The wicked wick

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. This barely-there flicker in the dark was the only reason a lone hunter hiking in the woods had noticed the cabin. He had been on his feet for days, without rest or sleep. A structure with a roof was this hunter’s only criteria for a place to stay overnight.

The hunter knocked politely on the cabin’s door and didn’t hear any answer. He knocked louder: still no luck. He slowly opened the door, lighting the way with a flashlight. The cabin was small and empty, with no furniture or previous owner’s belongings left behind.

“More room for me, even better.” – the hunter muttered, putting his dirty backpack down on the dented hardwood floor. The floor creaked, and for a moment, the noise sounded like a quiet moan. Another gleam of the flashlight revealed a name patch on the hunter’s backpack: it read, “Jack.”

Jack placed the flashlight onto the window sill, unbuckled a folded sleeping bag from under his backpack, and put it on the floor. Then, he took the flashlight into his right hand and lifted his soiled shirt with his left. Across his abdomen was a purplish bruise with a dark center.

“That damned boar,” – Jack grunted – “I knew he was too much for my skill. I should have never listened to my father, who wanted me to become a hunter.”

Jack let his shirt fall back toward his belt and opened his backpack in search of food and supplies. Having found a small bottle of vodka inside, he smirked, “Should I drink it or disinfect the wound with it?” He decided to do both, first taking a sip and then soaking some vodka in his handkerchief to clean his wound. “Burns like hell, from inside and out”, – he said while digging through his backpack.

There wasn’t much food in it, and a can of sardines was Jack’s best option. “Now, let’s open up this baby,” – he smiled, looking for his hunter’s knife. – “Eating canned food while on a hunting trip is another proof that I should not be a hunter.”

Jack pressed his knife against the can, trying to make an incision at the top. The thick metal lid did not bulge. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” – Jack spat, tilting both the knife and the can – “Open up already!”

Suddenly, the knife slid out of his right hand and sliced into his left, leaving the can unscratched. Jack yelled in disbelief, looking at a deep cut in the middle of his left palm. “The bloody can has to be wide open by now!” – he screamed, pushing the knife into the lid with all his force. Finally, the lid bent in slightly and slid to the side. Jack dropped his knife triumphantly and looked at his left palm again. The blood was not stopping; it was now gushing with full force. Jack pressed his vodka-soaked handkerchief to the wound, hoping it would stop the bleeding. The pressure helped, for a moment, until the fabric was soaked with blood, still leaking out violently from the cut.

Jack looked around, still hungry and angry. His gaze stopped at the glimmering candle by the window, still flickering in the dark and seemingly the same size as when he first entered the cabin. “Alright then, my army training might come in handy here. I’m going to cauterize the wound.”

Kneeling next to the candle, Jack wiped his wound with a cloth and put his hand directly above the flame. Despite his worst expectations, the burn didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He held his hand above the flame for a while, almost enjoying the warmth.

Soon, Jack realized the wound had closed nicely. There was no more blood gushing from the cut, and the skin around the wound had started to heal. “Time to finally have that dinner”, – Jack whispered, getting up from the floor to pick up his canned food. The candle’s flame was burning higher now as if rejuvenated. Even the candle itself had seemingly elongated, despite being lit for an indefinite period.

Jack picked up the can of food from the floor and pulled a fork out of his backpack. Although the cabin was dim, Jack decided to turn off his flashlight and rely only on the candlelight while eating. Besides, the candle was going strong, creating an almost-cozy ambiance. Jack kneeled before the candle again, dipped his fork in the preserves, and tried to eat as slowly as possible to extend the sensation. “Now, I will have to ration wisely”, – he muttered. – “There is barely any food left.”

While eating, Jack couldn’t help but look at the candle more closely – his first-aid kit, a ray of light, a source of heat. Its shape was peculiar, unlike the traditional cylinder or an oblong one would expect. The candle seemed to be integrated with the floor, with wax streaks dripping from all its sides. “Is it wax, though?” – Jack whispered, inspecting the candle. – “Seems so soft and almost translucent. I can see the entire wick.” – He bent his neck for a closer look. – “I will need to check it in the daylight when I wake up.”

Jack got up, wiped his fork with a cloth, and returned it to his backpack. He seemed exhausted. Before going to sleep, Jack decided to blow off the candle and sat on the floor next to it. Outside, it was pitch black. Not a single star in the sky, no glimmers of light. Only darkness. Jack kept the candle lit. He made his way to the sleeping bag and was asleep within seconds.

