Takeaway

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It waited there on the dresser, standing before the window like a woman longer for her lover to return. The flame flickered and danced as I gazed out at the darkness that consumed the world around us. Trees, ground, sky, all swallowed by the feral mouth of midnight.

Though I couldn’t see it all, I knew pines and redwoods poked out of the earth like spears, the small lawn spread before me, with a white “for sale” sign touting its red message. I knew every inch. I had it memorized from weeks of peering through my car window, from scouting the patterns of people walking by but never entering. It hadn’t been sold. It hadn’t been showcased. No one had set a foot inside. That’s why no one would bat an eyelash. Not a soul would know we had been here.

I shuttered the window quickly, hearing the blinds clank together with a soft metallic ripple, making the flame move about in a dizzy panic before it settled once more. The same feeling squirmed inside my chest. What if’s danced about, most prominently: What if it was too good to be true? But I had taken the time, done the research, looked up records and stories on the library computer. No one was here.

The cabin didn’t get electricity or gas or water. But it was fully furnished as if ready for a showing. And my children would get to sleep in a bed for the first time since we had left. I looked to my left and saw my baby girl resting peacefully in the crib I had found in a little yellow room that seemed it was made perfectly for her.

“Mommy!”

I turned toward the voice of my little boy, my oldest, coming from the hallway. What a sweet little angel. My heart broke for him. He had taken to his daddy so much. Loved him so much. It must hurt like hell to be without him. But his daddy? His daddy was a lying, cheating bastard. And we didn’t need him no more. He would be better off dead.

I sighed and started towards the door, taking one more look behind me at the tiny one, fists curled, laying still in his crib. His chest rose ever so slightly with minuscule breaths. I smiled sadly. A child without a father would have a terribly hard life. Closing the door gently behind me, as not to wake her, I tiptoed out to check on her brother. I knew it was silly to think she would escape. She wasn’t yet old enough to crawl. But the fear bolted through my veins anyways. So, with a twist of a key, I locked the door behind me.

“Mommy!” my five year old came crying, stumbling toward me in a hurry. “Mommy, there’s someone under my bed!”

“Shhhh, shhh honey, it’s ok. I’ll check under your bed, its ok. But you gotta stop yellin’ you’ll wake up your sister.”

“But, mommy…”

“Don’t worry, honey, I’m going to check right now, ok?”

“Ok…” he whimpered.

I took his hand and we trotted down the hallway into the little room he had picked for himself when we had walked in the front door a few hours ago. His hand was quivering in mine, but I knew he was prone to little fits of fear like this. The past weeks that we had been living in the car, he would startle, claiming that someone was living under our seats, or that the was a monster in the trunk.

I pushed the door wide from its slightly ajar position, my son following silently behind me like a harmless ghost. I heard his feet padding silently, and as soon as I walked in, I flipped up the bedskirt, revealing a rather dark, but clearly empty space beneath the frame.

“See honey, nothing there!” I told him with a sweet but satisfied smile. “And don’t worry, we can check the closet and anywhere else you want too.”

I let him slip into bed, as I made my way around the room, checking dark corners and empty spaces, making a game of it until he was giggling sleepily.

“And finally the closet, just like I said.” My heart skipped a beat as I slid the door slowly open. I knew it was safe. I knew we were fine. But my husband had hid in the closet when we were together. Just to frighten me, so that he could see my face contort with fear. But he couldn’t touch us here. We were out of his reach.

I pushed the door open and revealed the empty shell of a closet to him. Turning behind me, I saw his eyes squinting with the weight of sleep. He looked so much like his father sometimes.

I sat down next to him and tucked him firmly between the sheets. He tended to sleep walk when he was scared. And I really, truly didn’t need him bolting tonight. I didn’t think I could handle it.

I rubbed circles on his back until I heard little snores, earning the tiniest of smiles from me. When he was asleep it was like nothing in the world had or could ever hurt him. He was still. So at peace. I stood softly, careful not to make a noise. I closed the door and locked it behind me. An extra measure to keep him from stumbling out by accident.

The house was so still now. It was so perfect. It was like we had gotten away. Like we would never be found.

