Writer's Remorse

Writers Remorse

         "Ya man made it here without a problem," Hugh said, phone held in his hand, a bag on his back.

         "You really sure about this, didn't they like find 10 people dead in there or something weird like that" Alexander's voice boomed through the speaker of Hugh's phone. Hugh scoffed opening the door to the cabin and carefully placing his bag down against the wall beside the door.

         "Of course of sure about this man, this is the kind of shit Stephen King does. Find a creepy place, turn off all technology, and just write. And only 10 bodies were found, cops think it might be more" Hugh said examining the cabin. It was a simple one-story cabin with a small kitchen area featuring a small wood-burning stove beside a fireplace. A two-person couch spaced at a comfortable distance from the said fireplace. A bed in the corner away from the windows and a table and chairs resting between the bed space and the small kitchen dawned with only a sink and a cabinet beneath it.

         "So like it's okay to just go there? Thought they were still investigating the place or something?" Alexander asked curiously.

         "Case was closed once they found the remains of the killer, and the owners fixed the place up and rent it out to people like me," Hugh said opening his bag. He breathed in smelling the contents of the bag and placed his phone on the ground. He carefully lifted the typewriter bringing it to the table.

         "You mean weirdo's like you man. Couldn't pay me to spend a night in that place" Alexander joked. Hugh grunted and groaned as he lifted the typewriter. "Dude did you really bring that old piece of shit there. Why not bring a laptop or something from this century" Alexander laughed.

         "Stupid up" Hugh yelled from across the room placing the typer writer carefully on the table. "This is exactly how Stephen King writes all his books. I even got the same typewriter as him." Hugh scoffed.

         "Dude I'm pretty sure there is more to writing a book than just getting a special typer writer and going to a murder cabin," Hugh said.

         "Ya, says the programmer. You barely have a single writing bone in your body" Hugh said in an arrogant tone.

         "At least I have enough money to feed myself," Alexander said defensively.

         "Ya whatever, just wait til I finish this book," Hugh said annoyed hanging up the phone and turning it off. Hugh sighed deeply taking in his surroundings once again. The light coming from the window was beginning to fade. He had taken longer to get here than he had anticipated. He began to set up, taking out a candle from his bag, bringing in some wood from outside for the stove and fireplace, and readying a bag of stovetop popcorn. When all was said and done cabin was basking in the rays of the setting sun. And with the popping sound of the salty snack filling the cabin, Hugh carefully removed it and placed it beside his typewriter.

         "Alright, I can do this. Just like Stephen King. Just like Stephen King" Hugh said attempting to psych himself up for success. His fingers began to tap away at the keyboard as the cabin began to grow dark. The only light source came from the dimly lit candle and the cracking logs from the fireplace. After hours of typing away, on the ground beside Hugh lay multiple crumpled-up papers and a few kernels of unpopped popcorn.

         "Dammit," Hugh groaned hitting his hand against the table causing it to shake. This is supposed to be easy. I have the atmosphere. I have the typewriter, I have no distractions. Why can't I just write" Hugh sighed putting his head on the table and groaned. "Maybe I'm not—" Hugh's words stopped as he heard the sound of tapping coming from the window beside the door. It was soft, almost inaudible but he was sure he heard something. "Must have been a branch or something" Hugh said a bit nervous. He knew the chances of anyone actually being here were slim to none. The tapping continued, however, and its sound began to increase. Hugh slowly got out of his chair, and carefully walked toward the window. Each step he took caused the wooden planks of the cabin to creak and groan. He would wince each time nervous his movement would alert the thing that may be outside of his cabin. When Hugh got to the window the tapping stopped. He peered outside and attempted to look around but was only able to see darkness. Even his truck was impossible to see.

         "Must have been my imagination" Hugh chuckled to himself breathing in relief. He casually walked back towards the table, not realizing the lack of creaks with each step he took. As he took his seat a spark of inspiration crept into his mind. "What if, I write about this, my time in the cabin itself?" Grabbing a new sheet of paper Hugh began to type away at the keyboard. It was easygoing at first explaining his trip to the nearby town. He purchasing of a few supplies and his long trek up the mountain. Him almost getting lost, and his slow descent into paranoia. But once he had reached the current point in the story he stopped.

