The Drifter

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was the kind of candle that burned slowly and would last through the night. It only provided enough light to warn others that this cabin was occupied. No one would be able to see much of anything in the soft glow, but the drifter had learned how to set up his makeshift camp in the dark. After years of traveling around the world, he’d become very comfortable with being on the go, never unpacking more than he needed. He didn’t stay in any one place for too long. That wasn’t his way. He’d be gone before the candle burned out. At least that was the plan.

He set up in the corner farthest from the window, in the area that would be considered the bedroom. The entire structure was only a single room, but someone had put up a divider that sectioned off a corner to the right of the door. The thin wall didn’t reach the ceiling, but it was a little privacy at least, not that the drifter anticipated anyone coming around. By the looks of it, not even any drifters had passed through recently. He considered himself lucky to have found it. He nestled up to his backpack and thought about possibly staying a few days in the little space. He could probably build a nice firepit in the back, and maybe even catch a few fish in the river to roast over an open flame. That would make for a much better dinner than his usual berries and jerky, though a fire might attract other drifters.

Some drifters like to travel together, sharing food and swapping stories, but the gruff man was a fair bit older than most of the other drifters he’d encountered, and mostly kept to himself. Occasionally he’d come across someone with a small camp and stay for the offered meal. He’d always try and offer something in return, some jerky or maybe some spare change. Some took him up on his offer while others declined, offering second helpings instead: a show of respect among all drifters. He couldn’t quite remember the first time it happened to him, but it was a mark of the lifetime drifter. In their culture, drifters came in several different types. You had some that were drifting in their gap year. Others were in between places. Liminal drifters, they were called. The wise drifter had met many. None would be so far away from civilization as to visit this cabin anytime soon. He was a lifetime drifter. A wayward soul that chooses the path precisely because there is no path. A special breed of a human that turns away from the stability of a single home, forever in search of a different kind of home. Finding comfort in the unknown, the wise traveler pulled his cloak tight and succumbed to the weight of his eyelids.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Bolting upright, the drifter held his breath and listened. He was unsure if he actually heard the knocking on the door or if he was just beginning to dream. With his muscles tensed, he places his hand on his bag, a protective instinct to secure his belongings. He’s got a knife, but he’s known for years that he’d never actually hurt anyone with it. It’s more to scare away the people that might hurt him. He lets out a slow breath, quieter than the wind that had picked up considerably since he arrived. After a few minutes, he relaxes a bit and reclines back onto his backpack. He’s almost convinced that it was his imagination taking over when it comes again suddenly.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

With a start, he silently leaps to his feet. His bag is already on his shoulders and he’s contemplating the quickest exit. The window doesn’t open so the door is the only option, right past whoever is knocking. He does a quick mental risk assessment and decides the best path is to open the door and investigate the knocking. His mind conjured an image of another drifter, probably a newbie that wandered farther than they intended and are in desperate need of help. He opens the door and balks. There’s no one there. He leans cautiously out the door and peers into the night. The moon is full and bright, illuminating the thick woods that surrounded the cabin.

“I know you’re there”, the old man said in a forceful, but polite tone. No response. “I mean you no harm, so you might as well come inside and get a hot meal.” No reply was heard and the old man grew a bit impatient. “Come now, I don’t have all night.” He turned his ears toward the direction of the most likely hiding spot. It was then that he realized he heard nothing at all. In his flurry of anxiety, he’d failed to notice that the wind had completely stopped. No creatures rustled in the bushes and even the birds had retired for the night. The only sound he could hear was his strong heart, beating like a drum through the dead of the night. It thumped so loudly that he thought it was footsteps at first. “Suit yourself”, he muttered and closed the door with a loud creak.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The thunderous knocking was louder now and shook the door right in front of his eyes. His hand hadn’t even left the small wrought-iron handle. Whatever was on the other side of the door, it felt powerful and strong enough to pound on a thick wooden door and shake the whole cottage at once. A lump of pure fear caught in the man’s throat and he had to swallow hard to force it back down. “Stop knocking and go away! You had your chance!”

BOOM! BOOM!

