The One With The Cabin In The Woods (m+f+)

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RopeBunny
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The One With The Cabin In The Woods (m+f+)

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1840. Interview with Miss Molly Smith.

....I let Wilma borrow Brutus, because the poor girl still hadn't replaced Dolly since that dreadful accident. We set out from Tadington Manor, planning to ride through the valley behind the barracks, before turning back and coming home through Tadington village. The valley is barren rock, nothing grows there. The Pagans say it was the site of an old war between good and evil, and now the ground is cursed, but nobody listens to them. Let them sprinkle herbs on the ground once a year and chant, Daddy says, it's not hurting anyone. We were halfway along the valley floor when the horses started acting up.

They stopped, shaking their heads and refusing to take another step. Spirit, my black and grey, tried to turn around, becoming agitated when I pulled at her reins. Brutus almost threw Wilma, so she slid off, rather ungracfully I felt though didn't say, managing to calm him by leaning his head into her chest and whispering. "Shall we turn back?" I asked. "It seems they've had enough."
"The ground is trembling." She remarked, which wasn't an appropriate response to my question, and besides which I couldn't feel anything. "Let's go back." I repeated, more firmly, but she shook her head. "There's something here." She said, already starting to wander off in the direction the horses wouldn't go. "I'll be right back." She said casually over her shoulder, as I huffed in my saddle. What else could I do, with Wilma abandoning both horses into my care. So I waited, and watched, as she made her way down the rough path, hitching up her riding skirt, stepping carefully with booted feet. "Be careful." I called out. She turned and waved, shouting back. "There's a hole, I can't see the bottom." I frowned, there were no holes in the valley. I was opening my mouth, to repeat my decision that we should go back, when behind Wilma something black rose up from the ground, like a tentacle, and before I could call out a warning it whipped out, wrapping around her chest and dragging her to the floor.

Spirit reared up, throwing me off as both horses bolted. Landing, all I could hear was Wilma screaming, then all of a sudden she wasn't. She needed help. Picking myself up, I ran towards the barracks, and Daddy.

Corporal Todd was in charge of the gate detail, my betrothed, lucky me. A runner was sent to fetch Major Smith, the base commander and Duke of Tadington. Daddy. He came striding out, grey hair tied in a loose tail, back straight, sword buckled at left hip. "Wilma's being attacked." I said. His welcoming smile dropped, and nodding understanding, he turned to his men, the soldier taking over. "Corporal. Reinforce the gate. You men with me." Todd saluted, rushing off to obey. "Okay Mol." He gestured. "Show me."

We found Wilma laying face up, stretched over the hole. Black tentacles, like roots, had wrapped each of her limbs tightly, splaying her out. A fifth tentacle wrapped her face, muffling the screams as her frightened eyes peered through a small gap, whilst a sixth was busy stripping her. Wilma was already down to her tight cream corset and underskirt. Daddy drew his sword, bellowing the order to charge. The men fixed bayonets and rushed in. Together they cut her free, hauling her away from danger, but as he turned to leave, one final tentacle launched itself from the hole, attacking Daddy. Faster then you could imagine it seized hold of his sword arm at the elbow, squeezing and sawing until the limb was severed. Blood fountained out as the tentacle withdrew just as quickly, taking Daddys lower arm, the sword still gripped tightly, with it.

Before he lost consciousness, Daddy ordered dynamite charges set around the hole, sealing it up.



From the diary of John Smith, 1905-1918.

April 20th, 1905.
Standing next to a ruined brick wall, all that remains of an old army barracks, I look down into the valley, the only thing Grandpa left me in his will aside from enough money for a modest yearly income.

I'm the last surviving Smith. Our families fortune was once vast, but the manor house burned down, and the crown took back the land, and titles, the payment for which is the only reason there's any Smith fortune left, leaving just this rock filled valley. I shake my head in disgust, picking my way down the slope for a closer look.

Waking to the dawns first light. I sit up, confused. It appears I stumbled into a small deep hole, which caused me to fall, which knocked me out. I look around me at the barren earth, I had dreamed of this valley filled with tall straight Pines. I smile, nodding, knowing what I need to do.

February 2nd, 1908.
Finally, my brick cabin is finished. The inside consists of one large open space. It seemed right in a way I can't easily explain to build directly over the hole I literally stumbled over that first day. It sits in the middle of the floor, I left a gap in the wooden planks to accommodate it.

October 17th, 1915.
Standing on the front porch, whichever way I look, a sea of tall Pines covers the valley floor for over a mile in all directions. My forest.

The trees grew fast, I see the locals in town frowning over the fact whenever I come in for supplies, they also frown over the black tint invading the needles natural green. But when they ask I just shrug. How did I grow trees on ground that's, according to local history, been barren for centuries? Why are they more black then green? I'm not a tree expert, I reply, before walking away.

