The Pinewood Lich

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The soft orange flame licked away at the cobwebs and dust, growing by the moment. It rose up, tall and strong, until it reached the edge of the moth-eaten curtain.

Fume!

It caught fire. The curtain, the wall, the table, the floor, the rug: the light of the candle touched it all until the cabin crackled like a bonfire.

The thin glass of the windows shattered from the heat. Free flames raced along the pine straw and fallen sticks to the trees. The pines passed it along, sharing the fire to the edge of the woods and a little past.

Fume!

The cottage just outside of the woods caught and burned. In the little bedroom of the simple cottage, Myre waited with eyes wide open. Smoke and ash blew through the cracked window. She laid with her hands folded over her stomach, paralyzed. Light flooded her room.

Sweat soaked her sheets.

Long fingers wrapped her window sill. Suddenly, a dark, tall figure appeared at the end of her bed. Her bed creaked as it stepped onto her mattress. It loomed over her, bringing the smell of rotten meat on its labored breath. Smoke obscured the details of its features, but its antlers and long face cast shadows on the ceiling. It squatted on her chest, forcing her breaths to become shallow.

“Myre.” It gripped her face with a cold, skeletal hand. “Tonight, the fire is coming. Stop it…or die to it.”

Thump. Thump Thump.

Her heart pounded in fear as the creature pressed pointed fingertips into her cheeks. It released her face and closed her eyes with a tender touch.

The pressure, the heat, the horrid snapping of the cottage walls burning: the nightmare stopped as Myre opened her aching eyes. Sunlight and dove coos came from the window by her bed. She sat up, tearing the flat sheet off her body. The layer of sweat on her skin chilled as she flew out of bed to the window. But she paused at the sight of the sill.

“What is this?” She wondered aloud as she swept her finger through a trail of soot. Was it more than sleep paralysis? Is the cottage going to burn down tonight?

Her heart raced. She slammed the window closed and locked it. I can’t let this place burn! Where would I go?

Myre grabbed a loose knit shawl from her armoire and slipped on her hiking boots. She tied the shawl around her shoulders as she stomped out the front door. Into the woods, she went in search of the abandoned cabin.

The bright sunlight showed a narrow trail of black snaking through the pines. A cold wind stalked her as she ran.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her heart pounded against the tightness of her throat with every step. The daylight is going to run out. Sweat beaded on her skin. Her effort was more than honest; it was desperate. The little cottage at the edge of the pines was the most she had ever owned and all she had.

But late morning turned into evening before the abandoned cabin came into sight. The moment she saw it, she felt eyes on her back. She rushed to the door. The thick latch of the cabin door was coated in moss, cobwebs, and stray pine straw. She put her soft hands underneath the latch and pried it up. The hinges moaned as she pushed her way inside. A cold gust of wind followed her, blowing her thin red hair into her face.

Shivering and exhausted, Myre forced the door closed. She leaned against the door. The feeling of being watched still haunted her, but she caught her breath and let her heart calm.

I have to find that candle.

The cabin looked just as she had dreamed it. Fitted with a stove, sink, table, chairs, it had everything a person could want for a hunting cabin. The far side of the cabin was sectioned off with hanging sheets. There’s probably a bed there. A thick rug blackened with dirt laid at the center of the living space. How many men have made this place their home for the night? I just need a little light. There’s so many spiders. When was the last time this place was used?

The deer and their white-spotted fawn were long gone, cleared out of the area by hunters in search of meat for their children, fur for their wives, and antlers for their mantles. The cabin was left for moss and jumping spiders as they moved onto other animals.

Myre’s hand shook as she ran it over the wall. Soot painted the inside of the cabin from ceiling to floor. Was there a fire here? Spiders scattered from her path. She walked past the stove to the simple table in front of the window. Under the moth-eaten curtain was a dusty candle in a tarnished holder.

The floor creaked as she went to it. She glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting to see a man sitting at the table, watching her as he sipped from a tin cup. But, no one was there. It feels like there’s someone right over my shoulder. She turned back to the candle and picked it up by the holder. Outside, the last rays of sunlight were fading fast. I can’t believe I came all this way for this! It’s too dark to go home. I don’t want to be eaten by wolves. Oh no.

She groaned as she realized she had to light the candle or suffer a cold night alone with the spiders in the dark. If I keep it away from the curtain, then it should be fine. Right? Sleep paralysis demons aren’t real… It looked so real though. Myre went to the kitchen area and opened the few cabinets there. On the tips of her toes, she peeked in each one until she saw a box of matches hidden in cobwebs.

“Shoo,” she blew the spiders away from it then took it in hand.

Myre placed the candle on the stove top. She slid open the box of matches and saw two sticks left. Though she did her best to be steady, a tremor rattled her hand as she pinched one of the matches. She slid the box closed and struck it on the side. The head burst to life.

She held her breath as she put it to the dusty wick. The flame flicked, catching and burning the fine threads of web and dust before snuffing itself out.

“Damn,” Myre cursed under her breath. With careful hands, she took the last match and struck it. She hugged it to the wick.

It caught. A terrible rotting smell filled the room.

Something thin and pointed traced the length of her spine, starting at her tailbone and ending at the base of her skull. She kept still and silent. It’s not real. It can’t be real. Don’t be real. Maybe if I blow out the candle, it’ll disappear… I should have never lit the candle. I have to blow it out! She breathed in through her nose and parted her lips.

The creature’s hand rolled over her mouth. Her pounding heart twisted her stomach into knots.

“No,” it whispered in her ear. Every hair on her body stood on end as it put its other hand on her stomach. She shivered, helpless in its grip.

It pulled her away from the candle, over the chairs and dining table, to the opposite wall. Her head slammed against the wall as the creature took her from the floor. Tears streamed her face.

“Shh,” it hushed her whimpers.

With its face near to hers, she saw its head as the skull of a great buck. Its antlers were mighty and wide. From one of the branches, she saw a golden necklace dangle. Sickly green light glowed from the hollows of its eye sockets.

“Thank you. I would keep you,” it growled. “But you look too much like him. Shame on you.”

It paused.

Myre gasped as it dropped her from the wall. She fell on her knees. Looking up at the creature, she saw it wore a covering of torn gilly suits. Her gaze went back to the necklace. Is that Grandpa’s necklace? How could it be? He was buried in it.

The creature squatted down, putting its face near to hers. Its rancid breath was hot on her face.

“He would have not been so easy to lure.” It brought a long hunting knife from its back. “Tell your grandfather, I learned to hunt back.”

Fume.

The blade was cold and sharp on her stomach. Myre’s world went black.

The lich pulled Myre’s hiking boots off her feet as her body slumped on the floor. He removed the old running shoes from his boney feet and slipped on her nicer shoes. Satisfied, he retrieved the candle from the stove and placed it on the wooden table. With care to not bother the spiders too much, he opened the curtain to keep it from catching.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His footsteps echoed in the cabin, sending the spiders to their nests. He opened the door and stepped out into the winter night. With the candle burning in the window and the last descendant of the man who slayed him dead, the buck’s lich freely roams the pine forest in search of any hunters who dare to prowl his land.