Descent in Limbo

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Clarence had passed by the oak cabin a thousand times. The structure was sunken after its thirty lonely years. It lived on a small lot that was darkened by overgrown tree branches and grasses that danced eerily on windless nights. Clarence's parents' house was a ten minute drive away. He had passed by each day for eighteen years on his way to school. Yet like all quiet and unlikely things in his life he had allowed it's presence to become a customary backdrop to his superior and fascinating life. Tonight the light burned like a growing thought in the recess of his mind and before he knew it he was pulling his old Buick into the brush he reckoned was a former driveway.

Clarence wasn't necessarily the type of person to investigate a mystery. He went for what was clear and generally logical. Life for him lately though, wasn't what he had expected it to shape into. He graduated high school with great grades, played some sports, he even investigated the arts a bit to be as well rounded as possible. Something was missing. He had no plans, no purpose, nothing had ever clicked for him like it had for the others. Sometimes, and never mention this to anyone, but Clarence thought of suicide. He honestly felt worthless most days and had since he was very young. Worse than that, there was never a reason for how he felt. Not according to him, not according to anyone close to him. He found reality to be somewhat slippery at times. Sometimes it was like he disappeared and came back forgetting what his life had been all along. He had to reconfigure his past into his present, having no idea who he was.

His Buick bumbled over the thick roots and clumps of grass. With a slow landing he glanced towards the cabin to see if the candle was still burning. It stood unwavering behind the filthy panes of glass. Beyond the steady flame was a passing shadow, and the reflection of two eyes. Clarence's breath caught in his throat and he continued to pull open the rusted creaking door of his car. Maybe he was imagining things, anyways, the perpetual numbness that carried him, kept his beating heart miles away. Stepping through the thick brush creatures slithered and rustled from beneath his feet. Glancing up at the side door of the cabin he saw the door handle begin to turn. He stopped moving and thought about running back to his car. Yet something pushed him forwards. As the half rotten door was pulled open Clarence felt the grasses slowly crawling wrapping themselves around his ankles. A small rattlesnake was slithering over his old Nikes with holes on the bottoms. His fear dissipated when he saw a small child standing in the opened door and he was flooded with curiosity.

"Are you Uncle Thomas?" The small voice echoed like an old dream. "Momma said you'd come! I'm hungry Uncle, she left me five days ago. I can't work the stove and the meat is going bad." The boy stepped towards Clarence and was next to his hip in a few moments.

Clarence's eyes were huge staring down at the pale boy. He was about to deny his newly imposed identity, but figured it couldn't hurt to help this starving child. Wordlessly he grasped the boy's wispy, clammy fingers and walked with him towards the cabin. The grass wasn't clinging to his ankles and the snake was gone, he must have imagined the whole thing.

Inside the cabin the candle was no longer lit. In fact, the windows were covered by layers of crusted cardboard. The light came from the fireplace that burned steadily. There was a vague putrid stench with a sweet tinge. It was one open room, no dining table or bed. Clarence couldn't make out what lurked in the corners of the room. In front of the fire were several buckets.

"Can you help me Uncle, to cook the meat?" The wispy voice had grown a bit stronger. When Clarence glanced at the boy he seemed slightly taller, with broader shoulders. An uneasy feeling was settling in.

"Remind me of your name, nephew?"

"Pomeroy. You don't know my name Uncle?"

Pomeroy's eyes shifted towards Clarence with bemusement.

"Forgive me Pomeroy, it's been so long. I get forgetful." Clarence moved clumsily towards the buckets. He saw hunks of meat piled inside of them. Several chunks had gnaw marks on them.

The room faded out and suddenly Clarence was out in a field. His face was turned towards the sky. The moon hung high and the chill was alive, slowly stealing all warmth from his body. Glancing down his hands were glinting with a warm liquid. Warmer than his body, it was sticky. A figure lay in front of him, crumpled and small. A boy at hip height if only he were still standing. The moon glared its reflective eye into his soul.

Back in the room Clarence glanced at the boy named Pomeroy who was now feasting on the bucket meat. His hands and face were covered in blood. The fire burned in a sickly way and paintings were now visible on the walls. They showed Clarence as a young boy. His eyes looked empty as he cradled a restless baby. The next painting Clarence stood next to a boy barely standing. There was a deep sadness emanating from young Clarence as the small boy clawed up his leg.

Clarence paused for a moment as his memories of the boy's face pulsed from deep inside.

Next was an image of two boys again. Clarence’s younger brother was hip height. Some years had passed. Clarence was wearing a t-shirt filled with holes and wearing headphones, a small smile forced onto his face. His brother was holding a knife too large for his small hands with a mischievous anger playing through his eyes. The following paintings became abstract and surreal.

