The Cabin in the Woods

“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.