Cabin In The Woods
“He’s weak, Mama. A weak man,” she spat bitterly.
Arjun peered out of the boarded window of a makeshift cabin nestled deep within the woods. The panels of the cabin were rough, and gaps between the boards allowed the outside world to penetrate the dim interior.
The evening sky was an eerie shade of orange, as if the heavens themselves were burning.
In the distance, the silhouettes of tall, skeletal trees stood, their branches swaying slightly in the wind.
Inside, the cabin was damp and smelled of old wood.
A single candle flickered on a wooden table, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.
Arjun took a deep drag from his cigarette. He exhaled slowly, watching as the smoke curled upwards, disappearing into the dark recesses of the ceiling.
The only sound was the soft crackling of the burning tobacco.
Arjun’s eyes caught the glint of cold metal. A shotgun stood idly in a shadowy corner of the cabin; its wooden stock worn from years of use. His father’s service gun.
Turning, he faced the two most important women in his life.
His mother, a frail figure with silver hair, sat on an old wooden chair. Beside her, on a rickety couch, was his sister, Ananya. Her face etched with grief.
His mother’s voice broke the heavy silence. “Stop smoking, Arjun. Do you think that will make you a man?” she chided.
Ananya’s eyes, red from crying, fixed on him with a mix of anger and despair. “He’s weak, Mama. A weak man,” she spat bitterly.
Her voice quivered as she continued, “If he was brave, our little brother would still be with us.” She choked on her words. “And father…” she couldn’t finish.
Arjun felt a deep pang of guilt.
As if on cue, a chorus of eerie sounds began to echo from the distance, creeping through the gaps in the boarded window. Low, guttural growls grew steadily louder.
His mother’s eyes widened in fear. “Ananya,” she whispered urgently, “be quiet, or they’ll hear us.”
Arjun set his cigarette on a makeshift ashtray.
He glanced at the table where an old, creased newspaper lay.
The bold headline of the ‘Bharatpur Daily’ screamed: Strange disease haunts the town of Bharatpur.
Below, the article delved into grim detail:
“Residents of Bharatpur have been thrown into a state of terror as a never seen before illness grips the town. Victims exhibit strange symptoms, with behaviors eerily similar of wild animals. Numerous accounts tell of afflicted individuals biting others and, in ghastly turn of events, consuming human flesh. Authorities are baffled, and residents are advised to stay indoors.”
Arjun recalled the horrifying sights he had witnessed in Bharatpur, the reason they had fled to this cabin.
His eyes darted back to the shotgun. With trembling hands, he lit another cigarette.
His mother scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “You don’t even know how to use a weapon, you idiot,” she spat out.
A rush of memories flooded Arjun’s mind, pulling him back to that fateful evening at their old house in Bharatpur.
It started with distant screams, slowly growing louder and more frequent. Before they could comprehend what was happening, a horde of people, or what once were people, began to converge outside their home.
Their eyes hungry for flesh.
Among the terrified cries, one voice stood out — the pleas of his younger brother.
Arjun watched in frozen horror as the undead swarmed him, gnashing their teeth and tearing at his skin.
The visceral imagery of his brother’s body being torn apart, piece by piece, in an unholy feast, was seared into his memory.
His father, in a fit of paternal desperation, had dashed outside, wielding a cricket bat, trying to fend off the advancing horde.
“Arjun!” he had screamed, “Get my police shotgun from my room!” But Arjun, gripped by an overwhelming paralysis of fear, couldn’t move. He just stood there, a silent witness to the massacre outside.
The haunting cries of his father and brother echoed in his ears, a cruel reminder of his failure.
In the dim candlelight, Arjun’s eyes kept returning to the shotgun. He thought to himself, “It can’t be that hard, can it?”
He remembered once watching his father clean the weapon. The technique seemed simple enough: you’d break open the barrel, ensuring it’s clear.
Insert the shells into the chambers. Close the barrel securely, cock the hammer, aim, and pull the trigger.
But the mechanics of using the gun was one thing; the mental and emotional strength required to pull the trigger was something else entirely.
Distracted by his thoughts, Arjun didn’t notice time slipping by. The candle burned lower, casting the room in long shadows, and soon, they slept.
In the stillness of the night, a piercing shriek jolted the mother from her restless sleep.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt the cold breeze from the open door, its wooden frame creaking.
She noticed Arjun’s empty bed. “Ananya!” she whispered, shaking her daughter awake.
Ananya’s eyes shot open, immediately taking in the vacant spot where her brother had been.
The dread in her mother’s eyes mirrored her own. “Where’s Arjun?” she whispered.
Both felt the silence around them, broken only by the distant, menacing growls that seemed to come closer.
They stepped outside the safety of the cabin, the chilling night air wrapping around them.
The moon hung low in the sky. A faint light revealed the silhouettes of two figures in the distance, steadily walking towards them.
The mother’s heart leaped in her chest as a rush of recognition swept over her. T
he taller figure, with a distinct posture, and the shorter one, with a playful gait she’d know anywhere — they eerily resembled her husband and younger son.
“Raj? Avi?” she called out, her voice laced with hope as she began to run towards them.
“No, Mama! Stop!” Ananya screamed, realizing the grave mistake her mother was about to make. But her warning was too late.
As the mother drew closer, the dim moonlight began to illuminate the true nature of the approaching figures.
The skin on their faces was pale as milk and stretched taut over their bones. Their eyes, once full of warmth and life, were now glassy and vacant.
Their clothes were tattered and stained.
The realization hit the mother.
These weren’t her loved ones; they were the twisted, undead remnants of what once was.
She let out a terrified scream, as the two grotesque figures lunged at her, their jaws gaping, the hunger evident in their eyes.
As the inevitability of her fate bore down on her, the night was punctured by a deafening blast.
The echo of a shotgun reverberated through the woods.
Both bullets pierced the hearts of the two zombies with deadly precision.
The bodies of her husband and son jerked violently backward before crumpling lifelessly to the ground.
Emerging from the shadowy treeline behind the fallen creatures was Arjun, smoke still wafting from the barrel of the shotgun.
The soft moonlight painted a contrast between his determined demeanor and the deep sadness in his eyes.
He approached the lifeless bodies of what used to be his father and little brother and, with a gentle touch, closed their now forever unseeing eyes, as if granting them the peace they were robbed of.
Turning to his mother, he could see the shock and trauma etched on her face.
Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, his strength the anchor she needed.
Ananya, her face streaked with tears, rushed to their side, and the three formed a united front against the haunting night.
With a stoic expression, Arjun led them back to the safety of their cabin. And as they walked, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with an unsteady hand. This time none of the other two said a thing.
The orange ember glowed softly.
Arjun reluctantly was now the man of the house.
