Fractured Flame

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

“Jeremy,” Lauren called to her husband, leaning over the kitchen sink and squinting her eyes to peer through the window. “Come here, do you see this?”

He came to stand beside her and looked beyond the tree line. He sighed heavily in his overly-dramatic way. “Squatters, druggies, or teenagers. Let’s hope it’s teenagers.” He pushed a coat aside in the closet and picked up the hunting rifle by its barrel. There was no need to secure the gun; despite all their prayers, the couple hadn’t been blessed with children.

Lauren stood on the creaky back porch and watched him traipse through the tall grass to the old caretaker’s cabin. It was an oppressively muggy Missouri summer evening, and she found herself growing more and more irritated as she swatted buzzing mosquitoes away from her ears. Irritated with the bugs and heat, irritated that Jeremy still hadn’t put a lock on that damn cabin, and irritated that it was taking him so long to walk over there. He had wanted to tear it down for years, but something within her wouldn’t let it happen.

It was an eyesore, but it had been a part of this land for far longer than they had owned it. The wood was ancient and rotting, the roofline sagged in the middle, the interior was teeming with long-bodied cellar spiders, and two of the three windows were cracked. Lauren sometimes went to sit in it, among the cobwebs and the smell of mildew, to soak in the different kind of silence; the kind that was natural.

Their home should have been filled with the pitter-patter of little feet, and its silence roared at her during the long days when Jeremy was at work. The evenings weren’t much better, the two of them sitting wordlessly on the couch and scrolling on their phones. The cabin’s silence was truly silent. It held no absence, and if she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, she could imagine she led a different life entirely.

“Whoever’s in there, come on out! This ain’t your land, time to go,” Jeremy bellowed from the edge of the woods, rifle dangling in a deceptively casual manner. Lauren knew he could have it raised, aimed, and fired in only a second or two.

No movement or sound answered him. Jeremy hollered in his slow drawl again, “Come on, now. I’m tryin’ to enjoy a nice evenin’ with my wife.” His tone sounded more tired than threatening.

He moved closer, the rifle now up and ready. Lauren’s stomach flipped in on itself and she danced on her tiptoes, 911 dialed on her phone and her thumb hovering over the green “call” button. Jeremy crept toward the two little wood steps, silent as a cat now, and kicked the crooked wooden door. It flung open so hard that it bounced back at him as he charged in.

Seconds later, he emerged holding a green jar in one hand, the gun barrel in the other. “Yankee Candle. Sage and Citrus,” he called to her. “Your favorite.”

She stilled. “There’s… no one in there?”

“No, Lauren. There’s no one in there.”

He brushed past her and went into the house, the red-framed screen door banging behind him. She watched through it as he gently set the candle on the kitchen counter, put the rifle away, and flopped down on the couch.

She stepped in onto the hardwood and eased both doors shut behind her. “Jeremy, I-”

“I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“I haven’t been out there. I don’t know how that would have gotten in the cabin, much less lit.”

He sighed that obnoxious, exasperated sigh again. His voice was barely audible as he asked “Have you been takin’ your meds every day?”

Fury swarmed in her chest and head. “You think I’m crazy? I am depressed, Jeremy, that’s it. Maybe if you talked to me anymore, you would know that! And maybe I’d be less depressed!”

Unaffected, he stood and walked to their bedroom. “I’m goin’ to take a shower.”

Lauren threw up her hands and stomped back out onto the porch, sinking to her knees and pressing her forearms into the seat of an Adirondack chair. She began to sob and pray in the same moment.

Lauren kept vigil in the cabin for hours the next day. She prayed for a baby and prayed to be saved from the darkness in her mind. She begged her brain to recall bringing the candle out there the day before. The sun began to bow to the hills, and before she left, she looked everything over three times to ensure there were no mystery items left behind this time.

Jeremy came home right as she got dinner plated, and gave her his standard soft kiss on the top of the head before taking his portion and sitting down. “How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked, as if last night hadn’t happened.

