Silent Candle

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Th-That's all I had heard, I swear. We just wanted to see if it was true!" The young man squirmed in his bindings. The rope around his limbs was thick and interwoven through an old wooden chair. In front of him was pitch black space in the darkest of night, a phenomenon that prevented him from seeing anything in front of him. He paused all movement as he heard the cabin's floors slowly creak in front of him, forcing his imagination to only wonder what would approach him.

"Keep your voice down." The old man stood in front of him. The young man could hear deep, raspy breathes as the floor continued to creak slightly, as if the old man was swaying his body, unable to keep still like wind chimes in a breeze. "Noise, noise, noise." The old man coughed and spit on the young man's shoe. "Anyone else with you? Besides your friend?"

"No it was just us - please - I swear!" The young man had not seen his friend since their arrival. The memory of his capture was hazy. He remembers observing the cabin from afar as the candle in the window glowed. His friend had wanted to get a closer look, and then his vision went dark. Perhaps he had escaped, the young man thought to himself. "Please let me go..." No, thought the young man. He could not see it, but he knew his friend was in the room with them. "I promise I won't come back!"

"Noise!"

The young man quaked and began to whisper. "I'm sorry." He let himself go limp and tilted forward. As tears plummeted from his cheeks, he felt his back bend against the chair, its wood soft and brittle.

"Hmm." The old man began to wander away from the young man. Through the black dark of the room was the sound of rattling metal hitting against wood. A small case of hardware groaned as he shuffled the metals and carefully placed items of great weight on a surface. He continued to rattle and clink and relocate various metals.

The young man winced as the metal rang across the cabin, its tonal disruption reverberating in his eardrums. He resumed to move his body against the rope, the wood of the chair bending more and more persistently as he writhed. The arms and legs felt as if they were almost set aflame as the ropes strained against his skin. Suddenly the sound of the old man tinkering halted, and the young man ceased along with it.

The old man creaked along the floor back towards the young man. "I'm glad," the old man cleared his throat, an abyssal vessel for phlegm. "They think my home abandoned. I don't want visitors. But you -" As if his body was a corpse lit aflame, he belched and coughed more and more. "You, you, you, you come here and make that... noise. All that ungodly noise. I'm sick of it!" The old man lunged his head forward, letting his stench roll over the young man's pores as he spoke.

The young man held his breath. He tensed his knuckles. His tongue settled between his teeth. He stopped moving his eyes, his nose, the quivering of his lips, thinking that even the smallest movement might enrage the old man. All he could hear was the drum of his own heart as the old man breathed like a rusted machine.

The old man said nothing for a moment. His breathing calmed, and his stench no longer lingered over the boy as the sound of creaking footsteps returned to move back towards the origin of where he clamored with metal. And clamored with it he did.

Across the room he could hear the weight of the metal once more, but the young man's focus set on the chair. He began to struggle, tipping the chair back and forth, bending the wood, scraping wrist and ankle once again as the rope held him tight. Until eventually, as the old man laid down one last clamor, the chair and the young man collapsed downwards, spreading splinters of wood across the cabin floor. The young man quickly seized the rope around himself and let it drop as he rose from the floor. Through the darkness, he panted greatly as he ran.

"Noise. Noise!"

The young man found a wall. He let his hands grasp and put pressure anywhere in the area. He moved swiftly and impetuously.

"Noise! Noise!" The creaking returned and grew louder, echoing around the cabin walls and surrounding the young man.

The young man felt a corner as he moved to an adjacent wall. His hands sweat as they slammed and scratched and scathed the wall, hoping that anything other than wood would come into feeling. And then he knocked against it. The only object not wood or not metal or not rope. The young man felt glass, and realized he had found the window. He slammed, he scratched, he pounded, he shattered the window, he let his arms reach outside and feel the cool breeze of the night sky, he placed his foot against to wall to start climbing, his heart pounded louder and louder, his feet slid against the wood as he scrambled.

But suddenly, he saw the night grow darker. He saw himself reaching the edge of the woods and finding his way home. He'd burst through the door of his house and allow his body to fall apart as his family held him tightly. He saw himself safe. He saw himself scarred, broken, damaged, but safe. He thought about all the hardships he would endure afterwards, how he would overcome them, and how he would become stronger because of it. He would be happy. He would have found a purpose, a partner, a goal, and more in this wonderous new life. He would never forget that night. He thought about how he bravely fought to survive, and how his efforts led to a great escape. A terrible, terrible dream.

The old man stood over the boy as he dreamed. It had been far too long since the sound of calm breathing had snuck into his eardrums. He heaved the young man's body unto a wooden table, replacing the rope previously loosened. He stood for a moment, lingering over the boy, and released his dry voice once again. "You almost ruined your progress tonight. Don't think I didn't notice it. Your silence. You did what others refuse to do. Silence your noise. And for that, I will reward you." Flame flickered in the old man's hand as he began clicking the small metal of a lighter. The fire glowed a warm orange, and was moved to a short candle, its wax melting away not unlike the perspiration on the boy's body. As the candle lit, the old man's face was revealed to the darkness. His white, pale, pupils reflected the light like a mirror. His hair and beard hung from him like white vines, enveloping a skin as rough as tree bark. He cleared his throat. "You'd best learn from a candle. You might not notice its noise, but I do. Its noise is apologetic. Comforting. It's fire just the right size - it won't crack like a campfire, but it moves all the same. You move like the rest of them. But you can make less noise." He placed the candle in the young man's hand, letting the wax soften over it. "You have my thanks as well. Next time I know where to not put the candle." And he walked away to clamor with the metal one last time.

When the boy awoke, he found himself on the edge of the woods. The sun was rising, as if calling him to follow, and so he rose. He could see his town. He remembered his dream. He wished to let out a sigh of relief, but found himself struggling. He put his hand over his mouth and ran his fingers over thin metals encompassing it. He breathed heavily through his nose, his only passage of air. He wanted to scream, but he could not feel his tongue. His lips had been sealed, and his mouth was empty. He had lost his noise.