I drifted toward the kitchen, hoping to eat one of the snacks I had tucked away before the night was over. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for the wine and bread I had put out of the children’s reach. Fresh bread had been a comfort food when I was a child, and heaven knows I needed a glass of wine. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the glare of the dial up I had laughed about earlier. How silly and outdated. I had messed around with it a little, unplugged it and let the kids play with it. It was probably only an emergency phone anyways, if it worked at all. But there it was, plugged back where it had started, phone off the hook.

I must have put it back without thinking. I pulled the plug back out of the wall, just to be cautious, even though I knew it was harmless, and put the bread loaf on the counter. I thumped around in the kitchen for a bit, looking for a cutting board and knife. Opening and closing cabinets and drawers, the knife was the first thing I found without much of an effort, but the board was a bit trickier. My frustration built, the volume of the thudding doors increasing as I opened them.

Thud.

I froze, shocked at how loud I had closed the door, and waited for the cries of my children.

Thud.

Something tingled at the back of my neck and I whipped around, knife bared in front of me. A shadow passed across the wall, in front of me. So briefly, I almost missed it. I could almost pretend it wasn’t there.

You’re just nervous, no one’s here.

Thud.

The sound of a door opening.

“No,” I whispered in quiet horror.

I barreled towards it, red growing around the edges of my vision, blurring the world around me in a mist of rage. I stop at the door to the back patio, its glass slid wide open, puffing the curtain out before it.

“No!” there was no use trying to keep quiet now. It was too late. I tumbled toward my boy’s door. My sweet little boy. The door was open. He was gone.

“No! No!” A voice not entirely my own ripped through my throat, like a wild beast tearing its path to shreds.

“You cannot have them!” I screeched. “You don’t get anything! You get nothing good! You cannot have them!”

Something powerful and possessive rose from my chest like bile, and I screamed, wild and bloody and angry. I burst forward toward my baby’s room. My tiny, helpless baby. I shoved the door open with all my might, hearing the door crack as it slammed against the wall behind it. I waved my knife in front of me, prepared to face him, to ruin him.

“I get to take them! They’re mine to take! I get to choose!”

But he wasn’t there. My son cowered underneath his sister’s crib, shaking as she wailed. I blinked. And paused. And breathed. And watched the child. Afraid. So afraid. The haze of red cleared from my eyes.

I looked around. Nothing. Nothing at all. There was nothing. No moving shadows, no people, not even a breeze. I peered into the hall, to find it empty. Nothing there. The candle by the window was still and strong.

I turned back to the whimpering little boy, helpless and aching with the fear that came from his mother’s cries. I hadn’t locked the door. My son had slept walked, and now, now he was just terrified of what he had awoken to.

“It’s… it’s ok.” I opened my arms to him. “Shh, shh, it’s ok. Mama was just scared. She had a bad dream. A real scary bad dream. Shh.”

He looked at me cautiously. Like I might catch fire. Like I might burst if he wasn’t careful. He inched back.

“It’s ok, baby. Come here. Mama, was just scared, but it’s ok now. You’re safe.”

He froze. And then came rushing forward, into my arms, sobbing wildly.

“It’s ok. This isn’t the plan, but it’s alright. It’s ok.” I kissed his head and held him tight. “The hurt will be over soon. Only daddy will hurt soon.”

I slid the knife up toward his face, slowly, gently so as not to frighten him.

“It’s the only way to hurt daddy. It’s ok.”

I held him tight so he wouldn’t squirm.

“It’s ok. It’s…”

I heard the closet door slide open behind me and before I could even turn, pain flared like a searing fire at the back of my head and the world spun to the floor. Footsteps fell heavy over me, and my son was ripped from my arms. I couldn’t talk. All I could make was a garbled scream. Fury peeled my lips back as I made some inhuman noise, retching at his victory.

No! NO!

The man, that man always won. He always had to win. The world was blurred and dull as he scooped the girl out of her crib, the boy still in his arms, and began to soothe her cries.

They were mine to take away.

He looked back at me, something less than pity in his eyes. Something more venomous than disgust.

He bumped the dresser, letting the candle tip, and light the trail of gasoline I had so carefully placed. I watched, incapable of moving as my consciousness faded, as the man stepped over me, boots thudding by my head. And with my last trickle of thoughts…

I smelled smoke.