Clarence hanging upside down by his feet. His brother was surrounded by hundreds of small candles below him. A red river hanging in the sky, Clarence huddled in a small cave in the corner as his brother dug large holes in the ground. A ribcage as large as a bus, acting as a shelter for a family of wolves. Thirteen dead snakes dangling from a tree branch. They were cut open with their skins pulled wide as their organs slowly dripped to the ground. The last image was a small girl. Clarence didn’t recognize her face. She wore a floral easter dress and looked around four years old. Her blonde hair was thin and she wore no shoes. Her parents stood with their backs facing the cameraman behind her. Her eyes shone with an innocent hope even though her small wrists were red from a rough rope being tied around them.

Clarence slowly turned back towards the fire. Pomeroy and the buckets were gone. The flames were burning intently, the putrid stench it elucidated only intensifying. There was a door visible in the far left corner of the room. He took a deep breath of wretched air and walked to open it. The knob was blackened and felt frail. The door itself was the weight of some sheets of paper and as it flew open Clarence could see a small stairway leading to a heavy vaulted door. He recognized the design etched onto the metal; a small bird flying hard upwards, its feet tied together and weighed down by a large lone eyeball. He heaved open the leaden door, his feet were numb and his heartbeat pulsed darkness into his eyes. The scent of wildflowers and honey emanated from the dark room. He heard a girl's voice humming a tune. The lyrics spoke in his mind…

“If you go to the woods, love,

Make sure to bring a light.

If you leave in the dark dear,

You’re sure to catch a fright.

When you realize there’s monsters,

Out there in the night.

It might be too late,

It’s already too late,

They’re gonna catch you, alright.”

Clarence began to reach out in the dark, hoping to find the girl, praying he could get to her in time. Images of Pomeroy hunched over the buckets were playing through his mind. Small wrists bleeding from abrasive rope, a floral dress tattered and covered in grime. As he groped through the darkness he felt small wispy fingers pulling at his shorts and pushing him back towards the entryway. The girls humming continued, never coming closer or getting farther away. His shin knocked aggressively into something metallic. It felt like an animal cage under his fingers.

Clarence was in the field again. His brother stood before him, eyes filled with maniacal glee. In the distance was a small cabin. Their family used to stay there over the summer when he was ten and eleven; his brother was five and six. The precious cabin was passed down to them from their grandfather when he died. His memories from there were filled with sunlight, wildflowers and fresh peaches from the tree in the yard. Clarence’s parents would let the children run free, visiting the neighbors and swimming in a creek about a twenty minute walk away. He was remembering a basement there that his parents had said was locked and inaccessible. The bulkhead doors stood wide open behind his brother now. Clarence was holding a small hatchet in his hands in the dark field whipping with a violent freezing wind. His brother’s face was bloodied and his clothes were torn from a grapple.

“How could you do that!?” Clarence’s voice poured out of him. His brother laughed, but he would never explain. Clarence wouldn’t give him any more time to. Lifting the hatchet over his head, Clarence knew the madness had to stop.

In the basement a small flashlight shone from the inside of the metal cage. Inside was a blonde girl, the same as in the painting upstairs. Her hands were tied to the cage with rough rope. She had a dog bowl with water in it. Excrement covered the inside of her holdings. The flashlight pulsed as if it were about to go out. Clarence’s face was streaming with tears. His hands began to move about wildy. He had to help her, he was attempting to untie her wrists, finally recalling her as a neighbor from the two years they spent at the cabin. A voice was screaming from behind him, distant at first but coming closer. “Noooo!!! She’s mine, you can’t have her!!” He felt one wispy hand on his upper left shoulder as he spun around and saw Pomeroy holding a hunting knife over his face.

Clarence was in an all white room. It had been hours since they brought him any meds. His hallucinations were intensifying. He had lived in this nightmare for years. Although Clarence buried the hatchet in his younger brother's skull years ago, little Pomeroy would find him again and again. The cabin called to him from a vacant street in his mind. It pulled him from a world where he had grown older like normal kids. In some reality Clarence stood a chance. In the white room Clarence was incoherent, stupefied, forced to live out the remainder of his life as a vegetable. Yet his mind whirred on between pills, constantly revisiting the basement. Knowing deep down what was inside of those rusted buckets that haunted him. The sickly smell of their contents on an open fire was covered by the scent of wildflowers Pomeroy always delivered to their emotionally and physically distant mother. Clarence’s parents never visited and never discussed the matter.

Out in the world the cabin stood dark. It was foreclosed. No one would dare live there. There was talk of the horrors that occurred between two young boys and mysteriously vanishing young girls. None of it was true, for the reality of the events are so gruesome they are never spoken plainly.