The Cabin of Existentially Imposed Exile

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The writer sat down at his desk, dusted off his old typewriter and stared at it for a moment. Then, without warning, he got to work on his final story.

He didn't leave that old cabin for days. He barely slept. He pulled an old mouldy blanket over his head when the rain was pouring down and didn't even so much as glance outside when the sun was shining in. He smoked with the window ajar & used the old toilet sparingly when needed. He had enough tinned food and goods for weeks...

He was confident he wouldn't have to leave that old shack until he'd completely finished his story. But the writer had known to be overconfident more than once in his lifetime.

On the fifth night, the writer was getting into a particularly dense bit of worldbuilding and going for another cigarette when he heard laughter echoing through the trees. It sounded like at least four or five voices. Most of them were male. But there was unmistakably a woman among them.

Slowly, the writer backed away from his desk, snuffing out the candle and taking his work with him. He saw several torches light up the dark forest and ducked away from the window. He looked around for anywhere to hide, but footsteps fast approaching meant he was running out of time. The last thing he remembered was grabbing a large letter opener from the drawer before shutting himself in an old cupboard.

The front door burst open and a particularly unpleasant looking man walked inside. He had cold, dead eyes and long black hair. He was covered from head to toe in black leather and his cowboy boots jingled quietly wherever he walked. Someone shouted out from behind him.

"Hey bruh. Is it safe to come in?"

The man, with his lifeless stare, surveyed the room wearily. Then, when he thought the coast was clear, he lit up a cigarette from the pack that was left on the table.

"Yeah, it's cool. Come on in."

He didn't even so much as glance at the cupboard the writer had barricaded himself in.

It turned out that the voice that had called out came from a very large, very stupid looking Jock. He was throwing a football around and wearing a Jersey with the number 7 on his back. The writer guessed he hadn't scored a field goal even once.

"Man, this place is musty as hell, Eric. Why'd you bring us here?"

The aforementioned Eric pierced him with his vacant stare.

'To relive the good old days.'

The Jock stared at him. And then he started laughing.

"Look man, whatever you say. I just wanted to leave that party for a bit. Hey baby, where you at?"

A girl abruptly entered the scene. She looked barely a day over eighteen. Her blonde hair and summer dress caught the writer's eye.

"I'm not your baby, dick. I just came because that party sucked ass."

"Where's the other two?" asked Eric. "I didn't want to come here without them."

Suddenly two more people tumbled through the front door. One looked nerdy and frail. The other, had even darker hair than Eric and even darker eyeliner to boot.

Eric glared at them as they dusted themselves off. The one with the glasses spoke first.

"Why did you even bring me here, dude? We haven't spoken in like, three years."

"Because I'm feeling...nostalgic," Eric answered slowly.

The second girl in the dark make-up glared at him, but didn't say anything.

'Okay, what's the sitch dude?" asked the Jock. "Quit being mysterious and tell us what's going on."

He also went for one of the writer's smokes. The blonde-haired-barely-legal teenager made a large, frustrated gesture.

"What?" teased the Jock. "I'm drinking."

"My friends," Eric began. "Or, former friends, if you'd like. It has been years since we've gone our separate ways. Why Braden, I still remember when you would come to my house after school because I had the brand new Nintendo 64. And Erin, don't tell me you've already forgotten our first kiss?"

Braden started blathering on about Madden 64, but Erin interrupted him.

"Get on with it, Eric."

Eric smiled darkly.

"And Billy, I remember when I wouldn't have to beat you up to do my homework. I remember when you actually enjoyed doing it."

"That was a long time ago Eric," Billy shot back. "People change."

"Apparently so," said Eric, watching him curiously.

"And me? What about me, Eric?"

It was almost barely a whisper but the writer heard her. The other girl with the dark make-up.

"Because you complete the stereotype, Fi,” shrugged Eric.

Suddenly, the leader in leather jumped up on the bed and addressed them dramatically. Braden was having a field day and egging him on, but the rest weren't so pleased.

"Anyway, we are here because it is the eve of our graduation. We have changed so much since we were children and look how far we've drifted apart. We used to be thick as thieves. But tomorrow, we graduate! I just wanted to have one last drink with you all, before we part ways forever. Is that too much to ask?"

Braden started cheering prematurely but the others had to admit Eric knew how to make a speech or two. There was scattered applause around the room before the alcohol was revealed.

"A toast," said Eric, pouring each of them a shot. "To the American schooling system and how they can tear friends apart by stigmatising stereotype."

Erin and Fi glanced at one another. Braden downed his shot almost immediately.

"And for those select few of you with curious noses..."

