Wood Rot

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

When Ramona entered through the front door, it was only with the thought of that candle. The night had begun with a heavy quietness, but her arrival brought about wood-rot whispers, urgently asking for her attention; she heard her name breathed out through tattered curtains, heard requests for her that reached out from forgotten floorboards.

“Ramona, you’re back . . .”

“See me first, Ramona . . .”

She stood in the small entryway, swallowing again and again to summon a taste of the steely armored woman she was today. Her tongue only detected pretzel remnants and shame, yet her resolve hadn’t faded. Pricks of nostalgia tried to permeate sweaty skin, but her rose-colored glasses had been broken long ago and now were reflecting rat carcasses.

“. . . I’m right where you left me . . .”

The cabin felt damp, having been saturated by many Georgia summers. The thickness of the air and the shy moon created a foggy atmosphere, but Ramona could make out the cobwebs guiding her way down the left hallway. Where little feet had scampered toward the kitchen, where giggles fresh from the long drive up once rang out with optimism, there had been life in the early summer days down this hall. This hallway had also held silent exchanges of regret, poisoned goodbyes, and mother-enforced ‘Til Next Year hugs.

As she reached the living room, the stench of mildew swirled around the misshapen cardboard boxes and carried her to the center of the old splotchy floral rug. There was no couch or TV, just the whispering and the smell.

“ . . . I’ve been waiting for you . . . come to the safe room with me?” This was said softly from the far side of the living room.

Ramona expected only nests and animal-made homes that became burial sites, but there was just a small girl sitting cross-legged in the corner, where the bookshelf once stood. The girl was facing the meeting of the walls, her shoulder blades protruding and dark hair lifeless along her spine. She was a minute and fragile extension of the peeling wall paper. Either she had been birthed from the cabin or she was melting into it quite gradually.

Ramona watched the girl’s back shift and settle rhythmically as she breathed against the cabin’s decaying skin. This was a distraction from the candle, Ramona knew, but still she felt pulled to wrap the girl in her arms and see her eyes.

“In the safe room, I’ll make you a bracelet,” the little girl said to the corner. “Then we’ll never forget each other.”

The evening sighed around her, which she heard through the creaking of the wood. Ramona let the instinct to hug the girl drop away, imagining that this child had no eyes to behold and certainly no ability to light the candle in the window. Ramona needed to move on.

“Come to me, please . . .”

Movement to her right caused her to stiffen. Ramona took her elbows in her hands and counted to five, like the mindfulness book from the library had told her to do. She turned away from the girl in the corner and scanned the room. No one else could be seen.

“ . . . I missed you . . .”

She headed to the first of the bedroom doors, past the kitchen. This room was one of three in the cabin, with a small window that faced the main road. It was the only one with a squeaky floor at the entrance and enough space for bunkbeds, so it had been her requested sleeping quarters each summer.

Now, as she touched the doorknob, rusted and discolored, she heard the loud familiar objection from the soggy floor beneath her. It was similar to a saved voicemail from a deceased loved one; she stepped down once more to savor the sound before choosing her reality over achy remnants of hope. The cabin had advocated for her, yes, but that didn’t mean it had been innocent.

“Darling Ramona . . .”

Before she opened the door, she saw a taller, slim shape against the corner near the kitchen. The back of this person was hunched and crumpling. Once again, it was someone seemingly merging with the cabin walls, except with blonde matted hair and aging frail shoulders. Ramona felt no instinct to touch this person, her stomach gurgling with acidic resentment.

“I forgive you, darling,” came from the sliver of space between this woman and the cabin.

Ramona had an image of the blonde hair being engulfed in flames, each strand blackening rapidly. She sighed, and then she entered her old bedroom.

At first there was only musty darkness. Ramona’s eyes adjusted and, as she blinked carefully, a small flickering light grew and became brighter. The candle in the window sill had illuminated the room, its reach touching Ramona immediately. As she felt the light choose her and dress her up, an uneasy awareness took hold. The candle would show the cracks, show the blemishes on each person who was still connected to this cabin.

“. . . Please look at me, Ramona . . .”

“Don’t leave me again . . .”

She walked toward the candle, different colors beginning to creep in at the outskirts of her vision. The lavender walls, the brown cedar of the bunk beds, the various pink petal shades of nail polish that sat organized on the dresser - they told the story of a giggly sleepover or prepubescent summer of dreaming. Such a story would be a lie, though, and Ramona realized she had been telling this lie for a long time.

“I brought you back here,” someone said in a startlingly vibrant voice, as if all sounds thus far had been transmitted through a static-infused collect call, and now the line was clear.

Ramona forgot about her armor, her mindfulness techniques, and she only felt the quick beating of her vulnerable heart as she took in the sight of her stuffed monkey, Mr. BrownPeel. He looked the same, with a brown terrycloth body, bright orange exaggerated mouth, nostrils stitched on, and glassy marble eyes. And he was sitting limply against the closed window, black eyes ablaze like the wick of the candlestick.

“I was your baby,” Mr. BrownPeel said. His voice was one long exhale. “And you left me.”

Ramona shook her head, scanning the bright and colorful room where she’d spent nights staring at the ceiling, clutching Mr. BrownPeel and screaming in her head. She felt like that little child again, with a stuffed monkey and a voice that only mattered within the confines of her thoughts. Her whole body trembled as she imagined her own body stuck in the corner of this cabin, of this room.

“You were supposed to protect me,” Mr. BrownPeel told her.

Ramona whimpered and bit her lips shut angrily. She could feel tears welling up, but she told herself to stop and remember. The last time she had seen her beloved stuffed animal, she had tucked him in her bed, face down with his glassy eyes against the mattress. She had decided on that evening years ago that Mr. BrownPeel no longer served her. So, that night, she had run and never looked back, her arms free and her hair wild, and her dress smelling like smoke.

“I wanted you to see what you did to me, to your mother, and your sister. Your mother's dear friend next door even stayed all of these years, but you . . . you just left.”

The memory of Mr. BrownPeel alone in her bed reminded her why she was here, reminded her of the candle. Mr. BrownPeel hadn’t brought her here. Nothing in this cabin owned her or controlled her. Not anymore.

After two quick steps, Ramona took hold of the candle, and she grabbed Mr. BrownPeel with the other hand. When she brought his plush, emotionless face to the flame, she heard him scream, a bellow from deep in his cotton-stuffed belly.

“But I was your baby!”

The room around her became bleak and vacant. She watched with satisfaction as the colors drained into rotting wood and the bunkbed collapsed into itself. The nail polish containers broke and dripped empty.

Black marks began to creep along Mr. BrownPeel’s mouth as his face deflated against the candle’s flame. His marble eyes locked onto Ramona’s.

“You’re going to do it again! And nothing will be salvageable this time! Why, Ramona?”

Ramona dropped the monkey to the ground just as he caught fire, but she kept her eyes fixed outside. She wouldn’t be in the corner, waiting for the man in the cabin next door to come running. No, she would be standing right in this room, right where he had left her, right next to her burning stuffed monkey. And when the man in the cabin next door arrived, the candle would be all she needed. She would finish the job this time.

Ramona didn’t turn from the window sill as she clutched the candle with both hands, the flame herding the neighbor over as it had lured her in. She wouldn’t need to watch the door, either. She would hear him coming when he stepped on the floorboards, of course.