“I’ve only been there for two nights. Which is two too many nights, if you ask me.”
She heard Sam’s words, talking about whether this was a haunted place or not. The answer was now clear, so hopefully in this moment it would work to their advantage.
They crept closer, and heard nothing. No sounds of alarm, no movement at all. They peeked into the first window and saw a bare room. Like the outside, it was built haphazardly. Some parts of the walls seemed brand new, others seemed like the kind of thing Tricia would see in an old west movie: warped, rough, and leached gray by the years.
It was an insane place.
They moved to the next window. A bedroom. They could see bunk beds, several suitcases open nearby them, clothes half-pulled from inside, more clothing on the floor.
One of the beds had a bundle on it, the size and shape of a person. Of Sam. It could be a bunch of blankets twisted during a sleepless night, but it could also be him.
Alex looked at Tricia. She shrugged, nodded, and then shook her head. She didn’t know what to do. But to do nothing was to let everything they had passed through be in vain.
She pressed her fingers against the window until she felt the pads stick to the glass, then pushed up. She grimaced as the window rasped against the casing. It sounded preternaturally loud, a small sound that somehow blasted through her and made her wince. She saw Alex wince, too – and he winced again as the fog flashed.
Something’s coming. Something always comes with the light.
They heard a crackling behind them. Far away, but close enough to worry. Sam’s mother was on the move. She had to be. And that meant she was coming for them.
Tricia slid over the windowsill and into the room beyond. She rolled to the right as soon as she was in, giving Alex room as he hoisted himself up and over as well. He turned and slid the window shut, staring out into the silvered mist.
Tricia glanced out as well, then touched Alex’s arm and gestured toward the bed. He nodded, and they crept forward together. Again, they hunched over as they walked, and Tricia knew it wasn’t to avoid being seen. Fear weighed on them ever-heavier. She didn’t know how much longer she could go on before she was bent double, then forced to hands and knees and then to her stomach. The forest wanted them dead, she thought. But it wanted them afraid first.
They had reached the bunk bed. The bundle on the bottom. Tricia reached forward, but stopped when her hand was only a few inches away. The room was illuminated only by the impossible glow of the fog, but it was dark enough inside the lunatic cabin that her eyes had taken a moment to adjust. Now she saw and, seeing, could tell it was nothing more than blankets on the bed.
She looked to Alex. He had seen it, too. No Sam. He grimaced, then pointed at the door that must lead to the cabin’s main room. Tricia nodded, sighing quietly.
Like everything else, the floor was a hodgepodge. Tiles, wood, brick – all of it was in evidence; and seeing it this close up, Tricia was surprised to realize the chaos of it all had a weird flow. Nothing she could put a finger on, but up close it seemed a lot less like something put together over a series of years or even decades, a bit at a time. It seemed more like a single item united by some pattern she couldn’t quite grasp. A calico pattern that seemed random at first, but eventually you could see scraps of cloth that hinted at the life of its maker, the thing that had bound them all together and somehow made them belong.
Tricia didn’t belong, though. Neither did Alex, and neither did Sam. Whatever dark thing had made this place, it had nothing to do with her or any other good thing. This was a bad place, and she wanted only to get out of it, after finding Sam.
She and Alex made it to the door. She put her hand on the doorknob and again winced as she turned it. The knob apparatus wasn’t well-oiled. A dry, raspy squeal accompanied the twisting of the knob and she looked sharply at Alex. He nodded, though, so apparently the sound wasn’t as bad as she imagined it.
She turned the knob the rest of the way. When the knob could turn no more, she cracked the door. An inch. She waited. Another inch.
She looked into the room beyond the door. She saw little save hints of white and gray, strips of non-color that meant nothing.
Another inch.
She saw something: shoes. They wiggled slightly, and when she opened the door another inch she saw they, and the feet within, belonged to Sam. He was laying on his side, and with every inch she pushed the door she saw more of him. He was tied hand and foot, ropes binding his ankles, more around his wrists, and then those ties connected by a short length of rope that kept him bowed back in what must be near-excruciating pain.
