The MacAbre Cabin

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

Pulling up to within view of the cabin, Sheriff Evans sat in the driver seat of the patrol car. A low mist had settled around, the night cold. He could see the candle, it's light dimly glowing beyond to cabin's other windows.

He had been called by one of the rangers patrolling the woods who had spotted the candle. They were worried that some kids or teenagers were up to no good, given that it was October 31. Halloween. Given the history of the cabin, he had agreed to look into it, leaving behind the town and the parents shepherding their children from house to house.

Turning on the radio, Sheriff Evans called in his status. "Dave, Harold here.... I'm at the old MacAbre cabin.... It is lit up by a candle..... I'll go check it out."

"No problem, chief." spoke Dave, his deputy. "Watch out for any ghosts."

"Haha." replied Harold, sarcastically. That said, he felt a shiver down his spine. According to local legend, the family who owned the cabin had mysteriously disappeared around Halloween early last century without a trace. Ever since, the cabin and the area was largely avoided with only the occasional reports of strange lights and random disappearances. The one common thread, however, with eyewitnesses that sensibly turned back, was that of a burning candle in the window.

Seeing the quiet exterior, Sheriff Evans grabbed the torch from the glove box and stepped out of the car. Feeling the chill, he donned his jacket and turned on the torch, pointing its beam to the ground before him.

He took in his surroundings as he slowly walked towards the cabin. To him, there was a faint aroma of rot and decay in the air. He shook his head, thinking it was his imagination.

SNAP!

His left boot had broken something underfoot, the noise loud in the stillness of the night. He stepped back and felt something else brittle give way. Pointing the torch down, he was what looked like an old bone and, as he lifted his boot, something plastic. He crouched down, examining the plastic.

Picking it up, he thought it looked like a mobile phone. Holding it closer to his face, it disintegrated, leaving plastic shards in his hand, that disappeared as they fell out of his hand. He looked down to where the bone was only to see an ashen outline of whatever it had been.

A fumbled noise came from the cabin door, drawing Sheriff Evans' attention. He illuminated the door. The door handle twisted clockwise and anticlockwise.

Feeling perturbed and overly cautious, he drew his gun and pointed it at the door, the barrel parallel to the end of the torch.

"This is Sheriff Evans, come out with your hands up!" He demanded

The handle continued to twist and jostle until the door flew open with a bang. The interior within the cabin went suddenly dark, the torch being the only source of ambient illumination.

Through the door shambled a figure of, to Sheriff Evans, horror. An emaciated body and limbs covered by clothing that turned to scraps that flew down to the ground. The moaning figure's near skull like head, wisps of grey hair looking barely hanging on, turned towards him, bloodshot eyes intent upon him.

Sheriff Evans pointed the torch and gun towards the figure as it started towards him. "Don't come any closer."

The figure raised its right arm up, palm out, as if reaching towards him. It tried to make a sound briefly before it opened its jaws.

It let out a mournful "Doooooooooonnnnnn-"

BANG!

The trigger was pulled.

The head was thrown back as it and the following body fell back onto the cabin porch floor. A metallic sound pinged off to Sheriff Evan's right, out of the light.

The body twitched a couple of times as Sheriff Evans approached it before it became still. The smell of rot and decay then hit him full force, causing him to violently turn away as he dry heaved, threatening to expel the contents of his stomach

When he got it under control, he looked to what his light illuminated on the porch and noted something. Giving the body a wide berth, he went and picked up what looked like a faded sample of material that had come from figure. To it, he saw what looked like a very corroded six-pointed shape similar to his badge. He watched it crumble to rust in his hand.

Producing a handkerchief, he promptly tied it to cover his nose.

He turned back to the corpse and took only a step before the smell stayed his approach. In the short time from being shot to this moment, the corpse looks like it had been decomposing for days, bits of bone and internal organs, devoid of contents, now visible.

Curious to what had transpired to cause this, he stepped around the door of the cabin, peered inside following the light of his torch. Taking one last look the corpse behind him, Sheriff Evans summoned his courage and stepped over the threshold.....

