Wolves & Bears

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The flame was not flickering, but stood perfectly still, as if the air inside was void of movement. Strangely, however, Hana could have sworn she had seen someone, or something moving in the front room.

The cabin made her unsettled, despite having passed it every summer on her visits. For a place that was deserted, it seemed too neat. There was no mossy overgrowth on the roof, no rotten wood and a cleanly swept radius around the cabin’s border, free of fallen leaves. It was miles from any other property and too far from the hiking trail that anyone would stumble across it by accident.

The locals told tales of the cabin having belonged to a strange, reclusive old man. At least, that’s how the stories started. Over time they became more extraordinary, like a giant game of Telephone. Some said that the old man had died inside, his ghost haunting anyone who stepped foot in the place. Others thought he had turned into a forest creature, attacking anyone who ventured off the hiking trail. Several insisted the old man had practiced black magic and that the forest roamed with demons.

Hana’s mum, who spent a great deal of time talking to the townspeople, had grown more superstitious with everyone she spoke to. After some time, she began setting rules for her family; no wandering too far off the hiking trail and no heading out after dark. She covered her superstitions with excuses, tales of wolves and bears. But Hana knew the real reason she was afraid, she had heard the rumours too.

Hana didn’t believe in such things and had grown up to forget about the superstitions. Over her visits she had seen little evidence of anything peculiar about the place. That was, aside from its unnaturally neat appearance and despite Hana’s curiosity, she did not pause to investigate. If there was one thing she had learned from tales of cabins in the woods, it was that you don’t just wander into them, especially not alone.

So Hana set off on her way, unaware that at a nearby tree, a pair of eyes were watching her movements. To a distant observer, it may have seemed as if the set was floating. But upon closer inspection it was clear that they were dangling, connected to a sinewy bundle of nerve fibers attached to the branch above them. They hung perfectly still, observing Hana. But as she turned her back to leave, the pair’s gaze slowly followed her movements, like the ubiquitous gaze of a painting that watched you from all angles. To all appearances still and yet somehow, moving. Along her path through the forest, they watched. Down the hill and towards the hiking trail, they watched. Even when she started to fade from view, their gaze bore down the hill after her.

Hana followed the twisted route through the forest, smiling as she met the familiar, steady burble of running water and the bustle of cheerful tourists. Some were on day hikes, others rafting down the river under them. As she passed she greeted the travellers, making her steady descent down the steep hiking path. Soon the afternoon sun began to set the stream of hikers coming up the mountain thinned. When Hana reached the foot of the trail, she noticed only a few cars remaining at the bottom.

She walked a few stretches away from the car park and turned the corner to a spot only a local would know. A small path back to her old house, private and overgrown with greenery. Ahead of her, she saw what appeared to be a small orange glow. Her father must’ve prepared a fire. She warmed at the thought, ready to get inside. But as she got closer, the scene shifted. She blinked and standing in front of her was not the warmth of her father’s house, but the cabin in the woods.

Hana blinked several times, pinching her nose to check her reality. She felt her source of air break, confirming she was not in a dream. Clearly she was experiencing some sort of mental break. Fear crept down her spine, prickling her skin. She fumbled for her phone in her side pocket and dialed her father’s number.

No answer.

The police?

No answer.

She turned to follow the overgrown path, wondering if someone had returned from their hike, able to help. But as she moved forward, she found herself surrounded by forest. Back atop the hill, the same place she had been hours before.

Confusion floated around Hana like a thick veil, panic threatening to pierce it as she plunged deeper into the woods. Her heart thundered in her chest as the fear spread, her legs seeming to move on their own as she clambered towards the hiking trail. Hana took off, almost hitting the path when -

There it was.

Back again.

The cabin in front of her. The small, orange glow of the steady flame in the window. Now larger, or perhaps merely bolder, contrasting against the surrounding darkness. As Hana tried again and again to make her way back to the safety of her father’s house, a strange magnetism pulled her back. Eventually, she was unable to push out further than the cabin’s surrounding tree-line. Then something began to rustle in the bushes.

Hana’s mind flew to her mum’s stories. Memories washed over her. She knew her mother believed in all sorts of things but not all of the stories were fabricated. There were known to be wolves in these parts. You’d never see any along the hiking trails but at night, if she concentrated, she would hear them howling. As Hana forced herself to pay attention to the rustling sound, however, it seemed to resemble crawling. Only, somehow heavy and jagged, like a creature that was unevenly weighted.

Moments later, out from a nearby corner came a hand. It walked spider-like towards her, fumbling, shifting its weight between fingers and thumb. It was wrinkled and unusually shaped, the fingers slightly too long for the palm. The area where the wrist would’ve attached was shredded and torn, leathery bits of flesh strung away from it. It moved past Hana and towards the foundations of the cabin, seeming to inspect them as it limped about.

There was a thump on the outer border of the tree-line and a leg hopped its way into view. Like the hand, it seemed misshapen, a thin ankle growing into a stocky calf and thigh. The top was torn and its thin, translucent skin was scratched and scabbed. It began kicking at leaves that had blown around their perimeter.

Above them, on the cabin’s roof, slid a tongue. It bent, undulating like an earthworm thrusting forward to propel itself. It licked as it moved, collecting small fragments of moss that had begun to sprout on the wood.

Then Hana met the gaze of the dangling eyes, watching. She screamed with sheer, panicked terror. Lightheaded and unable to feel her limbs she ran, not caring which direction she went. She flew past the trees and down the hill.

Then suddenly, the air was still.

Hana found herself sheltered from the cold in an almost-pitch black room, lit only by the warmth of a nearby flame. Her body froze with the terrible realisation of where she was. The eyes simply watched, boring down at the girl in the window.