Strange Days, Stranger Days Ahead

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It seemed to be the only thing visible from my camp sight, like a lighthouse illuminating the path to dry land. Only solitude and dense brush have existed since I passed the edge of civilization a few days before. My dinner burned over the fire while I was mesmerized by who it could be. The gyrating flame in the window was taunting and tantalizing. I couldn’t think of anything else, a consuming urge that I couldn’t deny. As I move closer, the moonlight peeks through the forest canopy, subtly revealing my path. The tiny orange glow grew, getting brighter, pushing and pulling me through the woods. As I get closer, the desolate crumbling cabin in the distance comes to life. The darkness of the open door pulsed and urged me to enter.

__ __

Looking out of the window, it reveals a picturesque view, a fairy tale backdrop for the candle that captivated every fiber of my being, a half-burned waxy figure standing at attention. Some time has passed. I’m not sure how much or even how. The sunlight claws its way across the forest, making its way toward the cabin as morning sets in. From a distance, the place looked abandoned and destroyed. I don’t remember entering the cabin. It is vibrant and alive in more ways than anyone would imagine. The interior walls, from top to bottom, including the ceiling, are covered in mirrors of all shapes and sizes. Dancing flames drip wax and reflect from every possible angle, in every corner of the cabin, entirely encapsulated by it.

__ __

I can’t keep track of time, and I’m unsure how long I’ve been here. Or what I have been doing while I’ve been here. I am surrounded by signs of spring with half-melted snow and new growth. I think it was right before fall when I first came upon this place. Or could it have been summer? A never-ending fog clouds my brain, with it getting harder and harder to focus on any one thought for more than a few moments before it all jumbles up again.

I close my eyes for what feels like a moment, and the summer sun beams through the window as mosquitos hunt for their next meal. The humidity in the air makes it heavy and dense. The seasons changing and that never-ending fuzzy hangover are the only constants. If I close my eyes again, will I wake from whatever this is? Or will the seasons jump again until I have no more seasons left to live?

__ __

The morning light peeking through the windows, not yet burned in and harsh with the age of the day. Another void in time has the same feeling as all the other visitors but is different simultaneously.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The air is still heavy, moist, and musty. Evidence of a struggle lingers without the energy of it. Tiny red drops fall from the short steel pipe I’m holding, ricocheting off my shoe into the red puddle next to my foot. White shards of broken teeth contrast the dark red of the coagulated blood. They are illumined by the candlelight like diamonds on an expensive bracelet.

Strangely calm and collected, with no memory of what transpired. No curiosity about where the blood and tiny pieces of teeth originated or what or who they are from. They were surrounded by a room full of beautiful reflections. Forearms drenched in blood, gravity pulling it down the steel pipe into my little red puddles. They must have done something infuriating; it is never this brutal.

__ __

Did the missing chunks of time never really happen? Or was it so mundane that my brain knew it was disposable and didn’t bother itself with the burden of the information? Close to the cabin, the pull is strong, a magnetism that can’t be denied or broken. Every couple of days, or what I think is a couple of days while collecting water and other supplies; I wonder what life would have been if I had never investigated the cabin. Then the reflection of that beautiful flame shimmers off the lake's surface, drawing me back in. And before I know it, more time is missing as I sit in the middle of the cabin, fixated on the candle once again.

__ __

The air stained red from the aftermath of last night's events. Sticky and heavy. Each coppery breath is disturbing slumbered memories that are no memories at all. Mirrors are thrown about, the red mist revealing where they once hung smugly staring back at me.

The clean-up is robotic at this point. My limbs move with purpose and ease. This is the messiest one yet. They must have had a genuine desire to rebuff our hospitality and offer to stay as long as I would like them to. I wonder if they thought it would turn out any other way, or was this what they wanted from me? Was that why my visitors came out this far?

There once were eight, then there were none. Each was coming without ever leaving. Missing that consciousness of their time here while knowing parts of them remain. I feel them as a part of me while feeling nothing at all. I can’t understand what it is or what it all means.

__ __

I can’t remember if the clay by the shore was always red. Everything around here has some variation of a red tint. Was that how I initially found it? Or if it had been stained after my arrival?

A glimmer catches my eye, breaking my tunnel vision. A tiny shard of a mirror has escaped the cabin, sunbathing next to the water, soaking in the fresh air. An unfamiliar face reflects. It’s an exhausted creature covered in filthy, matted hair.

“You live here?”

A slow look up to discover a visitor. A sheriff's deputy stands a short distance away. He’s not red. He is brown and green, but not red. Is he real or a hallucination?

“You okay? You don’t look that good.”

Real.

“I’m fine… I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

I don’t know if I ever sleep or move through this world one small chunk at a time.

“This your place?”

Is it anyone's place?

“For now… Sure.”

That shocked him a bit. I don’t think it was the answer he was expecting.

“You seen anyone around here lately? I’m Looking for some missing hikers. It would have been over the last couple of months. Some of their friends said they might have come out this way.”

There it is. Yes, officer, they are all around you. Just say hello they’re dying for someone new to talk to.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You on drugs or something?”

Whoops, I forgot to answer.

“Sorry… Like I said, I did not get much sleep last night. Lots of weird noises. Sounded like something big feeding. Maybe your missing hikers ran into some bears?”

Oh, he didn’t think that joke was funny. I don’t think he can take a joke. He’s no fun at all. He can’t hide his disappointment and frustration; his body language gives him away.

“Been a tough couple of months looking for these kids. Lots of strange days.”

Stranger days ahead.

“You wouldn’t mind me looking around your cabin, would you?”

Would he mind?

“So that I can cross it off the list. I am crossing all the T’s and dotting all the I’s. I don’t want to be a bother. It will be really quick.”

I wouldn’t want all the T’s, and I’s to be incomplete.

“Please. It’ll be no trouble at all.”

We always have room for one more visitor.

“Don’t get much light in the cabin? You have to burn candles during the day?”

Transfixed on my waxy friend, he eagerly pushes past me, making his way through the dark cabin doorway.

And then there were nine.