When the Silent Speak

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

On this night, the moon was high; the breeze gave soft, sporadic gusts; and the stars hung unencumbered by clouds. It was, Eleanor had noted, a beautiful summer night. She loved the night—loved the peace, the quiet, and the freedom to dream that it offered—and had been humming to herself as she made her rounds. The village had sat silent for hours—she hadn’t even heard any of the babies cry. Eleanor loved how volunteering for the night watch meant little chores for the day, and how it gave her the privacy and solitude from her siblings that she so craved.

The night watch gave her solitude, and she had loved it every previous night; but, on this night, the solitude meant that her only companion was fear. Eleanor stood along the path that led to the cabin from the church, her eyes fixed on the small window where the candle glowed.

This cabin had only ever had one occupant—the silent Woman. The Woman had entered their village’s company inexplicably when Eleanor was nearly two years old, and from whence the Woman had come, no one knew. Some speculated that, perhaps, a traveling company had crossed on the other side of the woods and she had wandered, but the woods were so dense that only their most experienced hunters had ever reached the other side. If not the woods, those who speculated would argue, then she would have had to cross through the steep mountains, as their party had done, which seemed to them a greater improbability.

All the town knew of her was that she was old, frail, and never spoke (it was said that she couldn’t). Though her appearance puzzled the village, they paid her little mind. She seldom left the cabin that was erected for her at the base of the woods and was only ever seen by those dropping off food or firewood or extra clothes that they thought she might want. Life in the village moved forward with scarcely any occurrences to mark the march of time for nearly three years after she arrived.

One fall night, however, a young boy was lost. His parents had few details of the night to offer: they had gone to bed with their son, but when they awoke they did so to his absence. He could never wander, they argued—“He can’t even reach the latch to the door to open it!”—but the theory that everyone else fixed their minds to was that he had somehow gotten outside and that wolves or a bear had preyed upon the young child.

From that night forward, a watch was established every night to ensure that no beast could sneak into their village without their knowing ever again.

This worked, it seemed, as peace was found again for a few weeks. Then another child was taken, and then, a few days later, another. Both of these happened unbeknownst to the night watch until the screams of horror were heard from the parents in the morning.

Parents began to shirk their duties during the day and used the time to sleep, so they could watch their own families at night. On one of these restless, anxiety-filled nights, a father stood watch over his wife and newborn daughter. Hearing the door begin to creak ajar, he disguised his figure in the corner, and, when an unwelcome shadow entered the room, he sprung at it, threw a blanket over it, and held it tightly to his chest. He yelled for the watch to come to his aid, and they, along with his wife who awoke to the scuffle dragged the covered, flailing intruder to the center of town and tied it securely to a post.

The church bell was rung to awake the town and alert them to the excitement outside. The village gathered with a palpable, electric fervor, hoping to finally put an end to their terror and restless nights. As the intruder was unveiled, however, they were again met with mystery and bewilderment as this person was revealed to be the old Woman.

How could she possibly be the one to have taken their children? She was too old, too frail, and her gate was nothing more than a shuffle. How could it be her?

Leaving her tied to the post, the company swarmed to her cabin. Their leader, taking charge of the crowd, was the first and one of the only to enter, and he cried out as he did so. On the table before them lay their children—lifeless, blood-stained, dissected, and sacrificed. The cabin, small and dreary, was filled with horrors and ritualistic tools.

An emergency council was called that went into the morning about what to do with the Woman, her claimed children, and her cabin. Their verdict: she was to be put to death immediately, but her house was to be left as it was found, with the children buried beneath. The parents of the stolen were outraged, but the feeling that resounded with the council and the rest of the town was fear—

Fear that they would be cursed. Fear of the Woman. Fear of repercussions on their own family. Fear of demons, and spirits, and ghouls, and of Satan, and even of God. Yes, there was sadness and sympathy and anger for what had been done, but what triumphed was fear.

The Woman didn’t resist nor did she cry out. She stood as the town had remembered her—old, frail, and silent—as she was set ablaze. Though the families screamed at her and demanded answers, she just stood weakly with her head hung, looking at the ground, as tears fell from her eyes.

This night was well documented but seldom spoken of.

The fright over the cabin had persisted through the years, as had the night watch and vigilance. It had been thirteen years since that night. Thirteen years of anxious calm. Thirteen years of no one entering the cabin. Thirteen years of night watches, but this night was different.

The woman was dead, and the town knew it, but tonight the cabin had life, and Eleanor knew it.

Eleanor stood frozen, transfixed upon the candle. The night, the town, and everything around her was silent, but Eleanor’s ears were filled by her mind racing, the lantern in her hands rattling as she shook, her heavy attempts at breathing, and her heart thumping.

What was she to do? Scream? Run to the church and ring the bell? Wait until morning so she could return with a party? She wanted to consult someone, to ask their opinion. In years past, the watch consisted of a partnership that would watch over the sleepy town together. In the past couple of years, however, the watch was nearly always just one soul. The watch tonight: Eleanor—just Eleanor.

She tried to piece together an explanation—there had to be a reasonable explanation. Somebody was in the cabin, she knew it to be true, but it couldn’t be the woman. Still, she had to be sure that it was merely one of the villagers breaking the rules. Maybe it was William, she told herself (after all, he did fancy her and was always looking for a way to get her to himself). Maybe it was their leader—deciding finally to burn the wretched building. Perhaps it was her mother—hiding in the shadow of the cabin to be certain that she, Eleanor, was indeed safe on her watch. She knew that in all things, including the matter of the Woman, God and reason prevailed.