The next day, Jack woke up when the sun was already at its zenith. “The last hunt must’ve knocked me out!” – Jack slurred, getting up to inspect his wound in the left palm. To his surprise, it was barely there. The same cut in his left palm that wouldn’t stop bleeding was now a faint scar. The tissue around the wound has also healed, leaving a vague resemblance to a recent accident. “Unbelievable,” – Jack whispered – “cauterization must have helped.” He turned around and found the candle in the front of the cabin STILL lit.

“Things are getting more interesting,” – Jack groaned – “why don’t I try to fix my other wound, too.” He got up from the sleeping bag and made his way to the front of the cabin, where the burning candle was only a few feet away from the cabin door. It was sitting atop a shapeless mass next to a low window facing the woods. Jack sat down and lifted his shirt to reveal the wound inflicted by the boar. While there was no external bleeding, the bruise turned deep purple with blue and yellow undertones. “There could be a hematoma forming, and I have no way of knowing,” – Jack wondered. – “At least I can warm it up with the candle to expedite healing.” He tried to move the candle closer, but it was firmly attached to its base. It would be impossible to lift it without breaking it. “Fine,” – Jack muttered, – “I can make it work.” Holding his shirt with both hands to prevent the fabric from burning, he bent over the flame so it could reach his wounded ribcage. Jack’s facial expressions changed from pain to astonishment to relief.

While at it, Jack looked to his left and right to distract himself from the pain. A weathered cellar door was in the corner of the cabin to his right. The window in front of him was heavily scratched. The trees around the cabin were all dry, with foliage present but seemingly lifeless. There was no grass outside except a tiny patch near the cabin’s corner.

Jack finished his self-torture, satisfied with the results. The skin around the wound was red and hot, and the swelling had reduced significantly. Jack looked around the cabin once more to only confirm its uniformity: no furnishings and no forms of life. There wasn’t even any dust on the floor. “Maybe, occasional travelers stay here more often than it seems.” – Jack muttered, preparing to leave. Suddenly, he spotted a wild rabbit outside the cabin with his peripheral vision.

“This might be the right opportunity to test my hunting skill” – Jack smiled under his breath and picked up his rifle. “I’m not good at far-range shooting, anyway.”

He opened the door, trying to make no sound. The door remained silent despite being old and crooked in hinges. Jack watched the rabbit graze on the grass patch for a long moment. Then, he aimed his rifle and whispered, “I’m sorry bud.”

The rabbit did not even flinch. It fell to the ground and froze, with no agony or tremors, moments before its death. Jack sat down next to it and gently brushed its gray fur. “Sadly, this is how life works. You either eat, or you get eaten.” Jack lifted the rabbit’s lifeless body and inspected where the bullet had made its exit. There was a straight line across the rabbit’s chest. “You have probably had a heart attack seconds before the bullet even hit you”, – Jack deduced.

He returned to the cabin for his knife and a lighter. “Time to make a real hunter’s stew”, – Jack proclaimed. He remembered his father's lessons, carefully separating the rabbit’s fur from the flesh. Once done, he sliced the rabbit’s carcass into quarters and put them into a travel metal pot. There wasn’t much blood on the ground, as the earth soaked it immediately. Jack looked at the patch of bright, vivid grass near the cabin. “I guess this will have to go into my stew,” – he growled, – “there is some water in the leaves that will help to cook the meat.”

He picked a few larger leaves to wipe off his face and hands, then pulled a few juicy stems and added them to the pot. “Now, we wait.” – Jack said as he constructed a small fire pit using dry tree branches and a lighter. Suddenly, Jack noticed a slight movement inside the cabin. It seemed as if the air was moving near the candle that was STILL lit. “I’ve probably had too much sun”, – he muttered. “It’s time to lay down while the meal is cooking.”

Jack looked at the rabbit's skin and internal organs splattered atop the dry soil. “I should probably bury it before the flies start gathering.” – He said, looking for a softer spot to dig a hole. He bent down and saw an opening in the ground near the corner of the cabin. The only grassy patch originated there, forming an oasis among an otherwise deserted landscape. Jack kneeled and looked into the opening; he couldn’t see anything. “Why don’t I add some fertilizer to the grass,” – he said. Jack picked up the rabbit's remains and transferred them into the hole in the ground, piece by piece. The void swallowed them as if it was bottomless.

