She Waits

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The teenagers noticed it first. They always noticed strange things that happened deep in the forest. Because that is where teenagers went to get away from the world that judged them and punished them for “inappropriate” behavior.

At first they thought it was a weird coincidence. But by the third time they saw the solitary light in the window, their curiosity was piqued.

“I dare you to go in there,” Jake smirked at his friend, Carl, who rolled his eyes.

“You dare me? What are you, twelve?”

“C’mon, man, there’s gotta be someone home. Why don’t you give them a little welcoming party?”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink man,” Carl snorted, turning back to the bonfire and taking a hit off of the joint going around the circle.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Jake taunted, but Carl ignored him, choosing instead to smile at the girl across the fire. He vaguely remembered her name. It was either Sarah, or Samantha…something with an S. She smiled shyly back at him under a fringe of dark hair and it was either the cheap beer or marijuana that gave him the courage to get up and circle around, settling on the log next to her.

“Hey,” he drawled and she kept up that shy smile, ducking her head and murmuring what could be a “hello.”

“You see the light in the window over there?” he asked and she looked up, as though noticing the cabin for the first time. She nodded, and he leaned in whispering conspiratorially, “I’ve heard a couple used to live there, until one winter the snows got too deep and they couldn’t get out. The husband went crazy and killed her with an ax.”

“Isn’t that the plot of The Shining?” she giggled and he shrugged. Okay, so it wasn’t the most original story, but Stephen King could never hurt to lean on for story inspiration.

“Maybe. Anyway, it’s been abandoned ever since, and rumor has it their spirits never left.”

Now it was the girl’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

“Then why is there a light in the window after years of no one being there?”

“Maybe it’s just a squatter. Or a fugitive on the run, who found a safe place to hide out from the cops.” Her lips curled up into a pleased grin at her theories and Carl snorted, making her smile grow.

“We should go check it out.”

“Wait, what?” Carl stared at her, “Are you serious? Have you ever seen a scary movie in your life? Rule number one, don’t “check it out.” Rule number two, don’t run up the stairs.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged, “I’m going to go see. Besides, if you’re worried, I’ve got pepper spray.” The girl patted the purse on her hip and he eyed both her and the bag uncertainly.

“Okay…” he said, still unsure, but when she grabbed his hand, all hesitation left and he followed her up the rickety steps to the porch. He half expected the old wood to disintegrate under him, but they held firm, as firm as her hand in his. Carl was so focused on the fact that he was holding a girl’s hand that he barely registered it was cold to the touch.

She led him into the house, tugging his hand confidently, pulling the wooden door open with an ominous creak. Carl felt his body relax as he followed, and he vaguely wondered just how potent that marijuana had been. They entered the decrepit building, Carl sneezing a little as the dust hit him in the face. How the structure didn’t fall down around them when she opened the door was beyond him, but he filed that away as a problem for another time.

Walking in a daze, he allowed her to pull him deeper into the cabin, not noticing how she seemed to know her way through the dark space with no light to guide her.

“There were lovers who lived here,” she said in a low voice, walking through the dusty rooms, “One winter a blizzard hit. They thought they had enough supplies to last through it. But the snow kept coming, until they were completely blocked in the house, with no way to get out. The man could see his lover wasting away slowly, and he felt helpless. He told her he was going to go out and make his way to the village to get supplies. She begged him not to go, but he was determined not to lose his love, so he climbed out of the top window with snow shoes, telling her to light a candle so he could find his way back to her.”

Carl listened in fascination, almost able to see the lovers embracing farewell before parting ways.

“So he left and she lit a candle in the window every day without fail. But days turned into weeks, which turned into months and she began to lose faith that he would return to her. One night, as she sat shivering by the window with the candle in it, she realized he wasn’t coming back. She had eaten all of the meager supplies left and had taken to eating the leather of her shoes and the small mice that had made their way into the house for refuge, but the despair at knowing he would not be back was too much. So, she went to the kitchen, picked up a large carving knife, and slit her throat open.”

Carl gulped, fully taken in by the story, until he realized they had walked into what must have once been the kitchen. He felt as though he was coming up from underwater and took a deep breath.

“Hey…so…how do you know all of this?” he asked and she turned to him with that same shy smile.

“How do you think I know this story?” she murmured, walking over to the counter where a butcher’s block sat, “You know, I was so sad at first when he didn’t come back to me, but then I got angry. Really angry.”

Carl watched as her face changed from a young, sweet girl into something much older and twisted, lips curling up into a much more vicious…well, it wasn’t a smile…it was just a baring of teeth, and he saw they had sharpened just as the rest of her had in the few moments they had been standing there.

What little sense was left in him told him to run, to get away from this…thing. But as much as his mind screamed at his body to move, his limbs would not cooperate. Her grip tightened until he could feel the bones in his wrist grind and he was struggling to breathe as though she had that small hand wrapped around his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to rasp out and her face contorted into something wholly unnatural, and she stared at him for a long moment, eyes as sharp as the knife in her other hand.

“Your sorry isn’t going to do a thing to bring my Robert home to me,” she snapped, all quiet murmuring and shyness gone, and he realized that she was a fly trap and he was the unwitting, stupid fly.

“If I can’t have him, then I’ll have you. Forever.”

“Please…” he tried, “Please let me go…I won’t tell anyone…”

Her eyes glittered in the dim light filtering from the moonlight in the trees.

“That’s right you won’t,” she purred, her hold on him tightening until he cried out before her hand raised above her head and came slashing down.