Welcome to Death's Door

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

I have seen this candle burn before, years ago when I was young. Back then when I was a child, my mother owned the land along the trails in the forest, and with it was a cabin. It was a simple log cabin with rustic windows, a slanted roof with log tiling and a crooked wooden door with iron hinges. It was simple, with a small wooden porch to match the rustic décor. It has seen many families living behind its windows and doors while my mother has owned it. When I first saw the candle burn in the window next to the front door the first time, I asked my mom who moved in to her cabin. Was it another old lady like Mrs. Bernelli? Or a couple like the Dufoure family? Or maybe another odd man like Mr. Hanner, who liked to collect twigs from the forest that looked nice to him.

Mom just shook her head, and said it was no one. But why was a candle burning in the window? She wanted to give the cabin more life she had answered. She told me that I didn’t have a reason to be near that cabin. In fact, she told me that I was to stay as far away as possible from that cabin. She made me promise that I would stay away. I did not understand why, since I have been in that cabin before. I looked on and stared at the candle. I really liked the little yellow flame that looked like a little beating heart in the otherwise lifeless cabin. I wanted to continue to stay and watch the candle, and watch it flicker away. But I promised anyway, and my mom refused to talk about the subject any longer.

I did not see what the big deal was. Why would a kid like myself care about a dusty old cabin anyway? It had boring log siding and a sad looking porch. The small curved tree in front by the door might be tempting to climb, but the crooked oak door did not look inviting, and the old dusty windows didn’t mean much to me. But with the candle in the window, I found myself wanting to look in. If I looked away though, I would remember that it was just a boring candle made of gray wax and a small yellow flame. Yet day after day, if I passed by the cabin on my way back home from school, I would stare at the flame. I was mesmerized, like a moth to a flame. Maybe I was so interested because it was odd seeing a sign of life in the old cabin again after Mr. Hanner moved away. I found myself not just wanting to look at the candle, but look inside the cabin to see what else I could find.

One day, I was walking past the cabin in the woods when night began to descend. I was heading home after staying late at school for a project, ready to eat and go to bed. The noise of the night became loud around me, with crickets creaking in the woods, little frogs peeping in the marshes, and even an owl hooting from the trees. The candle was still alight in the cabin window, and my little eyes were fixated on the flame again. But movement drew my attention. A huddled figure was moving towards the door, a person that seemed to be wrapped in a thick jacket or a blanket. They seemed hunched, and hobbled as if they had a limp. I watched as the figure approached the door. Were they a new tenant? Mom said she lit the candle, maybe for this new person to move in? I continued to watch as the person knocked on the cabin door. When they did, it seemed to open a crack. Why would someone who lived there knock on their own door?

I remember watching the figure limp into the house, turning to look over their shoulder. From what I could tell, it was an old woman who was huddled in the blanket. As I watched her enter the cabin, I wondered if I should tell my mom that a stranger was there. But my attention was drawn back to the house. I saw the figure again, this time in the front window occupied by the candle. I remember that all the noise around me stopped. There was always wind in the trees, rustling in the branches, sounds of birds stretching their vocal cords, or movement in the undergrowth. But at that moment – I remember clearly as if it happened yesterday – there was no noise. Nothing moved, not even the wind. It was so silent, I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

The figure in the window had paused for the moment, but more moments behind the old woman caught my attention. The space behind the woman seemed dark, but quickly darkened. A black shadow seemed to stretch and filled the room, slithering almost like a snake. The room was now black – blacker than the night that was settling over the trees. Only the candle remained, but its light did not reflect on anything behind it, except for the old woman’s face.

Then it happened. In that silence, the shadow moved so swiftly that I almost didn’t catch it. It engulfed the person who had entered the house. It enveloped her like a cocoon, her expression looked surprised as her face seemed to melt away with youth. The glow of the candle showed her wrinkles disappearing, and her features becoming sharper. It was suddenly a young woman in that darkness. Then in a blink, the person who had walked in was gone – and the candle had gone out.

I stared, wondering what had happened. What had that been, where was the woman? While I stood there, shocked, the front door ever so slowly creaked open. The noise of the rusty hinges sounded loud as gunshots in the silence that had fallen over the woods. I remember looking at the open door and seeing nothing but blackness. It stopped, the inkyness hovering over the threshold, a fog of night darker than night itself. Despite looking like a cloud or a fog, it was like that darkness was watching me. I felt it in the chill that crossed down my spine, in the numbing of my limbs and the raising of the little hairs on my neck. It was like it was waiting for me to come closer. But all I wanted to do was to run.

The door opened wider and I panicked. I ran, not even knowing what I was afraid of. When I got home, my mom asked me where I had been. I told her what I could about the cabin, but she stopped my story before I could finish. I was not to speak of it again, is what she told me. It was best if I forgot it. How could I ever forget? A person just disappeared before my eyes. It would forever be etched into my memory. I was mistaken about what I saw, my mother said. It was my imagination running wild. I tried to believe her for a time – until I saw that candle in the window again about two years later. Instead of curiosity, I felt fear seeing that candle. My mother seemed unsurprised to see it. But for me, it was a pit in my stomach, looking at that pale yellow flame. But it was just a candle. It did not mean anything, right? But I watched another person, a middle aged man, walking into the cabin a day after that, and he never came back out.

This happened for years. The candle would spring to life every few years or so. My mother would tell me to ignore the candle, to stay away from the cabin and forget it was there. Then someone, like a new tenant or even someone my mother would call for maintenance, would open the front door to that cabin. Shadows would move like snakes around the newcomer, and then the person would disappear. When they did, the candle would always go out.

No matter how hard I tried, I was always curious about the candle, even as a young adult. So every time it would happen, I would ask my mom about it. I have now seen this shadow taking people multiple times. I have stood before it for long periods of time. Because if I was there to witness the disappearance, the door would always open and I would stare at the inky darkness that seemed to hover just beyond the doorway. Someone, or something, would stare back at me, waiting. There were no eyes to tell me this, but I knew because I could feel it. I felt as if I was prey, under watch of a predator that could reach out and snatch me. Mom always said that what was happening in the cabin was not my concern, only hers. As long as I did not enter, I did not need to worry about anything.

It wasn’t until years later that I came to understand a bit of what might be happening in that cabin. My mother lived an unnaturally long life, living well into a time that I had become old and gray. She also stayed healthier than she should have, despite her extended life. But one day, my mother ended up being one of the people who walked into that cabin. She also never came back out. She disappeared and the candle went out for her – and it did not light again after that.

That was still many, many years ago, and now I am older, out-living many of my friends. I took over care of the cabin that sat there silent. The only thing I found there was a single, thick gray candle. When I saw it, I had it removed from the window. In the years the candle had not been there, there was no shadow, no chill, and no glow. There was only an empty house. But as my health began to fail, it felt right for me to put the candle back in its proper place, right where my mother had it on the windowsill. Now, that candle burned in its window again, just as inviting as the first day I saw it. It lit all on its own one day, and now that I stood by the cabin, the front door opened all by itself. A black haze hovered in the doorway, almost seeming like it was waiting. Seeing the candle’s pale glow, and the black shade again after so many, many years solidified my belief of who could be behind the lighting of the candle. I think, in some way, my mother had made a pact with something, something that had helped prolong her life, and by proxy, mine as well.

Besides, Death needed a place to stay sometimes too.