An Inheritance

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

In the tavern, every family living in and around the small village was represented. Farmers, laborers, landowners, shopkeepers, and tradesfolk, all packed shoulder to shoulder in the main room. They each held the tankard that the landlord had prepared for them, their serious faces lit by its flickering light. Generations spanning hundreds of years had prepared them for this.

A noise began to rise from the woods around the cabin. The low hum of a motor, seldom heard in this part of the country, growing ever closer. Soon a pair of headlights cast flickering shadows across the ground leading up to the cabin, and cast harsh reflections off the small dark windows.

The car crept uncertainly down the rutted track, and driver and passenger both regarded the cabin with curiosity as they approached.

"It looks like a shithole, Bruce," the woman in the passenger seat said. "You sure you wanna stay here?"

Bruce squinted through the dark at the small building.

"Are you kidding? We're miles from anywhere. Look around--no light pollution. We'll be able to see the whole thing. It's perfect."

"I'm sure we could've found someplace closer."

"Why? It was a beautiful drive."

"If you say so," she said, sighing. "We've been driving in the pitch black for the last two hours. We're lucky we even found the place."

"Well, the guy gave me good directions."

"I still think the whole thing was weird."

"Nothing ventured, Nancy. It'll all be worth it, you'll see."

"At least he left a light."

The townspeople stood silent. Some of the younger ones looked around, watching their elders' faces, while others stared down into their tankards, mesmerized by the light and the reflections it cast.

The landlord checked his pocket watch, then nodded to the man standing opposite him, and picked up his own tankard.

The man across the room took a half step forward and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was low and even.

"Men and women of Chilstock--the time has come. We have been called upon by our forebearers on this night of all nights, to renew the promise made for our children, and for our children's children.

"Each of you has been chosen by your families to keep the light, and to see out the darkness with steadiness of hand, and steadiness of heart."

As he spoke, his eyes moved over their faces. Even the youngest now had their eyes fixed on him, watching and listening.

"My father, rest his soul, passed the duty to me to lead this ritual. To keep this promise, as generations before us have done. Let it pass now from us, as we know it must."

He carefully raised his tankard in front of him.

"Drink now, and be steady. Let our good fortune not end tonight with us."

Those gathered murmured assent. Then the clock chimed the midnight hour, and each man and woman raised their cup to their lips.

Bruce was right--there was no light pollution at the cabin. He and Nancy both looked in wonder at the expanse of night sky as they stepped out of the car. Neither one could remember ever seeing so much sky. The stars perforated the darkness of space without perceivable depth, stretching without interruption to the horizon, identifiable only by its absence of stars. Gazing up from the ground, it was impossible to gauge depth or distance, and Bruce found himself feeling simultaneously crushed and absorbed by the enormous blanket of the cosmos.

They were eager to get the equipment set up as quickly as possible, and as soon as the long case that contained the telescope had been located, Bruce began to unpack it in the open space in front of the porch. The rest of the bags could wait, but the sooner they were set up for viewing the event, the better.

Nancy held the battery-powered lantern up high so that Bruce could see. Even without it, his familiarity with the activity made the whole thing come together quickly.

Joseph Trenbull, the speaker, felt his heart begin to race as his lips met the rim of his tankard. He felt the heat from the candle that sat, half-submerged, inside it.

He tipped the cup slowly, carefully, his eyes fixed on the flame reflected on the surface of the dark liquid. The drink burned his lips and tongue, even as the heat from the candle nipped at his nose.

He swallowed carefully, never taking his eyes off the candle only inches away.

Then the tankard was empty, and the candle flame burned on. Carefully, he lowered it from his face and looked around.

One by one, the members of the group finished, and as the last cup was lowered, Joseph saw with relief that all faces remained illuminated. Every candle burned.

His heart still pounding, he walked slowly to the bar and set his tankard before the landlord. The landlord, in turn, set his own beside it. One by one, each person followed, until every mug had been returned, and all flickered and glowed together in the dim room.

"Now our vigil begins. Return to your homes, and let no light now burning be extinguished before sunrise." He looked severely around at them.

Again there was murmured assent. Though many hours remained until morning, with the initial act complete, some of the tension had lifted from the group. Quiet conversation followed them out the door.

One young woman hung back. When the last of the townspeople had gone out, she approached Joseph.

The telescope was assembled, its dark eye pointing skyward. Nancy was checking the camera fitting to make sure they would get a good shot when the formation reached its peak.