“It was fine,” she replied in the happiest tone she could muster. “Got some weeds pulled and cleaning done. I might have even gotten a bit sunburned.”

“Good. Did you visit the cabin again?”

She paused mid-reach for her plate. “No, I figured that wasn’t a good idea today.”

He nodded as he chewed, not noticing her pause. “Great thinkin’ honey. The chicken’s good, thank you.”

Small talk of Jeremy’s day followed, and Lauren nodded along even though she didn’t know any of the people he spoke about. She cleared the plates when the food was gone and put them in the sink. A light caught her eye outside, and her gut twisted. The candlelight had returned to the cabin window.

“Lauren? Are you alright?”

She dropped the plates in the stainless steel sink, startled by his voice. One split in half. “Shoot! Slippery fingers, I’m fine!”

He stood to help her but she shooed him away, not wanting him to see the little flame in the woods. When he took up his post on the couch, she told him she’d be outside reading. She snatched her latest trashy romance novel from the end table and went out back, dropping the book in the closest chair and jogging to the cabin.

There was the Sage and Citrus candle, burning bright on the sill, the chunky glass lid sitting right next to it. She snuffed it out and ran back to the porch, stuffing the candle behind her blue planter overflowing with petunias.

She tried to read, but her brain wouldn’t process the words. She knew she had checked that stupid cabin more than once before leaving. Maybe Jeremy was right; maybe she really was starting to lose her mind. That thought haunted her throughout the evening, echoing loudly inside her skull during their silent, obligatory nightly attempt at conceiving a child. She laid on her back after he rolled away from her, staring at the brown water spot on the ceiling, wondering if insanity would be preferable.

The next morning, Lauren called her therapist. His assistant’s cheery voice greeted her.

“Hi Marie, does Dr. Evans have anything open today?”

“Hi there, Lauren! We did just have a cancellation for a late morning appointment, let me get into the schedule and see what time it was. How are you doing?”

“Thank you. I’m alright. I’m just… doing things and not remembering doing them.”

“I see. We'll get you in. That spot that opened up is at eleven, can you make it?”

“Sure. I will be there, thanks.”

Dr. Evans’ office felt more like a spa than any of the actual spas Lauren had been to. She twirled a tiny rake through his sand Zen garden as she talked, making perfect lines over and over again. He was an older, calm man, and he listened intently, only asking occasional questions to make her dig deeper in her head.

“Here’s what I think we should do,” his placid voice floated to her. “Let’s change up your medication a bit; I think your current one is making you foggy. But I think this thing with lighting the candle is good. I think it shows you still have hope.”

“But I shouldn’t have hope. The doctors told me it’s not going to happen for us.”

He smiled slightly, two dimples sinking in by the corners of his mouth. He took off his bifocals and set his notebook down, and propped his elbows on his knobby knees.

“You have hope for yourself. For your future. Whether or not that has children in it, I don’t know. Either way, Lauren, you will move past all of this. I think you are subconsciously telling yourself that by lighting the candle. We just need to get your conscious self to realize it.”

Back at home, Lauren felt a little more optimistic. She sat on the back porch and actually read her novel, getting lost in silly tales of romance on beaches. Honestly, who would do those things in real life? Sand got in every crevice you didn’t want it in without rolling around naked in it.

It was soon too hot to be outside, so she finished a chapter and set the book down, gazing out at the woods. As she rose, she felt called to go to the cabin. Maybe it was Dr. Evans’ words about hope, maybe it was her old meds still coursing through her, she didn’t know; but she grabbed the candle from behind the planter and marched purposefully across the grass. After she stepped into the dampness, she placed the candle on the sill and realized she had nothing to light it with. She wondered what she had used the last two nights, but after looking around, couldn’t find a match or lighter.

After retrieving the butane lighter from the kitchen, she lit the wick, prayed, and felt more at peace than she had in a long time. The sun dipped again, and she returned the lid to its home over the flame, watching fire turn to swirling smoke in the glass. She carried the candle back, stashed it in the same spot behind the tangle of pink petals and green stems, and went in the house for a cold glass of sweet tea.

