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A trip to hell

Bangers & mash included.

By Andie EmersonPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 11 min read
2

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

Harlow looked away from her pocket book and out the blurry window. Gray clouds had invaded the late golden air, replacing it with a depressing shade. Her eyes glanced at the small screen of her phone. No service. Oh the mountains!

She had not traveled to the highlands in ages – close to four years had slipped by since her aunt Margaret's funerals. Her and uncle Dane had been married for 37 years and if devastation had a face, it would be Dane's.

Harlow's cousin, Jasper, was also visiting his father, and he would be the one picking her up from the train station. They had agreed to meet at the telephone booth on the south side of the parking lot at 7:30 pm. Harlow spotted a clock – she had 3 minutes to get there.

The station was near empty, and so was the parking lot. If you looked closely, you could see the tiny orange dot that was the sun glowing in the distance. She stood next to the red booth and waited.

And waited.

7:45 pm and Jasper had still not arrived. The orange dot had disappeared within the hills and the air smelled of rain.

Just as she thought Where is he? Did he forget about me? I hope he didn't get into an accident, she noticed her uncle's pick-up truck pulling into the parking lot. She waved her arm to signal her location. Jasper leaned across the seat to open the passenger door.

"The handle broke, didn't get around to fixin' it. Yeh alright Ari?"

Ari. Uncle Dane was the only person calling her Ari.

"Uncle Dane?" Her tone surprised the both of them. She went on, trying to silence the worry in her voice. "It's been so long… it's nice to see you. Where's Jasper?"

"Lad wasn't feelin' so good. Spent the day on the road, went to sleep right after dinner. I made yeh favourite, bangers and mash."

He smiled, his few remaining teeth a dark yellow. It was, indeed, her favourite… a good 15 years ago.

"That's so sweet of you, I'm starving!"

***

They were sitting in the living room – Harlow inhaling her food and Dane his hand-rolled cigarette. She did not remember him smoking, maybe it's become a bad habit after aunty died. His best friend Betsy, a rottweiler with a once jet-black fur now speckled of white patches, was laying next his feet, sighing here and there. The years may have gotten to her, but he still called her his 'baby Betsy'.

"These bloody soaps, what a waste of time. Yeh aunt would not miss an episode even when her life depended on it. Hehe."

His eyes were staring at the television, his fingers rolling into fists. She had not paid close attention to her uncle on their way home, but now that the light was brighter than dim, her muscles stiffened.

"Why don't you change channel then", she asked.

He looked disheveled, like he did not get a haircut in years. His shirt was ripped in some places. His skin was matte, a yellowish film staining the whites of his eyes. He never was of a fit stature, but weight seemed to have taken over his body.

"They're awful, but they remind me of her. Can't let that go."

He crushed his leftover roll-up in the ashtray – it was stuffed, butts spilling on the coffee table. He slapped his hands on the chair to lift himself up.

"I'll hit the sack", he said. "Don't stay up too late kiddo, not good fer yeh."

He was also the only one calling her kiddo.

***

"Blimey! Yeh look like a zombie."

Uncle Dane was right, at least that is how she felt – as if she had be awaken from the dead.

"Yeah. Don't feel so good right now." It felt like a hangover. A bad hangover. She gulped down a tall glass of water, almost choking on the liquid, and poured herself a second one. "Where's Jas, still in bed?"

"Eh the poor mate puked all night, no doubt he'll be sleeping til sunset. Didn't want to be bothered he said." He got up as he finished his sentence. "I'll take Bets into town. Brekkie's on the table, it'll fix yeh right up." He turned to his friend. "Come on baby, let's get yeh some biscuits."

Harlow watched the pick-up truck until it disappeared into the maze of trees. She stepped away from the window, only to turn back to it – something had caught her eye, not the existence of a particular thing, but rather the absence of it. Her stomach twisted a few more knots. Jasper's car… where is it? He's suppose to be sleeping… it was parked right there last night.

She rushed to her cousin's room, TAP TAP TAP.

"Jasper! Jasper wake up!" TAP TAP TAP. "Jas! Are you in there?" She tried the door knob. Why did you lock the door? "Please Jas, open the damn door!"

It's okay Harl. He doesn't feel well. He's resting. Let it go, it's just a car. Dane probably moved it. Maybe it needed repairs and he drove it into the garage. Yes, that makes sense. Jasper's car is…

"Bloody hell Ari! Parents didn't teach yeh good manners," Dane shouted as he shoved her shoulder. His hand was heavy, making her stumble several inches to the side.

"Where's the car", she asked, slight panic in her voice.

"What do you mean where's the car? What car?"

"Jas' car. It was parked out front and now it's not there."

"Hehe. Oh kiddo. Is yeh pretty head making up stories? Mind yeh business and leave the mate alone would yeh."

He left again, a leather duffle bag in hand. Yeah Harl, stop making up stories.

***

Uncle Dane was wrong – breakfast only made Harlow feel worse. Guess I'll watch tv for a bit.

***

"...yeh hear me? Ari! Wake up!" Dane was shaking Harlow's arm, making her whole body quiver.

"Mmm..." Her eyelids slowly loosened, until bloodshot eyes made out a stocky shape hunched over her face.

"Have yeh gone mental kiddo! Tryna kill the old chap or what!"

"Huh... what... what are you talking about?" She could barely speak the words out loud. She lifted her torso from the sofa and scanned her surroundings, confused.

"Yeh got blood comin' out yeh nose n' yeh wasn't movin'. Thought yeh was dead fer a second."

The words had not sunk in that he straightened up, "Now c'mon, let's clean yehself up", and walked away from her. "Puttin' filth all over the..."