As soon as she realized what she was seeing, she shoved the door open and, heedless of anything else that might be in the room, rushed out and toward Sam.
He had his back to her, but he must have heard her coming out of the room. He rolled over, his eyes wide open, terror shining brightly within them. Shock tempered the terror when he saw Tricia, then his eyes flitted over her shoulder to Alex.
Sam shook in place. He grunted, but couldn’t make any more sound than that. Not with the dirty rag tied around his head, the gag biting deep into the corners of his mouth as he struggled.
Tricia knelt beside him and started fumbling with the gag, then moved to the rope knotting his hands and feet together. She couldn’t make a dent in either, the knots were too thick and too tight.
“Help me,” she whispered to Alex.
He didn’t answer. She looked at him, and realized he was turning a slow circle. Looking at the walls, the ceiling, the floor.
She finally saw what he was seeing. She had been so fixated on Sam she hadn’t comprehended it herself, but now she did. Or rather, she noticed it, because the thing was beyond comprehension.
This room sported the same twisted, inside-out, outside-in construction as the rest of the cabin. The same jumble of materials that seemed chaotic at first but looked more and more like a pattern just beyond her ability to understand, the longer she looked at it.
And all of it – walls, floor, even ceiling - was covered in what, a few days ago, Sam would have called doodles. Every square inch was covered in the symbols that Tricia had seen: interlocking circles, twisting and writhing over themselves, consuming one another and then birthing what they had eaten once again.
“What is this place?” she murmured.
The words seemed to shock Alex out of whatever dark fascination had kept him from helping until now. He turned, wordless, eyes haunted, and knelt by Sam. He tried his hand at the knots as well, but had no more luck loosening them than Tricia had.
Before he even finished trying, she was looking around for a knife or something sharp she could use to hack through Sam’s bonds. The room, she could see now, was some kind of front room/kitchen mix. Two walls that had windows allowing views of the fog and the shadows beyond. One wall with two doors – one of which led to the room she and Alex had just come out of, the other of which led to some other place, as yet unseen and unknown.
The third wall of the room was on the side where the sink jutted out of the wall. Beside it, a short refrigerator sat, and all around it hung wall cabinets that, like the rest of the place, showed neither rhyme nor reason in their placement, style, or material. Some were old and warped, others looked like they were plastic covered in formica laminate, still others looked sleek and new. The sink was modern-looking stainless steel, but had a pump right out of Tombstone, and the counters that sat on either side were equally mismatched. The drawers under the counters, too: no two were the same style, size, or made of the same materials.
Tricia ran into the kitchen, and started throwing open cabinets and drawers. Half of them wouldn’t open at all, and she wondered if they were real, or just boards that looked like cabinets glued or nailed to the sides of the counter.
The third one that opened yielded a few forks, spoons, and table knives. Nothing helpful. She slammed it shut, wincing at the noise.
“Quiet,” hissed Alex
. He looked at the still-closed door to the one room they hadn’t checked, then returned to working on the knots that still held Sam tight.
Tricia opened another drawer, and this time found paydirt: an assortment of sharp knives. Again, it was all a mishmash, but at least it was a mishmash she could use.
She grabbed one of the newer-seeming knives, one not spotted with rust or bent and chipped along the tarnished blade. The heft of it felt reassuring in her hand, and she rushed to Sam.
Alex moved aside to give her room. The knife turned out to be razor sharp, parting the individual fibers of the ropes Sam’s mother had tied him with. Tricia sliced through the rope that bound Sam’s ankles and arms behind his back, and he groaned with relief. He didn’t straighten, though: he must have been in that position so long that his body had tightened and grown rigid.
After that, the going slowed drastically. The ropes had been tied so tightly around Sam’s ankles and wrists that she couldn’t slide the knife under them with enough give to turn the blade upward and saw effectively. She was worried about cutting down toward Sam’s flesh, though, because the knife was sharp enough that when the ropes did finally give way she could easily see herself plunging the knife into his wrist or ankle, severing a tendon and watching her friend bleed out in front of her eyes.
