The Cabin in the Woods

The man lay dead beyond the fracture, a cauterized hole in his stomach where his guts had once resided, hands curled in like dead spiders. His mouth was open in a silent scream, and smoke drifted up past his shattered teeth. But it was something else that caught Dana’s attention.

“Now what the hell is this…?” she muttered.

The corridor beyond was hacked through solid rock, vague tool-marks visible in the walls as if it had been carved long before machines had been available. The floor was uneven and home to dark puddles, and the curved ceiling was fissured and shadowy. Age seeped from the walls and hung in the air, and she felt as if she were breathing lost times.

“Whatever it is, I think it’s our only way,” Marty said. “Look.” From the direction of the elevator lobby, several lurching creatures were coming their way, all teeth and claws. And from the corridor, a flowing fireball burnt its way toward them. Walls warped and cracked beneath its heat, and already Dana could feel the skin on her face stretching in anticipation of its touch. Without hesitation she grabbed Marty’s hand and stepped through the hole, pulling him after her.

Something was hammering at the door, and Sitterson knew it would soon be inside. Hinges squealed. Metal bent.

Emergency power flicked on, and the lighting was low-level, most of the power being fed into life support. Ha! That phrase had flashed across Sitterson’s main computer screen and he’d choked on laughter. Life support!

Truman stood his ground, gun in one hand and his microphone in the other, and Sitterson had to admire the guy’s persistence as he tried to call in reinforcements. Didn’t he see the fucking screens? he thought. But in a way he was jealous of Truman’s defense mechanism. Holding onto routine, and order, and procedure… they were insulating him against the terrible truth. That things had fallen apart, and their true descent had only just begun.

The three large screens flashed to life again, and carnage appeared intermittently across them, images changing every few seconds and virtually all of them displaying something ghastly…

A clown skipped and leapt toward a barricade behind which several guards hunkered down, firing again and again into the advancing thing. Bullet after bullet struck it, but its baggy clown’s trousers and tent-like shirt seemed to absorb the projectiles. When a few rounds took it in the face its head flipped back, but then its make-up seemed to flow as the holes disappeared and its gleeful, horrendous grin reappeared. It carried a large curved blade in one hand, but the image flashed away before Sitterson saw the blade put to use.

“The door’s going to give!” Truman said.

“Go get me a coffee!” Hadley called, his laughter high and desperate.

A unicorn gored a scientist against a wall, its horn probing through his stomach and chest, grinding, tearing, and his spurting blood painted its gorgeous flowing mane red.

“We’re fucked,” Lin said. There was a time not too long ago when Sitterson had intended doing just that to her, yes. He considered going to her and holding her now, but that would have seemed just foolish.

A werewolf fell on a woman, dragging her down beneath a camera’s eye and standing again with blood and flesh across its face and the woman’s tattered scalp in one giant paw.

“Top hinge has gone,” Truman said.

“How many magazines you got?” Sitterson asked.

“The regulation three.”

Of course. The regulation three. Not like Truman to hide a few more around his person, was it? A grenade, perhaps? A secret nuke?

A group of goblins drove one of the complex’s golf carts along a narrow corridor, running people down and reversing over them, aiming for their heads, bursting them, then stirring their extended fingers in the resultant mess before driving on, cackling gleefully and giving the camera the slimy finger.

“Hey!” Hadley said, pointing at the main screen. Anna Patience Buckner emerged from an elevator into the bloodstained lobby.

“Well, why should she miss out on the party?” Sitterson muttered. The mystery of how she’d found her way down from the surface really did not matter now.

The door bent inward, and smoke started pouring into Control.

“Time to go,” Sitterson said quietly. He nudged Lin and pointed at the carpet beneath his desk, which he pulled up to reveal a code-locked trapdoor.

“But-” she said, nodding at Truman.

“He’ll buy us time,” Sitterson said. Hadley joined them, a submachine gun nursed in the crook of his arm.

“Where did you-?” Lin began.

“Personal life insurance.” His voice was high-pitched and uncertain.

“Just make sure I have time to open this fucking thing,” Sitterson said. “Oh look, the scarecrows are here.”