Bruce was making sure they'd be looking in the right direction when the time came.

"How much time have we got?" he asked, his head still bent low at the finderscope.

Nancy had placed the lantern on top of the telescope's large upright case and checked her watch by its light.

"A little more than an hour," she replied.

Bruce moved to the eyepiece, then turned to Nancy.

"Hey, if you're done with the camera, can you turn that lantern off?"

"Sure," she said.

Joseph recognized the young woman. Her name was Frances Collings.

She was the oldest of Walter Collings' children. His firstborn son had died of pneumonia while quite young, and Walter had responded by raising his daughter in his stead, placing the same demands and responsibilities on her as he would have on his firstborn son--including preparing her and sending her along for the ritual.

She was not meek by nature, Joseph knew, but she stood now before him with eyes down and lips pursed.

"Mr. Trenbull," she said quietly.

"Yes, Miss Collings?"

"It's my father, sir."

"Is he unwell?"

"No, sir. But-- I fear he has made a poor decision."

The hairs on his neck rose, and he stood up straighter.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir--you know my father prepared me for tonight. And while I am honored to be here on behalf of my family, I'm sure, sir, that you know my father."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that--my father is a stubborn man. And he taught me all about what I should expect tonight, and what I should do, and to show respect, and reverence, and the greatest care about the handling of the candle. . . but still he never made a secret of his feelings about it."

"And what are those?"

"Well, sir, he said the whole thing was. . . superstitious nonsense, he called it. And while he did feel it was important that I do my part well, he told me there was never anything to be afraid of, if the ritual didn't go as planned."

Joseph looked at her in astonishment, though the young woman still did not raise her eyes to meet his.

"Miss Collings, I appreciate your honesty, but why are you telling me this?"

"Because of the cabin, sir."

"The cabin?"

"Yes, sir. You know my father has a cabin up on the mountain."

"The hunting cabin, yes. He would host my father and some other men from the village." He frowned. "But no one's used the cabin for ages."

"That's right, they haven't." She raised her eyes to meet his. "Not until today."

With the lantern off, Bruce was able to fine-tune the focus on the telescope. He was amazed again at the sheer number of stars visible. And framed among them, easy to lose among the mass of twinkling lights, was the pale thumbnail sliver of the moon.

Soon the planets would begin to converge on it. Within the hour, they would be ringed quite close around the pale crescent. If everything else Bruce had read was true, the unique refraction of the light from each of the heavenly bodies would cause the entire convergence to glow red. He wasn't sure he believed that part, but he was anxious to find out.

"Okay, we're all set here," he said. He could just make out Nancy's shape in the light from the candle in the cabin window. "Maybe we should take our stuff inside while we've still got some time."

Joseph didn't speak. He just blinked at her, as the meaning of her last statement settled in his mind.

Finally, regaining his wits, he said, "Not until today, you said?" Frances nodded. "And what happened today?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated.

"Please understand, sir, that my father's not a bad man. He never acts with the intention to do harm." She paused again, and took a deep breath. "But for several weeks he has been receiving letters. He did not tell us what was in them, and we thought nothing of it, until one of my brothers told me that he saw Father heading up toward the old cabin."

She paused again, taking another deep breath.

"I thought little of it. But last week he received another letter, and before he tucked it away, I saw that the envelope was full of money."

She was watching Joseph's face as she spoke, gauging his reaction. She must've seen something in his eyes, because she quickly continued.

"Now surely, sir, there's no harm in a man making a bit of money. But even still, I asked him about it. 'It's just a small bit of business,' he told me. And he said he had managed to rent the old cabin to some folk from out of town to use. And I found none of it very alarming until he told me when they wanted to use it."

"They are there now?"

"Yes, sir. They were arriving tonight." She quickly added, "My father meant no harm, Mr. Trenbull. I asked him if he thought it wise to have outsiders here tonight, and he assured me that there was never any real threat to our safety."

"Miss Collings, forgive me, but your father is a fool. An old and dangerous fool." Seeing her cowed expression, he continued, "I mean you no disrespect. You were very right to come to me, and I am grateful to you for your honesty. But your father has mistaken years of peaceful existence for a guarantee of safety, and I fear his failure to appreciate the seriousness of our traditions may have put your family and all of our families in great danger."

Her eyes widened. "So it's not just superstition?"

"No, Miss Collings. It most certainly is not."

The inside of the cabin was spare, to say the least. The candle sat on a small table in front of one of the two windows, and its light showed a fireplace and a pair of straight-backed wooden chairs.

