by Lukens, Mark
“We’re going to knock on the door,” Cole told her. “Don’t try anything stupid. Okay?”
Stella just nodded, and then she ripped her arm out of Cole’s grasp. She got out of the truck and hurried after David.
Cole looked back at Needles who still waited in the backseat, staring at the cabin in horror.
“You coming?” Cole asked Needles.
Even though Needles seemed afraid of this place, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “This place,” he whispered. “Something’s wrong here. Really, really wrong.”
“Needles!” Cole barked, and Needles finally tore his eyes away from the cabin and looked at him. “Needles, you better get your shit together. You hear me? You’re the reason we’re here in the middle of fucking nowhere instead of at the warehouse splitting the money up.”
“But Cole, you don’t understand—”
“Just get it together.”
Cole got out of the truck without another word to Needles.
Cole and Needles met up with the others on the front porch. Frank stood in front of the solid wood front door. He had already slipped one of his gloves off, and he pounded on the door with the edge of his fist.
They waited.
No answer at the door.
Trevor watched the window to the left of the door—no movement of the curtains inside, no lights turning on.
Frank pounded on the door again.
Trevor walked to the window and cupped his hands beside his face as he peered in through the glass.
“See anything?” Cole asked.
“Too dark,” Trevor answered.
Trevor tried to open the window, he lifted up, but it wouldn’t budge.
Frank tried the door handle. He jiggled it, but it was locked. He looked at Trevor. “Go around back and check it out.”
Trevor hurried across the front porch and hopped the railing with one quick movement. He landed down in the snow, turned the corner and disappeared around the side of the house.
*
Trevor hurried down the side of the cabin, his boots sinking into the snow that reached up to his knees in some places. He reached the end of the cabin and peeked around the corner. Nothing much back here: a small stack of firewood against the back wall of the cabin; a wheelbarrow overturned and buried under snow; a small wood building fifty paces away that looked like it housed a water pump or a well.
Shielding his eyes as best he could from the stinging snow, Trevor walked towards the back door of the cabin set in the wall of logs.
He climbed the steps up to the door and tried the door handle.
Locked.
He turned and looked out at the field that stretched out from the back of the cabin. The field in the back of the cabin was at least three times the size of the field in the front—it had to be at least five acres back here. He was about to head back to the front of the cabin when he thought he caught some kind of movement out of the corner of his eye in the field. He looked back at the field, at the line of trees just barely visible in the distance through the snowstorm.
Nothing there. No one moving. No animal moving.
Again, he was about to go back to the front of the cabin, but then he heard a clicking noise from the back door; the noise was audible even over the howling wind. He looked at the back door as it slowly creaked open.
“What the fuck?” Trevor whispered.
He pulled out his nine millimeter handgun from the waistband of his pants and crept towards the back door. He walked up the steps and stood in the doorway and stared at the darkness inside the cabin.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then he saw a hallway that led away from the doorway he stood in. He could make out closed doors along the hall, two on one side, and one on the other. The hallway at the other end opened up to what seemed like a living room, but the living room was too dark to make out much detail.
Trevor hesitated for another moment in the doorway, his gun gripped in one gloved hand. The wind of the storm howled behind him, some of the snow drifted inside the doorway onto the wood-planked hallway floor.
“Hello?” Trevor called out.
No answer.
“Is someone here?”
Trevor waited for another few seconds.
No answer.
No sounds of any kind coming from inside the cabin.
“Our car is overheating. We need to use a phone.”
Trevor took a step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight. His eyes were beginning to adjust even more to the darkness now.
“Hello?” Trevor called out again as he took another few steps.
He didn’t like this—something felt strange here, wrong. He was afraid some old man would be waiting in the darkness with a shotgun, praying for the day some punk would try to break into his cabin. But there was something else he was afraid of, something much worse, a deeper fear, like a fear from a long time ago when he was a child—the fear of a monster in the closet, a monster in the darkness, something unimaginable waiting for him.
Trevor took one more step forward and that’s when the back door slammed shut.
CHAPTER 7
Cole, Stella, David, and the others waited on the front porch as the blizzard scattered snow across the floorboards of the porch.
Cole glanced at both ends of the front porch. What was taking Trevor so long?
Jose hugged his arms, shivering. “Maybe nobody’s here right now. Maybe this is like a summer cabin or something.”
Frank had his back to the cabin as he stood at the edge of the porch in front of the steps. He stared out at the vast field in front of them, the line of dark trees just barely visible through the swirling snow. Frank’s face was as hard as stone as he stared at the trees. He didn’t move a muscle as he finally answered Jose. “Maybe.”
Needles stood by the railing of the front porch, almost leaning against it, like he didn’t want to be close to this cabin. He stared at the cabin with that same look of terror Cole had seen in his eyes when they were sitting inside Stella’s Suburban.
Frank’s eyes, like little black stones, noticed Needles. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Needles shook his head in disbelief. “This can’t be right,” he muttered.