         "Okay, now I need to find a sort of conflict," Hugh said to himself as he pondered his options. On one hand, having the killer return to the scene was cliche, but it would make a bit of sense. Although the killer was pronounced dead, DNA testing wasn't 100% conclusive that it was the killer. And some skeptics did believe them to still be alive. Hugh nodded to himself and continued to type away at his keyboard.

         The candle slowly began to reach its end. Melted wax oozed over the mental standing holding the once-tall candle. The embers emitting from the fireplace finally died down leaving the cabin nearly pitch black. A stack of papers stacked neatly rested beside Hugh and his typewriter. He wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled to himself.

         "Done," He said victoriously. He took a swing from his water bottle and leaned back in his chair slightly. He stretched and yawned feeling the fatigue begin to hit him. "Guess I won't need to spend the full 3 days here. Wonder if I can get my deposit back" he chuckled a bit and took to his feet. As he did he could hear the familiar sound of the floorboards creaking and groaning. He shrugged it off before the sound of a familiar tapping caught his attention. It was coming from the same window as before. This time Hugh wasn't afraid, he instead laughed.

         "Oh, how scary," He said sarcastically walking towards the window. Each step he took caused the planks to creak and groan. But this time when Hugh reached the window the tapping didn't stop. It instead grew loudly and more violent. As he looked out the window instead of seeing the darkness, he instead saw the outline of a face. Hugh froze for a moment, his mind not processing what was happening. The glass shattered woke Hugh up and he quickly ran to the other end of the cabin.

         "Shit, shit shit" Hugh yelled as he ran, the silhouette of a large man stomping after him. Hugh could only cower in fear as the man reached out and grabbed Hugh's throat tightly. Hugh began to gasp for air and as the force around his neck began to tighten.

         "AHHHHHH!" Hugh screamed opening his eyes and leaping out of the chair. He looked around realizing he was still in the cabin. Beside his typewriter wasn't a stack of papers but instead were more crumpled-up pieces of paper. Hugh was breathing heavily as he tried to compose himself.

         "A dream," He said softly, noticing the sun's light creeping into the cabin. "I must have fallen asleep," He said laughing a bit to himself trying to make light of the situation. As he breathed in his nose twitched and he let out a disgusted cough. "God what is that smell," He said putting his finger to his nose. But it didn't help. He gagged as that only seemed to make the smell stronger. "Fuck" Hugh said walking towards the couch. Each step made a squishing sound. Hugh didn't realize however and as he looked over at the couch his eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock. The remains of a body sat lifeless on the couch. The body's guts spilled out onto its lap. Its neck was slashed open with dried blood staining the shirt. Hugh could only walk backward slowly, the sound of squishing continued to go ignored until Hugh slipped back and fell. He braced for the impact of the hard wooden floors but was surprised when his landing seemed to be padded. He felt around feeling a strange substance all around him.

         "No. No. No. No" He stuttered as his surroundings began to come into focus. Bodies. Dead bodies surrounded him on the floor. The padding that helped to break his fall was the blood guts and amputated remains of the bodies. Shaking and slowly raising his hands, Hugh saw a knife covered in blood. All he could do was scream.

         "Not real. Not real. Not Real." Was all Hugh could say as he was carefully lifted onto a stretcher. Surrounding him were Police and Paramedics.

         "So could you explain to me again, I'm just having trouble understanding, it was Alex right?" An officer asked.

         "Alexander and I already told you. Hugh said he wanted to get away so he could write a horror novel" Alexander said annoyed trying to explain the situation to the cop for the 4th time.

         "No, I get that. Writer's getting off the grid and all that but why here?" The officer said looking over at the cabin. Or at least the remains of the cabin. The place Hugh had stayed was badly damaged from years of avoidance. A large hole in the wall revealed the interior, covered in decades-old blood stains, no furniture filled the cabin, only an eerie presence.

         "This was the story he wanted to write about. A person going to a cabin, trying to find out about a murder. Or something like that." Alexander sighed looking over at Hugh. His friend was still shaking but thankfully not struggling with the paramedics.

         "Ya well, this place it aint right. That's why they got rid of the trail and everything, don't want people coming to see it" The officer shrugged closing his notepad.

         "Ya, I can see that," Alexander said softly walking over to the cabin and looking inside. He saw a small folding table, a chair, a typewriter, and a few bags of snacks and bottles of water on the ground. He sighed and turned to walk toward his friend Hugh not noticing the eyes watching him from within the cabin.