Like Moths to a Flame

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." Peter reiterated as he and John exited the police car. John took in a long drag off his cigarette.

"Is that what they told ya?" John asked through the toxic cloud of smoke exiting his lungs. The men stood looking up at the stark frame of the cabin. Every window shrouded in darkness, except one. On the second story’s solitary window, was the single flickering flame of a small candle.

"Must be some damn kids playin' a prank". John said around the cigarette in his mouth. He took one last long drag before flicking the butt on the gravel road and snuffing it out under his boot.

“Come on, it’ll be in and out. Then you can get home to your new baby,” John said in a mocking tone, “and I can get home to my bourbon. Ha!”John cackled as the two walked up to the cabin door. The place was eerily quiet, the air was still, a full moon illuminated their surroundings, and there was nothing but the sound of the crunching gravel under their feet. As they walked up the old wooden steps of the cabin's porch, the wood creaked and groaned uncomfortably under the weight of its two unexpected visitors.

Brap, brap, brap.

John knocked on the old wooden door as he peered into its small paned window.

"Hello? This is the police. We got a call that someone might be in here, we're checking in." John called into the darkness, but only silence answered him.

"This is private property, you're trespassing. We just want to move you on your way and we promise there won't be any trouble." John tried again. Met again by nothing.

"Ugh, seriously." John groaned. "Alright Rookie, we're gonna have to search the place. If we're lucky the little punks have already moved on and we can get on with our night.” John turned the handle and, miraculously, the door creaked open. The air outside was warm and muggy, but inside the cabin the air was stale and strangely cool. John and Peter flicked on their flashlights and surveyed the room. Everything had a thick layer of dust on it, and looked as though it had been untouched for decades, the coffee table had stacks of old magazines and books on it. Peter noticed a newspaper on the top of the pile dated July 20, 1962.

“Huh.” Peter uttered.

“What? Find somethin’? John inquired.

“No, it’s just. This old newspaper is from exactly 30 years ago today.” Peter remarked.

“Oh.” John said, then paused for a moment almost thoughtfully before quickly dismissing Peter with, “Well keep lookin’ Rookie! We’re looking for signs of people being here now, not 30 years ago.” Peter continued to survey the living room as John meandered into the small kitchen.

"Well, it looks like whoever was here didn't have plans to stay long." Peter observed after a few minutes of silence.

"Well look at you Mr. Detective, you and Sherlock figure that one out together?" John scoffed. " Like I said, probably just some punk kids playing a prank. Let's finish taking a look around and th-".

Slam!

Before John could finish, the front door slammed shut behind them.

"What was that?" Peter whispered.

"Hm, musta been the wind." John responded with a skeptical look towards the door, although he didn't speak much louder than Peter had.

"Let's just keep going the sooner we get done the sooner we can get outta here." John said gruffly, regaining himself, then John headed over to check out the master bedroom. Peter nodded in agreement and continued to sweep his flashlight over the living room. Then on the lumpy dust covered couch, Peter saw the only seemingly out of place item all night. Laying face down on the couch was a doll. Peter picked up the doll and turned it over in his hand. The doll had blond ringlets, dulled by grey dust, that looked like it would now make a great nest for a baby rat. Part of the porcelain of the doll's face was broken off. From the top middle of the doll's hair line down part way of its nose then all of the left cheek to its ear was gone. The doll was in a dirty red dress with the name Sara embroidered in white. Its right blue eye looked up sadly at Peter.

"Hey Rookie, the downstairs is clear. Let's head up and check out upstairs" John directed.

"Coming." Peter responded, dropping the doll back on the couch and turning to follow John upstairs, a puff of dust bounced into the air as the doll landed behind him.

John and Peter made their way up the creaky steps to the second floor. As they got to the top of the stairs there was a single door that led to a huge room. The room was littered with old toys, books, and child sized furniture. A book shelf sat empty in the corner. Everything in the upstairs room was just as dusty and untouched as the downstairs rooms. In the window sat the flickering candle. John went directly to the candle to get a closer inspection. The flame flickered annoyed as John's breath disturbed it. Peter swept his flashlight around the room surveying it. The room was a mess, it was clear that there had been a struggle here once. The bedding had been ripped from the bed and still lay where it was carelessly tossed, the toys and books strewn around the room weren't there as the result of a child's happy play time. What Peter was looking at was the remnants of why this cabin had been abandoned for so long.

