Short Story: The Cabin

I knew he was going to come for me. Somewhere inside, I accepted it. Still, I had been hoping that, against all odds, he would never come. I knew better, but I hoped anyway.

Maybe something would happen to him before he got around to me. Maybe one of the others would get lucky. Maybe he would die in a plane crash. Maybe food poisoning would take him.

But then, I would never know. I would be cursed to look over my shoulder for the rest of my days. Maybe it would be better to just get this over with. But, on the other hand, I was not so anxious to die.

I'd been watching his progress. No one could ever keep tabs on him; not directly. But a trail of obituaries, running from one side of the country to the other, told me the fate of all the others. James Connelly, our pilot: drowned in a boating accident. David Russell, the navigator: dead from exposure in Yosemite. Tyrone LaMonte, sharp-shooter: accident with a rifle. Professor Neil Clemens, the world's foremost expert on the Mayan civilization: crushed under a collapsing library shelf.

And the others, all of them, had died in similar ways. One after another, he'd come for them, and killed them with their own strengths. Now I was the last. Professor Clemens had taught at Cornell, just a few hours south. His death was announced in yesterday's Ithaca Journal.

Some of us had tried to run, like David. Some of us had hid in our personal strongholds, the places of our greatest power and influence, like Neil. It didn't change anything.

He came for us, each in turn, and killed us. And now he was coming for me.

I lay back in my chair, watching the sun rise over the Adirondacks. I took a sip of my coffee, snuffed out my cigarette, and checked my pistol again. Safety off, chamber loaded.

I had no idea what he'd do to me. I'd been the money man. It was I who had financed the expedition. It was I who had told Neil to disregard the warnings surrounding the tomb's entrance. It was I, in that dusty place of darkness, who told the others to open the crypt if they wanted to be paid.

I told myself that maybe he would forget about me. Maybe I was unimportant in the scheme of things. I knew I was kidding myself.

My cabin was as isolated as one could get. It was a small wooden affair set up on the shores of Moose River, miles away from the nearest outpost of civilization. Not even the people of Inlet knew where I'd gone. There was no way he could find me here.

Just like there was no way he could find David. I wondered how it would end for me.

I lit another cigarette. I chuckled briefly at the thought of giving myself lung cancer. Maybe he'd just let me die of my own folly. It was then I knew that the terror was getting to me. I was starting to crack under the pressure of anticipation.

"Why can't you just show up already?!" I yelled to the mountains, "Let's get this over with!"

I checked out the windows on all four sides of the cabin. It must have been the tenth time I'd done so since it had gotten bright enough out to see. Clearing, road, river, forest. And mountains all around.

There was no one there. I was safe for at least a few more minutes.

I never thought I'd go this way. Hiding in a hole, far away from everyone I love. Don't we always say, 'If I knew I was about to die, I'd want to spend that time with my family'? What a great person I am, knowing he's coming for me, and I didn't even say goodbye to Brenda.

But, if I could somehow get out of this death sentence, there would be all the time in the world to make this up to her. We could kiss and cuddle on the beaches of Monaco. We could salsa in the streets of Santo Domingo. We could chow down in Hong Kong. I would take her anywhere, give her anything, if only I had the chance. If only I could get away from him.

I knew there was no chance of that. I knew he'd find me. I'd been the one he wanted all along. All the others were just stepping stones on his way to me.

And soon, sometime today, he'd have me. Then it would be all over.

I snuffed out my last cigarette. I picked up the gun and slipped it into my pocket. The sun was up, now, and it was time for a walk.

I knew it was foolish to lock the cabin's door. It was already warm out, and today promised to bring the full heat of summer, so all the windows were open. But I couldn't resist the urge to make myself feel like I was making the place secure. So he couldn't sneak up on me.

I walked down to the trail that ran along the river. If I followed it far enough, I'd come to the peak of some unnamed mountain. If I went the other way, I'd eventually come to Lake Ontario. Brenda and I had made that journey for our 5^th anniversary. How long ago that was now.

I walked along the sandy path, following it down, past titanic boulders overgrown with lichen. Into a copse of pine, I went. I walked beside a towering cliff face, with little rivulets streaming down. I came, at last, to the ancient wooden bridge. It was a mere 50 feet of grayed wood that spanned a shallow ford. It had been there as long as I could remember, back to the earliest days when my own parents brought me camping up here.

What had once been a pleasant memory of peaceful times was now becoming one of sadness and loss. This might be the last time I'd ever see this wooden bridge. It would outlive me. In a way, I thought of it as my legacy to mankind, a way to share the feelings I'd felt in better days.

The sun was a quarter of the way up when I came back to the cabin. I pulled the latch, and the door swung open. I had been so lost in my reverie that it took me a moment to realize that it hadn't been locked. I was sure I'd locked it.

Time was up.

I pulled the gun from my pocket, and scanned the room like a cop. Nothing.

As quiet as I could, I moved toward the bedroom, the only section of the place with its own separating door. It was open a crack. I saw a shadow swirl in the sunbeams. He was in there.

I raised the gun, cocking it in silence. I advanced. I would be damned if I'd just let the bastard take me down to hell with him. He might steal my soul - he may have already - but he'd have to fight me for it.

Two steps away, the door swung open. I saw his silhouette against the bright light of the ascending sun shining through the drapes. I fired.

I'm sure I hit him square in the chest, and he was blown back into the room. I emptied the clip into him. At least two rounds struck his head.

Let's see the son of a bitch come back from that.

I crossed the threshold to see what I'd done. To make sure he was dead. I was elated; I might yet win free.

My eyes didn't adjust as quickly as they had in my youth. The first thing I noticed was the blood. It struck me as odd. Somewhere inside, I knew he shouldn't bleed.

Then I saw the painted toenails, wrapped in a leather sandal. My heart stopped.

I leapt next to the body, the gun tumbling to the floor somewhere behind me. I saw the pool of blood spreading from underneath her. Her white sundress, stained crimson forever. She'd never forgive me for that.

I caressed her soft hair, feeling the wetness against my palm where I'd injured her. Blank eyes stared up at me.

My Brenda. The love of my life. I'd killed her.

I cried then. Lost in despair, I don't know how long I wailed to the heavens, beseeching that they take me instead, that it was my fault.

After a time, though, I knew the truth. It was the monster. This was what he'd done. He took my life from me in the only way that had any meaning; the only thing he could vanquish that I could never buy back.

All the money in the world was nothing to me, without her.

I went dead inside. I stood up from the body, now pale as death, and picked up my gun. I'd never expected this. Never had he taken a loved one from those he sought. Never had he even been seen by any save his victim.

But now he'd gone too far. Now he would pay.

I stormed out of the bedroom, leaving Brenda to bask in the sun's warming rays, one last time.

"Show yourself!" I screamed. "End this! Come to me!"

I raced to the drawer where I kept my ammunition. It was a matter of only a few seconds to reload the weapon. I spun around, seeing no one else. But I knew he was here. I could feel him.

I stalked the cabin from end to end, searching every shadow. Then, I went outside. I cast my gaze all around, but did not see the monster. Until, at last, I came to the cool river's edge.

With the sun now directly overhead, I could see clearly into the water's crystalline depths. Every rock, every fish, every cloud in the sky, I could see the whole world in that water.

And I saw him. There he was, hiding just beside the shore. I knew where he was, at last. Without a moment's hesitation, I put the gun to his head. He didn't even flinch.

I pulled the trigger.