When Jack finished, his meal was starting to burn. “I need to put more grass in the pot!” – He shouted, adding a few more stems to his dish. “I am getting thirsty”, – Jack growled.– “Where can I get something to drink?” He got up, looking around to see if he could find a body of water. Without luck, he realized, “I will have to start moving again. After I eat, and before it gets dark.”

Jack returned to the cabin to get a plate and a fork. To his surprise, a drink was waiting for him inside: the empty can he left last night by the cabin door was now full of water dripping from the ceiling. Jack could not believe his eyes and drank all of it hungrily. “The cabin has been very welcoming so far.” – He smiled, stepping further in to collect his belongings. Just before the exit, he paused by the cabin door in disbelief: the can was full of water again, and Jack picked it up hurriedly. Before he stepped outside, he set another empty can by the door to collect the condensed water for when he would finish his meal. The candle near the window was crackling.

Outside, there were barely any traces of blood anymore; the ground had soaked everything. Jack dropped his sleeping bag onto the ground next to the fire pit. The rabbit stew was ready and looked appetizing. Jack scooped some food into his bowl and sat on his folded sleeping bag. “This is delicious,” – he mused, – “maybe dad was right about hunting, after all.”

Jack finished his meal and got up, preparing to leave. He covered the metal pot with a clean piece of cloth, planning to eat it in the evening. Then, he put out the fire, swiftly picked up his remaining belongings, and brought them into the cabin. The other can he left there was now filled with fresh water. “This isn’t a bad day, after all! Sleep and food must have helped. I feel so much better.” – Jack said and decided to reinspect his ribcage wound. The bruise was barely there, and the swelling had disappeared completely. “I can’t believe it!” – Jack exclaimed.

“I must know why this place feels odd, even if it has been good to me.” – Jack said. He stepped away from the door toward the candle and sat on the floor to examine the candle’s delicate nature. In reality, “delicate” was only the flame – still dainty, STILL lit. The body of the candle was misshapen; its texture was rough and chaotic. The base of the candle was somewhere deep, possibly, below the floor level, buried under hundreds, or even thousands, layers of wax. The wick was protruding from its center, thick and fragile-looking all at once. Its threads were woven from fine, hair-like fibers. “What is it made of?” – Jack wondered, trying to follow the trails of the wax as far as he could. They all led to the trapdoor near the corner of the cabin.

Jack looked at the candle again; its fire was even more robust than last night. He brought his hand closer as if to pet the flame. The flame responded by elevating itself to make a connection with Jack’s wound. When Jack retracted his hand and stepped away, the flame returned to its previous state. Every time he stepped closer, the flame extended toward his flesh.

“It gets more bizarre by the minute,” – Jack whispered – “I really should get going.” He looked at the trapdoor again.

The sun was still high in the sky, and Jack decided to explore whatever was beneath the trapdoor. He brought his flashlight and lifted the heavy wooden hatch. There was a wooden staircase leading underground. It seemed long, without any visible floor below. Jack decided to try it out, putting the flashlight between his teeth as he climbed down.

It was tranquil and dry underground, causing beads of sweat to appear on Jack’s forehead. He kept climbing down without seeing much around him, careful not to drop the flashlight. The cabin floor seemed very far away the more he descended. Finally, Jack stepped on something other than thin air.

He slowly brought his other foot down and turned around. It was still very dark, yet something started forming before him. There were some organic shapes, seemingly made of smoke.

Jack took the flashlight out of his mouth and into his hand, stepping closer to the mysterious formation. Everything around was pitch-black – darker than anything he had ever encountered. With his flashlight, Jack got as close as possible to one of the more prominent figures and poured some light onto it. It was a human corpse, reduced to a skeleton.

In shock, Jack sprang back and almost lost his balance. He managed not to fall and quickly regained his posture, catching his flashlight seconds before it hit the floor. Only there was no floor. Jack was levitating above an expansive mass grave filled with hundreds of corpses.

“I am walking on air!” – Jack yelled in disbelief. – “What is this place?” – He made a few steps in each direction and saw a similar landscape for as far as the beam of his flashlight could reach. “Am I dreaming this? Am I already dead?” – Jack peppered the vast space with questions, not expecting an answer.

