The Cabin in the Woods

by Tim Lebbon

  We can’t look after ourselves, Marty thought. Dana shot a quick glance in his direction, then turned to her roommate and spoke up.

  “Jules, do you want to lie down?”

  “That’s exactly the point!” Curt said, shoving Jules toward the door. “Mush! Mush!”

  “Don’t push me around,” Jules protested, but she wasn’t upset, and she even made her objection sound suggestive.

  “Not around, baby,” Curt said. “Straight line. Right there. Out there. Pretty stars!” He reached around her and tugged the door open, and the breath of air made the dying fire glow brighter for a few seconds. The two of them left the cabin and it suddenly became motionless, music still blasting, a knot in the fire popping.

  Then Dana sighed and crossed to the kitchen to pour another beer.

  Marty hauled himself up from the chair. Holden was still on the couch, avoiding his eyes, tapping his fingers on his knee.

  “Hey...” Marty began, but Holden picked up the leather-bound diary and started flicking through it, pausing here and there as if he’d found something interesting. “Dude, it’s cool,” Marty said, but walking across to Dana he felt the lie in that.

  Reaching the place where she stood, he handed her his own beer cup and she started filling it. She didn’t look at him or speak.

  “Do you seriously believe that nothing weird is going on?” he asked, surprising himself with the bluntness of the question.

  “A conspiracy?” she asked wryly. She smiled, but it was without humor. He saw the strain in her beautiful face.

  “The way everybody’s acting!” he said.

  “I’m sorry about downstairs,” she sighed, waving at Holden and the diary.

  “It’s cool, it’s not...” Marty shrugged. “I mean, when did Curt start with this alpha male bullshit? He’s a sociology major; he’s on a full academic scholarship! Now he’s calling his friend an “egghead,” whose head in no way resembles an egg...” He looked over at Holden. “Except... ahhh. Okay, kinda, from this angle, it’s...” He smiled and held his own head in an effort to keep it from becoming egg-shaped.

  “Curt’s just drunk,” Dana said.

  “I’ve seen Curt drunk,” Marty said, serious again. And serious hurt his head. “Jules, too. And this ain’t them.”

  “Then maybe it’s something else,” she said, pointing at his joint with one hand and taking a sup of beer with the other. She had a line of foam settled across her top lip, and Marty found it unbearably cute.

  “My secret secret stash is a gateway to enlightenment,” he said. “It’s not a devolvafier.” He glanced at the stuffed wolf’s head, still unreasonably disturbed by the terrifying growl it had found for eternity. “Moose, back me up on this. Dana, you’re not seeing what you don’t wanna see—the puppeteers.”

  “Puppeteers?” That caused him to toss her a puzzled look.

  “Pop-tarts?” he asked, frowning, putting one hand to his head and wondering what he was on about. Backtrack a little here, he thought. “Er... did you say that you have pop-tarts?”

  Dana laughed.

  “Marty, I love you, but you’re really high.”

  “We are not who we are,” Marty said, deadly serious. He closed his eyes and tried to find where that had come from, but there was a part of him removed now, conducting this conversation and tweaking his emotions while the real Marty sat back in the armchair, chilled and smoking and without a care... “I’m gonna read a book with pictures.” He ambled down the corridor to his room, feeling Dana watching him go.

  What does she think, the gorgeous Dana who can never be mine? He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t even sure what he thought. A lie down, that’s what he needed. A rest. Rest those eyes, that mind.

  Rest.

  •••

  Dana watched him go. Marty. He was sweet, and a great friend. She’d never wanted to spoil their friendship with anything more, and she never really thought of him that way. But usually when he was high he didn’t freak her out so much. The few times she’d tried pot she’d gone pale and sweaty, her heart-rate had increased, and she’d ended up puking or lying on her bed for the next three hours while it left her system. Marty was a pot veteran; she’d never seen or heard of anyone smoking as much as him, without it seeming to impede his judgment or consciousness. Not too much, at least.

