The Easier Path

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. David was glad of it; to him it was a guiding beacon signalling the shore. The last thing he wanted was to end, an already difficult day, being rescued by the coast guard!

It was foolish of him to go out fishing so late! David’s father had told him as much; his mother had merely pursed her lips, then busied herself making him sandwiches. Both parent’s actions were part of his need to get away. That afternoon, he’d returned from university for the summer break and found his home stifling. The custodians of the home comforts he’d yearned for, in the build up to his return, clashed with his evolving sense of independence, and his frustration at the way his life was unfolding.

David was in the second year of studying Architecture. Prior to University he’d been a straight ‘A’ student. Now his grades were, at best, mediocre. It was not for the want of trying. He worked all the hours available to him: He’d stopped socialising, stopped exercising, started eating fast-food and cut down on sleep; all to create time to improve his grades. But his Tutors always wanted more; “Have you considered this, have you thought about that, you need to demonstrate this, you need to justify that…” David had done all they’d asked, and more, but for no reward. His Tutors were resolutely unimpressed, and his grades remained stubbornly low.

So, David arrived home, burdened with little to celebrate: He was fatigued & overweight; feeling bitter, unappreciated, dis-illusioned, but most of all, angry! He was considering giving up on Architecture. The work was enjoyable, but there was too much of it. David didn’t want his life to be consumed by it. It was, after all, just a job! Stubbornness kept him going after his first year. Now the effort involved, to achieve mediocrity, didn’t feel worth the cost.

Arriving home, the effusive coddling of his mother did little to offset the disappointment, David imagined he could see, in his father’s eyes. Recognising his tiredness was affecting his judgement, and aware his anger should not be miss placed, he decided to go fishing. He reasoned that time alone to reflect and think, would help him to articulate his desired, but as-yet unfocussed, change of life direction.

It was early evening when he set out; his elevated choler gifted him a brisk walking pace. In no time at all he’d travelled the woodland path to the small cove where they kept their skiff; checked the boat, stowed his gear, fired the outboard motor and, with a rhythmic ‘putting’ sound, set sail. He didn’t travel far; knowing that mid-summer shoals of fattened mackerel would be being chased to the foreshore by larger predators.

As he cast off a trawler chugged nearby: The fisherman on deck called out, “Good fishing today!” David waved an acknowledgement but had to quickly grab his rod. No sooner was his lure in the water and hungry mouths beneath the waves snatched at the bait.

Striking his rod was the last thing David remembered until he was woken, a few minutes earlier, by increasingly vigorous waves rocking the boat. He didn’t remember reeling in and landing the fish that now lay in the bottom of his bucket.

“Tiredness must have gotten the better of me.” He thought as he pulled on the oars again.

When he first woke it took a few moments for realisation, and then panic, to overcome his grogginess and propel him to action. First, he’d scrambled aft. After failing to rouse the outboard motor, he moved back to the centre thwart. Setting the oars to the rowlocks, he angled the prow obliquely toward the waves. Having managed the immediate risk of capsizing, David set his mind to the next problem - Navigation.

Night had fallen, and heavy cloud cover had rendered the sky featureless.

A quick look around with his hand torch revealed nothing, endless darkness in every direction. Switching off the light he concentrated hard, scouring the horizon for a landmark to guide him. Nothing. He looked again, and again. He’d almost given up when the smallest flicker of light caught the corner of his eye. A small but distinct ember burning in the dark.

Uncertain of the distance, and lacking confidence in his fitness, David considered trying the outboard motor again. Nervous about losing sight of the tiny spec of light, he decided to press on with the oars. He could always try again when he was closer.

Thankfully, the current was favourable, and after a few minutes of rowing the details around the small light began to resolve into recognisable features. With renewed vigour, and despite the burning ache building in his muscles, David pressed on.

Relaxing somewhat, now that the sense of danger was diminishing, he began to ponder the situation. Rather than being a distant light, David realised he was following a small light nearby. A candle in a window.

“Someone must be in the abandoned cabin in the woods,” he thought, wondering who it could be?

The cabin was a wreck, and difficult to get to: Vacated years ago, as coastal erosion worried at its foundations.

“Perhaps it’s a hiker or someone wild camping?”

