Welcome to Our Home

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The flames danced in the cool winter breeze as their light cast an ominous glow around the derelict room within. The man walked up to the door, which was barely accessible through a thick shroud of interweaving branches. He took out his hunting knife, carving his way in, treading upon a rotten mat that read: “Welcome to our home”.

The floorboards creaked menacingly as he stepped in and looked around. On his right was a small lounge area, a dusty rotted-green couch withering by the back wall. Opposite, the decrepit table by the window, holding the candle that had enticed him in from his hopeless state of being lost. Above the couch was a portrait of a family – staged, none of them smiling. On the left of the entryway was a kitchenette, and a door leading to a bedroom. The whole place smelt of stagnant water and decay; the walls melting with damage. He took a spot on the couch, coughing at the dust it produced with his weight. He would stay until morning when he could find his way out.

He had just started to doze off when a shadow cast from the light scurried from the lounge and slipped around the corner to the bedroom. Another, slinked its way from the window to settle undeneath the couch. The rustling of the wind made the shadows sound alive; his fatigue, animated them to life. Surely, he was imagining things. BANG. A wooden chair, idly sitting in the kitchen, screeched along the bare floor, and smacked into the far wall, teetering for a moment before finding a new point of rest. His heart seized at the sound and continued to pound as he tried to understand what he had just seen. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure of anything. Who had lit the candle? Why hadn’t they come back? The leaves surrounding the cabin tickled its outside walls, the small branches screeching on the windowpanes – making a sound akin to children shrieking with laughter, as if the nature could hear his thoughts, and was wickedly entertained with his descent into dread.

The frantic scuttling of the trees beyond the cabin’s walls intensified. So much that he thought he heard a pattern to the chaos, almost rhythmic, almost like… running? Who would be out there? The running sounds picked up in pace, brasher, vibrating closer, closer. He was sure they were footsteps now, storming up to the entryway. Bang. Bang. Bang. Approaching faster, louder. The front door lurched open with an agonising crash, the wind like an army of troops, storming in behind their leader. The footsteps echoed all around him, he felt them, heard them, run all the way up to him, and stop. No one was there. Panicked, he spun around, knowing someone, something, must be nearby. Yet he was left with nothing but the ringing memory of the phantom footsteps, and the desperate flow of blood pulsating through his heart.

“Hey!” He heard a whisper. He jerked his head in its direction, the window by the candle. The whites of eyes stood out against the dark landscape, floating orbs in the abyss of night. Just as quickly as they had appeared, did they again disappear into the black sea outside. He thought about leaving, though he now wondered whether the threat he faced was inside or out. Before he had time to consider this, he heard it again, behind him this time. “Hey, hey, hey, HEY!” The last word bellowed in his right ear, making him wince and cover his head. He felt a breath, cool and stale, licking the back of his neck, tickling his nerves all the way down to his legs. He jumped up and ran towards the door behind the kitchenette, hoping to find solace in a different room.

He stood in the meagre light of the bedroom, trying to collect his racing thoughts. The darkness was foreboding, but he was grateful to be away from the shadows and the spiteful games they were playing with his eyes. The smell of decay became stronger, violating his nose as he felt something scratching at his ankles. He heard creaking in the lounge room, approaching. The scratching turned to pulling, so many invisible forces tugging him in all directions. The footsteps were right behind him now. He heard breaths that were not his own. A shiver fluttered through his body. The remainder of light he had left disappeared as he heard something blow out the candle. White teeth, a glowing smile, appeared in front of him. “Welcome.”

Everything stopped. He thought he had fainted from pure fright. There was no sound, no light, the pulling had stopped. Abruptly, light filled the room, candles lined the floor around him. He was standing in front of a full-sized mirror, holding his hunting knife. The outside world aggressively tapping at the walls, cheering on the grim presence. His reflection smiled at him. He tried to run but he was stuck in place. He watched as his doppelgänger took the hunting knife and started hacking at his face and limbs. He could hear himself screaming but all he could see was his mirrored self, roaring with laughter, blood running down his face. He felt something warm, soaking in his hand. He looked down through tears and blood at his mangled body, crimson shreds of flesh dangling in the warm light. He was holding a bloody mesh of cartilage and hair that had once been his ear.

“Eat it” a voice cooed, motherly but taunting at the same time. “Eeeet, my sweet.” Each time, the words becoming more drawn out, more threatening. “EAT!” Demanding now, the voice had become deep, the echoes of the request vibrated along the wooden boards around him. The voice multiplied into different tones: some excited, some impatient, all urgent. “EAT,” it snarled again, “or be eaten.” He looked back up at his reflection, who freed a slice of skin from his face, and started gnawing at it, grinning through bloodied teeth. He felt the scratching again, more violent this time, like sea creatures nibbling at his moulting body. The wet sounds of chewing, drowning out his cries of agony.

……..

A few years ago, I went hiking with some friends. One was telling a story about a family of cannibals that used to live in the woods. They had been ostracised by the townspeople and hid away in the comfort of nature. They couldn’t go to town to find victims, so they would leave a candle on at night, waiting for the lost to come and seek help. Though they had died hundreds of years ago, people still went missing, and some had even sworn to see a candle, flickering in the trees, inviting them in when they were lost. We had laughed off our friend’s story, knowing she was only trying to scare us.

We had started descending the track that led us out of the woods, back to the safety of our campsite. I heard a rustle and looked back into the brush. The light was dimming, and the colours of sunset had begun to trickle over the hills we were leaving behind. In the purple backdrop of the sky, I saw something move, a flicker of orange and yellow. Candlelight. A window. My friend’s story had sparked my imagination, I thought. I went to turn away and that’s when I saw him. A man, wavering in the candlelight, glaring at me with tormented eyes. He was mouthing something, but I couldn’t make it out. I turned and ran.

To this day I still think I imagined it, but I can never get that vision out of my head. I have replayed it so many times in my memory. Until one day it finally hit me, what he was saying. I started hearing it more clearly, like a whisper in my brain that got so loud it has started to overpower my other thoughts. Driving me, driving a thirst that will only be satiated by sweet, human, flesh. One word. Over and over: “EAT”.