Into a lit interior. The smell remained, albeit faint once more.

Nonetheless, a wave of nausea passed through Sheriff Evans as he felt the heat within the cabin.

Before him was a mirror on a wall with the passage leading left and right. He scanned his face in the mirror, noting the beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. He was also perplexed as he spied what looked like grey streaks in his normally sandy blond hair.

Trick of the light. He thought to himself

Remembering the external layout, he turned to his left to head towards wherever the candlelight would have come from but a dull thump from behind him made him turn around and bring his gun to bear into the other room

All he saw, was a chair and table in the room, upon which appeared to be a leather bound book.

Carefully, he peeked around into the room. It was well decorated with a fireplace, the fixture somewhat colonial with another doorway hinting at a kitchen beyond.

Sheriff Evans stopped and listened. Nothing was heard. He turned to the table and cautiously approached it. Guiding the chair to where he could sit and keep an eye on both doorways, he sat down, putting his gun away and moved the book towards him.

It looked like an old style journal, the sort he had seen in the stored documents of the sheriff’s office.

Gently lifting the cover, the front page had the following words.

Property of Hanse MacAbre.

Spying a ribbon bookmark, he opened the marked page and read the old style written words.

October 30

I have returned home from a day of burying so many who fell to whatever contagion plagues the town.

By whatever grace, I have remained unaffected despite my vocation, which is just as well as the healthy are staying away and locking themselves in their homes.

Much to my chagrin, my wife and my four children are now also displaying the symptoms of this malady.

October 31

It has just turned midnight and I fear for the lives of my wife and children. I despair at the graveness of their illness and despite my exaltations and ministrations believe they may not see the light of the dawn.

Unless I take the drastic measure that I cannot speak of or take lightly, but it may be my final and last course.

Sheriff Evans turned to the next page, only to find it blank. He quickly scanned to further empty pages beyond, before settling back to the first blank page.

He was about to close the book, when letters started to appear before him. Unlike the black ink of the previous page, the letters were crimson.

By my lighted love ones,

I am now surrounded

My immediate fate

To them bounded

They are gone

Yet remain with me

In the here and now

For eternity

The residual of

A bargain made

With my life

Will be paid

As he read the last word, droplets formed and ran down the page, only to stop and be absorbed as the words faded away.

Disconcerted, Sheriff Evans slammed the book shut and stood up quickly, knocking the chair away. Taking a step towards the fireplace, he threw the book towards the naked flames, only for it to disappear when it left his hand. He turned back to the table, only to find the book and chair at their original places.

Finding himself gulping for air, he went to take of his jacket, accidentally tearing it in his rush. He was surprised to find himself holding the fabric in his hand.

“Is there someone there?” came an old voice.

Sheriff Evans quickly reached for and took out his gun, as he went past the mirror in search of the voice’s source. He quickly went room from room. He went past two with bunkbeds, the first with a candle on the window sill emitting a bright light.

The third he surmised was a main bedroom of sorts judging by the size of the bed. He noted the remains of yellow fabric of what may have been part of a dress laid out on the floor at the foot of the bed as well as specks of ashen remains.

A cough from the figure on the bed took his attention and he pointed his gun towards them. The figure had the feature of an old man who looked at Sheriff Evans with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

“Sheriff Evans? Is that really you? Did my brother Jacob get help after?” quizzed the old man.

Sheriff Evans was confused. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, sir, Johnny Wilkins.”

Shaking his head, Sheriff Evans replied. “It can’t be, I only saw you just this morning.” He found it difficult to reconcile the man before him and the eight-year-old boy that he had helped bring into this world.

Johnny coughed again. “Is Jacob with you? He ran out of here to call with his mobile after what they did to his girlfriend Rebecca.” The old man got to the edge of the bed and pointed down at the floor. “That’s all that is left of her.”

Despite the heat, Sheriff Evans felt a chill. He looked at the remains before him and remembered that what he encountered outside, recalling all of the reports of disappearances going back a century. He suppressed a shudder.