Whoever they were, they would be unaware of the important role their little candle had played in guiding him home. He resolved to gift them his catch, in thanks, when he was safely ashore.

As the distance to the shore diminished, fatigue started to bite hard at his muscles; it felt like an eternity of agonised effort was required to close the remaining gap. It was a huge relief when David felt the bottom of the skiff drag, then bite, into the pebble beach.

Jumping out, on jellied legs, he tumbled through the tide line. With a last effort, he dragged the boat ashore. Breathing heavily, he fell, and lay still for a moment; relishing the hot burn from his exertions, and the cool water that lapped soothingly over his legs. Sitting up, David decided that he really needed to get back in the gym! Conscious of the time, he forced himself into motion.

Removing his rod, tackle and catch; he flipped and secured the boat. After using his torch to conduct a final check, he glanced up toward the cabin. Seeing the candle was still lit, he worked his way across the beach toward the slipway. The going was difficult, both hands were occupied carrying his tackle and catch. The crunching pebbles shifted treacherously underfoot; twisting at his ankles, upsetting his balance, and threatening to tumble his tired body to the ground.

Mercifully, the slipway was relatively near, and he covered the distance without incident. With firmer timber planks underfoot, he quickly made his way to the edge of the woods. Setting his burden on the ground, David used his torch to look for a path up to the cabin.

His heart sank.

Increasingly high tides had eroded the pathway till little remained. The remnants were an uneven medley of loose rocks and silty soil. Even more troubling, exposed tree roots webbed over and snaked around the crumbling remains, threatening to snag a misplaced foot.

In daylight, unincumbered, with fresh legs and both hands free, the path would present a challenge. Tired, in darkness, carrying a bucket of fish with only a small hand torch to light his way: continuing would be another exercise in foolishness.

A flicker in the meagre light from the cabin caught David’s attention. Squinting, he could see the shadowy outline of someone standing near the window.

“Hello there!” He called up excitedly, waving his torch toward the cabin.

The spectre behind the glass slowly cocked its head to one side and slid closer to the window.

Eagerly waving his torch, to be sure he’d caught its attention, David picked up his bucket and stepped off the boardwalk toward the cabin. He stepped cautiously on the uncertain ground. Regardless, his feet were continually snared by the exposed roots. He staggered on until, inevitably, he stumbled painfully down onto his knees.

Looking up irritably, he paused. He’d expected the occupant to come outside and acknowledge him. Perhaps point out a safer path or discourage him from carrying on. But the figure remained inside, motionless, staring expectantly out through the murky glass.

For a moment David simply stared back, an icy knot forming in his stomach. His trepidation was instinctual, primal. An inexplicable sense of wrongness. Framed in the window, the spectre faced the candle and yet remained a featureless shade. The shape of its torso was clearly defined, but the candles light was swallowed by the form. Its illumination highlighted neither chin, nose nor brow.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Dramatic!” David muttered nervously to himself.

Shaking his head, he glanced back toward the boardwalk; the easier, safer, path that would take him home.

He returned his thoughts to the cabin; the spectre moved forward again, looming large behind the glass. The candle finally found a feature in the shade, lighting up its eyes like two hot coals. Raising its hand to the glass it slowly beckoned David onward.

The haunting motion made up his mind. With a shudder, he held his torch in his mouth to free up a hand, then pushed himself onto his feet.

“I’ll come back in the morning.” He called up to the spectre behind the glass.

As he turned and struggled back to the boardwalk, he reasoned there must be an easier path. He just couldn’t find it in the dark. Similarly, the spectre behind the glass would likely be less creepy in the light of day. It was also late for a fish supper, and far too much effort for the small reward of a thank you. He had tried, and that’s all anyone could expect.

Stepping back onto the boardwalk, David looked back and noticed the candle had been snuffed out. With a bemused snort, he picked up his rod and tackle and headed up the boardwalk to the woodland path. With each step his anxiety ebbed away. Smirking, he realised he’d achieved what he needed to. He knew how to explain his predicament to his parents, saying out loud to the night sky:

“The path ahead of me is difficult and covered with pitfalls. I’ve tried walking it, but the effort is not worth the reward. I need to find a different path; one that’s more suited to me.”

As if in answer, a bolt of lightning lit up the night sky, followed by a long peal of thunder.

