Cabin in the Woods

Word Count: 2,121

When I was a child, I spent most of my autumn season with my family in the forest cutting firewood deep in the Alabama forests. My father made a meager living working as a cobbler fixing the soles of cowboy boots and dress shoes. I remember hearing my mother saying once that she was ashamed of him because people walk all over his work. Sure, he worked on shoes, so people obviously walked on his work. It always upset me to hear her say that.

We did not have the financial means to use the furnace to keep the house warm throughout the winter months. Instead, we warmed our home through the use of our fireplace. The cold season this far south did not last as long as it did when we lived in Virginia, but it still grew very cold. If we did not collect enough wood to stack to the height of the privacy fence in our back yard, we would likely die from hypothermia or frostbite. 

I resented not having the opportunity to spend the weekends playing with my school friends, but I still managed to have plenty of fun playing out in the woods exploring and dreaming up imaginary settings. Some days I would pretend I was on an alien planet and others I was in an ancient forest contending with demons, dragons and the like. 

My teacher praised me for my ability to come up with some of the most creative stories she said she saw from other children my age. I could compose some of the most intriguing and imaginative stories even adults found to be interesting reads. 

With school on fall break, I spent less time writing and more time in the woods hauling firewood to the truck. For my father, carrying a large armload of the split wood was not a problem, but at my age even two pieces was almost too much to carry. 

Dad did not make me work the entire time. He knew kids needed time to play. After performing my part of the task, a local boy and I would run off into the seemingly endless forest to play. 

I felt kind of bad for my friend. His family was poorer and more necessitous than I thought a family could be. His dad was a terrible alcoholic and never worked. 

Their meager home did not even have running water. The only light inside the house radiated from the fireplace or from kerosene lamps; they had no electricity. 

Typically, Hubert and I followed the same basic path through the woods and came to know some of the landmarks quite well. Looking back, I wish we stayed on the regular path this time, but instead we decided to follow a trail we never explored thus far. 

This pathway led into a thick part of the forest. The canopy cover was so thick it almost looked like night time under the massive trees. Something about this place spooked me, but I blew it off as my active imagination. I trotted along behind Hubert as we progressed along the unusually worn path. I did not know if animals or people wore the trail, but it seemed worn more than any animal trail should be. 

Ten minutes or so along the path, Hubert climbed onto the lower branches of one of the trees to see if he could see anything up ahead. As he scanned the horizon, he pointed deeper into the woods and informed me he could see a clearing way up ahead. Hubert did not think it was much farther than we already traveled, so we decided to proceed on. 

My friend underestimated the distance, and it took us nearly thirty more minutes to reach our destination. I suggested turning back, but Hubert insisted we walk until we found it. He lived in this region his entire life and never once saw this place. He just had to get a closer look at the small building. 

In the center of the clearing sat an old cabin, which looked like it was built sometime in the late 19th century. The horizontal logs making up the sides of the cabins displayed deep gaps between each of the hand cut sections of wall. On the top side of many logs, I noticed were notches cut into the wood to create strategic areas from which to fire rifles and other fire arms. I did not know if they were shooting at Indians or if they were fighting in the Civil War. 

There was a darkness about this place, and a deep sense of dread washed over me. I really wanted to turn back and find where my parents continued to cut firewood. I tried to play it cool and told Hubert we were gone from the others for a while, and maybe we should get back. 

Hubert was curious and excited. He lived in this area all his life and this is the first time he ever visited this place. He wanted to go inside the cabin and see what it was like there. I tried telling Hubert the wood might not be stable and the building might easily fall over. Again, I tried to make the statement in a way that did not display my fear. 

That was not going to stop my friend and he quickly approached the building. My trepidation told me to stop. I desperately wanted to turn and run, but I was not going to run away and leave my friend in this haunting place alone. 

Hubert froze as he reached the doorless entrance. I think he must have felt the same fear I did, but when he turned around a look of adventure gleamed from his eyes. He appeared to have the excitement of someone discovering a new land for the first time. 

Although it was nothing more than a small, old building, it seemed to him much more of a major discovery. Waving his hand, he beckoned me to approach the building as well. For a moment I found my feet refused to budge. My natural instinct and perception told me this was a place where I should not be. It took a lot of willpower to finally start my feet moving one in front of the other. 

