Am I Beautiful Now?

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

It was a night much like this one in fact, the stars were clear and there was just enough breeze to stir the leaves and make the fire dance.

There were campers in these woods that night, perhaps not at this particular site, but since details get fuzzy over the years, it may have been after all. I just know that it was in these woods, on a night like this, around a fire like ours, that our story begins.

They lit the candle. They’d heard the legends of the ghosts that haunted this candle, and, being young and foolish, they went to find if the tales held weight against reality.

What legends, you ask? Have you never heard the tragic tale of the smiling Lady Lorena?

Lorena wasn’t a real lady, of course, these woods are no place for nobility. No, She is remembered as such because she was one of the most hoity-toity women the valley-town had ever seen, a beauty with no kindness in her eyes. She refused to marry any but the richest man in town, and eventually she got her wish. A man with pockets full of gold led her up the mountain with promises of mansions and silks and a paradise in the wilderness. What she got instead was a tattered cabin and hollow lies. Her husband was unfaithful and lazy, burning through his money as quickly as he could drain his moonshine. Lorena, too proud to return to the town, wasted away in her one-room shack, becoming obsessed with her appearance in an attempt to win back her wandering husband.

She drove herself insane in that cabin, living in the dark isolation of the woods and the light of a single candle. One night in twisted desperation, she carved into her skin, splitting her smile into grotesque proportions.

“Am I beautiful now?” She asked the darkness. The candle spluttered in reply.

Her husband came home, drunk and stumbling.

“Am I beautiful now?” She asked him, then drove the knife into his chest as he recoiled in horror.

Lorena disappeared that night. They searched for her, but never found more than a trail of blood leading into the deepest, darkest parts of the mountains.

They say that she wanders the woods to this day, carrying a candle that nevers burns out, for the light is her only companion in the lonely woods. If you are so unlucky as to find her, she asks you a simple question: “Am I beautiful?” Answer no, and she drives her bloodied knife into your heart, Say yes, and she’ll carve you a matching smile. “Now we’re both beautiful,” she’ll whisper, then disappear into the mist.

+ + + +

So, the campers went to seek the legend for themselves. It was dark, already late into the night when they found the cabin. It was old, probably infested with termites and woodrot, ready to fall at a moment's notice. They found a door in the back, no lock or handle, just planks and hinges that screamed under the strain of opening. The interior was unfortunately ordinary, except for the nest in the corner of the rafters, where a owl hooted a broody warning, and except for the single window, where an ancient candle squatted on the sill.

One of the campers asked, “Dare me to light it?”

“It probably won’t even catch,” his friend countered. “This thing is ancient.”

“We shouldn’t be here,” a third said quietly, “It gives me the creeps”

The first produced a lighter from his jacket pocket. “Scared of Lady Lorena?”

The third camper shook her head. “I don’t believe in ghosts. But places like this are best left alone.”

The first handed her the lighter. “You light it then. You can’t be hurt by something that doesn’t exist, now can you?”

She turned to leave, but the rest of her friends blocked her way.

“Light it,” they told her,

“Don't be a sissy.”

“Don’t ruin the fun.”

“Enough!” She shouted, her voice shaking. “Fine, I'll do it.”

She took a deep breath, struck a match, and lit the candle.

+ + +

Nothing happened.

A tuft of wind found its way through a hole in the roof, gusting the dust and leaves across their boots, but the candle’s fickle flame held steady, unperturbed.

“Let’s go,” one of the campers said grumpily, “It’s cold up here and I’m tired.”

They trudged their way back to the camp, looking back every now and again in confusion, for no matter how many twists and turns they made, they could still see the dim yellow candlelight behind them.

They settled in silence, one by one dropping into troubled dreams of knives and smiles.

The skeptical camper awoke to the sudden weight of someone kneeling on her chest.

“Am I beautiful?” a voice whispered.

“Stop,” she said, annoyed, “This is stupid, you’re not going to scare me.”

“Am I beautiful?” The voice asked again, urgently.

The girl opened her eyes.

A bloodied, gaping grin leered down at her in sickly candlelight.

“Am I beautiful now?”