Phobus

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

That's odd, you think to yourself as you walk by the old abandoned cabin on your way home. You stop to see what you can sense: The forest around you is calm and quiet; The daylight dims to dusk; The air is cool and dank with decomposition. All typical for spring.

You hear the god of curiosity whisper in your ear.

Ciman: Go check it out. It might be new neighbours… Or dangerous intruders… Or someone lost, in need of help.

You're not entirely sure why, but your heart beats faster as you approach the warped wooden door and see that it's ajar.

You: Hello?

Voice: Come in!

A disembodied voice calls out to you from within. It sounds familiar. You can't place from where exactly, but it makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. You shiver and try to shake off the uneasy feeling that's growing in your gut.

You enter the foyer, dimly lit only by the candle in the window. Coats hanging on hooks are draped in cobwebs. Shoes on the floor are filled with dust. Some big, some small—evidence a family lived here once. But you knew that already.

You close the door behind you and pick up the candle from the sill.

You: Are you alright in here? There are dire wolves and worse in these woods, you know. It's not safe here after dark.

No response.

Cockroaches skitter away from the candlelight as you move through the entryway, into the main room of the cabin. They scuttle under the finely upholstered couch and matching chair, rotting under the stairs to your left. You step into the room. A swarm of bats screeches as it swoops past your ear, then exits through the missing pane of glass in the window behind you. But you're not bothered by bugs or bats, are you?

To your right, a long counter stretches the length of the wall, piled high with dirty dishes, no wash basin in sight. Four place settings still sit on the small table. Dinner served but never eaten. Except now by the maggots you see squirming and the blackflies you hear buzzing. The sour stench of death fills this room, accompanied by…smoke?

A wood stove stands warm and glowing in the center of the room. You look up and see flames escaping the stovepipe at its seams, near where it disappears into the wall.

You holler up the stairs.

You: Uh, did you clean out this chimney before you lit the stove? If not, there's a good chance this place is about to light up like a torch!

You dampen the stove before dashing to the stairs. Still no response. As you start to climb, you notice a strange sound, like a heartbeat or a drum.

Ba-Dum.

The stairs creak as you climb, trying hard to listen over the sound of your own heart pounding louder and louder in your chest. After a hundred steps or more, you're still only halfway up. How is this possible? You wonder. It makes no sense. You've walked by this cabin a thousand times and never noticed any tower.

Ba-Dum.

You pause a moment to catch your breath and slow the racing of your heart. A cracked mirror with an oval frame, silver and embossed with roses, hangs crooked on the wall. As you admire your reflection, you notice something in your teeth—a chip of yellowing white paint. You look back and see clearly where you've been peeling it off the walls.

A repressed memory resurfaces. The sages called it pica, and told your parents you'd grow out of it. Which you did. Long ago. Unless you didn't? Is it possible you still eat random shit without noticing? Are people just too polite to point out bizarre behaviour? Is this memory even real?

Ba-Dum.

You step closer to the mirror and smile unnaturally wide, checking for any more chips in your teeth. There is another bit stuck further in the back. It's wedged in tight, so you dig your thumbnail in deep to get it out. You flick hard once you think you feel it. There's a sickening sucking sound, followed by a pop. A molar comes flying out of your mouth and pings against the wall. You feel a throbbing in your thumb. The nail bent so far back it peeled right off the bed. You try to push it back in place, but it's dangling by a thread. The taste of metal fills your mouth.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell is happening? What am I even doing here?

You turn to run back down the stairs. If you leave now you'll still be able to make it home before the wolves awaken.

Ba-Dum.

But the way out is blocked by fire. Flames engulf the wall near the bottom of the stairs, and begin to flood the floor.

Shit, how did I forget about that?

There's no window in this stairwell but you know there's one upstairs. You sprint the rest of the way up and burst through the flimsy folding door, wrenching it off its track.

The attic is small and empty. The walls on either side of you slope to a peak along the center, only inches above your head. No window, only walls. You could have sworn you'd seen a window.

Ba-Dum.

Before you can even begin conceiving of plan B, you double over in pain as a sharp stabbing sensation shoots through your stomach. Your muscles cramp so hard they rip the space between them.

As suddenly as it started, it stops. You feel totally fine. You lift your shirt to take a look. Everything seems normal. Wait. What is that? A small lump starts to protrude just below your sternum. It pushes outward, stretching your skin so tight it almost tears. That pain again. You almost faint from it this time. The lump begins to squirm around, bringing up more bumps that bulge about your abdomen.

It's like there's a snake slithering under the surface of your skin. Looking for an exit, maybe? It finds one. Your belly button dilates, as a worm the width of your arm starts wiggling its way through. You are paralyzed with fear. All you can do is watch in horror as the worm's translucent, slimy, segmented body works its way out of you, slowly. Finally, the tail plops out and the worm coils on the floor.

Ba-Dum.

That sound. It seems to be coming from the worm. And, unless you're imagining it, in the middle of this fibrous swirl of slime there's a faint red glow that brightens with the beating of the drum.

Flames flicker in the doorway. Smoke billows into the room, funnelling above the creature as if it's summoning a storm.

Phobus: Kill it.

This time you recognize the voice, but it's too late. Fear has drained the blood from your head and your heart. You look around desperately for a weapon and spot a wood-axe resting by the door. You grab it, spin around, readying your attack. But the axe gets caught in the ceiling/wall and shakes your shoulders in their sockets.

Ba-Dum.

You go to one knee in front of the worm, still writhing on the ground. You lift the axe above your head, carefully this time. You eye your target. That glowing throbbing at the center of the mass.

Ba-Dum.

As you start to swing, the mass begins to move—to take new shape. This can't be right. The mass morphs right in front of you, changing form from a wriggling worm into a bleating baby ram.

Phobus: Kill it! Kill it, and I'll deliver you from this hell!

The lamb looks you in the eyes and tilts its head, its long rectangular pupils remaining parallel to the floor.

Ba-Dum.

Me: What do you do?