Not wishing to add shivering and soaked, to the aches and bruises he’d collected on his trip, he lengthened his stride. He arrived home quickly, and ahead of the storm. The house was asleep, but the kitchen light had been left on.

David first stowed his gear and cleaned the fish in the garage, before cleaning himself up in the kitchen sink. Wrapped in a towel, and quiet as a mouse, he crept upstairs to his room. He couldn’t help feeling mischievous, like when he was younger, sneaking in after a late night out with his friends: Deftly avoiding the tell-tale creaks and squeaks in the house that would give away his misdemeanour.

Soon enough, he was dressed for bed; settled on nice plump pillows, in fresh crisp sheets.

Exhausted, David heard the first pattering of rain dancing on the roof, before falling into a deep sleep.

.

.

.

“Beep… beep… beep…”

“Urgh!” David groaned to himself as daylight tugged at his eyelids, rousing him from sleep. His mother must have set an alarm for him.

“Beep… beep… beep…”

He screwed his eyes tightly closed and sighed to himself, resisting the inevitable. He’d always marvelled at his mother’s ability to think of absolutely everything he might need. It was equally endearing and annoying. This morning, when all he wanted to do was sleep, it was very much the latter.

“Beep… beep… beep…”

Feeling groggy, he raised his eyebrows to help tease open his gummed-up eyelids. Cracking one open, then the other, he squinted and struggled to focus on the bright room around him. With a start, he realised someone was in the room with him! Sitting near the bottom of the bed.

“Beep… beep… beep…”

David tried to sit up, hissing, as pains knifed across his back & chest. He lay back down. Flustered he looked to the left and right, trying to find the annoying alarm to knock it off. Noticing movement in the corner of his eye, he turned. His father stood, ashen faced, beside him.

“Well done my boy!” His father exclaimed, leaning in and planting three firm kisses on his forehead.

“Well done.” He repeated, voice cracking with emotion.

As he pulled away a salty tear dropped from his glasses and landed on David’s cheek.

“Dad?” David croaked, through a parched mouth and dry lips.

His Father smiled through pursed lips, chin wobbling with emotion. Lifting his glasses, he thumbed tears from his eyes before saying:

“I better go get your mother. She went for tea. She’d want to be here.”

As his father exited, David took in his surroundings. He was in a hospital room, a drip attached to his arm, the annoying beep was his heart monitor. Confused, he thought: “Something must have happened while I slept.”

He began replaying the evenings events in his mind when his mother burst into the room. A torrent of tears and kisses ensued. Followed by a card show and roll call of all the well-wishers who’d visited – including any associated gossip for each. When the emotional outpouring was over, and his parents had settled back into their seats, an awkward silence opened-up between them.

As David summoned the courage to ask; what had happened? A thought suddenly occurred to him; he blurted out:

“Oh no! How long have I been here? The fish in the garage. I was going to take my catch to the person in the cabin.”

His parents exchanged a confused look.

“So far, you’ve been here for two days chick.” His mother responded before asking; “But what do you mean about your fish?”

So, David told them the full story; how he fell asleep in the boat, followed the candle to shore in the dark, wanted to give the person in the cabin his fish, but couldn’t reach it, and so came home intending to go back the following day. He concluded:

“I cleaned my cuts! But I assume something must have gotten infected and landed me here?”

Another long awkward silence followed.

Then, teary eyed, his mother cleared her throat, took his hand, explaining:

“Chick, you didn’t come home that night. The nice fisherman…”

“Roger.” His father interjected.

“Yes, Roger. He saw you collapse in your boat. They rescued you and brought you ashore. They were doing CPR on you.”

“They called the air ambulance!” His father added.

“Yes.” His mother agreed with one of her irritated sideway glances at his father, warning him to stop interrupting.

With a deep breath she went on: “When the ambulance men arrived chick, well, your heart had stopped. Clinically dead they said. They had to use those paddle things to shock you.”

At this David unconsciously clutched at his chest.

“It worked, and I have my baby back.” His mother concluded, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand.

For a long moment they sat quietly before David whispered:

“The spectre behind the glass.”

“Best not to dwell on it, chick.” His mother responded, patting his hand. “I’m just glad you chose the easier path and came home.”