That left the knots themselves. They were so tight that they turned a tangle of medium-thick bits of rope into a single, compressed clump that felt like steel cable. Tricia didn’t give up, though, and a bit at a time the knot around that tied his ankles together began to fray. Tricia kept looking at the windows as she hacked at the knots, expecting every time to see Sam’s mother staring in at them, grinning, knowing her prey was trapped.
She didn’t see Sam’s mother, but the fog flashed, and that was perhaps even worse.
“Faster,” whispered Alex.
Tricia’s hands began to spasm with the effort of slashing at the tough ropes. She held the knife out to Alex. He took it and began sawing away at Sam’s bindings, working faster than her because he was still fresh. But he slowed, too, and was moving at only half-speed by the time he got Sam’s ankles loose.
Alex moved to Sam’s wrists. These knots came apart faster. Sam was free, but he still didn’t move. He groaned in pain each time a knot came apart. “Can you stand up?” asked Tricia.
In answer, Sam tried to move his legs. Rather than rocking them back and forth or, even better, getting to his hands and knees, all he managed was a jittery set of spasms.
“I’ll massage his legs,” said Tricia. “See if I can get the blood running again.”
“Okay,” said Alex. He bent back to work, this time on the gag that so effectively silenced their friend. Like Tricia, he kept glancing at the windows, then would flick his gaze toward the door to the cabin’s last room.
Tricia massaged Sam’s legs. She felt time ticking away, and felt the cabin's insanity more oppressively with every passing second.
Alex put the knife down and began trying to loosen the knot on Sam’s gag.
“Don’t you think –” began Tricia.
Alex shook his head. “He keeps trembling. Spasms, I think. They’re not big, but I’m worried about cutting him if I keep going.” Sweat beaded his brow, and worry creased his face, but in that moment, bending himself to save his friend with everything he had, Tricia thought he had never looked more beautiful.
Was it wrong of her to think that now? Probably.
But could she stop it? No.
And did she even want to? Not even a little. She had passed through confusion, terror, pain, and now she was working to get her injured friend to a point where he could flee with them from this house that was madness made flesh. She wouldn’t steal the bit of brightness that Alex’s face allowed her in this moment.
Sam’s legs stopped thrashing as she worked on them, and finally she could feel the movements smooth as he regained control of his abused limbs. At almost the same moment, Alex gave a little grunt of triumph. She saw him loosen the gag enough that he could slide it out of Sam’s mouth. There wasn’t much give, and Tricia saw blood flow from the corner of Sam’s mouth as Alex pulled the gag down and the rags tore at his lips and chin. Alex didn’t even try to pull the gag over Sam’s head – it was off his mouth, and that would have to do for now. Alex just pulled the circle of cloth down over Sam’s chin and let it hang from Sam’s neck.
Just like a noose.
We’re going to die here. One of us, maybe all of us.
The premonition was so intense, so real, that for a moment Tricia couldn’t move. She was overwhelmed by the sense that this wasn’t a moment of liberation, just a false hope before doom.
“Thank you,” croaked Sam. He was crying, tears streaming from his eyes, laying bright tracks down his cheeks. “Thank you for coming back for me.”
“Of course,” said Alex. “Always.”
“Thank you,” Sam said again, and Tricia worried that he would start gibbering. If he dissolved into hysteria it would be that much harder to get him – or her or Alex, for that matter – out of this situation.
“Come on,” said Alex. “We gotta get you out of here.”
He put one of Sam’s arms around his shoulders, and Tricia did the same with the other. Together, they hoisted their friend up to a seated position, then got him standing. He took a few trembling steps, almost fell, then righted himself.
Outside, the fog flashed. Sam’s already-terrified eyes grew even more frantic. But the adrenaline apparently brought on by the light show must have trumped the pain in his legs, because he stood a bit taller, and Tricia felt the weight lessen on her shoulders even as Sam whispered, “We have to go. We have to go now.”