  Alone in the room with Holden, it felt peaceful at last. She turned down the music and glanced over to see if he had noticed, but he seemed involved with the diary. So she took over two beers and sat beside him again, holding one out for him. He took it and nodded his thanks, but still didn’t take his eyes from the book.

  When he did speak, it wasn’t anything Dana was expecting to hear.

  “‘The pain outlives the flesh. The flesh returns... or re... has a meeting place... towards the pain’s ascension.’” He was obviously reading from the diary, brow furrowed, one finger following the words.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “The Latin. That you—”

  “You speak Latin?” she asked, surprised.

  “Not well, and not since tenth grade. Weird how it comes back.” He sipped his beer, frowning at the book a little longer before closing it and tossing it to one side. It landed on the sofa and flopped open again, to the exact page he’d been reading. Dana noticed, but Holden didn’t seem to.

  Finally, he only had eyes for her.

  “Well, it’s been a weird time. I’m so sorry about... tonight.” She shrugged. “You know. Everybody.”

  “Do I lose points if I tell you I’m having a pretty nice time?” he asked.

  “No, you can tell me that. No points lost.” She sipped her own beer, and watched Holden get up and stoke the fire. He threw on more logs and used the poker, rooting around and blowing gently on the glowing embers until the crackle of flames rose again. They were small to begin with, but they would spread. Warmth bled outward from the fire again, and Dana relaxed deeper into the sofa.

  Holden sat back down beside her, closer than ever, and placed his arm across the back of the sofa behind her. It wasn’t a secretive move, and his hand rested easily on her shoulder. Dana leaned sideways until her head touched his shoulder and thought, Maybe it’ll be an okay evening after all. Maybe Curt just needs to get laid, and Jules is drunk on first-night excitement, and Marty... Marty’s just high.

  But then as the flames sparked higher she thought of Holden’s translation of the Latin she’d read out: The pain outlives the flesh. And even through the fresh heat she felt goosebumps prickling her arms.

  •••

  Jules ran. Perspiration was cooling all over her, chilling her, making her muscles seem frozen and her skin prickle with a million points of ice.

  Footsteps pounded behind her, closing, closing, and she put on an extra spurt of speed. The darkness did not slow her, and neither did the feel of spider webs breaking across her face and neck as she ducked between trees. Maybe she was more drunk than she thought, or perhaps it was just the thrill of the chase. The chase, she’d always known, was better than the catch, and maybe that was why she’d always had guys in the palm of her hand.

  There were her looks, sure; she knew she was a scorcher. But she also knew what guys wanted, and when, perhaps better than they. There was a difference between leading them on toward nothing, and racing them toward something.

  So she ran, giggling, breathing hard, skirting the lake to her right and curving around into a part of the woods they hadn’t seen before. And just when she judged the moment was right she slowed a little, feeling Curt’s arm close around her waist as he skidded to a stop and swept her from her feet. Her legs kicked up and he turned, bringing her around to stand again before him.

  In his other hand he was still carrying his beer cup, most of it spilled now, but some still glinting in the bottom. He was grinning. Breathing hard. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him quite like this, but then she also felt...

  Different, she thought. And horny as all hell. The afternoon�
�s shower escapades had, it seemed, been just a prelude.

  “Come here!” he said, pulling her close, the remaining beer slopping from the cup.

  “Ah! Don’t spill on me!”

  “Thought you liked it when I spilled on you.”

  “Your beer, pig.” But Jules giggled, writhing in his grasp.

  “Did I get a little beer on your shirt?” He kissed her deep and hard. “I guess it’ll have to come off.” He threw the beer cup away and started plucking at her buttons. She pulled back playfully, shirt stretching.

  “Not here,” she teased.

  “Oh, come on...” He paused and looked around, grinning. “We’re all alone.” He pulled her shirt open but she caught the edge and held it together again, stepping back, enjoying the chase just a little more. She was aching for him, but the ache would be more satisfyingly tended the longer this preamble continued. Curt knew that too, but his eyes were almost animal with lust now.