Jeremy came home that evening at the same time he always did, gave Lauren the customary top-of-the-head kiss, then washed his blackened hands in the sink. She watched him scrub the grime away for a few moments, then hugged him from behind. The act made him stiffen.

“Well hello there,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. She held him, her cheek pressed into his back, and took in a deep breath of him, savoring the remaining hint of this morning’s cologne mixed with the scent of oil and grease. He pulled her around in front of him, reaching over her shoulder for a towel. “You must have had a better day today. What did you- Lauren?”

She looked up. He was staring out the window. Her eyes followed his, and her stomach dropped; the flame danced merrily for them beyond the sparks of fireflies.

“You went to the cabin.”

“I- I went to see Dr. Evans today. He said lighting the candle is good for me. It shows I have hope for the future.”

The light that had been on his face so briefly died out. “You know what the doctors said.”

“I know. Dr. Evans said that it’s not that. It’s a hope for myself. For us.”

His furrowed brow said what his lips didn’t; he wasn’t convinced. “Well, please go put it out, it’s gonna burn that shack down.”

She shuffled out into the woods, grabbed the candle, and shuffled back, muttering to herself about how she couldn’t wait for the old medication to wear off. She set it on the counter, their evening went the same as it always did, and she went to the porch after he sat on the couch. She opened her book, and the weight of the tassel charm on the bookmark sent it catapulting. As she bent to retrieve the bookmark, she saw it; the candle peeking at her from behind the planter.

“What the…” Lauren trailed off as she picked it up. Bewildered, she carried it into the kitchen and looked where she thought she had just set it.

Her stomach plummeted and her heart started drumming against her ribcage. A green Sage and Citrus candle, identical in every way to the one she had in her hands, sat on the counter, just where she had placed it.

She picked it up and held them next to each other. They had the exact same burn level. The exact same wax splash patterns. The exact same curve to the wick. She stared at the labels; they even had the exact same tear to the same corner.

She dropped them to the tile, glass breaking and a tile cracking.

“What the hell is goin’ on in here?” Jeremy yelled, barely skidding to a stop before he treaded on glass shards.

“Look at them! Look at the candles!” Lauren shrieked.

He carefully picked up what was left of them and turned the remnants over in his hands. “What am I supposed to see? They’re broken.”

“They’re the same! They’re exactly the same!”

“I see that. What’s happenin’ right now? You’re scarin’ me.”

She went to show him, but they were no longer the same after their smashing. She found a part where the wax matched and pointed, shouting “Right there! Look! Exactly the same!”

He tossed them in the garbage can with a plastic “thunk” and looked at her. “I think I should call someone.”

“I’m not crazy! Even the stickers were torn the same! And the second candle just showed up!”

Without responding, he bent to collect the big slivers before sweeping the rest with a broom.

“Jeremy, please, look at me! I’m telling you the truth!” But he didn’t look at her, or respond. He just finished cleaning and went to their room.

Their requisite conception effort was out of the question, so Lauren slept on the couch. Her thoughts swirled amidst a throbbing headache. She got up at least a dozen times to go look at the cabin window, but no flame graced it.

The next evening, when Jeremy came home, he announced that he was going to stay with his brother. Lauren sobbed and begged him to stay, but he was adamant. Despite her tears, he continued packing, even going so far as to throw snacks in his bag. He glanced outside from the kitchen.

“Dammit, Lauren, go put the candle out!”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t been out there today.”

Without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door so hard that the picture of the two of them on their honeymoon fell to the floor, raining more splintered glass upon the tile. Lauren didn’t recognize the people in that picture. They were happy, tanned, and healthy, with giant genuine smiles plastered on their faces after zip lining through the jungle.