"Is there a bedroom?" Nancy asked, craning her neck to look over Bruce's shoulder as he stood inside the doorway.

"That door over there must go somewhere."

"Somehow I doubt it goes to a bathroom."

Bruce laughed. "Probably right. I'm guessing there's an outhouse and maybe a well somewhere."

"Well, go see if there's a bedroom through there," she said, gesturing toward the other door with her chin, "so I can put this stuff down."

"You've got the lantern," Bruce replied. "So either you give it to me, or you go first."

Nancy quickly dropped her bags and handed him the lantern.

Bruce chuckled. "Thanks."

Lantern aloft, he ducked through the low doorway on the opposite wall, leaving Nancy alone. His movement set the candle's flame to wavering, making the dim shadows in the room dance and shimmer. She wished the flashlight wasn't packed away with her clothing.

She could see the lantern light moving around in the next room. Or rooms. Nancy had no idea what the layout of this place was, but she wasn't feeling especially hopeful for a great deal of comfort.

She turned her attention back to the room she was in, and the single candle still burning on the table. Though the room felt quite still, the flame shifted with currents of air that Nancy couldn't feel. The shadows it cast continued to dance.

It was only then that she noticed one dim shadow in the farthest corner; a shadow that did not match up to any of the objects in the room.

Joseph had returned to the tavern in his coat and his boots, with his shotgun tucked in his elbow, and his large pockets filled with extra shells. He had no idea if he would need it, or if it would even be effective.

As he expected, the town was black and silent. Most would rather suffer through in complete darkness than spend the night nervously watching candles and lamps.

Frances had insisted on going with him. It was her family's doing, after all, and on this singular night, she still felt that she was duty-bound to act as their representative. And besides that, she wanted to understand what was going on.

The night was incredibly dark, but Joseph was determined to travel without light. They both knew the way up to the old cabin, and could move more quickly without one more thing to carry. Besides that, it meant one less light to keep lit.

In the darkness, he saw her shape approaching. She moved quickly, and he noted gratefully that he did not hear her coming. Stealth may well be to their advantage.

"Thank you for waiting," she said quietly when she joined him.

"I respect your determination," he replied just as quietly, and started moving.

They made their way silently out of town, past darkened windows and doors. They met no one, and had soon passed the last house and reached the woods beyond.

Just before entering the cover of the trees, Joseph looked up, and saw the tiny lights approaching the crescent moon. The sight made him shudder.

Bruce returned, the light from the lantern casting shadows in all different directions, and Nancy lost sight of the aberration she had seen--or thought she had seen--in the corner.

"There's another room back there with two old rope beds in it," he said as he entered. "We can stash the bags in there until later."

"You know what? Let's just leave them here," Nancy said. "It's not like this room's crowded. We can take them in there later. Right now I think I'd like to just get back outside, make sure we're not missing anything."

Bruce shrugged and pushed his bags out of the way with his foot. Nancy tossed hers on top of them.

Noticing her red duffel bag on top, she said, "Wait a second--hold the lantern here. I wanna get my flashlight first."

As she turned to leave, she flicked the beam on and trained it around the room. The shadows from the table and chairs danced across the wall, and nothing else.

"What is it?" Bruce asked.

Nancy paused. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess."

They left, leaving the candle burning.

"Can you tell me what it's all about?" Frances asked when the undergrowth had thinned out and they could walk side by side.

"I can tell you how it was told to me," he replied. "It tells much like a fairy tale."

"My father said it was just a story for children," she said.

"That is because the children need to hear it first," he said sternly, "and they in turn will grow into the adults who will be responsible for the welfare of the rest."

Frances was silent as they continued along. Joseph began.

"Many, many years ago, three men went looking for a home for their people. They were tired and hungry, weary from traveling, and discouraged that no suitable place could be found for them.

"They lit a small fire one night, and agreed that in the morning they would begin the long journey back. Suddenly, an old man appeared out of the darkness, and asked if he could join them by their fire. They agreed, and the stranger sat down.

"He said he was very thirsty, and asked for some water. They gave him some of what they had left, and the man drank. He thanked them, and said that if they would keep the fire lit for him until morning, he would repay their kindness. One man agreed to stay up and see it done.

"At sunrise, the old man awoke, and told the first companion that on the other side of the forest was a valley with a large oak tree, and beneath that tree was a spring that would provide fresh water for a hundred generations. And then he left.

