The Haven

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

The adventurous and the foolish would come across it from time to time. Generations of local teenagers said it would be the perfect place to sneak off to late at night, but none ever did. Some feeling they couldn’t name kept them from returning.

So for decades it stood empty. Off the path and out of the way.

Until a hiker came upon the cabin one night and saw the single candle burning in the window.

The hiker had lost sight of the trail as dusk turned to night, and with a growing sense of dread, she began to suspect that every step was leading her deeper into the woods.

When the hiker entered the clearing, the light in the window felt like a sign. She felt the fear leave her body as she exhaled in relief.

It was easy to believe the candle had been lit specifically to beckon the lost. All would be well.

Wiping the back of her hand across her clammy forehead, she took in the sagging boards, the look of utter abandonment. The cabin that would be her refuge.

Her heartbeat slowly steadied and she realized that she was still standing in the clearing, that she hadn’t moved any closer to the cabin.

But when she tried to take a step forward, her legs wouldn’t move. When she tried to look down, her head wouldn’t tilt. Not even her eyes would move from their fixed point and so she could not look away from the flickering flame.

Only her heart responded, beating faster once more as her instinct to flee took over her mind while her body refused to act.

The candle’s flame danced.

Though blood pounded in her ears, she became aware of every sound in the woods. Every snapping branch. Every rustling leaf.

A cold, light wind touched the back of her neck, but by what little see could see out of the corner of her eye, the trees were still.

She fought to run. Inside her head, she screamed. The cold wind brushed her again, but she couldn’t so much a glance over her shoulder.

Her eyes remained on the candle. She no longer knew if it was beckoning or taunting her.

Something moved along the forest floor. A soft slither. The hiker’s heart was wild, a terrified, caged animal.

The thing on the ground crept over her shoes. It tugged at the bottom of her pant leg. She could feel it crawling up her body, wrapping itself around her. It cut into her and it felt like hundreds of teeth were biting at her skin.

As it made its way to her fingertips, she felt leaves. Ivy. Teeth became thorns.

The vine continued to entwine her body, tightening around her limbs.

And still, her eyes could not leave the flame.

Wax dripped down the sides of the candle.

The ivy climbed and the candle melted down, drop by drop. Tighter. Tighter.

Thorns cut into her flesh, but though she felt pressure at the back of her eyes, no tears would fall. As the ivy ensnared her, the thorns cut deeper, scraping along her arms, her legs, her back. Blood seeped from her torn flesh and she could do nothing to stop its flow.

She willed the candle to keep burning, even as its dancing flame held her captive. It was the only light in the clearing and absolute dark would descend once the flame died.

Each drop of wax wept down the side of the candle. It had to be the dead of night.

The ivy reached her head, crossing itself over her face. Thorns dug into her lips. The vine wrapped tighter, cutting off her airway. Between the leaves, her vision was narrowed to just the flame in the window, blocking out what little peripheral vision she’d had.

Her heart pounded as she willed air into her lungs. She was lost. She’d found a place that promised safety, but had instead tricked her. And now she would never leave.

The ivy pulled her down, her limbs still heavy and powerless. She sank to the ground, but she could still see the flame. It held her in its grip as tightly as the ivy that consumed her, growing over her until she was buried on the forest floor.

The last thing she saw was the candle gasping its last and flickering out.