The Candle

The cabin in the woods has been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The flame was small, almost insignificant to the surrounding darkness, swaying back and forth in the gentle breeze of the autumn night. And yet, even from her view atop the fire tower, the iridescent flickering was enough to catch Catherine's curiosity.

The park ranger stared through her binoculars towards the old Campbell Cabin with piqued interest. During the winter months, her job was most sedentary, as most people could not abide by the colder temperatures. As such, she hadn't been expecting anyone out this way during this time of the year.

She also figured that, even if someone was crazy enough to endure the frozen weather, the dilapidated state of the cabin was enough to deter even the most desperate tourist. That is, except for the rare teenager that would venture to it. Foolish children who had made a bet to see if the rumours were true.

Though she had never set much store by the tale, Catherine knew the cabin's reputation very well. On some nights, she thought about exactly how much tourism had come through Palmer Woods because of the grizzly stories since that grim night nearly forty years ago.

It had begun like any other story: teenagers on a weekend getaway, celebrating their graduation and enjoying some alone time with their partners. Before even the first night had ended, one of them, Johnny, had started to go insane, claiming to have heard scratching on the walls and feeling the unyielding presence of something in the room. The young man searched the cabin, in vain, to find out what had been tormenting him. His friends had insisted that he was scared for nothing, feeling that he had just run afoul of a mouse or another small animal that had made its way into the house.

As the weekend had worn on, the teenagers began to discover that their friend had been right. The walls creaked for no reason, low growling echoed in their rooms, and, once or twice, they swore they saw something. moving in the dark. On their third night, one by one, the teenagers were slaughtered until only Johnny had survived. Unfortunately for him, his blood covered body had convinced the rangers, and subsequently the police, that HE had been responsible for his friends demise. Apparently, he was still alive, in some mental institution, raving about the haunted cabin that killed his friends.

The sun was already setting. Regulations were to not leave the tower unless there was an emergency. Not alone, at least.

Catherine looked at the wall clock.

Ten at night.

Her boss, who had already gone home for the season, was likely in bed at this time; she probably wouldn't appreciate coming out to inspect something as small as a candle.

Catherine sighed and leaned back in her chair, trying to read her book. Her attempt to focus on it was proving fruitless, as she found herself re-reading the same words over and over and over again, owing to her frequent glances back out the window.

She turned on the radio to listen to some music. While that helped for a bit, the irremovable static made it hard to concentrate.

She looked up at the clock again.

Barely thirty minutes had passed since she had spotted the candle. She stood up and looked out the window again.

The same sparkle of light in the dark caught her eye once again. She felt oddly drawn to it, unable to look away, as though its luminescence was beckoning her towards it.

She shook her head. It was probably just some teenagers and nothing more.

But then, a horrid thought appeared in Catherine's mind: what if it wasn't nothing? What if it was occultists who were performing sacrificial rituals? What if someone had put the candle there to prevent getting lost and they hadn't made it back to the cabin? What if that candle accidentally lit the forest on fire?

Despite the rules, Catherine knew that she couldn't just stand here, bored out of her mind, if there was some kind of catastrophe that might happen if she didn't investigate.

--

Campbell Cabin wasn't far from the tower, but Catherine could still feel the icy chill of winter beginning to set into the woods, even from beneath her thick coat. The amount of pale blue light that broke through the leafless canopy cast enough light on the ground that she felt little need to drain her flashlight's battery. The fallen leaves crunched beneath her feet as she navigated through the trees.

Though it didn't seem like pure darkness from this level, Catherine's trek towards the cabin was easier than it would have been on any other night. Mostly because she could still see the candle flame waving at her.

Shivering, she found herself stepping onto the clear patch of dirt that surrounded the cabin.

The candle stood, resolute, in the wide open window.

She stepped up to candle, determined to quell her curiosity, but trying to ensure that she did not disturb any persons within the cabin.

It was a tall and skinny candle, not know for bearing a particular scent. As she took a deep breath, though, she found herself accosted by a foul odour. Catherine recoiled and covered her nose. While she suppressed the urge to vomit, she did feel the strangest familiarity with the smell. Though putrid and beyond the realm of normal, she struggled to remember exactly what it was. But she did know it.

Her attempt to remember the scent was undone seconds later by a clattering within the cabin. In an instant, Catherine had turned on her flashlight, drawn her revolver, and pointed them both at the window.

She took several quick breaths.

Nothing.

There was no creaking of stairs. No scrambling around. No hushed voices. A light hadn't even come on in the cabin. Who, or what, was inside had not been disturbed by the noise.

