We had a tradition of going to see my grandfather every summer and spend some time at his cabin. The cabin by a lake and older than he is. My cousins drop by most years and it’s the only time I get to see them. The cabin is a load of fun for a child spending their carefree summer. We swam, fished and got taught how to clean fish to cook. The one thing I disliked about the cabin was there was no indoor washroom. A shower set up outside. An outhouse a few steps off into the woods was the worst thing about the cabin. I hated using the outhouse. Bugs always took over the inside and I had an irrational fear of something reaching up to grab me if I sat down.
We begged my grandfather to get indoor plumbing. He tried his best. So far, he only got a tub hooked up but his water heater could only handle so much we were banned from using it in the summer. The place really being barely held together. It would be cheaper to buy a new cabin then to renovate it. We still went every year always forgetting the negatives until we finally arrived. Even my father complained about the outhouse and he didn’t complain about much.
My grandfather also had a rack of hunting rifles and one shotgun. He taught all of us never to touch them, and to respect the weapons. He left the cabinet they were inside locked; his guns unloaded and the ammo hidden somewhere in the cabin. He took no chances with the guns around a bunch of kids. He threaten to whop our ass if he ever saw us touching them and told us it was because he loved us and didn’t want an accident to happen.
I asked why he kept the guns. I didn’t see him use them very often aside from shooting a deer or two. I would see him go off into the woods while we swam with a rifle on his shoulder but he normally never came back with some animal he shot. I didn’t think he would kill something to waste leaving it behind, or did I think he was a bad shot. He may walk slowly, but his eyesight was better than ours. He always knew what might be going on.
One time my cousin found a cigarette someone dropped near the corner store where we sometimes got ice-cream snacks. He kept it hidden for a day. When he thought the coast was clear he used one of the lighters for the firepit. He didn’t even take a drag before our grandfather came out yelling at him scaring us all to death. With three kids crying begging him not to tell our parents he gave us mercy as long as we cleaned the boat we’ve been putting off all weekend. Overall, my grandfather was a scary man hiding a kind centre.
One night after telling each other ghost stories to freak each other out, the worst happened. When everyone else dead asleep, I badly needed to use the outhouse. I hated going out at night. It might be only a few steps and yet it felt like a mile walk. Things croaked off in the woods which were perfectly normal noises for a forest. When you’re a kid pumped up off of stories those noises turned into killers and ghouls waiting to scoop you up.
I went through the cabin to the back door knowing I couldn’t hold it until morning. There was a flashlight by the door. I turned it on only to have it flicker off. It was the kids job to make sure the flashlight had new batteries. Sometimes we switched them to out the good ones in the shared Gameboy for a few more hours of playtime. It finally came back to bite us.
Since the full moon was out, and I’ve taken the path a hundred times before so I went on without the flashlight. I feared what my grandfather would do if I woke him up trying to find new batteries.
Slipping on my sandals, I went off in the backyard and down the short path to use the washroom. Hearing a noise, I looked over my shoulder and walked faster fearing what might be looking at me in the dark.
That was a mistake. Going without a flashlight and not paying attention to where I was going could have killed me that night. The longer I walked, the more afraid I got. It should not take this long to get to the outhouse. Another crack of a twig made me jump. I no longer could hold it and needed to step off the path to do my business and carry on.
I hated going to the washroom out in the woods. At least it was quick and I was back on my way going the way I came. But was I? Nothing looked right. The trail appeared too overgrown. I didn’t understand how I go so far off the path. In my mind, I went the right way the entire time and only got lost when I stepped aside.
Fear nearly froze me to the spot. Forcing my body to move, I started down where I thought I came from praying to find the path again. I called out for someone to come and get me. A sound came and I shut my mouth. Heart beating so hard it hurt, I looked around trying to see what was stalking a poor scared kid in the dark. Something flew at me, wings flapping and a screeching cry made me snap. I ran screaming trying to get away from the creature. Only when I stopped running and was very lost, I realized I just got scared by a bat. Just a normal harmless bat. I wanted to cry. Unless someone noticed I wasn’t in my sleeping bag when they woke up for the outhouse as well, no one would know I was missing until morning. How long would it take until someone did notice? I skipped breakfast pretty often. They might assume I might be just sleeping in.
I didn’t want to stay in the woods overnight. Having no other options or ideas of what to do while lost I kept walking while trying to force back my tears. I’d forgotten it was best to stay in one spot while being lost in the woods. Just going deeper in them wasn’t the best idea.
I felt cold, scared and getting eaten alive by bugs. My small heart nearly broke over the idea of being out there forever. Starving to death and no one ever knowing what happened. Thinking back to the books I’ve needed to read in school I wondered if I could live out in the woods until they found me. If I found clean water and could figure out how to make a fire, I might be able. The issue being, I’ve never actually started a fire without a lighter. I tried with sticks, but it took too long we always gave up. Me and my cousins loved burning things and were impatient. There was always a lighter to use.