Jeremy raged back in, slammed the candle on the counter, and quickly exited to the bedroom in a hunt for more things to throw in the duffel. Lauren fetched the broom for the glass, and finished sweeping just as he stepped back into the kitchen. The gray bag was zipped shut and ready to go. His rage was gone, the composed demeanor and tone returned.

“I want you to know that I love you. I still love you, and I always will. But we need to figure this out, and I need to space to think.”

“I wish you would talk to me. I need help, Jeremy.”

“I know you do. But I gotta think on whether or not I can give you that help.”

Her tears started anew and she was lost to them, but it didn’t last long.

“Goddammit, how many of those candles did you buy?” he yelled. “What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me? Do you want me to leave you, Lauren?”

She hopped up and joined him at the window. Sure enough, a fresh light flickered beyond the tree line and dancing fireflies.

He ran out. She chased him through the yard, but he was much faster. He made it to the cabin and jumped inside, but the candle didn’t go out. She slowed at the door, realizing she couldn’t hear him stomping around on the old floorboards.

She slowly pushed the door open wider, its creak the only sound, the candle’s flame the only light in the pitch-black interior. “Jeremy?”

“I’ve heard you pray, Lauren.”

She hurdled backwards and fell out the door, landing painfully in a heap at the bottom of the steps. The words had not come from the mouth of her husband. The slithery-sounding, other-worldly voice drifted through the doorway in a whisper. In a serpent’s tongue, it said “Come back inside. I can give you what you want.”

She scrambled away through new grass and dead leaves. The voice called louder. “A baby. I can make that dream come true for you.”

Lauren stopped. “Who are you?”

“Come inside, and I will show you.” The voice had a depth to it, almost an echo within itself. It seemed to surround her.

Drawn by the words, she stood. “Where is my husband?”

“He is here. He is the key.”

“What have you done to him?”

“He is fine. He is just…. Quieter now.”

“Jeremy!” Lauren leapt through the threshold and tried to force her eyes to adjust to the dark. Jeremy laid on his back in the middle of the floor, his chest rising and falling slowly. She ran to him and fell to her knees, tracing her fingers over his face and pleading with him to wake up, but he didn’t stir. “What did you do?”

“It is not what I did, but what you must do,” the voice mused, now tinged with a growl. “He is the sacrifice required to grant life.”

“You want me to kill him?”

“Yesss.”

“No! Let him go! Please Jeremy, wake up!” She whipped her head back and forth, scanning the cabin, but couldn’t see the source of the voice.

“If you want a child, you must.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you both die.” It drew out “die” as if it relished the thought.

Something hit her in the back then clattered to the floor. She toppled over in terror, and saw that it was the end of a wooden handle – the handle of a pointed garden spade.

“Nowww,” it growled at her.

“I can’t! I won’t!”

The voice turned angry and began shouting. “What has he done for you, Lauren? He ignores you, leaves you alone in your misery, calls you crazy!”

“I still love him! Please let us go!”

“If you love him, then you can die with him!” Fury dripped from the words. An unnatural wind filled the cabin, engulfing her, threatening to rupture her ear drums and building so much pressure inside her head it felt like it would explode. A female scream reverberated within the squall, growing louder and louder as Lauren dug her hands into her scalp and screamed back. The pressure was too much, the sound too loud. She snatched the spade and plunged it into Jeremy’s stomach.

He snapped to consciousness, yelling over the sound of the howling wind, his shocked eyes locking on hers. Tears drenched Lauren’s cheeks as she inaudibly mouthed “I’m sorry” to him, then yanked up the spade and thrust it down again. Then again. And again.

The shriek of wind died and the voice returned, calm once again. “Goood,” it said, drifting away.

“Wait! What do I do now?”

The answer was barely a whisper. “You live.”

Over the next months, Lauren did just that. Jeremy’s body and all traces of it just… disappeared, as did suspicion of her after investigators found nothing amiss in the house or cabin. Lauren settled into the silence that would soon be filled with the cries of a newborn. But as her belly grew, she wondered what sort of monster she had become; and what sort of monster she would bear.