"The man then woke his companions and told them what the old man had said. They set out through the vast wood and at last came to the place he had described. There they quenched their thirst and filled their flasks, and rested.

"That night, the old man returned, asking to join them by their fire. He said he was very hungry, and asked them for food. They had some salted meat and hard biscuits remaining, and they gave some to the old stranger.

"He thanked them, and again said that if they would keep the fire lit for him until morning, he would repay their kindness. A second man agreed to stay up and see it done.

"At sunrise, the old man woke, and told the second companion that if they traveled for half a day, they would catch the wild cattle heading south, and if they drove a few back, they might start a herd of their own that would sustain them for a hundred generations. And he left.

"The second man woke his companions, and together they set out to do as the old man had told him. At sundown, they returned with seven cattle they had separated from the wild herd.

"Now they wished to protect their new-found resources, so they set to work building shelter and paddock and sturdy fortification. They slaughtered one of their new steers, and they ate well.

"They agreed then that it was time to bring their people on. So the first two left and the third man stayed.

"One night, there was a strange formation in the heavens, and the man was outside gazing up at it in wonder. He heard a knocking at their new gate, and peering out, he saw the strange old man, looking haggard and worn. He called out to him, and the old man asked if he might enter, for he was cold and weary, and wished to warm himself by a good fire.

"Without his companions present, this man was wary of inviting the stranger in, for though he had helped them, he feared the man's uncanny knowledge, and was certain that there was something unnatural about him. He replied that he had given his word to his companions that he would not open the gate until they returned, and he could not break his promise.

"The old stranger asked if this was how his gifts should be repaid, but again the man said that he could not allow the old man to enter.

"Then the old stranger said that if he was allowed to enter, he would bestow upon him the secret of immortality, which it was in his power to tell. Imagine, he said, that you might see your children and your children's children thrive upon this spot for a hundred generations.

"Then the old stranger began to plead. Please, he begged, I feel the dark closing around me. Let me take what small comfort I may by your firelight, and this secret I carry will be yours.

"Still the man refused, and withdrew with his light, and left the old stranger alone in the darkness.

"The sounds of the old man's cries grew louder and more ferocious, and he shook the walls until the man within feared that the stranger might tear the whole place down.

"Then the shaking stopped, and the old man's voice rose to a fearsome pitch, and he called out,

"'I curse you, then, and all your children's children. Keep your fires bright under this night's sky, for should your lights fail you even once, death will come for you all."

"And then all was silent, the man stoked high the fire, and lit all his torches, and tried to dispel every shadow from the place, that he might have some assurance that the old man could not come for him.

"The next day he saw crows and carrion birds circling beyond the stockade gate, and he was certain his denial of the old stranger had meant his end. But he dared not venture out to see, for the curse rang in his ears, and he stayed inside by day, and lit his torches by night, and tried to put it from his mind.

"His companions returned with all their folk, and there were many joyful reunions. The three companions met in secret, and the third man recounted the story of the old man's final nighttime visit, and they vowed that they would keep their people safe, and they sealed their oath with a strong drink.

"It was decided that the third man should pass his knowledge to his children, and they to theirs, so that they would always remember to watch the sky, and be ready for the nights when the old man would take his revenge.

Then Joseph was silent. His throat was raw from the long retelling of his family's story.

Frances waited a moment before asking, "But was there nothing more specific in the old man's curse? What manner of death was promised?"

Joseph replied, "I asked my father the same thing before he died. He told me only that a great terror would come for us. He had no more detail, for we have managed so far to keep it away, whatever it is."

"And if it comes? Did he tell you if it could be stopped?"

"He said it would be best to prevent it, for stopping the terror would be the hardest thing that I had ever done."

Frances considered a moment. "And there was never any question whether the story was true?"

"There were many questions. Some even wondered if my ancestor had not let the man in after all, and learned the secret he'd been promised. And perhaps his betrayal and the curse came afterward. But if such a secret existed, it certainly never reached me. I will die just as my father did, and his father before him." He gave a wry smile in the dark. "We have no more hint of eternal life than any other."

They continued in silence.

"And the ritual?" she asked finally.

"It's unclear when the ritual started. But its purpose was always clear to me: that all lights lit must remain so, at the greatest peril to us all."

The woods began to thin ahead, and they both knew that the cabin was near.

Bruce squinted into the telescope, watching the convergence overhead. They had extinguished the lantern and Nancy's flashlight, but still he wasn't quite satisfied.

