Graphic Content Warning and Spoiler Alert: Skip the following sentences if you want to avoid spoilers! --- This story has a few horror scenes that may trigger sensitive individuals, but the majority of the story is not horror focused. The graphic content includes blood and gore, torture, a violent sexual assault, threats of rape, and illegal drug use. If these kinds of scenes upset you, I recommend not reading this story. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it, and please vote if you do.
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Part 1 - Home
We're smart to fear the deep woods, especially when we're alone and when it's dark. One might even say there is something supernatural about untouched nature that plays tricks on our minds. Nature keeps us alive, but it also scares us, injures us, and sometimes leads us to our deaths.
As a child, I lived close to nature and spent many hours wandering alone in the woods. I've seen and heard things I can't explain. My imagination and hunger could have been the culprits. The forest sometimes frightened me, and yet it saved my sanity when I needed to escape my parents. I can't deny my longing to reconnect with nature. I felt more alive then. My parents were uneducated drug addicts living in a dingy cabin left to them by a dead relative. I used to dream of disappearing into the woods and living off the land like a feral child. When I turned twelve, CPS and my sweet elderly Aunt Joanna rescued me. Aunt Joanna died when I turned sixteen. Her property went to the bank, thus I lost everything but the clothes on my back. I had to quit school and get a job to avoid foster care.
I'm nineteen now. I clean rooms at a scruffy motel so I can pay rent on an equally scruffy apartment that I share with my drug addled cousins. They're not bad people, and they're not as far gone as my parents are. I encourage them to smoke weed instead of doing toxic stuff, but they only halfway listen. I don't do drugs or sell my body for cash despite the weekly offers from motel guests. I'm saving myself for true love, if such a thing exists. Thus I refuse to rot my body with chemicals.
As October brings cooler temperatures to the southern mountains, I receive an official looking letter during my lunch break. My boss, Mr. Barns, rolls his eyes as he drops the letter on the table in front of me. I often use the motel address instead of my home address since my apartment has mail theft problems. Mr. Barns keeps telling me to move somewhere safer. I tell him to pay me more and I will. That usually shuts him up.
The letter is addressed to the one and only Silvia Rain Douglass. That's me. I open the envelope and an old key falls out. The accompanying letter declares that my parents, whom I haven't seen in three years, were murdered in a suspected drug deal gone wrong. No arrests have been made, but certain parties are being investigated. My parents' bones were found in their recently purchased and recently burned down trailer home on the east side of town. Their skulls were bashed in, so they were dead before the fire. What's left of their bodies is still at the county morgue awaiting further forensics. The bottom line is, I have inherited my crappy childhood home and the land that goes with it. The lawyer that wrote the letter worded it more elegantly, but I knew what he meant. Sadness hits me for a few seconds, and then it turns to somber relief.
"At least their slow decay is over. I wonder why they left the cabin," I whisper.
"You say something, Silvy?" Maria asks.
She's folding clean bed sheets and stacking them on a shelf in the motel's laundry room, which is also the break room. Maria is my work friend. She doesn't know much about my past, and it's probably better that way.
"It looks like my time here is over, Maria. I'm moving back home," I smile.
"Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations, Silvy," she smiles.
"Yeah, thanks."
If my thirty-eight-year-old yellow civic can make the journey, my desire to reconnect with nature is about to be fulfilled. I have enough money saved to keep me fed for a few months as I look for another job. If I can't find one close to the cabin, which is a big possibility, I may end up back at my apartment before the New Year. I could also attempt to live off the land like I dreamed of as a kid. I could learn to cook wild game and bake my own bread, but I couldn't stomach the thought of buying a hunting rifle. Learning to shoot a bow could be fun. I've liked that idea since I read the Hunger Games at the library. There is a perfect 30 pound recurve bow at the sporting goods store that has been fueling my imagination. Maybe it's time for an early birthday present.
I inform Mr. Barns of my imminent departure and hug Maria goodbye. They both tell me to call them if I get into any trouble. I doubt my ancient secondhand iPhone will have a cellular signal that deep in the woods. I would seriously miss WiFi and the library. I stop by my apartment to pack and say farewell to my cousins. I had already paid three months worth of rent, so I wasn't leaving them in a bind. Afterward, I stop by the grocery store to stock up on lentils, rice, and canned goods to keep me alive for a few months.
The sporting goods store is my last stop. The recurve bow feels like an extravagant purchase. It's made of a beautifully stained maple wood with vines painted along the riser. The practice target, extra arrows, and an assortment of arrowheads cut my savings in half. I even purchase a mean looking hunting knife for extra protection. I'm a skinny, non-threatening looking woman, but I will defend myself viciously if I have to. I've successfully done it four times when handsy motel patrons tried to take advantage of me. Afterward, Mr. Barns would apologize to me, kick the patron out, and then pay me extra to not file a police report. He didn't like negative publicity, and I understood that. I don't condone violence, but when it comes to self-defense, I'll slice up a predator with a broken light bulb to keep them off of me. Those little candle light bulbs are a great pocket accessory. Maria taught me to break the tip and go for the face.
The two hour drive north is uneventful. The sky has turned gray thanks to clouds and drizzle. I reach the outskirts of my old hometown of Pinesville at dusk. Mama Abby's Diner is the last glimmer of civilization before the twenty minute drive into the old forest. I had wandered to the diner alone many times as a child. Mama Abby, the diner's elderly owner, would sit me in a corner booth and feed me until I was stuffed. Then she would give me the very important task of helping her wipe down tables, and it made me feel ridiculously important. Then I would curl up under a large apron and take a nap in the corner booth. Mama Abby would wake me up two hours before dark, give me a bag of fresh baked rolls, and send me home while it was still daylight. Thanks to her, I didn't starve.
My eyes are misty as I step into the well-kept diner and inhale the delicious scent of fresh baked bread. A few sleepy looking patrons occupy the booths along the front window as a round waitress brings them drinks and food. I take a deep breath to calm a sudden rush of emotion before I approach the counter. A familiar face smiles at me, but it isn't the face I was hoping for.
"Good evening, gorgeous. Looking for a late supper?" she asks me.
She has a strong resemblance to Mama Abby. Her voice and accent are similar, but her hair isn't fully gray and her cheeks aren't as round. It must be her daughter, Gale.