Going over to the old man, he placed a hand on their shoulder.

Johnny quickly wrapped his arms around Sheriff Evan’s waist and sobbed. “I was scared sir. I only followed my brother to see what he was up to. He met up with Rebecca and I followed them to the cabin and, when they saw it lit up, they went in. I came in just to look around, mind you, when I saw them go after my brother and Rebecca. And that’s when I heard her scream.”

“It’s alright, Johnny. It’ll be alright.” soothed Sheriff Evans. “Who came after them?”

“Them, sir.” Johnny pointed.

Sheriff Evans followed Johnny’s arm to the bedroom doorway, to see six lights hovering there. He pointed his gun towards the lights.

“I saw them touching Rebecca and as they did, the older she got. I screamed when I saw that happen and went to my brother.” explained Johnny. “He held us both making shushing noises. He asked me to what Rebecca while he went to call for help. They chased after him as he went through them. I stayed her with Rebecca as I heard him yell but I thought he got out when I heard the door bang open and close.”

“Well you are getting out of here with me.” said Sheriff Evans.

“I don’t think they’ll let you.” Johnny looked up at Sheriff Evans with his old face and young eyes. “I think they left me for a last meal after they were through with Rebecca.”

“I’m not leaving you behind, they’ll have to come through me.” He gently but firmly pulled up Johnny from the bed. “Just stay behind me.”

Johnny whimpered. “It won’t make a difference.” He held Sheriff Evan’s free hand nonetheless.

Taking a step forward, Sheriff Evan’s fired a shot in warning, aiming at one of the lights. The other’s scattered and disappeared while the bullet went through the remaining light.

There was no sound of impact to the wall behind.

Pulling Johnny behind him, the light remained immobile as they went past.

They were only metres from the door, when the other lights suddenly reappeared and attacked Johnny, who shrieked and let go.

Sheriff Evans only looked in horror as the parts of Johnny touched by lights decayed, aged and sloughed away, eliciting screams of terror from both of them.

Johnny collapsed to the floor as his legs rotted away, looking up imploringly at Sheriff Evans.

Paralyzed by the sight, Sheriff Evans gathered his rapidly diminishing sanity and took a shot.

Johnny’s body went still and the cabin was flooded in darkness. The heat remained adding to the smell of rotting flesh and decay.

Disorientated, Sheriff Evans went towards where he remembered the door to be, only to be suddenly bathed in light, surrounded.

He screamed as he rushed for the door only for the lights to start touching him, with one entering his mouth.

The gun in his hand fell from his grasp, falling onto floor, breaking into corroding pieces.

The effects were immediate as he felt pain all over his body. He went to scream only to find it muffled as he felt his tongue first be uncooperative and then dissolving away, the taste of off meat entering his throat forcing him to gag.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his blond locks given way to grey wisps on his elderly head, his uniform in tatters and stained.

Fighting down terror he focused on the only thought he had. I have to get out of here.

He moaned in pain as he turned and grasped the door handle, feeling parts of his body dying.

His hands struggled with the handle for what seemed like an age, twisting and pushing while the lights continued their onslaught.

He thought he heard a voice from outside.

Sheriff Evans continued to work at the door until suddenly he fell through the doorway, the lights behind him vanishing once more, and into the cool night beyond.

He looked around. He saw the flashing lights of the patrol car and a figure with a torch coming towards.

Sheriff Evans squinted to focus his pained eyes. The figure was wearing a uniform, a sheriff’s uniform.

He tried to speak but could only moan in recognition. He was looking at himself from before he entered the cabin. He recalled the six pointed shape he picked earlier

I have to warn him to not go in there. He thought with difficultly.

The gun and torch were now pointed at him, blinding him. He lurched forward as he heard his other self say “Don’t come any closer.”

The emaciated form of Sheriff Evans held out his right arm, palm out in supplication. The pain was excruciating.

Don’t go in there. He wished to say.

His body and lack of tongue made articulating it nearly impossible.

"Doooooooooonnnnnn-"

BANG!

Oblivion.