The Cabin in the Woods

And then a shrill, loud, ringing sound shattered the atmosphere of the place, all within a split second. They all knew what it was, though they had never heard it for real. Perhaps it haunted some of their dreams, and played the theme of their nightmares. Sitterson closed his eyes, trying to hold onto that air of success for just one more second, and then looked at the phone.

It was a single telephone, sitting in an alcove at the back of Control, close to where the mahogany covers had shielded the levers and their apparatus from view. Red, an old-fashioned analogue phone with a silver metal dial, its shrill ringing came from a bell within the solid plastic casing.

The alcove echoed its call, and between each of the rings the jaunty lilt of dance music still filled the room.

Sitterson locked eyes with Hadley. They both saw each other’s fear. And then Hadley walked quickly across the room to answer the call.

“Turn that fucking music off!” he snapped. As his hand rested on the receiver the music snapped off.

He took a deep breath and picked it up.

We could run, Sitterson thought. But of course that was an utterly stupid idea. If something they’d begun was not yet finished, it was their duty to ensure that it was put right.

And there would be nowhere to run.

“Hello,” Hadley said. All eyes on him. He listened for a few seconds. Then, “That’s impossible! Everything was within guidelines and the Virgin is the only-” He winced. “No, no, of course I’m not doubting you. It’s just-”

Hadley’s face fell and he looked over the heads of the assembled observers, back at the large viewing screens.

What are we going to see? Sitterson wondered. The drink in his hand felt warm and sickly, and he noticed others putting down their bottles and plastic cups. Maybe they all sensed the work they still had left to do.

And then Hadley said something which Sitterson had guessed anyway, and there was no longer cause for celebration.

“Which one?”

He turned to follow his friend’s gaze.

Suddenly he was rooting for the Virgin like never before.

She jumped aside one more time as Matthew swung the broken bear trap. It was easy enough to dodge- however hard he swung it, she had at least a second to judge its passage and eventual impact point-but doing so was rapidly tiring her out. And each time she concentrated on the swinging trap, Matthew’s other hand lashed out and caught her across the shoulder, chest, cheek.

Several times now she’d almost backed up and jumped into the lake again, but she knew if she did that she’d die for sure. If she didn’t drown from exhaustion, Father Buckner would grab her and haul her down. He was still below the surface, she knew. Still down there somewhere, stalking the lake bottom, looking up, perhaps even seeing the blurry starlit struggle on the wooden dock. He was waiting.

She ducked to one side and felt the trap whoosh down past her ear. It snagged her jeans and tore them, scoring a cut on her ankle before embedding itself in the dock. She tried to jump sideways to avoid the zombie’s other hand, but it caught her across the nose this time, sending a flash of bloody hot pain through her head. Her vision swam, her whole face caught fire, and it was all she could do to retain her footing on the shattered, splintered dock.

Dana couldn’t run past him because he was too big. She couldn’t fight him because she had no weapons- besides, the crowbar through his face proved that fighting wasn’t even an issue. And there was nowhere else to go.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you, she thought, part of it directed at the zombie but most at the unseen puppeteers she was convinced were steering him. Whether or not they watched her now, she was determined not to give them the satisfaction.

Perhaps if she rushed him, striking at an angle, shoving him off balance and then tripping him into the lake… maybe then she could run and hide before he managed to crawl out. She spat blood, readied herself…

And then Matthew kicked out and struck her knee. She screamed and went down, spiking her hands and forearms on the splintered wood.

Crying, and hating herself for doing so, she tried to crawl, direction hardly a consideration anymore. Soon he’d swing the bear trap around and bring it down on her back, or her head, and then she’d die and join the others.

A board moved beneath her, one end shattered and sticking up from a strike from the bear trap. Maybe if she levered it up, bent it away from the nail still holding it down, stood and turned before his next strike, she could-

He brought his foot down on her arm, and she screamed. She twisted to look up and back at him, and he shifted all his weight onto that one leg. Desperate to scream again, even more desperate not to, she bit her lip until blood started to flow.

At least that’s a wound I made, she thought, and something about it gave her power.

“Fuck you,” she gritted.