He stepped back so that Nancy could take a look.

"Oh, wow," she said quietly. "That's even more incredible than I thought."

"I know, right?" Bruce replied. "But I'm still getting a glare from that candle. I'm gonna go snuff it. We can always light it again when we go back inside, if we're craving the ambiance."

"But Bruce--"

Before she could finish, he was halfway to the door, and as she watched helplessly, struggling to find a sensible way to describe what she'd seen inside the cabin, she saw the candle light go out.

Joseph and Frances had just reached the field facing the cabin when they saw the single light in the window wink out.

"Damn," he said, and he closed the breech of his shotgun. They started running.

As the small cabin was plunged into darkness, Bruce felt something cold brush past him toward the door.

He stepped outside and started back toward Nancy and the telescope. Looking up, he could see that the convergence in the night sky was turning a deep red, as he'd read it would.

"Wow," he whispered to himself.

He had covered half the distance when he heard a sound come from the woods behind him, on the far side of the car. Concerned that some small animal might be meaning some mischief with his car, he stopped to get the lantern, then walked in the direction of the sound, meaning to scare it off.

As he passed the hood of the car, he turned the lantern on and began calling out "Hey!" and "Git!" to drive the animal away.

He was standing just in front of the low brush at the edge of the woods with the lantern raised above his head when something moved in the darkness ahead of him.

It was bigger than he thought.

He saw teeth, and he caught a glimpse of long, dark limbs, all unfolding toward him.

Yes, there were the teeth. Then a feeling of surprise, then nothing.

Nancy had felt the cold gust of air come rushing across the field from the cabin just before Bruce came out. She had breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him come out, but then he had taken up the lantern and headed toward the woods.

Then she watched in frozen horror as the thing came from the woods, and the lantern flew from Bruce's hand, and the shadows it cast against the trees showed writhing and violent movements, and the sounds that came to her turned her stomach.

She opened her mouth, and a strangled scream built in her throat when she heard a shout from behind her, and turned to see a man and a woman coming at her from across the field.

She also heard something moving around the front of the car, coming toward her, and suddenly remembered the flashlight in her pocket. She pulled it out and with fumbling fingers, found the switch.

It came on in her hand, and the beam caught movement just as the thing was on her. The flashlight flew from her hand.

"STOP!" came a man's deep voice as she felt herself being driven down into the ground by an iron grip around her throat. The flashlight beam threw light for a moment on a distorted face with rough, leathery skin and row upon row of sharp teeth. Her vision swam as the pressure on her neck increased.

"GET BACK, YOU!" Joseph bellowed at the dark creature that crouched in front of him. "SHE IS NOT ONE OF US!"

His shotgun was raised to his shoulder, ready to fire. Frances caught up the light that had fallen from the woman's hand and pointed it into the creature's face.

Small, sunken eyes blinked at them. The rough skin on the creature's skull was pulled tight over bones that protruded from the cheeks and brow in a gruesome exaggeration of human proportions. The thin lips were drawn back in a snarl from a nest of sharp teeth.

It opened its mouth and gave a throaty hiss.

"Leave her, you fiend. That girl is no part of this," Joseph called back. "You leave her be."

The creature relaxed its grip on the girl's throat and slowly rose, its lips turning upward into a vicious smile. A sound rose from its throat like a chuckle, then it opened its mouth in a laugh. Frances kept the flashlight beam trained on its face, and as it rose, she heard Joseph give a sharp intake of breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the barrel of the shotgun dip.

"Father?" Joseph said in a hoarse voice.

The creature blinked its small eyes.

"It's you?"

The creature replied with a wet, choking growl.

"So the curse is ours. Our immortality."

There was a silence, and then the creature began to move toward where Joseph and Frances stood. Frances clenched the light in both hands, the beam shaking.

"Joseph," she said in a quiet, urgent voice.

Joseph stood frozen, his face clouded.

"Joseph," she repeated. "You must do this."

The creature took another halting, lumbering step toward them, its twisted body creaking as it moved.

Joseph recovered himself, and Frances saw the shotgun come level again.

"I'm sorry, Father," he said quietly.

The creature sank into a crouch, and growled again. Its limbs cracked and its muscles tensed, ready to spring at them.

Joseph took a breath, and slowly exhaled.

His finger squeezed the trigger, and the sound of the shotgun split the stillness of the night.

In the sky above, the ring of planets glowed red around the sickle shape of the moon.