After examining the candle to his satisfaction, John took in a breath then blew it out.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.

As soon as the flame died out there was the sound of something small scurrying across the floor. The men frantically searched the floor with their flashlights looking for the mouse or whatever it was, but there was nothing. Confused, the men looked around the rest of the room again, that's when Peter stopped dead in his tracks. He had seen the bookshelf in the corner earlier, empty except for the cobwebs. Now, sitting on the top shelf, was a doll. The doll had perfect golden ringlet hair, a bright red dress with the name Sara embroidered in white, and happy blue eyes peering back at Peter.

"What?" Peter said in disbelief.

"What is it, you find the mouse?" John asked.

"No, it's just. Uh." Peter began, struggling to understand what he was seeing, he and his flashlight glued to the doll. "It's just. That doll. It wasn't there when I checked the room before. And it. It was downstairs. It was on the couch earlier. Except that one was broken." Peter rambled, then he reached up and grabbed the doll from off the shelf. He took a closer look at the face of the doll and saw a fine line going down half of the doll's face. Starting from the middle of the hairline, making its way half way down its nose, then veering left to the doll's ear. The blue eyes of the doll stared at Peter and the ruby painted lips looked to almost have a mischievous smile about it. "This is so weird, this doll has been repaired. It has a line exactly where the doll's downstairs face was broken off, like it's been glued back together or something."

"Are you seriously getting worked up over a doll?" John asked. "Give me that!" He demanded, snatching the doll out of Peter's hand.

Holding the doll John started jostling it around as he remarked, "Look see, it's just a doll. There's nothing weird or suspicious about it. Oh wait, maybe it wants us to play with it." John changed his voice to a high pitched girly voice and held the doll in front of Peter’s face. "Hi Peter! My name’s Sara, do you think I'm pretty? He he." John mocked.

"Alright, alright. Knock it off, will yeah?" Peter responded, irritated by John making fun of him. John laughed and tossed the doll to the floor, it landed with an ominous thunk. John and Peter were barely able to make it two steps towards the door when suddenly the entire cabin began shaking violently, tossing John and Peter side to side making it impossible to regain their balance.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.

Something small scurried across the floor again. Both men attempted to steady the beams of their flashlights towards the door, as they did, they saw the doll appear sitting perfectly in front of the doorway, the painted smile growing ever more chilling in the unsteady light of the flashlight's beams. Suddenly, their flashlights cut out and Peter and John were left in complete darkness.

Thunk!

"AHHHHHHHHHhhhh!" Peter could hear John scream with the sound of something heavy hitting the floor then, John being dragged off, the scream got quieter.

SLAM!

With the sound of the door slamming shut everything was still once more.

Peter's flashlight flickered back to life illuminating the door to the room, there was nothing there. Peter whipped his flashlight around the room searching.

"John?" Peter called out. The beam of Peter's flashlight flew from one empty corner of the room to the other. John was nowhere to be seen. Peter ran over to the door, grasping the brass handle he desperately tried to get it to turn, but the handle wouldn't move.

"Come on!" Peter said through clenched teeth. Growing more and more exasperated with every vain jiggle of the door handle, Peter began kicking the door a few times. Even though Peter knew the door was made out of flimsy boards that had been pressed together, as he kicked, the door felt as solid as cement. Peter relented to the stubborn door and turned his attention to the rest of the room. There has to be another way out! Peter thought to himself. Other than the door, the only exit Peter could see was the window. Peter ran over to the window and tried to slide it open, but even with using all his strength, the window wouldn’t open. On the floor next to him there was a small wooden chair. Peter picked up the chair and threw it against the window, surely the window would break with that. However, the chair hit the window harmlessly and came crashing down to the floor, breaking on impact. Frustrated and running out of options, Peter pulled out his gun.