The door crashed open with a final assualt, knocking the man back. He stumbled and landed hard on his backpack. The wind rushed in and snuffed out the candle in an instant. The man saw nothing in the moonlight that illuminated the doorway, but he had the eerie sense that something was there. He exhaled and his breath condensed in the air before his eyes. It was peak summer, but the blast of cold wind whipped the misty breath around the cabin. A shiver ran down his spine and he had the urge to sprint out of the cabin and never look back, but his legs seemed frozen in place, atrophied from the sudden shock of being so useless during the fall.

Just as quickly, the door swung back and slammed shut with a loud bang. Willing his legs to come to life, he sprung for the handle, but it was too late. Despite having no visible lock, the door would not budge. He tugged and pulled and even put his foot on the wall to give him leverage. Years of drifting had made him strong, but no matter how much effort he put into pulling the door open, it seemed to redouble its own efforts to resist. Finally, he stopped struggling and stood still. Pulling in ragged breaths, he closed his eyes and listened. Something was definitely in the room with him. The moonlight shone through the window where a wisp of smoke from the candle was still lingering. It curled around itself and wafted through the moonbeams, giving the entire room an ethereal feeling.

A loose strap from the weathered backpack rustled next to his torso, causing the hairs on his neck to stand straight. The air itself felt charged with a tension that would make even the gruffest of drifters lose their resolve. He turned slowly, careful not to look toward the moonlight cascading in through the window. He knew there would be nothing in the light anyway and he needed his eyes to adjust as quickly as possible. He thought he heard a rustling in the corner just on the other side of the window. He peered past the dust that had been stirred up by the wind and tried to see anything in the blackness of the corner beyond. A hint of a shape was definitely there. It seemed to be the shape of a small person, perhaps a child. They were crouched in the corner as best he could tell, but other than that, he could make out no discernible features. The shadowy figure seemed to lack all characteristics other than darkness. No eyes that could see or ears that could hear. A rough shape of a human, but devoid of any real human characteristics beyond its outline.

With surprising deftness, the outline stood up. It seemed to grow and expand into an adult shape as it did. It was the same height as the man, and roughly the same body type, except for a large hump protruding from its back. The man winced as the creature moved, thinking the entire shape seemed grotesque for some reason. The edges of the darkness seemed to ripple as if the entire thing were made up of several individual parts, shifting and reforming the shape in real time. It seemed to be trying to imitate the drifter’s posture, recalibrating at the tiniest movements it could detect. When the drifter’s broad chest expanded to take in a breath, the darkness copied the movement. They stood facing each other, chests expanding and contracting for several minutes. The drifter subtly noticed that it was only his foggy breath that was filling up the room. He reached behind him to try the door again. When he found it still sealed shut, he figured he better try communication.

“If it’s you that’s controlling the door, please know that I mean you no harm. If you unlock the door, I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.” His eyes were adjusted now and he could see that the creature’s arm was behind its back. The drifter wondered if the creature was hiding a weapon. A blade perhaps. The slight pause of silence was broken by a low gurgle. It was coming from where a mouth should have been, but the man could only see small movements around the bottom of the head. The gurgling continued for a moment before the silence returned. The drifter glanced around the room, checking to be sure that the only other escape was the window. The same window that was only a few feet in front of the creature. He didn’t even know how he was going to get through it. He contemplated running at full speed and diving through it, but he quickly dismissed the thought because it might spook the creature. A drifter at heart, the weary traveler leaned toward escape over confrontation. If he could just get the door open, he would make a break for the woods and disappear into the night. He moved a little away from the door, hoping the creature would use the opportunity to leave himself. It was clearly just as startled as the drifter, breathing heavily. The old man had been too distracted to notice the creature was no longer mimicking his chest heaves, but doing them all on its own. Perhaps a bit too quick, as if it was struggling to find a steady rhythm, but independent from the old man’s own ragged breath. The man moved along the wall until he came to the divider. Using his hands as a guide, he edged slowly toward the length of the three-quarter wall until his fingers found the end. The creature made a jerky motion and the traveler could see the shape of a leg trying to extend. Now that he wasn’t looking through the light, the drifter could see the mass more clearly. It looked like a swarm of bees under an inky black cover, writhing and shifting to create the movement of a limb. A small, shaky step to start and then the creature moved just like the traveler, mirroring the movements in a quick succession. The old man stiffened and his eyes widened. At the same time, the head-like shape of the creature sharpened its edges. The thousands of tiny moving bumps solidified into a face with distinct features. Very distinct in fact. Though it was still completely dark black, the old man recognized his own wrinkles on the freshly formed face. The eyes were open wide and the old man found himself staring at a carbon copy of his own visage, though the inky black material that made up the skin made the creature look particularly menacing.