Eleanor tried to see reason, but all she saw was the glow of the candle. Eleanor tried to feel the spirit of God, but all she felt was dread

Stop being silly, she told herself, just get it over with and see who is in the one building that no one is supposed to enter. First brushing her hands along her dress to dry her sweat, then taking a moment to breathe deeply and slowly to compose herself, she readied herself to confront the cabin.

It was just a cabin, after all. No one had lived here in years, and the one person who had lived here was just deranged and old. There was nothing extraordinary about this place nor that Woman, she told herself.

It was just a wood cabin that the town (including, even, her chubby, sometimes clumsy father) had built. The windows were full of cobwebs, the wood was splintering in places and was moldy, and the inside must be full of dirt and must. A family of foxes even lived in the cabin at one point. It really was just a cabin.

Eleanor, realizing the silliness of her fright, almost laughed to herself at the situation. How childish her feelings had been, and she was not a child any longer. Whoever was in the cabin, however, ought to be scolded, made to go home, leave her be, she thought. Now determinedly, she marched the rest of the way to the cabin, blew out the candle in the window (“whoo”), and was about to push the door open when a thought occurred to her that stopped her in her tracks:

This was the final resting place of those poor children.

This was their tomb, and her presence in it would profane their home. Those poor children—this was all they had now, and she nearly entered with little thought to their situation, with so little respect. Maybe that was all the candle was: a remembrance from one of their parents. How could she be naive? How could she so nearly err so horribly?

Her eyes began to swell and tears rolled down her cheeks as she stood, thinking, in the doorway. She was about to turn away, when she looked to her right, and the candle again glimmered.

Somebody was inside. And now Eleanor knew it.

She gently pushed the door open, hoping the tales that the children would tell of the state of the cabin were fallacious. To her surprise: they were. She held the lantern forward, and what was before her was nothing ritualistic, nothing living in there, nothing chilling nor blood-curdling; it was ordinary and barren. What was before her was an empty room with a fireplace on the far wall. The walls were covered in webs and the floor had a layer of dirt… as to be expected of any place that was neglected, but, besides the candle in the window, it was empty.

Relieved, a little proud of her courage, and excited to tell her friends of her night, she smiled as she strode over to the candle and blew it out again: “whoo”. The candle… she stared at the candle for a moment, musing over how it was relit with her so close.

Her heart began to race once more.

“Whoo”

In an instant, the room was dark, the only light coming from the moon. Eleanor could scarcely breathe, see, nor think.

How?

Who had blown out her lantern?

A scream escaped her, finally, as she looked around frantically. She continued screaming, but her screams were slowly turning into sobs.

This was too much.

Her legs were beginning to fail her and she, seemingly against her will, lowered herself to the floor. She wanted to run. She wanted to get up, get to the door, and run to safety in the village. She wanted to run, but she could only just scoot her way against the wall, under the window.

The wall opposite her was too dim to see, but she knew she wasn’t alone. Who was in the cabin with her?

Her heart still pounding, and her breathing uncontrollable, Eleanor finally managed a soft, “who’s there?”

A retch was followed by a soft cackle, and Eleanor knew. But how? She had only been four at the time, but even Eleanor remembered watching the Woman succumb to the flames.

“Please”, Eleanor squeaked through sobs that she tried to keep quiet, “if you let me go, I won’t tell anyone that you’re here”.

The proposition was met by another louder, deeper chortle.

Suddenly, the candle above again had life and the area around Eleanor was once more lit, though not enough to light the whole cabin. Still, Eleanor lunged for the light and caught the candle in her grip. She hastily worked open the lantern and began to relight it, hoping to be rid of the mystery that was the darkness. When it finally caught, Eleanor held it out and jerked her head around to see around her.

What she saw was… nothing. There was nothing.

“Whoo”

Eleanor screamed again as she was once more decorated in darkness. This time, however, the window too was gone—like the light, seemingly blown out. The moon could no longer proffer its shine.

Her legs now once more hers, she abandoned the lantern, stood, and padded the wall, feeling for the door.

She made her way to her left, feeling the wall, praying that she could be spared. She prayed to feel the kerf of the door, but all she felt was cobweb.

As she continued feeling her way, the web, she noticed, began growing thicker—more coarse. A sharp scream behind her made Eleanor close her eyes, but she still clung to the wall. As she began to open them, the room was again lit by the lantern that she left behind.

She opened her eyes slowly, head to the ground, and saw nothing in front of her feet for the shadow that her body was creating. She then goaded herself to look right into the room, but saw still the empty cabin that she had initially entered. Her head slowly swiveled left, ready to look for the door, but instead saw a wall nearly two feet from her face—she had gone too far. Looking further left to the wall that she was still clinging to, expecting to see cobwebs, she saw that her fingers instead ran through skeins of dark hair.

Eleanor repulsed and stumbled backward, into the room, eventually crashing to the floor near the room’s center.

“Whoo”

Again in darkness, and with no walls around her to act as her guide, Eleanor began to crawl forward.

With a snap, however, her ankle was seized upon and held in the grasp of a forceful, leathery hand. She tried to trudge forward still, hoping to fight free, but her left hand faltered and her chest fell to the musty floor.

Other hands began grabbing at her, each just as forceful, as bony, as leathery as the first. Her ankles were in the painful grip, so too were her wrists, her legs, her arms, and her hair.

In this tormented moment, Eleanor believed that God existed, believed that He loved her, and she wanted to believe in heaven, but she knew, more than anything else, that she would never leave this room again.

Eleanor knew this, so she didn’t cry out.

These were her last moments, and, in these last moments, Eleanor wept.

It took the entire next day for Eleanor to be found, and, when she at last was, the little village knew that something malicious was among them. It was among them, and it was feeding.