Eric revealed some lines of cocaine on the desk behind him.

"Let's get fucked up."

The writer would've been touched by this rare display of friendship. If it wasn't his place and they weren't being such little shits. As he watched through the keyhole, Billy surprised everyone by doing a line first. Braden followed suit. Then the girls hesitantly walked forward.

"Hey Eric, whose house is this anyway?" asked Erin before rolling up a fifty dollar bill.

"I dunno, some famous writer or something?"

"Cool," said Erin before doing one of the fattest lines the writer had ever seen.

Fi went to do one too, but when she realised the attention wasn't on the drugs anymore, she pocketed the money instead.

The rest of the night went about as well as you would expect with coked up teenagers in someone else's home. The place was trashed. The majority of the cigarettes were passed around. Braden and Erin had sex in the writer's bed just as the night was winding down. And then Billy saw a photo frame next to the empty typewriter.

It was a picture of a redheaded woman. Billy looked around sheepishly and went into the bathroom with it.

The writer's heart sank. He made sure that everyone else was asleep and then finally, slowly let himself out of the cupboard. He saw that the Jock and his cheerleader were still snoring in bed. Eric was passed out on the floor with a strange grin. And Fi was having a smoke outside.

He took the opportunity and snuck into the bathroom.

"Dude, what the fu-?"

Billy was quickly buttoning up his pants when he saw the writer close the door behind him.

"Wait. Who are you? Why are you walking in on me doing my business?"

The writer took a deep breath and held the letter opener tightly.

"Because this is my house. And you aren't welcome here."

Billy saw what he was holding and his eyes widened.

"Wait, hang on man. Okay, I see what's happened. Look, why don't you just let us fix this place up and we'll be on our way."

The writer shook his head.

"Too late for that. All my goodwill went out the window when you came in here with my wife."

Billy looked down at the photo he was holding and adjusted his glasses.

"Wait- this old thing? That's your woman? Dude, I had no idea..."

"You also had no idea I was here," The writer shrugged. "So you've gone and fucked up twice son."

He backed Billy into a corner until he was cowering in the bathtub and held the letter opener menacingly. Now what? Billy took his opportunity and lunged for him. In the confusion, the writer jumped back and Billy slipped. He hit his head on the bathtub and blood started leaking out of his skull. He didn't get up.

The writer was horrified, but before he could even process what had happened, there was noise coming from the other room.

He raced in and saw that Eric had already legged it. Fi wasn't far behind. He must've made some racket. Erin and Braden were only just coming to.

"What the-?" Braden began.

Erin took one look at the writer and screamed as she pulled the covers over her.

Braden stood up in his boxers and raised his fists, ready to protect his woman.

"I dunno what you're doing in here man, but you need to leave!"

"Leave?" cried the Writer. "This is my house. Get the fuck out!"

Suddenly Erin spotted Billy's hand dangling and saw blood leaking from the tub. She started howling again.

"W-what have you done to Billy!?!"

"Nothing," said the Writer incredulously. "He slipped and did that to himself. I just scared him!"

But Braden had heard enough. He cried out in frustration and raced towards the writer. It was almost like dodging a freight train. The writer only just managed to scramble out of the way of his football tackle before Braden befell the same fate. He lost his footing on a lose tile and smacked his head on the bathroom sink.

Erin's screams were deafening. The writer's face blanched.

"Why is this happening?"

To his surprise, Erin jumped out of bed, completely naked and ran off into the forest. The writer blinked twice, but then he saw Eric on the edge of the treeline. He was watching him.

The writer glared at him with seething hatred. He was the reason this was all happening. He would catch him and have a witness when the police came.

He stormed back into the house and quickly searched through his old cupboard. He was throwing clothes everywhere, desperately trying to ignore the blood and bodies in the other room.

Then he found it. His old masks.

The writer kept to sneaking around and ducking behind pine trees once he had left. He saw Eric in the distance walking unnaturally slowly. He was smoking one of his cigarettes again, but laughing for some reason. Just what was this kid up to?

Suddenly Fi appeared from behind a bush further along and shoved him. Eric tripped over and was laughing even more.

"What are you laughing at, asshole?" Fi spat. "You just got everyone killed."

"Correction, not everyone. I mean you're still alive, aren't you? And so is Erin."

"Yeah, naked and alone. She's as good as dead."

Eric stood up and dusted himself off.

'We'll find her. Did you see where she went?"

"No. Hopefully we'll run into her before he does."

The writer felt sick to his stomach. Why were these kids treating him like a killer? They were the ones that broke into his house.

