The song on the radio dies down as we enter what I call "no man's land". Literally nothin' but woods, a nice spot. No cell towers, no stores, just a nice secluded spot where not much happens. In the middle of a nice clearing is the cabin I used to trek to as a boy with my brother, John.
Small, can't be more than a couple yards wide and a few feet long, has an old 80's era TV and a narmy little couch, both of which are surprisingly functional despite their age.
But to be honest, I don't know why we've bothered to come back out here. Sharing a shitty couch in the middle of fucking nowhere won't mend any distance we may or may not have between us. And did I mention he brought his fucking dog? Cute one, but I mean come on man, the cabin'll barely accommodate us both.
After what seems like forever we get to the cabin, which I must stress is essentially just one room decrepit with age, and start unloading our stuff. We hear something scuttle behind us, but we figure it's just a squirrel or something, maybe even the dog.
We unlock the cabin door with a rusty key and find something surprising. A new TV, a phone, a desk, and an almost brand new white coach.
John just turned to me and said, "I didn't know you refurbished the place".
"Where'd you get the money for all this new shit!? You said you couldn't pay for the operation I needed for my shoulders!" he sneers.
"John, are you listening?? I said I didn't do this!"
"Right, then it must be the fuckin' fairies that live in the woods." he snaps back.
Ok, whatever asshole. Still, kinda creepy someone just came into a cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere and decided, 'ya know i should redecorate this'
So, we turn on the TV, not much to watch though. Mostly audio undercut by static. It's all in other languages, and most of it is some Arab-sounding shit. We find some news program displaying "ALERTE D'ORAGE!" over and over again, a quick visit to Google Translate reveals there's a shitstorm coming (or I guess a snow storm...). We figure we go ice fishing before it hits so we at least have something to eat. We catch some big ones, surprisingly, and head back to the cabin as the snow starts to fall.
So, the snow starts falling, hard, and suddenly there's a knock.
Like at the door. John and I look at each other in confusion.
"Maybe it's a local?"
"Yeah John, we must live near The Village? Let's find the park ranger that's also M. Night Shyamalan for some reason."
Fuck you John.
So, we go to the door.
And no one is there.
Not even a single footstep in the snow.
Alright, so that was fucked up.
So yeah, long story short, we kept throwing back ideas as to what the hell had just transpired. We settled on "we mistook the wind for a knocking" somehow and went to bed. The next morning, the storm had stopped.
I went out to take a leak, because again, one room cabin, and as I was walking back I noticed something.
Someone pinned a photograph to the door.
It appeared to be someone wearing some sort of mask or something, but it had been so seriously degraded by all the snow it had been pelted with it was too hard to distinguish. Was this there yesterday?
I took it in to show John, of course he knew nothing about it, and when I opened a window to toss it out, I noticed something.
Something was scribbled on the back.
"I SEE YOU :)"
Next day, we figured we should wait with the door open a bit so we could see if whoever's been messing with us shows up.
Turns out leaving the door open when your in the middle of the cock-shriveling Canadian wilderness does not leave you very comfortable. Why we didn't just resolve to looking out the window I will never know.
So John takes the dog out to shit and I make a ham sandwich. I remember we had left some meat on the track cab since the cabin didn't have a fridge and it was cold enough to suffice anyhow. I run to see if we remembered the roast beef, turns out we didn't, and came right back.
Someone took a bite out of the sandwich.
I scream, "Dammit John, your mutt ate my sandwich!"
...then I realize they're still walking back.
Suddenly, the dog snaps its head around and charges back to the woods. It starts barking into the nothingness.
John is as confused as I am.
Lying on the couch, I have my headphones in as John's making dinner.
"Hello?", John says.
I get up quickly and throw the door open.
Suddenly it's snowing, and no footprints, again. No note either. I groan, and scream, "Where are you mother fucker? This shit isn't funny!", and slam the door.
"Next time he comes around, we'll say we're callin' the cops"
We grab our fishing gear and starting heading out to the hole we cut into the ice a few meters out, and suddenly we hear a metallic click in the distance.
"...was that the car door closing?"
The truck starts moving. We drop our crap and bolt.
"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!"
We only catch a glimpse of it disappearing over the horizon.
"Alright, I've had enough of this shit, I'm callin' the cops!"
John runs back to the cabin while I just stand there, gawking at the road, awestruck.
"Randy, get in here now!!"
He's fuckin' pissed.
I run back to the cabin, and we whips around, and screams, "What the hell is this!?"
The phone line's cut.
We sit in the dark.
knock knock knock
We both bolt from our seats and barge through the door. John falls flat on his face since he was ready to pounce on this motherfucker. No one. We scream. John gets up, kicks the outside wall, and starts slamming the door.
He looks up and his face turns white. He motions for we to come outside, and lo and behold, etched into the fucking door it says,
"HAM TASTES NICE"
I just feel like dying at this point.