"Let's see how you like this, you son of a bitch!" Peter said angrily.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Peter shot off three bullets into the window, and three shattered bullet holes scarred the glass. However, just as a slight smile of triumph started to form on Peter's face, the window started to change.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

One by one the bullets that were stuck in the glass fell to the floor as the cracks in the window started to fuse. Right before Peter’s eyes the window restored itself until it returned to a completely untouched state.

"No…" Peter whispered as he slumped against the wall, completely defeated, Peter realized that he was trapped. When across the room a small door leading to a small closet opened, and light streamed into the room. The sounds of a child playing emerged from within.

“Hello?” Peter called out cautiously. The door opened wider, beckoning Peter forward.

When the darkness retreated, and John’s vision was fully restored, he found himself in the downstairs' bathroom. The only light, coming from his flashlight he was somehow able to keep hold of while being drug around in the dark, was emitting a shallow narrow beam. The room was fairly small with the door directly behind him, a sink and a mirror directly in front of him, with the toilet next to the sink, and a bathtub at the end of the room that had a shower curtain drawn closed. John turned and attempted to open the door, in frustration John shook the door willing it to open, however the door had no intentions of complying. In exasperation John spun back around and examined more closely the rest of the room he was in trying to find any other exit that might exist. As John was looking around the room, the reflection of his flashlight in the mirror caught his eye. John took a step forward and the image in the mirror stared back at him in terror. It was John’s face he could tell when John moved his reflection moved with him, when John reached up to touch his face, his reflection did the same, light brown hair, scruffy face and all. Except, his reflection was bloodied with fresh wounds oozing dark red blood. There was a deep gash across his chest and his brass sheriff’s badge was broken in half barely hanging onto his chest by a thread. John looked down, to his relief his chest was completely intact and his sheriff’s badge glistened whole in the flashlight’s beam. John ran a finger across the H. Warren engraved on the bottom. This badge was John’s most prized possession, he inherited it after his father, the previous sheriff, passed away on duty. Even though the police badges had changed since his father had been issued this one, John always wore his father’s badge over his heart as a constant reminder of the only man in the sector worthy enough to call himself sheriff. That’s when John started to get a chilling sensation up his spine, as if he wasn’t alone. John took a quick look side to side, only this time the reflection in the mirror stayed still staring at him. John looked back up at his reflection to see the bloodied version of him mouthing something. After studying his reflection for a few minutes, John could finally make out what the reflection’s lips were repeating to him.

Open the curtain.

John looked over to his left where the closed shower curtain remained still. John took a deep breath and walked over to the bathtub. Slowly he reached up, grasping the cold stiff plastic, John swiftly pulled the curtain back to reveal the horror inside. Laying in a pool of blood was John’s lifeless body, eyes wide blankly staring at him, mouth agape stuck in a permanent silent scream. The scream that came next emitting from the downstairs' bathroom, however, could have been heard for miles.

As Peter continued crawling through a claustrophobic hallway that shouldn’t have been possible, the sounds of a child at play continued steadily all around him. As the hallway would twist and turn Peter would get a glimpse of the child as it hurriedly crawled off ahead of Peter, always giving a little giggle at their little game.

“Hey kid, could you slow down a second, I just want to talk to you.” Peter would call out, but all the child would do was squeal with glee and hurry around the next corner baiting Peter ever on. The hallway was full of light but a light source was nowhere to be found. Every once in a while Peter would have to carefully maneuver around a child’s toy, and there was what sounded like a music box playing. However illustrious the hallway was the few times Peter would look behind him the hallway would be nothing but a dark tunnel. This further encouraged Peter to keep moving ahead. Suddenly, after the child hurried around what felt like the hundredth corner, Peter heard the child scream.