The old man blinked a few times, not entirely sure what he had just witnessed. The answering blinks of the copied eyes made it more clear. The creature wasn’t just copying the movements of his side steps. It was copying his entire body. Everything about him it seemed. Even the lump on his back seemed to be in the shape of the nomad’s backpack. Lifting his hand as a test, the old man shuddered when the creature made the same motion, twirling the creepy black fingers that extended toward the man’s own hand. The man drew his hand back quickly in surprise. Despite his curiosity, the man had a knot in his stomach. The chilly air reminded him that this was not a creature that seemed friendly, and while it may be entertaining watching it try to copy the motions, the old man knew he didn’t want to continue anymore with this puppet show.

“Alright, I’m going to leave now. Through the door if you’ll let me.” He paused for a moment, but continued when the creature gave no response. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t hesitate to force my way out unless you step aside.” He tried to sound as threatening as he could manage, while still remaining calm.

“If you’ll — gurgle— let me” the creature spoke. It was garbled and sounded as if the creature had a sock in its mouth, but there was no mistaking the sound of the drifter’s own voice coming from the rippling imitation of a throat. As it sputtered out the words, the throat and the rest of the body solidified like the face had. Then, a ripple of color flashed across the body. The entire black mass lightened to a translucent mist, allowing the old man to momentarily see through the creature to the wall behind. Another ripple of color reminded the traveler of those sea creatures that use camouflage to blend into their surroundings. Muted tones flashed across the skin. The creature seemed to be testing out a color scheme, showing off a dark skin tone and then quickly flashing through lighter ones before coming back to the first one, a perfect match to the leathery skin that would normally only come from years of being exposed to the elements.

The moonlight seemed to brighten the room as the man decided to try his luck. He had become increasingly aware that the creature was moving slowly toward the door and if he leaped toward the window, he thought he might be able to push out the frame and tumble through it before the creature would be able to reach him. He risked a glance to the ground to be sure no obstacles would get in his way. The sight of his own feet caused him to do a double take. Looking quickly back at the creature, he checked again to be sure. His boots, normally a light tan with only about a year’s worth of wear and tear, were solid black. He blinked a few times, certain that he was hallucinating. Lifting his head slowly toward the creature, he saw the tan boots on the floor in front of him. The creature's legs were sticking out of them. The legs were still a dark gray, but quickly turned the same color of olive green as the drifter’s threadbare trousers. The man was too astonished to do anything but hold his breath in anticipation. Afraid to move or speak, he watched as the creature took on every aspect of the traveler’s countenance. As the color appeared on the creature, it was simultaneously drained from the old man, who was rapidly becoming an ink-black, vaguely human shape.

“I mean you no harm”, the creature said, mimicking the voice of the old man with astonishing perfection. The corners of the creature’s new mouth pulled up into a smug grin and he cocked his head to one side.

“Wait, I —”, the drifter started, but his voice was cut off and transformed into a gurgle. His stubble-covered neck was darkening, being drained of all color and inhibiting him from speaking at all.

Losing his voice was the last straw for the panic-stricken old man. He lunged forward, noticing his outstretched hands were solid black and beginning to ripple. The window might as well have been a wall of cinder blocks. His once-strong, sinewy arms were merely black tubes of rippling void. They collapsed into the glass at the slightest pressure and then reshaped as he pulled back. Struggling to stay calm, he tried to take a deep breath. The air tasted stale and didn’t seem to sate his need for oxygen. Drowning in the blackness, he turned to the creature to plead for mercy. An exact likeness of the aged drifter stood where the creature had once been.

A dark shadow was all that remained of the old drifter as the creature moved to the door. He pulled it open with ease and stopped to glance back at the shadowy remains that lingered in the shadows of the corner. A strong gust of wind blew in through the door, and the smokey black outline was broken into several tendrils and dispersed into the cabin rafters, disappearing completely as the door shut behind a quiet drifter, who quickly moved into the familiar darkness of the surrounding woods.