Catherine sighed. She felt silly, jumping at something that was likely knocked down by the wind. Nevertheless, she didn't lower her gun.

Instead, she inched towards the front door, careful to take the lightest steps, in case what was inside was dangerous or trigger-happy. The door loomed over her in the dark, but she could still see the splintery remains of what was once an elegant and intricately carved door.

She knocked on the door. Only once, as the door creaked open with just the slightest tap. Poised and ready to defend herself, Catherine pressed the door open until she found herself standing in the cabin's doorway.

It was a few seconds before she realized that she was no longer shivering from the cold.

Catherine turned around and reached for the light switch, hoping for more light. She felt a twinge of disappointment, despite there being no surprise that the lights didn't work. The cabin had been abandoned for years, it made sense that the lights wouldn't work.

As she shined her flashlight around the room, Catherine realized that the legends surrounding the dilapidated nature of the cabin fell tragically short of the truth. The walls were covered in so much dust and cobwebs that Catherine involuntarily shuddered just due to the thought of how many spiders had likely already walked over her.

Every plank she saw was either broken or bordering on splinters, if it wasn't covered in mossy water damage or rotten to its core.

Inspecting the candle proved more curious. There were no matches, lighters, or any evidence anywhere that the candle had been lit, save for the fact that it was. Catherine figured that the perpetrator could have brought the lighter with them, but even so, there wasn't anything to indicate that someone had been standing here to do so. There weren't any footprints, boots or bare; no tracking through the dust or wet from the autumnal rainfalls. No shifting signs that indicated someone had been here. There weren't even any animal tracks.

And yet, that candle, the one that had first grabbed her attention, was still lit. Still shining brightly on the window sill. Someone had to have lit it.

As Catherine looked as the candle again, she realized something new. The candle, that had been burning for at least an hour or two, was not melting. No little beads of wax were dripping down the sides. Catherine stretched out her hand and glanced the flame.

No heat.

A slow creak echoed around the room. Catherine frantically spun around and shined her flashlight on every surface that she could, scanning for answers.

She came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Though she hadn't found any by the window, she had discovered a fresh set of footprints heading upwards.

Regaining her composure, Catherine crept over to the stairs. On the first step, the wood groaned under the simple pressing of her foot. The cabin may have been old, but if whoever had come here had gotten up these stairs, then so could she.

As she ascended, the strained sounds of the stairs emanated around Catherine. Her heart began pumping and her hands started to sweat. She noticed that there were handprints on the walls, sliding towards the bottom of the stairs. She tried to ignore it, but something nagged at her about the print. She was told that the cabin had been cleaned after the murders, so this print had to be new.

In fact, if Catherine didn't know any better, she'd have said that it was brand new.

She reached the second floor and found it just as musty and filthy as the main level was. Catherine considered this helpful as the footprints seemed to lead to a specific room, as were marks leading away from them. She pushed open the door, expecting to find someone or something.

And there was something.

On the bed in the master bedroom was a small backpack, barely enough to carry a water bottle and a change of clothes. Catherine lowered her gun and shined the light on the bag.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she inspected the bag. Though she admitted that she found it odd that no one was stopping her, she reached in and pulled out the contents. In addition to clothes and the water bottle, the bag also contained few interesting items.

The first was a map of Palmer Woods, with a red circle marking the location of the cabin. Written beside the circle was a list of directions that the traveller had, no doubt, transcribed from an internet search of the area.

The second object was a bottle of prescription pills, barely taken past the label. As she read the label, she learned the name of the person who had travelled here: Johnathan Englund.

The last object was the man's wallet. She opened it and found his ID, which looked shiny and new, as though he'd only gotten it recently. The picture showed an older man, skinny and shabby, as though he'd lived a life away from everything and everyone. Checking his birthday, she realized that Johnathan was fifty-nine years old.

She let out a small chuckle. He was old enough to be Johnny from the old ghost story.

WHOOSH.

Catherine whipped around as the very air seemed to zip by her. She shined a light on the doorway.

There was nothing there.

But there had to be. Something had just rushed past her.

CLINK.

She whipped around again, only to find herself aiming at the broken window. The curtains were flapping in the wind, straining on the rings that held it to the curtain rod.

Catherine clenched her chest and giggled. After shaking her head, she left the room and headed back down the stairs.

Though the steps creaked as she sauntered down them, her fleeting feeling of adrenaline softened her descent.