“Hey! Hey kid are you alright?” Peter called out, but only silence answered him, even the constant sound of the music box had ceased making the impossible hallway that was impossibly lit, feel like a cold labyrinth. Peter decided to crawl a little faster. As he rounded the same corner he saw the child crawl through Peter fell and landed a few feet down. Peter had landed in the same room he was in when he entered the small closet door. Only everything looked different, the furniture was in its proper place, a lamp that sat on the child’s dresser was on, giving the room a soft light, and although there were toys still strewn about it was contained to the area that the small child was playing in. The child was in a white nightgown with golden ringlets neatly brushed. The bed had been only slightly disturbed as if the child had been tucked into it but had gotten out to play with their toys. As Peter crept closer he could see the toy the child was playing with. In the child’s hands was a doll, the doll and the child looked very similar to each other. Like the child the doll had neat golden ringlet hair, blue eyes, and a porcelain face. The doll was in a red dress that had the name Sara embroidered in white. As Peter approached the child he reached out and put his hand on the child’s shoulder. However, as soon as he did the child disappeared from in front of him.

Suddenly the room changed, the lamp that sat on the child’s dresser was turned off and the child huddled under the blankets quietly sobbing. Peter heard screams from downstairs then multiple footsteps clomping up the stairs. The door swung open and some people all dressed in black wearing different masks came barging in the room. Some held candles, some had knives, and one had a sculpture of something that looked grotesquely evil. The people bombarded the room throwing the child’s things around, knocking over the furniture, and ripping the child out of bed. They dragged the child screaming and crying out of the room with the doll that was held tightly in the child’s grasp.

Suddenly the scene in front of Peter changed, he was in the basement of the cabin now. A strange symbol had been painted in red on the concrete floor. In the middle of the symbol was the most grotesque scene Peter had ever seen. There laid the child, with a giant slash across the child’s chest, with eyes open wide, and the mouth agape in a permanent silent scream. To the left of the lifeless child laid the grotesquely evil statue burnt black with a small blackened mound on top. To the right laid the doll with half of the face broken off. There were candles that had been placed around the symbol, but their lights had been snuffed out long ago. Peter gingerly walked over to the child and knelt down. Carefully he closed the child’s mouth and eyes so that the child looked as if they were only sleeping. Before Peter could do any more the child and the burnt statue disappeared, the candles in the room came ablaze, and the doll was now sitting on a counter face whole with a fine line down the middle of it starting at the hairline, halfway down the nose, and then veered off towards it’s left ear. Peter stood up, shaking, unsure of what would happen next. Suddenly a small soft voice spoke, coming from the direction of the doll, although the doll didn’t move as the voice spoke.

30 years I slumber, but then I must awake.

Once awake I hunger, for the heart I must uptake.

I light my candle waiting for my prey to investigate.

Once I have them baiting, a sacrifice shall meet their fate.

As the word fate echoed around the basement Peter could hear the sound of something solid and heavy being dropped behind him. Slowly Peter turned around, scared of what horrors might be awaiting him now, only for him to see John laying in the center of the symbol.

“Ugh, my head.” John groaned.

With a breath of relief Peter hurried over to John and helped him up to his feet.

“Sheriff Warren! Are you hurt? What happened to you?” Peter asked worried about his superior.

“Yeah kid, I’m alright.” John answered as he shakily got back on his feet. John sucked in a pained breath then took in his surroundings.

“Where are we kid?” John inquired not having quite recovered yet.

“The basement… of the cabin, sir.” Peter answered.

“The basement!” John exclaimed with worry and surprise.

“How the hell-” John began but then stopped as he looked down and saw the symbol they were standing on.

“Jesus Christ!” John exclaimed as he jumped and stumbled his way off the red symbol.

“Sheriff?” Peter began, he knew that their situation was out of the ordinary and definitely more than a little terrifying, but even so, Peter had never seen John react the way he was before.

“Sheriff, what happened to you after you were taken from the bedroom?” Peter inquired. Peter was new on the force, but he had been there long enough to know that Sheriff Warren was a tough as nails kind of guy. Nothing got to him, so seeing him scared out of his skin was not something Peter thought he would ever see, and he knew something horrible must have happened to make him this way.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, kid.” John responded.

“Try me.” Peter pushed, normally Peter was the kind of guy not to push when it’s obvious that someone doesn’t want to talk about something, but it had been a very strange night for him and he wanted to know if John’s night had been just as strange. John sighed then told Peter about what he had experienced in the bathroom. After John had regaled his frightful night, Peter went on to explain his.