I wanted to try and find the cabin until the sun rose. If I still was in the woods by tomorrow night, I would buckle down to figure out how to make fire. Wait, wouldn’t someone smell the smoke and find me sooner? Or would I burn the entire forest down?
Getting motivated, I started to look for a clearing I could use for a fire pit. It took a while but I found a spot where the ground looked to be mostly dirt. It took longer to find a stone I could use to start digging out a hole in the dirt for my fire pit. My hands cold and the rock cut into my fingers a few times. Then I needed to find the right sticks and kindling to get the fire started. And then finally get enough wood to keep it going if I did get one started.
I didn’t go out of sight of the clearing as I collected when I needed. Exhausted by the time I thought I was ready. My pit was filled with dry leaves and small sticks. Larger sticks on the side I sat down ready to try and get a fire started. I used two sticks I peeled the bark off at first. My hands became raw from rubbing them together. Frustrated I didn’t think I could get them warm enough from the friction to get anything started. I then tried the rock method. I didn’t know if any rocks would do, or if my grandfather had a special type in his fire-starting kit.
A miracle of the night happened when I found the right rocks to smash together. One spark caught and I nearly fainted when the leaves burned and yet didn’t catch fire. I kept trying until I had a very small flame I fed with my breath. I’ve never been so proud of myself in my entire life. The smoke blew into my face causing me to cough and eyes water. Still very happy for my very small fire.
There wasn’t a way to tell how long I was out there for. The sun hadn’t risen yet so at least a few hours. As I warmed myself by the flames, I heard something off in the distance of the woods. Straining, I heard it again. My chest tightened with hope when I recognized they were human voices. No one I knew, but still someone out here in the woods with me. With my fire still going, I would be able to see my way back to the clearing if needed.
I hurried off towards the voices so happy I couldn’t speak.
“Mine, mine…”
The voices were a warning for the person they were speaking with. It sounded odd, as if English wasn’t their first language. Still, it was someone who could. Help. At least that’s what I thought.
Rushing into another clearing, all my excitement faded when I saw what belonged to those voices. A dead, torn to pieces deer sat in the middle of the small clearing. Blood soaking the grass and leaves. In the clear moonlight I saw three pale figures all hunched over the deer tearing in with their hands and teeth. All their limbs were skinny and far too long for their bodies. Each were pushing aside each other trying to eat as much of the deer as they could. Skin pale and drawn tight against their bones. Faces covered with blood. Each bald, with a mouth far too large for their face. And their eyes, oh God their eyes were missing. Each with black empty sockets. None noticed me until I let out a scream.
All three heads darted up now knowing there was fresh prey. I turned heel to run. Sounds from behind me said they all were starting to chase me. Tears came to my eyes making it nearly impossible to see where I was going. I slammed into a tree hard enough to hit my arm to the point I thought it was broken.
I tumbled to the ground, crying in pain. My moment of weakness enough for one creature to get on top, limbs on either side. The head looking around trying to hear where I was. The large mouth opening, dripping blood on my tear-stained face. The moment before the mouth filled with teeth tore my face off, a loud cracking sound echoed through the forest. The creature blown off, head exploding in a burst of gore. I screamed more when a powerful hand grabbed my shoulder to drag me to my feet.
“Grandpa?!” I choked up when I saw him clearly through my wet eyes.
He was holding his shotgun, ready to fire again. His face stern. Not afraid or surprised of the creatures. I expected them to attack us. They somehow knew what the gun could do. Grabbing their dead, they dragged it deeper into the darkness. The moment they were out of sight, I heard the worst noise. Awful sounds of bones cracking and breaking. They were eating the one my grandfather shot.
It was all too much for me. I broke down sobbing. My grandfather silently bending over to pick up the sobbing child in one arm as he carried me through the woods. He stomped out my small fire on the way out. He didn’t scold me for crying or getting lost. Him comforting me that night was the kindest moment we ever shared together.
We arrived back by the time the sun was rising. My mother and father awake and worried out of their mind. Hey scooped me up when we arrived and I cried all over again.
Before we left, I was able to get my grandfather alone to ask him what happened. Those things wouldn’t bother us at the cabin. I only saw them because I went too far in the woods. He had a deal with them that they were not to touch any humans as long as he fed them. He also wasn’t sure how many of them lived in the woods, or what they were. He fully understood if I didn’t want to come back to the cabin next year.
I almost didn’t. Until he passed away of natural causes, I spent parts of my summer at the cabin. He wasn’t able to get an indoor toilet, but he did mark the path to the outhouse with those solar charged lamps people used in their gardens to make sure no one ever went off path again.