Frank was about to ask Needles what the hell he was talking about when the front door of the cabin flew open.
Frank and Cole drew their guns and aimed them at the front door, both of them only a split second away from pulling the trigger.
Trevor stood in the doorway with a big smile on his face. “The place is empty.”
Cole lowered his gun and let out a breath. “That’s a good way of getting yourself shot, little brother.”
Frank glared at everyone else. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
Jose walked up behind Stella and pushed her towards the door. “You heard the man, get inside!”
Stella whirled around on Jose. She stared at him with piercing blue eyes—she showed no fear of him. “I can walk by myself.”
Jose took a step back without even realizing it.
Stella turned to David and took one of his hands. “Come on, honey. Let’s get out of the cold.”
After they were all inside the cabin, Cole closed and locked the front door, then he twisted a deadbolt lock shut. He turned and looked around at the cabin, which was really one big room, a living room and a kitchen divided by a half-wall and dining room table in between. The hallway led off from near the dining room table to the back door and bedrooms and a bathroom.
The décor was rustic, masculine; it didn’t seem to have a woman’s touch. A couch took up nearly one wall of the living room, a blanket thrown over the back of it. A recliner sat near the couch, closer to the hallway—the two pieces of furniture didn’t match. A large TV occupied the corner closer to one of the front windows; it was the only really modern-looking thing in the whole cabin. Between the TV and couch was the fireplace, cold and gray now, but charred marks suggested a r
ecent fire. A stack of firewood sat on the large stone hearth, an ax leaned against the stone fireplace. Other fireplace tools dangled in a stand on the other side of the fireplace screen.
Cole gazed up at the high vaulted ceiling with heavy, decorative beams adorning it. He could hear the wind howling through the eaves outside.
Stella and David stood in the middle of the living room on a large handwoven Native American rug that consisted of bright colors and strange designs. The snow dripped off of their shoes and dampened the middle of the rug.
Frank nodded at Stella and David. “Go sit on the couch for now.”
Stella and David did as they were told. They sat down on the couch right next to each other. David took one of Stella’s hands in both of his and they watched the men huddle together in the middle of the living room. Except Needles, he didn’t huddle; he stumbled over to the dining room table and plopped down in a chair like his legs had suddenly gone weak.
Jose hugged his arms. “It’s cold in here, man.” He spotted a thermostat on the wall near the hallway and hurried over to it. He moved the dial and listened for a moment. He heard a slight click. He looked at the others, a big smile on his face as the heat kicked on. “We’ve got electricity here. We got heat.”
Cole looked at Trevor. “How’d you get inside?”
“It was weird. I tried the back door, and at first I thought it was locked. It seemed like it was locked. I was about to leave, but then the door opened.”
“What do you mean, it opened?” Cole asked.
Trevor shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it must’ve been stuck or something.”
Cole didn’t say anything, but something about the back door being unlocked bothered him. The windows and the front door were locked, but the back door had been left unlocked?
And something else bothered Cole. He stared at the galley-style kitchen beyond the dining room table. A refrigerator and some counters took up one side of the kitchen. A sink, stove, and more counters on the other side. A large freezer (it looked like a refrigerator laying on its side) sat on the floor at the far wall of the kitchen. There were two frying pans on the stove. A few unopened cans of food sat on the counter. A sink full of dishes.
Cole nodded at the kitchen. “Look. Somebody was in here not too long ago.”
Frank glanced at Cole, and then at the kitchen. He looked back at Cole and Trevor. “You guys check this place out. Make sure no one’s hiding back there.”
*
Cole and Trevor hurried down the hall.
As Trevor went to check out the second bedroom, Cole entered the small bathroom. He saw a tub with the shower curtain drawn back on the left side and a sink and a toilet on the other side. A mirrored medicine cabinet hung above the sink. A small window set into the exterior log wall faced him from the far end of the room. Snow was piled up on the window sill outside. A few small generic Western prints hung on the walls in cheap frames. A threadbare rug had been laid down on the floor in front of the tub.
Cole caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He saw his chiseled face and his short hair which was now spikey from the melting snow glistening in it. But his dark eyes stopped him cold. They looked so tired. He just wanted this job to be over. And it would’ve been over by now if Needles hadn’t killed that old man in the bank.
Cole opened the medicine cabinet. Normal stuff inside: cough medicine, shaving cream, cheap razors and cologne, a stick of deodorant. He reached inside and pulled out a prescription bottle of medicine, some kind of antibiotic. He shook the container, only a few pills rattled around inside. He read the name on the bottle—Tom Gordon.
He set the pills back inside and shut the mirrored door. Cole knew someone lived here. This wasn’t a seasonal cabin or a hunting lodge—this was someone’s home. And that someone had just been here not too long ago. But where was that someone now? Where was Tom Gordon?
Cole looked down at the sink. The faucet dripped water into the basin. He turned the water on for a second, and then turned it off. He turned the handle as hard as he could, but the water still dripped.