But, there was an answer.

“Not yet”, – the cabin echoed.

“Who is this?” – Jack yelled, turning around and flashing his light in all directions. “Are you messing with me?”

“Why would I do that? I am not a human.”

“I don’t understand… Where am I?”

“So many questions! That is indeed very human.”

“As if you are not.”

“I am not.”

“Then, tell me. What is this all about?”

“How much do I enjoy being alone… To avoid precisely this: endless questions, fears, irrational choices…”

“Who are you?”

“I am an Architect.”

“An architect? What do you build?”

“Look around you.”

Jack shook his head and walked forward, keeping his flashlight in front of him as if it were a weapon. He stepped closer to the pile of corpses, seeing all their limbs entangled in unexpected places. There was no rotting, putrid smell, flesh, or hair on any of the bodies.

“What do you do with all these corpses, whoever you are?” – Jack screamed, desperately trying to see the Architect in the smoky darkness.

“Me? I’m not doing anything. But you will.”

“What are you talking about? Is that grass outside hallucinogenic?”

“It is not, and I’m talking about choices. We all make choices in life, and then, we continue to do that in the afterlife.”

Jack started sobbing, debilitated by his helplessness. Unable to find a single wall to lean on, he squatted, suspended in the air among hundreds of corpses. He kept switching his flashlight on and off as if trying to find an answer with each click. Without any progress, he shot up to his feet.

“So, what do you want?” – Jack muttered submissively.

“I want you to decide.”

“Decide what?”

“Decide if you want to stay on the outside.”

Enraged, Jack groaned heavily and nearly dropped his flashlight. Yet, his body was still floating among all the corpses in the semi-translucent darkness. He walked toward the closest corpse conglomerate within his reach and started exploring its unique formation. All the skeletons were intertwined as if their bones were tree branches. It was impossible to see where each one of them merged with the other. The bones were very clean, with no defects or signs of damage.

Jack kept walking alongside a wall of skeletons. A few feet away, some of the bodies started showing remains of flesh. The farther he walked, the more flesh was still attached to the bones. “I must’ve inhaled too much methane leaking from the corpses,” – Jack whispered – “so this must be a dream. Even the floor could be lined with methane, so it feels like I’m walking on a cloud.”

“You are right about methane,” – the Architect said – “but you are wrong about this being in a dream.”

“Who are you?” – Jack screamed, losing his patience.

“I’ve already told you! How could you forget so quickly?”

“And if you cut all this “architect” nonsense?”

“I am the spirit of the forest.”

“Great. Replacing one delusion with another.”

“Fight it all you want, but you cannot win.”

Cursing under his breath, Jack kept walking. The bodies around him were leaning upward, forming an inverted funnel. Most of them had flesh still attached, and their hair was stripped and pulled up, creating a fabric-like substance.

“Fine. You win. Will you answer my questions now?”

“Shoot.”

“Maybe, I should have. My father always wanted me to become a hunter.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I tried, but it’s not my thing. I don’t want to take lives.”

“Then, we may have a problem.”

“Again? You are going to drive me insane with all your cryptic half-truths.”

“Cryptic? Half-truths? Such a loaded statement.”

Jack sighed in frustration. He could only see the repetition of the pattern: bones, flesh, and hair. When he turned around, it was unclear where he came from: the entire space looked like a maze. Finally, Jack saw a dripping pattern on the wall resembling teardrops. Or did it resemble droplets of wax?

Wait.

Dizzy and light-headed, Jack pressed the flashlight to his temple. He closed his eyes and spun around, still hoping to wake up from this nightmare. When his eyes opened, he saw a slight shift in the darkness, as if an airflow was moving in a different direction. The same one he saw near the candle in the cabin.

No way.

“Was this you earlier? Messing with me?” – Jack moaned.

“I am not messing with anyone. All of them” – the Architect ran across the wall of bodies with his ghostly physique – “made their own choices.”

“You turn people into candles?” – Jack whispered.

“Just one candle; why waste the resources. And, it’s been going for years – a very sensible investment in my book. High ROI. Sustainable. Eco-friendly.”

“I am not familiar with most of what you just said.”

“Oh, my last gig was a businesswoman. We chatted for hours.”

