start for the path. One foot in front of the other. I see the dead row of yellow roses mum planted years ago. She thought she could tame the wild of the bush with a few thorns, but now they’re just a distant memory. One foot in front of the other. I pass the goldfish pond dad and I dug up together and see it’s now covered in weeds and grasses. I’m now at the bottom step, but something stops me. I can feel something watching me. I can’t quite make it out, so I shield my eyes and squint into the dark. At first all I see is an outline, a silhouette. Whatever it is it’s sitting on the porch and it’s watching me. It doesn’t have eyes, but I know it wants to see me up close, study me. It wants me to take its unearthly hand and follow it. I start to feel tears welling up in my eyes and I bite the inside of my lip to help me collect myself and remember how tough I am. Remember what I’ve been through and that this is proof I can do this. I can stand eye-to-eye with death. A shadowy-black hand reaches out of the darkness, under the eyelid of the cabin roof. It’s blacker than black, more solid than the shadows echoing off into the surrounding bush. It doesn’t have skin, or hair, or any features. It’s just solid black and it’s beckoning me. This is it, there’s no turning back now. I reach out my hand and it takes hold of it tightly, almost painfully. I feel it radiating coldness, like an ice burn. I look up and can’t speak I’m so scared. It has eyes, and they’re staring back at me. Blue, but not cold like its hand. I know those eyes. They’re the eyes that have always been there, watching over me. Even when I thought they’d gone, they were still there. Here, at the cabin. It’s you, Dad. I feel the words leave me, and with them the regret, guilt, and sadness I’d held onto all these years. For so long I’d tried to forget what happened and buried him far away, somewhere safe where I could find him when I was ready. At that moment, I hear the door creak open like a wound. Inside I see the candle faintly flickering, barely holding on, but continuing to light the way.