"Okay look, let's just get back to the party and we'll call the cops," Eric shrugged. "I promise, I'll protect you in the meantime."

Fi looked at Eric for a moment and he smiled reassuringly. But there was something off about it. Both Fi (and the writer) could tell it was disingenuous. But they moved on...

After what felt like forever, the forest finally ended and evened out, revealing a large lake. Flashing lights could be seen and loud doof music was blaring through the trees. Fi and Eric breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," said Fi. "I thought we'd never make it back."

Eric was about to say something too, but the writer took his chance and tackled him to the ground. It wasn't the reaction he expected. On the contrary, the kid was grinning at him with wild, unblinking eyes.

"You got me," said Eric. "And not a moment too soon. If you hadn't, you would've been in a world of trouble."

"Shut up," said the Writer.

Fi went to scream so he pressed the opener to his captive's throat.

"I'd like to keep this as quiet as possible if you please," He added.

"Yes, don't anger the beast!" teased Eric. "Or he might kill you too."

"Shut your face," said the Writer. "I didn't kill them. They were too clumsy and offed themselves."

Eric started laughing again so he punched him. Fi muffled another scream as she looked around desperately for help. Eric spat blood and grimaced.

"You're a killer, Mr Writer. Those deaths may have happened by accident, but your wife's didn't. Everyone knows who you are and what the rumours are saying. You can't hide out in the woods forever."

"Well you can't hide your motives either Eric," snarled the Writer. "I know you didn't break into my cabin to have a quaint little reunion. I can see it in your eyes. There's something darker there."

Eric didn't say anything. Fi looked at him and then back to the writer.

"Is that why you wear that weird theatre mask? Because you don't want us to know who you are?"

The writer froze but didn't say anything.

"And Eric. It's so unlike you to do anything like that. To be sentimental. So why did you get everyone together?"

Eric paused for a moment. And then he told her.

"He's right. There is something evil inside of me. I didn't want to have a nice little catch-up with my old friends before we graduated. I knew that some famous writer with a mean streak owned a cabin around here. I mean, we've all heard the rumours! And if he could hurt all my friends who ditched me, then that was a bonus. But to get them killed..."

Eric started laughing hysterically. Manically. He didn't stop until the writer hit him again.

"...was beyond my wildest dreams," He finished. "You really are a monster. I truly wonder if the world will ever find out what happened to that beloved wife of yours."

The writer grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, picked him up and threw him against a tree.

"If you call me a killer again or insinuate that I murdered my wife, I'll have no qualms making your death look like an accident."

"Then you'll be proving my point."

The writer's eyes widened. He was lost for words. He'd finally had enough.

He loosened his grip on Eric and he fell to the ground. The writer too sunk to his knees, completely exhausted.

Fi stared at the two men.

"You guys are nuts. Who the heck are you anyway, man?"

But before either of them could answer, Fi shushed them. The forest was quiet. Deathly quiet. How long had it been like that?

The lake too was no longer playing loud music. Only the lights flashed eerily over and over again.

They were suddenly aware they were no longer alone in the forest. Heavy breathing was coming from all directions. And then a pair of green eyes glinted in the dark.

The three of them staggered out onto the shores of the lake. And to their horror, bodies were everywhere. Bloody, mangled, pulpy masses covering the sand. Most were indistinguishable. But there were a few football jerseys among them.

Fi sunk to her knees and broke down crying. Eric was emotionless, but went to comfort her. The writer glared at him.

Suddenly, the creature behind them ran into the clearing. None of them could get a good look to see if it was human or animal. It ran on all fours but had skin rather than fur. And then it was on two legs, screaming at the top of it's lungs.

It sounded otherworldly. Ethereal. But it had done it's job. To the group's horror, they hadn't noticed that there were more of the creatures around them, just lying down low, eating the corpses.

Their green eyes glinted and everyone suddenly realised at once it was time to leave. Then, the one behind them sailed into the air, grabbed Eric with an anthropomorphic hand and dragged him into the middle of the shore. Eric's cries of help were drowned out as all the creatures advanced upon him.

The writer grabbed onto Fi's shoulders and started shaking her.

"We need to go. There's nothing more you can do for them. Or for him."

Fi went to say something, but Eric was abruptly ripped apart, limb from limb. Blood sprayed everywhere, bones broke and they started eating him while he was still alive.

That was all the motivation Fi needed to flee with the writer back into the trees. Eric's agonising screams of pain were cut short.

They ran for what felt like hours. They didn't stop at all for a rest break. They didn't even check to see if they were still after them. They only finally stopped once they reached the clearing to the cabin.