“You call your victims ‘gigs’? That is inhuman, even for someone who is not a human.”

“Professional hazard. What do you do?”

“I told you, I am a hunter.”

“You told me your father wanted you to be a hunter.”

“Yes, but otherwise, I am... Jack. I don’t know who I want to be. I just… am.”

“It does take longer for some to figure it out… But you will have to make a choice soon because… this cabin has been abandoned for years, but now when I can keep the candle lit, I am not giving up.”

“What do I have to do with this?”

“What do you think all of them had to do with this?”

“No idea, they were people once, and now some psychopath made them into a candle and wants me to decide what’s next.”

“So sensitive. It’s not like that. Nature made them into a candle. But I like to keep it lit because it is the only bright light in the dark.”

Unwell and disoriented, Jack gasped for air. Both the pathway he came through and the wooden ladder have disappeared.

“Why me?” – Jack croaked. – “Why them?”

“Because you all were looking for light in your own darkness. Last night, you didn’t stop because you were tired; you stopped because of the candle in the window.”

“True, but I wanted to leave today. I cleaned up everything and was halfway out.”

“But you didn’t.”

“The candle has healed me. It closed a deep cut from last night and fixed my broken ribs. It made me feel something.”

“That something is grief. A mighty thing, really.”

“I shot a rabbit today and felt grief for taking its life.”

“I know. It’s here with us too.”

Jack gasped with repulsion. He lifted his flashlight and saw a rabbit’s skin floating in the air, among a patterned airflow he had seen earlier. Tears flushed down his face as he demanded, “How?”

“That hole in the ground where you buried the rabbit’s remains brought it down here.” – the Architect stated.

“And then, the candle’s flame got bigger… Does every new offering make it stronger?”

“It does. The candle must heal itself before it can heal others.”

“What happens when we cannot heal anymore?”

“Then we die.”

“Aren’t you already dead?”

“There isn’t a way to kill me, though I can stay dormant for ages.”

Looking around him, Jack let his head fall to his chest. His arms were lifeless, barely able to hold the flashlight anymore. Jack put it into his pocket.

“Why candle?” – he whispered.

“So that any traveler can find the way.”

Jack wanted to fall, to be swallowed by the darkness, to disappear… but all he achieved was floating in the air, suspended. The Architect was floating beside him.

“You know how much fat human bodies contain? A lot. Even if they are not fat, per se.” – The Architect said. – “I use fat for the candle, hair for the wick, and everything else for fertilizer. We are forest dwellers, after all.”

“Why does the forest look so shabby then?” – Jack muttered.

“Because people are shabby these days. Full of toxins.”

The flashlight had fallen out of Jack’s pocket and he didn’t bother. Looking into the void, he asked, “So, what do you want again?”

“I want you to decide whether to stay inside or out.”

“I’m sure there is a price to pay if I leave.”

“Keeping the candle lit will pay your price. Just don’t let it go out.”

Jack sighed and nodded affirmatively. Then, everything vanished.

... The sun was setting. Jack woke up on top of his flattened sleeping bag in the middle of the cabin. The candlelight was receding, crackling in the dusk peacefully.

“What a bizarre dream I have just had! Must be a side effect of my poor life choices.”

“Choices, choices” – the cabin echoed. Jack shot up to his feet. The candle light was leaning toward him, as if asking for something. Jack extended his recently-wounded hand over it. The flame enveloped his skin hungrily.

“Enough!” – Jack shouted. – “I have to go.”

He collected his belongings and pulled the door handle toward him. It did not budge. Jack pulled stronger, with no success. He rushed to the window, willing to break it. The glass did not shutter. The closer he got to the candle, the more aggressive its flame became. Exhausted, Jack sat down on the floor.

“So, is your final choice to stay inside?” – asked the Architect’s voice inside Jack’s head.

“No! I want to leave!” – Jack shouted, tears running down his cheeks.

“You cannot do that. But, you can buy yourself a travel pass right now.”

Jack looked through the window, where the candle was gleaming peacefully. Outside, a young lone traveler was looking for shelter. Jack rose to his feet. The traveler knocked on the window, ever slightly.

“Excuse me.” – The traveler said – “Could I possibly stay here tonight?”

“Absolutely,” – Jack murmured, – “you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

He walked toward the front door to let the stranger inside. The door slid open effortlessly.

Image credit: @vprmk