The Fire Within

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The candle did not cast a warm inviting glow. Something about it was wrong. It was pale, sickly, yet vibrated with a white hot rage though there was no wind. It peered out of the cabin window like a ghostly roving eye. It had been lit by one who had endured and burned silently over 100 years ago.

In the late 1800's the American West was the place for fortune seekers. Though the land in Southwestern Colorado had been sacred to the Ute people- gold, unfortunately, became more sacred still to well-armed settlers who had the U.S. Army at their back. Charles Baker was one such man. He cashed in all of his family money in the East and moved West bringing his wife Clara, and daughter Agnes with him to build a reputable inn in an up-and-coming mining town. Agnes Baker was the apple of her father's eye. She had long raven locks and eyes like cinnamon. Her father doted on her. He allowed her to wander into the fragrant ponderosa pine forests near their home, sit astride a horse like a man to ride the wind, and he taught her to read. She was a voracious reader, and was taken with flights of fancy often. When not in the woods, her nose was in a book. Her mother protested that those things were not suitable for young ladies to do. However, Charles would chuckle with a proud gleam in his eye and say there was no stopping Agnes. All who met Agnes agreed that she was sharp as a tack, had a clear eye about her, marched to her own drum, and that she was going to make an interesting match one day.

One day came when Agnes was 18 years of age. A man named Edgar Graham came to the now bustling Colorado town to make a name for himself mining. He had a little money to his name, and was convinced he would make more. He was walking down main street on his way to find lodging, when Agnes came galloping out of the nearby woods on her dapple grey gelding- twigs and green ribbons in her hair. A ribbon came loose and weaved through the air like a sinuous snake to land at Edgar's feet. He had never seen such a woman, and knew then that he must possess her. He plucked the ribbon from the ground and shouted to get her to stop. She had slowed to a trot once on main street, and wheeled about to see who had shouted after her. She was faced with a very attractive bear of a man. It was clear he was at least a foot taller than her. He was a little grizzled on his angular cleft chin, with wavy brown hair, and eyes the green of the deepest parts of the forest where hardly any light gets in. He locked eyes with her, held up her ribbon, and smiled with the most beguiling dimples. It was as if she had fallen off of her horse into a deep emerald pool, the water closing around her so she could barely breathe. Who was THIS?

A few weeks later, the town was aflutter with the news that Agnes Baker had met her match in the tall, dark, and handsome Edgar Graham. He was charismatic and could charm even the most ill-tempered person. He was friendly to everyone and helped her father around the inn often. Agnes fell head over heels. He proposed before a month had passed.

As soon as they were married, Edgar heard about opportunities to find silver and gold to the North of the town Agnes had so happily lived with her father and mother. He whisked her away from the bustling town, her friends, and her family into a remote section of the pine forest along the river at least 60 miles away from anything she knew- which came to include him.

Once they were alone, the change was almost instantaneous. When he would leave to go to work, Agnes was to tend their one room cabin, feed the chickens, and make sure when he got home at night she had a candle lit in the window so he could find his way, had a warm bath ready, and there was a hot meal waiting for him. She was not to ride through the woods, read too much, or stray too far. She was NEVER to go into town- this town had a reputation for ladies of the night and he would not have her exposed to such things. He became much sterner- gone was the smiling charisma that had drawn her in.

Agnes was opinionated and fiery, not one to take this treatment lying down, she took her horse out regardless of the attempts he made to rein her in. One day, her horse was gone. Edgar told her he had had to sell it to get some mining equipment. Agnes was livid. The following day, Edgar arrived home to no dinner, no bath, and his wife reading a book by the fire. She did not remember being struck, but suddenly she was on the floor her cheek stinging and her head spinning watching her husband throw her beloved books on the fire.

Edgar failed to fathom why Agnes would want a life, or any activities, outside of pleasing him. She was his wife after all. She was supposed to submit. She belonged to him.

Agnes was in shock. Never had she been treated this way. She became fearful. Her spark diminished: the very thing that had drawn Edgar to her to begin with. She had no family or friends nearby, no books to hone her wit, and town was many miles away. All she had was day after monotonous day of grueling work. Her isolation was complete. Her sole purpose became serving Edgar and propagating his line.

The promise of a child stoked Edgar's vanity with thoughts of immortality. Agnes became pregnant once, but her chores were so demanding and her spirit so broken that she lost it. When Edgar found out, he held her and cried with her. Their baby was buried out in front of their cabin with a beautifully carved piece of granite. The second time she lost a baby, Edgar glared at her, then stormed out of the cabin. She could hear him raging as he chopped firewood while she trembled in the cabin filled with fear and sadness. She gingerly buried that baby on her own and made a makeshift cross out of sticks.

Edgar became even colder towards her. He started telling townsfolk- who had never seen Agnes- that he had a sickly wife at home. He also started staying out later and later. Woe to her if there was not a candle burning in the window and a hot meal when he arrived home at night- no matter the hour. It wasn't just her body that hurt, but her entire being. She was constantly vigilant worried that she might say or do something wrong. Her hair hung lank by hollowed cheeks, she started getting premature streaks of white through her once rich black hair. Her eyes that formerly sparkled with promise and excitement for what the world might hold- were sunken, dull, listless, and lifeless. She spent her days fretting about what Edgar might do when he got home, but she knew she could not make the long journey to town unarmed with no horse.