Cole left the bathroom and went to check out the other bedroom.
*
In the living room, Frank stared at Needles who sat at the dining room table. Needles still had a frightened look in his eyes as he looked around at the cabin in disbelief.
Frank pulled out a chair and sat down next to Needles, watching him the whole time. “You okay, Needles?”
Needles didn’t answer Frank.
Frank leaned towards Needles, speaking to him again, his voice sharper and louder. “Needles!”
Needles turned and stared at Frank for a long moment, his expression miserable, his eyes lost in some other world. “I didn’t mean to shoot that old man in the bank. I swear I didn’t. It was an accident. You know me, Frank.”
Frank nodded. “I know.”
Needles pulled out a crucifix on a chain from under his thermal shirt as he looked away from Frank. He rubbed the cross gently over and over again with his fingers—a nervous habit.
“This place,” Needles said in a low voice. “I’ve seen it before.”
This caught Frank off guard. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Needles turned and faced Frank, his rheumy blue eyes boring into Frank’s coal-black eyes. “When that old man grabbed me in the bank, I saw things. Bad things. I saw this place.”
Frank inhaled a deep breath; he let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. This was the last thing he needed—Needles taking a nosedive off the edge of sanity. “Needles, just take it easy. I know you’re still upset about what happened.”
“Upset?” Needles screamed at Frank. He jumped up from his chair and jabbed a finger at Frank. “You don’t understand what the fuck’s going on here!”
CHAPTER 8
Cole entered Tom Gordon’s bedroom; he walked around the bed, which wasn’t made. Books and magazines were stacked up against one wall. A pile of dirty clothes lay near the closet door. A flannel shirt and T-shirt were draped over a rickety chair. An old TV, one of those big heavy ones, sat in the corner on top of a scratched and scarred table.
He found the remote control to the TV on the nightstand next to the bed; the remote was lying right beside a Louis L’Amour book: The Haunted Mesa, which was open and face down, a place being saved in the book. He pressed the power button on the remote and turned the TV on, but there was only static. He switched through channel after channel—nothing but static.
After shutting the TV off, Cole tried the telephone next to the bed; it was one of those older telephones that made an annoying ringing sound when someone called. There was no dial tone. He checked to make sure the phone line was plugged in. He jiggled the hang-up buttons—still no dial tone. He ripped the cord out of the wall, unhooked it from the phone and balled up the cord in his hands.
Phone lines must be down from the storm, he thought. Maybe the TV, too. But the electric was still on. The water was still on. Those were good things.
Cole stood at the foot of the bed a moment longer, staring down at the messed up covers. He bent down and looked underneath the bed.
No Tom Gordon hiding there.
No Tom Gordon in any of the closets.
If this Tom Gordon wasn’t here in the cabin somewhere, then he had left in a hurry just before they got here. But what would make someone leave so suddenly in the middle of a snowstorm?
A small dark spot on the carpet near the foot of the bed caught Cole’s attention. He bent down and touched the spot on the carpet—it was sticky and a little wet. He brought his finger up to his face to inspect the red liquid on his finger tip.
Blood? It sure looked like it.
Trevor entered the bedroom and Cole quickly wiped the blood from his finger on the bottom of his coat.
“All clear in the other room,” Trevor said. “How about this room?”
“No one here,” Cole said.
The yelling from out in the living room caught their at
tention. Frank and Needles were screaming at each other out there. They hurried back out to the living room. “Everything okay out here?” Cole asked.
Frank glared at Cole and Trevor, and then he looked at Needles. “Sit the fuck down, Needles.”
*
Needles remained standing at the dining room table, his finger still pointed at Frank, his hand trembling.
For a moment Frank thought Needles was going to yell again, start babbling again. But Needles sat back down without another word and he looked down at the table as he rubbed the crucifix around his neck with his fingers.
Frank’s eyes darted to Stella and David who sat on the couch, David still held Stella’s hand and he stared at Frank.
Frank looked from David back to Needles. He had to get Needles back in line and get this whole thing under control. “That’s right, Needles,” Frank said. “Just calm down. We all need to stay calm.”
Needles looked at Frank. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Needles’ forehead despite the chilly air. His face twisted into a tortured mask and he seemed to be on the verge of tears. “You don’t understand, Frank. We can’t stay here. We’re all going to die. I’ve already seen it.”
Frank pointed his finger at Needles and glared at him with murderous eyes. “Not another fucking word. You hear me, Needles?”
Frank walked away—he needed to get away from Needles for a moment.
Cole glanced at Needles who went back to rubbing the crucifix around his neck, whispering something to himself—a prayer perhaps. Cole followed Frank into the kitchen and he set the balled-up telephone cord on the kitchen counter as Frank opened the refrigerator, checking the food supply.
“Nobody in the back rooms, but someone definitely lives here,” Cole said. “Someone named Tom Gordon. I think he lives here alone.”
Frank looked up from the refrigerator, their eyes locking for a moment.