My head spun as if I had a few beers in me, but we were unable to sneak any bottles out of either family’s ice chests before bounding deeper into the forest. A wave of nausea passed over me as I grew closer and closer to the building. My breathing increased and my shoulders and neck began to tremble as if I were shivering from the cold. 

Again, I tried to tell Hubert we should not enter the centuries old dwelling. This time I used the excuse the floor of the structure would not support us and give out causing one or both of us injury. It appeared nothing was going to deter my friend from entering the hand-cut log building. 

I was perhaps ten or twelve feet away when he stepped inside. He was immediately enveloped in darkness. Light should shine through the gaps in the walls, but I could not see him at all. The clearing was large enough to allow plenty of sunshine to highlight the old building, but for some reason did not seem to illuminate the inside of the log cabin. 

My heart beat so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I approached the point of absolute terror. I could not see Hubert at all, and I was sure some malevolent force drug him to hell or worse. I turned and was just about to run when I heard his voice call to me from inside. 

It took everything I had in me, but I turned back to the cabin and slowly and cautiously approached the building. Once I stood at the open doorway, I was able to faintly see inside. Hubert stood near the center of the one room dwelling. He appeared as almost nothing but a faint shadow, and I was not able to make out anything else in the room. 

Hubert beckoned once again, and despite all of my fear, my logic and my instincts, I stepped through the darkening entrance. 

Even now I was also in the shade of the home, I could see my friend no better than before. I thought the drop in direct sunlight would make the illumination from between the old cedar logs more intense. Instead, it seemed to grow even darker, if that were possible. 

I called out his name in a loud whisper. Hubert replied to my call, but it sounded as if he were far in the distance. We could not be more than twenty feet from one another, yet it felt like we were a mile apart. 

A sensation of insignificance washed over me as I suddenly felt as if I were comparing myself to the entirety of the universe. In the darkness of the dwelling, it was as if no walls existed, only endless space. 

Although I could see nothing but a vague image of my friend, I thought I saw the darkness in the room move and take on a tangible form. I could not see anything, but I somehow knew it was there. 

Intense reluctance prevented me from running, but I knew I would have to flee this place if I wanted to continue to live. I was not sure if it was something holding me there or if it was my own intense fear keeping me from running. 

In the virtually absolute darkness, I was not really sure what I saw inside the age-old structure. I knew it had to be nothing but my imagination, but I thought I could see more than just my friend inside. The unnatural darkness inside the old home prevented me from gaining a clear view or even a vague view of anything inside. 

A shrieking scream pierced the darkness with a reverbing echo, giving me the sensation of being deep in a dark cavern. When the scream came again, I realized it emanated from the lips of my friend. Hubert called out to me for help. He shouted that the thing, whatever it may be, was trying to consume his very soul. 

The cold ash-filled chimney suddenly burst into a blaze. The initial ignition caused a concussive force that almost knocked me to my feet. The flash blinded me for a moment as my eyes were struggling to see in the darkness when the fire erupted. An amorphous red blob filled my vision, but I still thought I could see more than my friend in the one room dwelling. 

I do not know if there was anything I could have done. There was nothing I could offer into the situation that could fend off the thing consuming my friend. All I could do at this point was run. I turned to the open doorway, and it appeared to be far off in the distance. I ran until I passed out of the darkness and into the light. I did not stop running until I made it back to our familiar pathway. 

My legs collapsed as my lungs nearly gave out. It was still a time when children played outside, but I was not an athlete by any means. I fell to my knees and dug my palms into the dirt and rock. Rolling to one shoulder, I saw my hands bleeding and caked in dirt. Finally, I fell to my back and looked into the direction from which I came. 

I saw nothing but a mass of weeds and a dense cluster of ancient trees. No pathway, no trail to the open circle remained in the forest giving any evidence of where I just was. There was nothing there. 

Hubert told me once of a legend of a family living in this forest during the time of the Civil War. It was said that this family, in order to save their land, called upon things of darkness to destroy their enemies. Their plot succeeded, but at a terrible price. 

The forest itself consumed the family and their home once the enemy was vanquished from the area. It isolated the family from the rest of the world and the story said they were never heard from again. 

I cannot say exactly what I heard coming from inside the structure, but I realized the family was heard from again. I heard the terror of my friend along with that unholy howling. I heard the demonic wailing of beings born of vengeance and evil. I found that rumored cabin in the woods. 

Copyright © 2019