When she became pregnant the third time, Edgar started treating her a little more sweetly. He did some of the chores and did not stay out as late at night. Agnes had trouble keeping up with his mood swings, but tried to enjoy this reformed Edgar while it lasted. He was excited to touch her belly as it swelled, and was attentive in a kind and gentle way towards her.

It was fall of the year 1882, after 8 years of brutal marriage, and 8 months pregnant with their 3rd child that Agnes started feeling pains. Edgar was away in town when the baby was stillborn. Agnes buried the little boy in an unmarked grave by his two siblings, then cried herself to sleep in the cabin.

When Edgar came home that night, there was no candle in the window, and no smell of a hot meal wafting through the breeze. The cabin was completely dark and silent. He burst through the door, startling the grieving Agnes awake with the commotion. When he saw what could have only been the result of birth with no baby as an outcome, he rounded on Agnes.

Poor Edgar Graham the townsfolk said. His sickly wife had just disappeared. Edgar claimed that sometimes she suffered from melancholy and would wander the woods. He got a bunch of people together to search the woods near his house but to no avail. She was just gone. Her parents were devastated. They did not even have a body to bury to commemorate their little girl and put her to rest.

Edgar did not mourn for long, however. There was a pretty, red haired, curvy farmer's daughter he had come across in town on the nights he stayed late. He turned his dimples and charisma up full blast when they were together. It was not long before he got to bring his new bride home.

He set up candles all around for their wedding night. They were going to return to town in the morning for a celebration breakfast after consummating their union. The two had barely gotten into bed when there was a loud reverberating bang that sounded as if it had come from beneath the floorboards. Edgar and his new bride froze as still as the dark mountains that surrounded the cabin. He called out to ask who was there. Suddenly, all of the candles went out as a ragged gasping noise filled the cabin and the room was enveloped in a blackness darker than the deepest cave. The bang came again, this time followed by a splintering noise. A low almost feline growl permeated the air and then a scratching sound could be heard. Edgar stared fixedly at the spot he thought the sounds must be coming from desperately trying to penetrate the darkness. It could not be, but it was coming from the area where he had concealed Agnes' broken body. His eyes strained for but a minute because two pinpricks of light rose up appearing about a foot from the floor at the exact area Agnes was hidden. It was as if all of the light from the candles in the cabin had gone to fill the two blazing spheres that had appeared mere feet away from the newlyweds. The scratching started again, and the spheres haltingly moved closer. This time it was Edgar's turn to tremble. His new bride screamed an inquiry at him, asking him what was happening, but he could not speak. The flaming circles disappeared for a moment as they had reached the baseboard of the bed. Maybe they were gone? Maybe it was all in their imaginations after having a little celebratory moonshine? Edgar felt a vibration as something climbed up the end of the bed. By the light of the fiery globes that burned into him like a branding iron as they rose above the baseboard, he could see abnormally long white grasping fingers like hooks that moved onto the bottom of the bed. They clawed at him through the bedclothes. He had worked Agnes to the bone in life, and now in death, she was coming for him. Both Edgar and his wife were frozen in horror, neither able to do anything but wait helplessly. The figure crawled up Edgar's body, long fingers piercing into him. Agnes, for it could be none other, came within inches of his face, and let out a scream louder and more eviscerating than any weapon. All of Agnes' agony, pain, and suffering resided in that scream.

Two days passed, and the people of the town wondered why Edgar and his bride had not come for their breakfast. Many lude comments were made about newlyweds, but his bride's family decided to go to Edgar's house to find out if all was well. When they arrived, the front door was ajar. They called out: no answer. They walked slowly up the front porch and pushed the door fully open. What they saw caused the farmer's wife to swoon. Both Edgar and their daughter were still in bed. Edgar was clearly gone with his mouth open and frozen in a silent scream and his eyes empty burnt black holes. Their daughter was sitting next to him in the bed, staring straight ahead, and rocking back and forth. In two days, her hair had gone white as a ghost.

They removed both people immediately, and did not return to the house. Their daughter never spoke again, so nobody ever figured out what took place. For a long time, all of the people of the town knew to stay away from that area, until 1918 when the Spanish flu took out many of the older residents. Like all memories do, the tale of the cabin in the woods faded.

The cabin slowly started returning to the woods it was made of. The glass came out of the windows and the roof only covered part of the remaining structure.

It was discovered years later by hunters passing by in the day time, they let other hunters know there was a place they could seek shelter if they were overnighting in the wilderness. It also seemed a refuge to backpackers. Any hunter or backpacker that stayed the night, however, did not return in the morning and were never found. Every 8 years, the woods are filled with a haunting otherworldly scream that is attributed to mountain lions and the ghost candle light appears in the hollow window marking the end of a marriage, the taking of lives, and as an outlet for the simmering rage of a life unrealized.