We come back, the TV's out. My iPod's dead too, somehow.
That night, I have this weird nightmare. I'm running through the woods, and something knocks me down. I look up and there's this...thing hovering over me. It has a human figure, but these long, scaly, oozing tendrils jutting out of it's back. It's wearing an odd looking gas mask and is dressed in a rubber suit. The tendrils bend and contort as disgusting, wet crunches emanate from some unknown source, and as it leans in closer it says,
"Put the knife away John. Gods don't bleed."
It lunges and I scream. Next thing I know John's punching me in the ribs.
"Dude, stop screaming like a fucking psychopath! You woke me up! I was having a kickass dream where I'm in the Money for Nothing music video and it was great!"
...kind of an oddly specific description of an oddly...odd dream, but whatever.
Then I notice there's someone in the window.
"John, look behind you."
He turns around and jumps onto me.
There's this silhouette of a man in the window! It tilts its head slowly and raises it's arms until its in like a "T" position. His head goes limp and his hands face us, his legs are tucked between each other at the feet, like Jesus on the crux. He rises into the air and I hear the wet crunches. There are these thin stalks of flesh that carry him like a spider, and he dashes into the woods again, leaving tiny little dots of where they touched the snow.
John throws up all over the dog. Would be satisfying if I hadn't shit all over the couch at this point.
A couple hours pass and there's a thunderstorm brewing outside. How fitting.
We both look at the door. The dog jumps up and starts growling at it. John pulls out a butterfly knife, meanwhile, I'm thinking, "WHY DID YOU WAIT UNTIL NOW TO PULL THAT OUT YOU FUCKING CUNT?!". But as he approaches, the knocking...transfers.
A pitter-patter on the walls, on the roof, against the window.
John lunges at the window, and it retaliates. It leans back and smashes its head clean through the glass.
A shard hits John in the eye, he screams and the dog jumps through the window.
There's thunder, banging, wind is howling, and John won't stop screaming.
He lunges to his feet, follows the dog to the woods, and screams, "Get back here you fucking coward!!"
I follow suit, though through the door like a sane person.
I scream for John to just make a run for it but he's to far ahead.
Every couple steps I take, I clearly see a bloodshot eye peek around a tree, or a bush, or something.
I hear John thrashing about, the two are struggling no doubt, and I hear...
"Put the knife away John. Gods don't bleed."
There's a woosh, the sound of tearing flush and searing bones, and a scream turning into a wet gurgle.
I run towards the conflict, and as I reach them everything stops.
The forest goes quiet. The thunder ceases.
The snow is red.
I look, and I see the mutt. Severed clean in two. It's eyes are grey and partially separated from its head, it's entrails seemingly yanked out of it.
...then I feel a drip on my face.
I look up and scream.
John, or what's left of him, is dangling above me. His legs are gone. His arms are twisted to unnatural angles, there's a branch penetrating him from where his pelvis should be, out through his mouth...
...holy fuck that's not a branch.
The tendril shuddered, rippled and twisted, and violently thrashed about until the mangled carcass that was once my brother was flung from the grasp of the husk bereft of any lingering humanity.
"Sticky things men are. Blood, as beautiful as it is, is such a mess."
I fell to my knees. I just screamed, "Damn you!"
The thing hobbled towards me, put a finger under my chin, lifted my head up to meet eye-to-eye and said, "Many have my child."
I threw my fists up and knocked the mask off the things head. It shrieked and turned to me. It's eyes were nothing but bloody sockets, devoid of matter, it's nose was misshapen and tattered, it's mouth oozing some visceral black sludge. It smiled, and said, "Feisty, aren't we?"
"I can fix that"
It limped towards me, making grotesque cadences as if every movement of its lanky form was supported by decaying bones made of slime and phlegm.
"No, no! S..stay back!!"
The last thing I feel is searing heat cutting through cartilage and bone.
Two weeks later, the local newspaper for a small town in New England were treated to some sad news. A search party finally located the bodies of Randy and John Cooper. They weren't quite sure what to make out of it? A murder-suicide? Brutal homicide? In any event, the corpses were found in a horrid embrace, severely burned. Initial observations saw that the carcass of Randy Cooper probably died from exsanguination before the fire could've killed him, as there were multiple lacerations to his face and abdomen. Autopsies found the brothers were missing most of their internal organs, a total of three kidneys, four lungs, one heart, and one frontal lobe were left unaccountable. Officers on the scene said that, as bizarre as the circumstances, there was no certain evidence to suggest foul play.
Interestingly, a small cabin, which was eventually deduced by police to be the brothers' place of residence during the trip that would ultimately end their lives, was severely vandalized.
Someone had carved "THERE'S A MAN IN THE W00DS" all over the walls.
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