Fi was about to go ahead but the writer stopped her.

"Wait. I didn't leave the front door open when I left. I'm sure of it."

Their hearts missed a beat and she got down behind the bushes again. He was right. To their horror, two of the creatures walked out on their hind legs dragging the bodies of Billy and Braden out of the house. The moonlight didn't reveal much more, only that they were missing noses and several teeth.

But they still managed to eat people all the same.

Once they were sure they were gone, Fi and the writer ran inside and bolted the door shut. Then when they realised that Eric had destroyed it when he had barged in, they had to settle for locking it normally and heaving the cupboard in front of it instead.

The writer checked the bathroom one last time and sighed with relief.

"Okay we're alone. We've got plenty of food here. Before you lot broke in, I reckon I had enough left to finish my novel. Now it'll have to last us until we figure out how to beat or (more likely escape) these things."

Fi didn't say anything. She just sat on the bed, shaking.

"Fi, don't sit there come on."

The writer moved her on and sat her down at the desk.

"Fi? Is that your actual name or does it stand for something? Look, I know I'm not the most ideal company to be with right now but all we have is each other. You can trust me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Fi looked up at him and glared.

"Then why are you still wearing that mask?"

The writer shot her a look beneath it, grabbed his remaining smokes from the table and went to the other side of the room.

He didn't actually smoke because that would be stupid. A dead giveaway and he doubted there'd be any left anyway, especially after the 'Scooby Gang' had been through it. Minutes turned into hours, turned into days. Who knew how much time had actually passed? They'd blocked out all light so the creatures couldn't see in.

The writer passed the time by finishing his novel by candlelight. He and Fi barely interacted. She just went from using the bathroom to lying on the sheetless bed (for obvious reasons the sheets were taken away) to eating at the table.

Occasionally they would hear whispering outside the cabin, but it never got close enough for them to worry about. Whatever it was would just scuttle away in the long grass after a while.

But on the sixth (or perhaps seventh?) day they heard someone yelling out to them. Fi and the writer looked at each other and raced towards the window. They lifted up little of what was blocking their view and couldn't believe what they saw.

It was Erin. She was still naked. Parts of her skin were missing and her ribs were showing. She was bleeding from several open wounds. How on earth was she still alive?

She was calling out to them. Fi immediately ran to the front door but the writer told her to wait.

"Why?" she cried. "She's my friend. She was good to me even when she fell in with that crowd."

"Just WAIT. Have a look outside. What do you see?"

Fi went back to the window, still pissed but conceding.

"I see a naked woman alone, calling out my name. Happy?"

"What else?"

"N-nothing. Just trees and the moonlight and-"

Fi stopped herself short. The writer could see it too. Numerous green eyes flickering to life in the dark. They were watching her from the trees.

The writer slowly closed the blockages and taped it shut.

"It's a trap. They're using her as bait to draw us out. There's no way we can go out there now."

Fi was on the verge of tears, but said nothing. She sat down on the edge of the bed and hit it several times in frustration.

"But we can't just leave her out there," She pleaded. "Surely, there must be something we can do?"

The writer sighed and got down to her level.

"Fi, you saw the state she was in. They've already been eating her, but they want fresh meat. They're getting bored. Hopefully they will just put her out of her misery soon if we don't-"

Fi's eyes widened and she slapped him across the face. The writer swore.

"What the hell!?!"

"Don't you dare talk about my friend like that," spat Fi. "She's a human being, not a piece of meat."

The writer grabbed his face in disbelief as Fi shut herself in the bathroom.

Later, Erin's cries for help were still echoing throughout the forest. It took everything in Fi's power not to push the cupboard over and race outside to save her. She ending up crying silently for the rest of the night. Until-

"Fi, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said what I said. And I'm sorry we can't save your friend."

Fi was surprised. But she wiped her tears away and didn't give him what he wanted just yet.

"I know dude. But you don't have to convince me anymore. I know that we have to leave my friend to die."

"And I'm sorry that I just address people like they're objects, not real living things," He continued. "My wife always had a problem with that."

"Your wife?"

"Yeah. She always said I was too cold. Too analytical. It's not my problem I'm on the spectrum. But I would hurt her feelings from time to time."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know-"

"No one did really. She didn't even until the end. All I did was just shut people out and focus on my writing. Sure, I excelled at the craft, made a living for myself and became famous, but I never really opened up to as many people as I should've."

"That's awful. Hopefully she understood it all once you told her."