  “I’m chilly,” she said, pouting as Curt advanced on her. Like a big bear, she thought. Here comes my big bear.

  •••

  A groan passed through the crowd of assembled onlookers. The girl backed away again, shirt tight across her chest, even though they could all see the sweat beaded on her face.

  It was going well. It was going to plan. But Sitterson was keen to speed things along. Time might be running out, and he wanted to see—

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Hadley said, standing from his desk. “Everybody out. You’ve all got jobs to do.” He waved them toward the exit, and nodded to Truman to hold the door open for all of them.

  Just like Hadley, Sitterson thought, smiling. He’s never liked watching the fucking with too many people around him.

  After the other workers had been herded out his friend sat again, then wheeled his chair expertly across. Sitterson knew immediately what Hadley was going to ask. “We got temperature control in that sector?”

  “On it,” Sitterson said, smiling. He’d already been notching the temperature up, subtly but noticeably. He opened a window on his computer and nudged the touch-screen thermometer up a little more. “It’ll be tropical in there within minutes,” he said.

  “Nice,” Hadley replied. He was back at his own station now, tapping away on his own computer. “Okay, engaging the pheromone mists.”

  Chem guys are doing well this time, Sitterson thought. I’ll have Tom compliment the Ice Queen on that. But here’s the next big test for them. The mists were notoriously glitchy. A breath of a breeze from somewhere—their control of the environment was extensive, but not complete—and the effect could be lost entirely. But this time...

  This time he was feeling good about things.

  It was all going according to plan.

  He smiled. He’d long ago shed the guilt he ought to feel over what would happen next.

  •••

  Damn, it’s warm, she thought. The air around them was hazed with a subtle mist, and maybe that had raised the temperature a little, a damp heat that seemed to have spread all across and through her body. Oh, fuck it, this has gone on long enough. She breathed in through her nose, still holding the edges of her blouse closed, but feeling the heat growing in her stomach and groin. Her legs were weak, her fingertips tingling.

  She opened her eyes and looked at Curt, her lust reflected there.

  He came close for another kiss and she let go of her shirt, wrapping her arms around him, sliding them up beneath his shirt to feel his muscled body slicked with a sheen of sweat. Their mouths met and passions merged. Jules kissed with her eyes open, relishing the sight of him and eager to be a part of their surroundings. It was so warm... so comfortable... so conducive to love.

  She tugged hard at his shirt and felt buttons pop, and his low laughter gave her license to pull harder.

  “It’s so dark,” she muttered, for some reason feeling the need for one last, weak protest. “I’m gonna get twig-butt. Take me inside.” When all the time she was thinking, Have me now, fuck me now!

  “Baby, this is why we came here,” Curt breathed into her mouth. “It’s romantic.” He turned her, one hand on her tight stomach, the other gently pulling her open shirt down so that he could nibble on her. He knew how wild that drove her, and he ran his teeth down her neck and along to the nub of her shoulder, biting softly and holding her up when her knees weakened.

  Her breath came fast and—

  •••

  —Sitterson coughed, trying to cover his embarrassment. He was supposed to be a professional, but damn, this was hot. The jock was a jerk, but the girl was gorgeous. He thought perhaps the Chem guys had allowed a bit too much aphrodisiac, but that was one mistake he didn’t mind.

  “Music, and moonlight, and love and ro...mance.” he sang softly to himself, tapping some computer keys and tweaking a small level on his control panel.

  On the large viewing screen, behind the writhing, still-standing couple an area of moss and soft green ferns seemed to glow from within, only slightly but enough to draw their attention. Neither of them even looked as they edged that way, and he sat back and cracked the knuckles on both hands.

  He looked across at Hadley.

  “Eh?” he asked, nodding at the screen. “Eh?”

  Hadley nodded.