She had been silly. Of course the man who came here couldn't be the Johnny from the legend, because it was just that: a legend. If he had killed his friends, he'd have been locked up and would never be allowed parole. If he was truly insane, no doctor would let him out. The man who was here was likely just going on a trip away from his family, or was meeting someone here, or had travelled too far and gotten lost before needing a roof over his head. His name was merely a coincidence and there was nothing odd about the situation.

Catherine even chuckled as she glanced at the candle. The reason she'd been so curious.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs and her face contorted into one of confusion.

The front door was closed.

She didn't remember closing the door, nor did she remember hearing a loud banging from the wind slamming it shut.

CREAK.

Catherine grabbed her gun and spun around. Once again, she was aiming at nothing frightening or even that interesting.

Merely a door underneath the staircase that had swung open.

While she tried to get her heart rate to slow down again, Catherine thought back to her previous theory of how tourists probably came to Palmer Woods to be spooked by this cabin. She had to admit that this place was perfect for such an attraction.

Despite every voice in her head screaming otherwise, she found herself impelled to investigate this mystery to its final conclusion. If Johnathan was just some traveler, then she could help him get back home. The tower, at least, would be warmer than this place.

She walked over to the door and looked down into the basement. The dirt floor was not encouraging, but Catherine figured it was just how foundations were built back in the day.

The stairs leading down to the basement were even worse than those leading upstairs. There was less effort put into building them, and less care had been taken of them. She walked down them, careful to avoid any breaking.

The basement was even darker and dirtier than the upper levels. There weren't any separate rooms down here, just some shelves that likely helped hold the floor up. Some old knick knacks, bottles, and books covered the shelves, each beneath a thick layer of dust and embroidered with cobwebs.

As she navigated through the maze-like structure of the shelves, a putrid smell began to emerge: the same one that she had smelled earlier from the candle. Catherine coughed and put her jacket over her nose, still searching around for Johnathan.

The reflected light from her flashlight grew more powerful as she walked closer and closer to the walls. Strangely, Catherine noted, the light was not reflecting the white of her LED powered flashlight. Rather, it had started reflecting a pinkish colour, which had rapidly transformed into red.

Catherine quickly learned why and suddenly remember the familiar smell the candle had emitted. She fell to the ground, screaming, trying to back away from the human corpse of Johnathan Englund in front of her, bloodied, scarred, flesh rent from his very bones,

She had smelled road kill and the decaying bodies of forest animals before, but it was never anything that one could ever get used to. And seeing the corpse was more horrifying and disgusting than she could bear.

Catherine heard a low growl echo throughout the basement. A snarl from something in the darkness that scared her beyond all sense and reason. She covered her mouth and let out a tiny whimper.

Something had dragged Johnathan down here.

And that something was after her too.

She scanned frantically for the source, but couldn't find it. She tried to control her breathing, but it seemed to betray her. Slowly, she gripped the ground and hoisted herself to her feet. her revolver held tightly in her hand. She made her way through the shelving maze and back to the steps.

She heard another snarl, followed by an unfamiliar squelching that she could only guess was the creature eating more of Johnathan.

She placed her foot on the bottom step.

CREAK.

Catherine froze as the slow, loud, and damning creak echoed through the basement.

For what felt like an eternity, there was a dreaded silence as she worried about whether the creature had heard her.

But all too soon, a loud screech answered back.

Shelves began knocking down towards Catherine.

She leapt into action, racing up the stairs, the creaks drowned out by the banging of the shelves.

On the step third from the top, Catherine's foot plunged through the wood. Her forward momentum allowed her to get through the basement door to the main level, but her fall had smashed her shins into the steps and cut her badly. The impact of her hitting the floor caused her to drop her gun and flashlight.

The creature screeched again, incensed by the scent of fresh blood.

Seeing only what little she could by the fallen flashlight and no longer protected, Catherine scrambled to her feet and limped towards the door.

It was locked.

Catherine pulled on the door, desperately trying to open it, hoping that the ancient lock would break under the duress.

The creature screeched again.

She tried to slam on the door, expecting the rotten wood to buckle. But it wouldn't budge. Her damaged legs had taken away any strength she had to anchor herself.

Catherine heard a low growl emanate from behind her. She stopped struggling with the door knob and turned around to face the monster.

An instant was all that she had to absorb the minutia of her final seconds. A horrible face, ghastly and monstrous, bared it's fangs as it's orange façade flickered in and out of existence. It lunged at her, it's ghostly teeth enveloping her face.

Her piercing scream erupted in the darkness, smothered by the surrounding forest.

The cabin in the woods has been abandoned for years, but one night, two candles burned in the window.