Flicker

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. John watched from his back porch, the flame flickering in the pitch black distance.

The cabin was beyond the property line through a thicket of thorn trees and brush, an acre between them, give or take. For the most part it was hidden away, decaying into a moss-ridden heap of mildew and mold, the pungent smell of rotting wood almost sweet from a distance. Just the thought of it made him sick.

John had only lived on his uncle’s land for a few months, but he knew that nobody should’ve had access to that cabin. Their closest neighbors were a mile away on either side, and though he had been rather friendly, they didn’t seem to be.

He watched the candle dance in the darkness for what felt like hours before finally descending the porch steps. The summer air was thick, fogging up his wire-frame glasses as he walked. John thought about taking a gun, but he didn’t want to wake his uncle. He had been so restless lately; what little sleep he got he desperately needed.

John stopped at the tree line. He fumbled around his pockets until he found his cell phone. Within a few taps, he had a flashlight. John held his phone under his chin and wiped his glasses on his shirt, trying hard to focus on anything but his trembling fingers. He brought them back to his face, took a deep breath, and headed out into the woods.

Once John made it to the cabin, the overwhelming smell about did him in. All he could smell was rotting meat; the grisly funk of sun-baked death permeated his nostrils. Bile rose in his throat, but he persisted.

Just blow out the candle.

The cabin had no door, so he simply walked in. The building was far beyond repair; the fact that it was still standing shocked John to the core. It was disgusting, as predicted, and the air inside was suffocating. He felt distant, detached, lost amongst the thriving fungus and sludge below his feet. Something hummed low in his ears; it vibrated through his face and chest. Why was it so hard to breathe?

John hurried over to the candle and blew it out.

Immediately, silence.

The bugs stopped chirping, the frogs stopped croaking, everything fell completely and utterly silent. He could hear his heart beating, pumping blood like crashing ocean waves in his ears. John felt hot and his vision began to falter.

Someone grabbed him from behind. They pulled him to the floor and held him down, breath hot against his neck. His glasses fell, landing somewhere to the side. John fought with the man, trying desperately to break from his grip, but he held fast. Cold fingers dug into his throat, pressing deeper until he couldn’t breathe.

When he was pushed onto his back, John saw that this wasn’t a man at all. Its skin was stained and stretched over a gaunt, skeletal frame, gangly and malformed in the moonlight. Its sunk-in eyes stared into his, feral and uncanny. The creature’s jaw was unhinged and slacking, its mouth full of sharp, inhuman teeth.

John fought and wriggled himself free. He scrambled for his glasses, barely getting them on before a clammy hand grasped at his ankles.

He began to run back to the trailer, the thing following close behind. He could hear it running in the distance, its bones scraping together with every lurch. God, the sound made him nauseous.

John tore through the thorn trees and high grass, barely making it to the porch steps before he tripped. His head cracked against the wooden banister, but he didn’t stop; John began to crawl up the stairs, as fast as he could manage, blood dripping in his eyes. He had to keep going, he couldn’t fall victim to this… thing. Not yet.

He scrambled to his feet and looked behind him to find —

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Nobody rustled through the thorns after him, only the rural nature could be heard; everything was as it had been ten minutes prior.

John touched the bump on his head, warm blood seeping between his fingers. He attempted to wipe his glasses, but it only smeared the lenses further.

Quietly, he opened the back door and let himself inside. Had he truly imagined the attack? His head hurt so bad, he couldn’t think.

John had always had an imagination, but this went far past that. Something had grabbed him and attempted to take his life, whether it had been a person or an animal, there had to be a logical explanation for what he experienced.

You haven’t slept in days. You’ve been a full-time caregiver for three months now. Just rest.

He nodded, seeming to agree with himself.

Just as John was about to lock the door, he felt the overwhelming urge to look outside again. He was tired, but the compulsion couldn’t be shook off.

He peaked out the nearest window, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. There, roughly an acre away, a candle burned in the cabin window.