  Damn, I’m good, Sitterson thought. And now—

  •••

  Jules felt dizzy with lust. Curt eased her down onto the ground, and the moss and ferns seemed softer than the mattress back in the cabin, warmer, there were no creaks, and the gentle scent of nature drifted around her as they explored each other’s bodies.

  She heaved herself up and they rolled, Curt beneath her now. She propped herself on one elbow for a moment, her hand traveling down across his washboard stomach and delving beneath his belt. He held his breath, she held back for just a moment, then she closed her hand around him and he groaned. Damn, he’s as horny as me, she thought. As his hands ventured inside her shirt she started to work him and—

  •••

  —Sitterson turned a dial less than a degree, increasing the humidity infinitesimally, and it was an adjustment he knew many other people would have never found cause to make. But that was why he and Hadley were the best. They were more than just technicians, they were craftsmen, as concerned with the journey as the outcome itself.

  He knew very well that the chase was better than the catch.

  Sitterson hummed to himself, then whistled a little, glancing across at his partner and swapping a contented nod. They were such a great team. If he had his concerns, Hadley would pick up on them right away, and the converse was true.

  “Okay,” Hadley said softly, “boobies, boobies.”

  “Show us the goods,” Sitterson muttered.

  From behind him came Truman’s uncomfortable cough. Sitterson had known this moment would come; he’d sensed the confusions in the kid, and more than that, the doubt. There’d been others like him before, and mostly they were given other tasks in the facility, taken away from Control where they could see everything that was going on and given menial tasks that held no obvious outcome. But there had also been two others who’d come this far and then refused to go any further.

  They’d been taken care of. Sitterson had succeeded in forgetting even their names. But he’d also vowed to coach any new guys past such dangerous concerns.

  “Does it really matter if we see—?” Truman began, and Hadley cut in quickly.

  “We’re not the only ones watching, kid.”

  “Got to keep the customer satisfied,” Sitterson added, glancing over his shoulder at the soldier. “You understand what’s at stake here?”

  “Sorry,” Truman said, nodding.

  Sitterson turned back to his screen, considered asking for some coffee, but decided that—

  •••

  —Her lust was all-consuming, her breath fast, and she yearned for him, lifting her butt to allow him to pull off her jeans. He bent forward and ran his tongue up her right leg, her
thigh, passing her panties and gripping the elasticated waist instead. He pulled it up and growled, letting it snap back across her stomach, and Jules laughed.

  Then the growl faded away as he dipped his face down between her thighs, and Jules’s head fell back as she felt the first touch of his tongue.

  •••

  “Oh,” Truman said, but Sitterson ignored him. That was another thing with these newbies—the first few times were porn. He pretends he knows what’s at stake, he thought. But the sight of a hot chick getting eaten out drives all that from his mind.

  Sitterson adjusted a dial, tapped some buttons on his computer, checked some readouts. All seemed good.

  “Oh!” Truman said again.

  Hadley upped the volume on the speakers, Control was filled with groaning, and Sitterson grinned. Bastard was just winding the kid up. And... well, Hadley got a lot out of this, too. Sitterson guessed all the married guys did, because it was allowable. It was part of the job.

  For just a moment he imagined Lin lying there on the moss with his face pressed between...

  But that was too much of a distraction, at least for now.

  “Looking good,” he said, checking more readouts. He glanced up at the screen again, humming softly.

  “Looking good.”

  •••

  Jules sat up and pushed Curt aside, sitting astride him and undoing the final couple of buttons on her shirt. She teased... touching her stomach... fingers stroking the edges of the fabric while Curt panted beneath her. And then she pulled at both edges and let it drop from her shoulders, quickly slipping down her strapless bra and exposing what she knew were just about the best breasts in the Northern hemisphere.

  And Curt was a guy. Though he’d seen them a thousand times before, he still caught his breath and looked up at her in silent, worshipful wonder.

  “You look so—”

  •••

  “—good,” Hadley said. “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Sitterson said, “great tits.” But it was the voice of a man admiring a particular work of art. The girl leaned forward, the guy wrapped his arms around her.