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“The House in the Forest”

Justine and Brendon trudged through the rough, rocky terrain of the forest. Justine’s heavy backpack dug into her shoulders and strained her back. She moaned in pain as her aching, sweaty feet rubbed uncomfortably in her sneakers, creating angry blisters.

“Stop groaning, would you?” Brendon sighed, leaning against a nearby tree. Justine, huffing and puffing, took a seat on a boulder next to her boyfriend.

“Can you blame me for being tired? We’ve been hiking forever!” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“It’s only been five hours. And we’ve had two breaks,” Brendon pointed out.

“Oh, two whole breaks!” Justine gasped. “Brendon, are we almost there yet?” Brendon laughed and shook his head.

“When did you turn five?” he joked.

“About three hours ago,” she snapped.

“C’mon, Justine. We’re almost there,” he said, walking over and helping her off the boulder.

“Aw, Brendon, I don’t know if I can make it…” she moaned, forcing her boyfriend to practically drag her off the rock.

“Don’t worry, babe. You can take a nice relaxing shower once we get there,” he said, taking Justine’s sweaty hand in his and leading them back on the trail. She groaned again but continued to follow him.

About three months ago, Brendon’s father had bought a beautiful cabin as a Christmas gift to the family. Brendon, his two brothers, and his parents had spent the rest of their winter break up in the woods. Now, in April, Brendon decided it was time to bring Justine up to the peaceful cabin for a nice weekend. But it wasn’t getting off to a very good start in Justine’s mind.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asked. She hated being whiny but the mid-spring heat of South Carolina was getting to her.

“I’m positive. I have been to this cabin before, you know,” Brendon replied, not even sounding the least bit annoyed by her behavior.

“That was once and it happened three months ago,” she countered, biting her tongue after the rude comment slipped past her dry lips.

“You underestimate my memory,” Brendon smiled. Seeing his white teeth light up against his honey-colored skin and dirty blonde hair made Justine feel a little more at ease.

A few more minutes passed—maybe about twenty or so—when Justine and Brendon mounted their last hill. Once they ascended over the rocky, grassy slope Justine let out a sigh of relief as she took in the sight of the cabin only a few feet away. She was in complete awe as she gawked at the exterior of the house in the forest. The sun was already beginning to set on the late Friday afternoon, giving the newly blossoming grass and flowers a golden spotlight. Though Brendon had described it as “ordinary,” there was nothing typical about this house.

The whole exterior was painted black with white trimmings along the roof and windows. The door was solid black with a golden doorknob which glistened in the sunlight, setting off sparkling shards of light into Justine’s eyes and catching her attention. The windows were tall and wide, thin curtains pulled off to each side presumably by string. A long, white porch was built around the front of the house with a black swing hanging from the ceiling. And the roof of the rest of the house was huge, arched, and black.

“So, what do you think?” Brendon asked, embracing Justine from behind with a hug around her waist and resting his chin on her left shoulder.

“I think we took the wrong trail,” Justine joked in a breath. Brendon chuckled, grabbed her hand, and led her the rest of the way to the cabin.

As they walked up the stairs to the porch, Justine noticed Brendon’s brow knotted in confusion. His eyes went down to the floorboards where a “Welcome” mat lay across the threshold of the door.

“Brendon, honey, what’s wrong?” Justine asked.

“It looks like the mat’s been moved,” he said. Justine looked down and saw it was slightly skewed. She shrugged her shoulders but became worried when Brendon pulled back the mat to reveal a key-shaped mark in the dust underneath.

“The key’s missing,” Brendon said, his eyes widening. Justine felt herself beginning to panic but tried to keep calm.

“Maybe Darren was here and forgot to put it back,” she suggested. Darren was Brendon’s older brother and was known for throwing all kinds of parties.

“Maybe,” Brendon agree, though Justine could tell her didn’t believe it. Not even Darren was that irresponsible.

Brendon reached for the doorknob but the door slowly opened a crack at his light touch. As he pushed it open the rest of the way, he pulled Justine’s arm and brought her behind him.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, stepping into the dark house.

“Brendon?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest. “Brendon, if this is some kind of joke it’s not fucking funny,” she warned.

Ignoring her, Brendon reached his arm out to the left of the doorway, flicking at the panel of lights: none of them worked. Justine stayed on the porch as Brendon went deeper into the house.

“Brendon…” she began, moving to enter the cabin.

“Stay there, Justine,” he said, holding up a hand. “I think someone’s been in here.

Aside from the long stream of light from the door penetrating the darkness and giving some light into the living room, the whole house was pitch black. Despite her being so close to the entrance, Justine could barely make out Brendon’s figure as he moved around what appeared to be the couch and some tables. He walked further into the darkness and Justine could only hear soft clicks as he checked which lights worked. It ain’t until a bright beam of white light swept over the room that she could finally see him.

“I took out my flashlight,” Brendon called, letting the light illuminate the couch and chairs surrounding him. “None of the lights are working. I’ll have to check the breaker.”

Justine’s eyes widened as she stared at one of the chairs facing Brendon’s back. He looked at her with curiosity.

“Behind you,” she whispered. Brendon spun around with the flashlight, pointing it at the chair. On the cushion of the seat was a dirty duffel bag with clothes spilling from the sides and shoes on the floor.