She had a hand to her nose, is he messing with me? Last time she had a nosebleed was in 4th grade, when Stephen threw a basketball straight to her face. She lowered her gaze and spotted a donut-sized stain of near-coagulated blood. Oh hell no...

***

Dane had vanished to his garage as soon as they were done dinner, leaving Harlow and Betsy to themselves.

"Hey Bets, want to go out? I need to get some fresh air." – The fact that Jasper had not come out of his room since last night carried a haze of suspicion to the back of her mind.

She knocked on the garage door. "Uncle Dane?" No answer. "Uncle Dane, I'm going to walk Betsy. I'll see you soon." Silence. He must have fallen asleep on his recliner, again.

"Alright Bets, are you ready? I've not gone in these forests in ages, I'm relying on you to not get lost."

They met with the tree line, evergreens rolling out a muddy footpath and greeting them with not-so-open arms. The air suddenly felt damp and thick, as if they had just entered the insides of a jungle. Harlow’s feet shuffled through wet leaves and twigs, keeping up with Betsy's sedated pace. They wandered the trails for a while, making their way deeper into the woods. They arrived at a Y intersection – “Which way are we taking Bets?” Harlow followed her and marked the path with an X.

The sounds of a scuffle followed by a crash made Harlow flinch. The forest was so dense, the depleted sunlight barely made it through the treetops. She squinted, hoping to catch a glimpse of the critters responsible for her uneasiness. Nothing.

Nothing but an unexpected breeze that rose from the grounds and slashed her skin – a gust so sharp it caused her bones to throb, the mustard knit sweater she wore did not stand a chance. “Hey Bets, let me grab my jacket.” Harlow slipped her arms out of the shoulder straps, and kneeled to dig into her backpack. She felt a droplet on her hand, then a few more on her forearm. She looked above, “Is it gonna rain again, you think?” She stood up, and realized the droplets had been hers – they were trickling down from her nostrils, how am I still bleeding?

"Hey Bets, we better start heading back, it'll be night soon." It might have been the nerves, but her guts felt like cement and a storm hit her head. They retraced their steps, Betsy dragging her paws until they reached the cross mark. “We’re almost half-way! I’ll remember to not take you on such long hikes next...” A wail slightly muffled by the overwhelming greenery reached Harlow's ears. What in the world… She turned to Betsy. "Did you hear that?"

Another wail. She hurried in the direction she thought the cry came from, Betsy trailing behind.

"Come on Bets", she murmured.

Another one. What is going… Both Harlow and Betsy were panting now.

Her mind was still racing, while her body abruptly froze. There, in the middle of the crowd of trunks, a cabin. A dilapidated cabin that seemed abandoned, if it was not for that candle burning in the window. I think we've got a déjà vu kind of situation here… How could I have missed it earlier? She glanced around – everything seemed normal. Just an ordinary forest with ordinary trees and ordinary dirt and ordinary sounds.

A last whine echoed, but it was different this time. It sounded deep, clear, and was definitely coming from the shack. Her blood had reached a boiling point, and her legs rushed to the window. It was so filthy she could only see the tiny flame flicker.

Betsy caught up to Harlow and let out a sad bark. "Let's find the door."

She twisted the knob – it was unlocked. She faced her furry friend and lifted an index to her lips as she pushed what was left of the door. A few seconds passed before her eyes adjusted to the lack of light – and for a minute, she wished she had been blind.

The place looked like it had been ransacked. It was mostly empty though everything was out of place – dining chairs, broken and scattered; cabinet doors and drawers wide open. And the smell… metallic, musty, a hint of rotten flesh, decaying life… and there goes her dinner.

She wiped her mouth and began to walk through the kitchen area, making her way around broken pieces of porcelain. Was this the crash I heard? Probably those critters again. She crept to the living area, where a bookshelf leaned on the remains of a sofa. The burning candle was sitting on a brick mantelpiece, its glow reflecting on a jar. Harlow took the jar to examine it. Her hand suddenly let go and it went smashing, along with her heart, onto the wooden floor, liquid splashing on her legs and eyeballs rolling away. She carefully stepped away, her dear knit sweater drenched in sweat.

She scrambled towards a hallway, sneaking her head into the first room on the left. A wooden chair and pieces of rope were visible from the hallway –her breathing became louder and heavier, her muscles as stiff as can be.

She made her way inside where she near slipped, dropping a foot into something soggy. Just as she steadied herself, she flew a hand up to cover her gasp – tools, some covered with dried blood, carefully organized on a thin-framed table. A blow torch, a small sledgehammer, garden shears, a butcher knife, a leather bag... Then a faint choking sound made her knees weak. She grabbed the knife with a sticky hand, ready to walk back out into the hallway. Or maybe not...

Next was what seemed to be the bathroom. She welded her fingers to the knife handle and stepped into the doorway. The door was shut, but not completely. She could see light, this is too bright to be a candle. It must be a gas lantern.

Her shaky hand slowly pushed the door. Oh the smell... the smell of fresh iron. She took her sweater to her nose, before losing more of her dinner.

She stared, jaw unlocked and still as stone, tears flash-flooding her cheeks. She took the horrifying view in – blood, splattered from floor to ceiling. A handsaw, drowning in a thick pool of blood.

She managed to lift a foot, and then the next. The knife slipped from her fingers as she reached the sink – a severed hand had been carelessly thrown at the bottom of it. She turned her head, now face to face with Jasper's body, lifeless in the bathtub.

"Oh Ari, didn't I tell yeh to mind yeh own business?"

Horror
2

About the Creator

Andie Emerson

Queer. Awkward. An anxious wreck, but firm believer in self-work.

Authenticity & progress over illusion & perfectionism.

Makes a living working in home improvement.

Can draw, write, take pictures... their brain cannot stop creating.

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  • Test4 months ago

    Super!!! Excellent story!!!

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