The door opened. Not the front door, not the one Tricia and Alex hadn’t had a chance to check out, either. It was the door they had just come through a few minutes ago. The one that led to a mostly-empty room with nothing but a bunk bed, some suitcases, and a few clothes piled up.
Sam’s mother stood in the door frame. Her hair was wild, her eyes wilder still.
Tricia still couldn’t tell exactly how old the woman was, but the lines in her face and around her eyes were craggier than she remembered from her quick glance outside the school. The proximity to the forest and the secrets hidden in the mist-lights had turned her old before her time, and had driven her mad.
“I knew you were here,” Sam’s mother said, her eyes roving from Alex to Tricia. “The whisperers said so. No matter where I go, no matter how far or how long I run, they follow me. They’re always there. Around me, inside me. All of them, all of me.” Her eyes went to Sam’s. Her gaze softened, and somehow that made everything worse instead of better.
Tricia knew then that she stood in the presence of a truly dangerous person. This was a woman who Believed in something. The worst people in the world aren’t simply insane, they are zealous – willing to do anything to “make the world a better place.” To “help” you, even if that means killing you to do it.
“Mom,” Sam whispered. “Mommy, please…”
“I’M NOT YOUR MOTHER!” shrieked the woman, slashing the air with the ridge of her hand, as though trying to cut the words to ribbons before they reached her. “I can’t be. I’m nothing, you hear that? You made me nothing, your father made me nothing, and I made me nothing…” She blinked, and her eyes went blank, her expression sagged away and left only void behind. “Some things change in the forest,” she whispered. “But other things stay the same because I won’t let me change them. Or maybe the universe won’t or maybe it will or maybe it won’t or maybe it will, row, row, your boat,” she said, then sang, “gently down the STREAM! Merrily merrily merrily merrily, LIFE IS BUT A –”
The end of the children’s song dissolved in a fit of panting giggles, the sound a person might make on their deathbed, and were told the funniest joke in the world in the moment they passed into darkness. Her hand went to her shoulder and scratched it, her nails tracing slow, lazy circles on her shirt. Like
the softness of the woman’s gaze when she looked at Sam, this motion terrified Tricia. Something about the loose, lazy flow of her fingers on the shirt, the way her eyes rolled back.
The woman moaned. It was a sound caught halfway between ecstacy and anguish.
Alex grabbed Tricia’s hand. She was already reaching for him as well. Alex and Tricia held Sam, and they held each other with their free hands. It created a circuit, and a strange, humming power seemed to surge through her. She gasped, and heard Sam and Alex do the same.
Her pulse quickened, and her hand grew hot where she touched Alex, her arm was hot where she held Sam. The thrumming, rushing noise of her heartbeat felt too loud in that instant, as though all three of them had been fused into one single person.
“Don’t!” screamed Sam’s mother. “Don’t do that, don’t say that, don’t think that!”
She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, looking like an infant trying to make the world disappear.
Alex squeezed Tricia’s hand once more. They let go of one another. The circuit interrupted, and the crackling, humming sense of power she had felt dissipated. As it did, the fog flared outside. Sam’s mother turned to the nearest window, staring at it in horror.
“It’s here. We’re here. We’re all here and it’s here and it never stops!”
She fell to the floor, one knee on tile and the other on rough-hewn wood. She still had her hands on her ears, and now she started screaming, trying to drown out the words that had come with the fog. The whisperers.
“Faster…”
“Faster…”
“Faster…”
“Blood…”
“Blood…”
“Blood…”
They sounded closer than ever, like the unseen whisperers were in this very room. Tricia was starting to hear distinctions; subtle differences that made her think she was hearing the voices of numerous shadows. Differences in tone signaled the presence of more than a single entity. Not just one, but many whisperers hid in the fog.
One of the whisperers spoke louder, clearer than any of them. “Help me,” it said/sighed/screamed. Tricia felt like someone had taken a hose to her, freezing every inch of skin and covering it in gooseflesh that rose so hard and fast it almost hurt.
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