“Come on kid, let's get out of here.” John said after the two had finished catching each other up on the events of the night. The men clambered up the stairs and tried the door. To neither of their surprise, it didn’t open.

“Damn it! Why is every door in this damn place locked!” John exclaimed exasperated. He took out his gun and tried shooting the lock on the door handle. However, just like the window in the child’s bedroom, any damage that was done to the door was immediately rectified and the bullets fell harmlessly to the floor.

While not in slumber, my prey I will encumber.

Two prey I have ensnared, one must be prepared.

For your freedom there is a price, one's heart to sacrifice.

From my victim’s greatest desire, a token I require.

My old home must be slain, the token rent in twain.

The token will be my keep, for 30 years I’ll sleep.

The disembodied voice stated.

“What in the hell?” John remarked, growing more infuriated with every passing second the two remained stuck in the cabin. John charged down the stairs towards the doll, raising his gun pointed directly towards the doll's head. Peter hurried after him.

“What are you doing?!” Peter yelled as he grabbed John’s arm.

“I am sick and tired of this thing messing with our heads! I’m gonna shoot it to a million pieces and see how it likes it’s riddles then!” John yelled in response.

“John wait!” Peter exclaimed. “Remember what that thing did to you before? And that time you only tossed it to the ground! Think of what it will do if you start blowing holes in it!” John struggled for a moment before finally relenting.

“Damn it!” John yelled as he threw his gun on the ground in frustration. Peter looked back at the doll sitting on the cabinet. The doll sat there with its painted smile looking at Peter dubiously, next to the doll was a long sharp butcher’s knife that Peter hadn’t noticed being there before.

“Ok, think. There has to be a way out of this, there has to be a way for us to escape.” John stated as he started to calm down.

“What if there’s not?” Peter asked calmly, his eyes still glued to the knife. “What if we have to do what it says? What if only one of us can make it out of here?” John rushed over and grabbed Peter by the shoulders.

“Peter, get a grip on yourself! There has to be another way! It just wants us to think that there’s no other way, so it gets what it wants. Come on, we can figure this out, together.” John said desperately. As he grabbed Peter he shook him and managed to get Peter’s gaze off of the doll. Once free of the doll’s gaze Peter shook his head, attempting to shake himself free of the horrible thoughts that had infiltrated his mind.

“Yeah, you’re right we’ll figure it out.” Peter said, hopeful of the words leaving his mouth.

“It’s like I said earlier. In and out, then you can get home to your new baby-” John started.

“And you can get home to your bourbon.” Peter finished with a little more sharpness to his voice than what he had intended.

As the moon started to hang low in the sky the forest outside of the cabin was just as serene as it had been all night.

SLAM!

The front door of the cabin swung open, the sound of footsteps beating into the gravel filled the once silent air of the summer night. Peter hastily entered the police car on the driver's side and stopped to catch his breath for a moment. Blood splattered across his face and soaked his police uniform. Peter looked down at his bloodied hands, tears making little red droplets on them as he sobbed. In his left hand he held a broken brass sheriff's badge with the engraved name that once read H. Warren now separated in two. In his right hand Peter held a picture of his newborn son that he always kept with him, now crinkled with stains of red on the sides.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But I had to. I had to do it. It was for you. It was all for you. It was for you, son.” Peter said between ragged breaths as he sobbed alone in the police car. “I did it, and now we’ll be together. We’ll be together son. You won’t grow up without your daddy.” Peter thought for a moment and sucked in a pained breath. “Until, you have to do the same to me. I’ll be with you.” Peter said somberly, putting the two broken pieces of brass in his pocket. A heavy reminder of the price of his limited freedom. As the police car pulled out and sped down the gravel road, the last part of the doll’s poem began to echo in Peter’s mind.

For your freedom there is a price, one's heart to sacrifice.

From my victim’s greatest desire, a token I require.

My old home must be slain, the token rent in twain.

The token will be my keep, for 30 years I’ll sleep.

…for 30 years I’ll sleep.