Intruders

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It caught Grady’s attention as he made his way up the hill, lugging a duffel bag full of beer cans behind him—contraband he and his best friend had smuggled from the refrigerator at home.

He stopped short. Dropped the duffel at his feet and glanced behind him. “Did you see that?”

Chuck collided with Grady’s back, knocking them both off balance.

“Dude,” Chuck said, adjusting the backpack looped over his shoulders. “What the hell! Why’d you stop?”

“Look there.” Grady pointed to the cabin. But when he squinted up at the window, the flicker of light he’d seen earlier was gone. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t missing something.

“I don’t see a thing,” Chuck said. “Now get moving. This backpack’s heavy.”

***

Grady turned the rusted doorknob and entered the cabin. His heart pounded like a bass drum inside his chest, the heavy mallet hammering his rib cage from the inside out.

He immediately looked at the front windowsill. No sign of a candle. The countertop and the sill were empty, exactly as they’d been the last time that he and Chuck snuck up there to get wasted.

Must have been his imagination. But how could that be? Moments earlier, the flame of the candle had burned so brightly. A slender white taper had glimmered behind the streaked glass, illuminating the muddy path leading to the cabin with an eerie glow—eerier than usual.

But the candle had vanished. If it was ever there at all.

Suck it up, he thought. Don’t be such a chickenshit.

As if reading Grady’s thoughts, Chuck said, “What’s going on, man? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grady forced a smile and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “Nothing.”

He scanned the rest of the tiny cabin. Everything else looked normal too.

The ripped cushions of the plaid couch had been tossed haphazardly across the room, victims of a pillow fight they’d had a few weeks ago.

A dark red stain remained on the center of the braided rug in front of the fireplace. They’d never attempted to clean up the wine spill after the middle-school dance last fall.

And layers of dust covered most surfaces—the coffee table, the end tables, and the empty television stand especially—streaked only in places where he or presumably his friends had made contact at some point.

It was possible that other kids had used the abandoned cabin the same way they did. Possible, but not likely. The rickety old shack was a long walk from town, set deep in the woods, and difficult to find if you didn’t know where you were going. The perfect hideaway but not somewhere you’d want to be stuck alone.

Inhaling deep, Grady attempted to catch a whiff of sulfur. If his eyes couldn’t prove that someone else had been inside the cabin, maybe his nose could detect the presence of another intruder.

But the musty smell of the cold damp room was overpowering. Combined with the stink of what was surely a dead animal, he doubted whether setting fire to a giant-sized book of matches could even penetrate his nasal passages.

“What time will Theo and Brad be here?” Chuck said. The thump of his backpack hitting the floor echoed in the silence.

Grady said. “Let me check my texts.”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he groaned after reading a message from their classmate Brad. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Looks like they’re not coming.”

“Are you kidding? Why not?”

“Brad’s mom won’t let him leave the house tonight. The news reported that there's some psycho on the loose and she’s freaking out.”

“Oh, brother.” Chuck rolled his eyes and reached into his backpack for a beer. “She’s always paranoid about something. What’s Theo’s excuse?”

“He’s freaked out, too. Someone escaped from the County prison. Apparently, he’s armed and dangerous.”

***

Chuck didn’t appear bothered by the news of an escaped inmate, cracking open a beer and chugging it down in a hurry. “We better get this party started then—before our parents get wind of the story and call us home.”

Grady returned his phone to his pocket while looking from his friend to the windowsill and back again. Perhaps they should head out—just in case.

But before he had a chance to utter another word, a strange scratching sound emerged from somewhere under the wine-stained rug, beneath the wooden floorboards across the room.

A mouse or a rat? Maybe even a raccoon or a possum?

Nope. The noise was more rhythmic than an animal would make, like a coded message being scrawled out as a signal of distress.

Perhaps someone was trying to communicate with them. But where exactly was the sound coming from?

“What’s that?” Chuck said as he crushed an empty beer can and reached for another.

Grady tiptoed toward the noise, pushed the rug aside, and tapped his fist on the wood floor.