March 12th, 1916.
I rescued a girl today.

The forest needs no help from me, it thrives all on it's own, but with nothing else to do I walk its paths daily anyway, with a small axe in my belt and a spade in my hand.

I found her up against a tree, pinned to its thick trunk by what looked like black roots wrapped all around. She cried out upon seeing me, beginning to squirm, which was certainly an agreeable sight as she was quite skinny with a good large bust. But, as she struggled the roots began to tighten further, so I raced to action. Using my axe I cut her free, before escorting the poor girl back to town, where I felt obliged to pay for her bus fare home.

What were the roots? I do not know. Returning later that day I could find no evidence of them ever having been present.

December 10th, 1916.
I'm building a tall fence. There is something evil in this forest, something that needs locking away. I worry that it may be something I helped give life to.

Three more people I've rescued since March. All victims of the same black roots. Two girls, bound back to back around the same trunk, and a boy. The poor man I discovered hanging by his ankles, his pocket change and bird spotters journal littering the floor beneath him. All of them I escorted to safety, because it seems the roots will not return so long as I'm present.

January 30th, 1918.
The fence is finished.

I found one final victim this morning, resting on my porch. A young girl, her blonde hair streaked with dirt. The black roots had hogtied her, fixing wrists to ankles, arching her back. It appears she'd then been dragged through the woods to my door, the evidence of this was her shredded dress. Thank god for her bra. Was she an offering? The forest begging me to leave the single gate I'd built open? I can not.

I freed her, before locking the gate behind her, sealing myself in.

August 10th, 1918.
My supplies are running low, but I dare not open that gate.

The hole in the centre of my cabin whispers to me. At least once a week now I wake up slumped against the gate, keys in hand. I must be strong.

October 9th, 1918.
A boy made it over the fence.

Luckily I found him whilst the roots were still dragging him away, I shudder to imagine his fate otherwise. He was cocooned, with barely an inch of skin showing.

I had to boost him back over the fence, I no longer trust myself with the gate key, I buried it last month in a hole I spent a week digging out.

November 2nd, 1918.
I can no longer take this. Last night I awoke to find myself attempting to dig up the key.

Tonight, after I write this, I will be brave. I will climb the tallest tree, and end this.

Farewell.



Today. Charlotte.

"You bought me to a wood for my birthday?"
"No." Replies Jane, wagging her finger. "A haunted wood." I huff, which makes Emily giggle, like it being haunted really makes it such a better surprise trip. "Fine." I say, stepping over the broken gate, through the open gap. "Let's go exploring."

By the time we find the cabin we're all thirsty, and mostly lost. The small brick structure is covered in moss, sat in the centre of an equally small clearing. "I'll go look inside, there might be a map." Declares Donna. "Why would there be a map in there?" I ask, confused. Donna doesn't answer me, just keeps walking, but Jane comes to stand beside me. "That's mad Johns cabin, if there's a map anywhere, he'll have it." She tells me, with Emily nodding along, all serious faced. "Mad John huh?" I give her a sideways look. She nods back. "Yep."
"Go on then." I say, shaking my head. "Explain."

"His name was John Smith." Jane says, as Emily heads to the cabin to check on Donna, it's been almost ten minutes. "He planted this whole forest, which the locals call Smiths wood, on cursed ground, and then built a tall fence not to keep people out, but to lock himself in."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"And you know this how?" Jane shrugs. "Internet." She manages to hold a straight face for all of five seconds, before we're both laughing. A bump from the cabin interrupts our good mood. "What the hell's going on in there?"
"I'll go see." Jane walks over to the closed wooden door, and pushing it open, steps inside, leaving me alone.

Another ten minutes pass, with none of the girls emerging. "Fine." I huff, shaking my head. "I'll come in too." Walking towards the door I mutter to myself. "This must be the part of the haunted forest where you all jump out at me, right?" I push open the door. "Well, here I am." And then I look around, and stop, the door swinging shut behind me. "Oh." Is all I can think of to say.

The cabin is one large room. All the others are here, trussed up all around me in various fashions by some kind of black tentacle. Donna is sitting on an old wooden chair, arms behind her, legs wide enough apart to hitch her short skirt up. Jane is suspended from the ceiling, arms also behind her, the baggy tee she prefers to wear puddled around her neck, exposing her black lace bra. Emily is stretched out on her back over some kind of hole in the cabins floor, arms and legs spread wide. All three of them turn to look at me. "Girls," I look at each of them in turn, "what the...."
"Behind you." Shouts Emily, just as a fresh tentacle slithers out of the hole, wrapping around her mouth. I spin, and gasp, as a tentacle lunges at me from out of the wall, wrapping itself around my chest, reeling me in.