"Yeah, but it came out in the strangest of ways. We were at this gourmet pizza restaurant and I'd just finished having a nervous breakdown about a deadline I didn't think I could meet. She comforted me like she always did. But when we were ordering, I was kind of just piecing my brain back together and going over what we both wanted. The waiter came over and I ordered what I thought was a large pizza to share. But it turns out I wasn't listening cause that's what she wanted, yet she still wanted to share some of whatever I was getting too."

"Unbelievable. You men never listen."

"True, but in some ways I'm even worse. Like I said, too analytical. Never any emotion to my life choices. So after I got the waiter to come back over and reordered, I broke down and told her everything. There I was, blubbering like a complete idiot at a somewhat fancy restaurant but she smiled reassuringly through the whole thing. I knew right then and there that I loved her."

Fi smiled for a moment. She thought carefully about what she was going to say next.

"Did you really kill her, man? Are the rumours true? Please don't tell me Eric was right."

The writer took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"I...I didn't mean to. We were hitting a rough patch. I was cutting her off because I was getting severely stuck on my next idea, but I wasn't seeing people or didn't want to talk about it. We decided to go on a holiday and a bought a cabin in the woods on a whim. This cabin. She started to push me a bit and was comparing me to my friends. The rare ones I had. I hated that shit. But to be fair, they were very successful friends. I started to have another freak out. She was there for me but I didn't need help this time, I just needed to calm down. In a moment of weakness, I lashed out. But I forgot how brittle she was. She took one hit and..."

The writer was blinking back tears. Fi could hear him sniffling softly in the dark room.

"I couldn't find her all night. She said she was going for a walk and stormed outside. She mustn't have been able to find her way back. It was a cold night. I found her body the next morning by the lake."

Fi gasped.

"The tabloids were having a field day. Famous writer's wife dies out in a cabin in the woods, in the middle of nowhere? No one believed that story. Everyone thought I was guilty. But when the courts ruled in my favour, I was still a man fallen from grace. I didn't come back to this place for years. The internet was ablaze with conspiracy theories. I smoked myself into a stupor and devoid of all feeling. Until-"

"Until you finally came back here, after all this time."

"Exactly. To finally write my last book. And put this grief to rest. To be with her for as long as I could. Until I'd finally done what I needed to and could go home. Or die here with her."

Fi had no idea what to say.

"Well...I guess we kind of put a spanner in the works. And those awful creatures too. Sorry about that."

"I don't blame you, Fi. I don't blame you. It's like Eric said. You were just part of the stereotype. You had no connection to him whatsoever."

At that moment, Erin's cries for help were finally cut short. Whether she just went away and would come back tomorrow or had finally breathed her last, they would never know. Fi sighed softly.

"It's Phoebe. And I forgive you."

The next day they'd finally had enough. Food was running low and their situation wasn't getting any better. They made a run for it even though it was still dark. They saw countless green eyes illuminate the forest around them and those terrible, unearthly screams followed. The writer held the letter opener and slashed at whatever he could. And Fi ran close behind him, having no weapon of her own but trusting that the masked man would keep her safe.

Finally, they reached the edge of the treeline and the lake again. The creatures behind them weren't stopping. There were maybe hundreds now. But then they saw it in the distance. Hope. A small boat with a crew investigating the shore and dawn on the horizon.

The writer grabbed Fi suddenly.

"Fi, we've run out of time. I can distract them but you need to warn those men and get on the boat with them. If we time it just right, then at least one of us can get out of this alive."

"What? No you can't! What about-"

"Here. This is all my work. I managed to finish it last night after our little chat."

He gave her an impossibly thick manuscript.

"I've made my decision. I'm going to stay here- for her. But give that to my publisher. Tell them to push for it no matter what. The truth needs to be told."

Loud hungry cries came from the trees as they realised they were almost upon them. Fi started to back away.

"But wait. You still never told me who you are."

To her surprise, the writer finally threw his mask aside and looked at her.

"Just...call me Steve. Take care Fi."

And with that he ran back into the forest and accepted his fate. Fi swallowed dryly and raced across the beach. She sounded like a madwoman but with all the commotion going on, it was hard not to believe her. Within moments, the coastguard and the girl were in the boat and racing away from the shore.

"I just don't understand one thing..." One of the coastguard said. "How the hell didn't they reach us in time?"

"A friend of mine threw his life away for us," Fi replied. "I can only hope they made it quick. He was a writer, you know?"

"Oh really? Would he have written anything I'd know?"

But before she could reply, they saw that the creatures had finally reached the shore. One of them howled angrily. And then it started swimming.

"Oh my god, they can swim," cried Fi. "How long until we get to the next town?"

"Twenty miles," The coastguard said dryly, before putting the boat into overdrive.