Sneezing at the puff of dust released into the air, he said, “There’s a trap door here. It must lead to a basement.”

The scratching grew louder as Grady searched for some way to pry the door open. He scowled at Chuck and pleaded, “Put your beer down for a second and find me a screwdriver or a butter knife.”

Chuck scurried toward the drawer where he knew the utensils were kept, handing a metal spatula to Grady, and then breathing down his neck while he struggled to open the trap door.

After several minutes, the door flew open. The air in the room filled with a stench so strong that Grady nearly passed out. The scratching noise had stopped, but a low murmur escaped from below. The words were unrecognizable but undeniably human.

“Who’s there?” Grady leaned forward and whispered over a set of collapsible stairs, unsure of whether he wanted whoever was down there to really hear him.

The murmuring stopped, and a deafening silence made Grady’s skin crawl as if millions of tiny ants were marching up his body.

Chuck bent down, peered over Grady’s shoulder, and shined the light from his iPhone over the stairs. “Here, this should help you find your way.”

Grady twisted his neck sideways and glared into his friend’s glassy eyes. “Thanks.” He paused. What if that inmate was hiding in the basement? They should get the hell out of there. Run for their lives.

But what if it was someone else—someone who needed their help?

He and Chuck exchanged confused looks before Grady passed through the opening and climbed down onto the first step. The stairs were unstable, wobbling side to side until Chuck grabbed hold and steadied them. “Wait! I’m not sure we should be doing this.” Chuck reached for Grady’s armpits and tried pulling him back up.

Suddenly, a loud yelp rang out from the darkness. “Help!”

It was a female voice—shaky, high-pitched, and almost breathless. Such a desperate plea could only mean one thing. The girl was in danger, in fear for her life. They couldn’t waste another second.

Abruptly, Grady broke free from Chuck’s grasp and backed himself down the stairs, one step at a time. The pungent smell of the basement grew stronger. He covered his nose with his sleeve, counting aloud as he moved.

Ten, nine, eight, seven.

The basement was quiet, but a dim glow of another candle beckoned him to continue.

Six, five, four.

He prayed the girl below was alone. She hadn’t uttered another word, but a frantic rustling could be heard coming from the far corner. The sound of metal clanging against the concrete floor reminded Grady of the opening of every episode of Law & Order SVU. Where were Benson and Stabler when you needed them?

Pausing to steady himself, he squinted and tried to adjust to the faint light.

“You alright?” Chuck called down to him.

“So far, so good. Just don’t leave me. And keep shining that light down here.” Grady’s hoarse voice echoed all around him, trembling inside his eardrums and reinforcing what he already knew—whatever he was about to discover in that basement terrified him.

Without warning, a strong hand grabbed his leg. It only took a slight jolt to throw him off balance and send his body plummeting down the remaining stairs. The crash of his weight hitting the concrete was like an earthquake without the aftershock.

His cell phone fell from his pocket and slid across the floor. He struggled to pull himself to all fours, ignoring the pain in his ankle and trying to see who was down there with him. But the hand had seemingly appeared from nowhere and an unsettling nothingness followed.

Glancing back toward the top of the stairs, he yearned for Chuck to rescue him. “Get down here!” Grady shrieked, confused by a sudden race of heavy footsteps overhead.

Out of the blue, the trap door slammed shut. Goosebumps exploded across his skin at the muffled cry of his best friend from above.

Chuck’s words were indistinguishable—like the call of a wild animal—and the slow drag of his body across the wooden floor upstairs sent shivers up Grady’s spine.

“Is anyone here?” Grady rubbed his throbbing ankle before crawling toward the glow of the candle, waiting for the invisible stranger lurking in the shadows to appear. “I’m here to help. Don’t be afraid.”

But someone extinguished the flame.

The air thickened and blackness surrounded him. The metal clanging noise returned, louder and more frenzied than before. And worry over what was happening to Chuck filled Grady’s mind, but only for a moment.

After that, everything went dark.