“Someone’s here,” Justine whispered. Brendon turned back to her, his back to the chair, but just as it looked like he was about to say something to her he suddenly fell out of sight. A huge thud sounded through the room and Brendon let out a short shout before another, softer sound echoed out and an eerie scraping noise followed. As the flashlight spun around the floor, Justine was able to make out a quick moving shadow disappearing into the dark house. She stood in the doorway, silent and filled with fear.

Brendon could be dead was the only thought she could think as she fumbled with her phone and stumbled into the living room.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” the operator asked in a calm voice.

“I think my boyfriend’s dead,” Justine whispered urgently into the phone, her voice bordering on hysteria. “My boyfriend could be dead.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m going to need you to tell me where you are,” the woman said, her tone becoming serious. Justine grabbed the rolling flashlight from the floor and she shakily scanned the room. She was alone…for now.

“I’m not really sure. We’re in a cabin the woods. It’s his family’s cabin. We just got here and found out somebody’s been in the house,” Justine explained in a shaky voice.

“Okay, are you calling on a cell phone?”

“Y-yeah,” she replied, staring at the duffel bag. Underneath a shirt she could see the muzzle of a handgun poking out, staring at her.

“Okay, good. I’m going to need you to stay on the line for me so we can trace your call. What’s your name, hon?” the woman asked gently.

“Justine,” she said.

“Hello, Justine. My name is Cynthia. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got your location and I’m sending a unit now. Is there a safe place you can get to?” Cynthia asked.

“There’s a gun here,” Justine whispered. “Should I take it?” Cynthia was quiet on the line for a while before she answered.

“Yes, but do not shoot unless absolutely necessary. Do you know how to operate a firearm?” Justine’s father owned plenty of guns for recreation and sometimes took her to the range to shoot a couple of targets. But she wasn’t going to delve into detail with a 911 operator.

“I do,” was all she said, grabbing the gun. She felt a bit safer holding the weapon and as she checked to see if the magazine was full, her adrenaline began pumping through as an uncontrollable urge seized her thoughts.

“I’m going to find my boyfriend,” she stated, flicking the safety off.

“Justin, I know you’re scared and upset but I have to advise you not to go looking for anyone. Please stay where you are and wait for the police,” Cynthia pleaded. But Justine wouldn’t be swayed; Brendon could still be alive and he needed her help.

“I’ll stay on the phone but if he’s alive I need to be there to help him,” Justine said, heading down the hallways in front of her, to the right of the living room.

“Justine? Justine!” Cynthia called, still trying to reason with her. Justine stuffed the phone in her pocket, the speaker muffled as it pressed into her jeans.

With both hands free, she brought the flashlight under the gun, pointing both at the darkness of the hallway. Her heart was still beating wildly but not out of fear this time. It was out of anger and an insane courageousness which propelled her to face whoever had dragged Brendon into the blackness.

Justine continued to walk steadily down the hall, gently letting her feet fall on the floor for the boards to adjust to her weight. A creak sounded ahead of her and Justine froze, whipping the flashlight over the walls. There were doors—so many, too many—and she started to feel the fear again in her stomach.

“Brendon?” Justine called quietly. Another sound—a footfall not of her own—responded and she shone her light ahead but still didn’t see anything.

“Brendon?” she whispered.

Suddenly, something slammed down on Justine’s back, knocking her to the ground and sending the gun and flashlight skidding away. She flipped over to her back to face the shadow of her attacker. As the punches fell upon her body and something sliced against her skin—eliciting searing pain and a trickle of liquid down her flesh—Justine felt something awaken inside her. It wasn’t adrenaline. No, it was far stronger than that. It was an instinct, something primal that forced her to fight and protect what was hers.

In a fit of overpowering emotions, Justine whipped a bent elbow out, connecting with something hard. A groan sounded from the shadows and the hits stopped. Justine moved quickly, opening her legs and latching them around her attacker’s waist, using all her strength to throw the person off of her. But because of the shadow’s weight, she could only manage to toss them to the side, the body hitting the wall.

Justine scrambled on the hands and knees, crawling towards the guns. The shadow moved behind her and she felt fingers grip her ankle. Before she was pulled back, she grabbed the gun and flipped around, raising the muzzle to the attack.

One. Two. Three.

The spring inside the gun threw the firing pin at the butt of the bullet and initiated the tiny detonation of the bullet's primer that let out an awful sound of the gun going off, making Justine go deaf for a moment. A ringing filled her ears as she felt the body fall down on her. Her breathing became heavy as she shoved it off and moved for the flashlight. She stood, holding the gun and the light to the dead body.

It was a human; a woman. Her face was dirty and her long, black hair was covered in leaves and twigs, but she was still human. Blood pooled around the body, making Justine queazy.

She could hear a muffled voice in front of her and she pointed her flashlight and weapon at the dull sound. Ahead of her was Brendon, holding up his arms in surrender with dried blood crusted at the crown of his head, down the side of his eye, and on his cheek. His blue eyes widened in fear at the sight of Justine.

“Sweetheart, it’s me,” he explained, Justine’s hearing slowly returning. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

Just as swiftly as it overcame her, the instinct left Justine’s body. The reality of her situation hit her as she glanced back at the dead woman, weakening her knees. She dropped the gun and flashlight and slumped to the ground, uncontrollable sobs and tears escaping her. The pain from the punches and cuts hit her immediately and intensely. While she cried violently, her ribcage paining her, Brendon ran to her to break her fall and held her against him. He stroked her short hair and shushed her, squeezing her tightly as if she would be ripped from him again.

Justine opened her eyes, her vision blurry behind the tears, and saw the flashing red and blue lights illuminating the cabin and the dead body.