The Unwritten

The Unwritten Part VIII - Tom

"Down the scary damn stairs or try to make a run for it?" Tom whispered the words aloud as he pondered the squared caracole stairway. The winding staircase wrapped around a center rectangle of dark that appeared to drop into forever. He looked over the side into its vast emptiness, descending into a strange kind of darkness. He whistled, trying to judge the depth and acoustics. Odd.

Tom had no idea where they led, but going outside sounded like a pretty bad idea to him. At least until it got dark out. Though maybe that would be even worse, if there wasn't some kind of a moon out. He stood there, leaning over the railing, looking down, listening. Was anything, anyone, down there?

Hopefully not. Better something than someone. Maybe. But it remained silent. Silent in a way that, were he to drop a radio over the side, the volume turned up all the way, within a just few feet there would be only silence once again. Even if there was something down there, he probably couldn’t hear it.

Tom went back out to the front door and cracked it open a few inches.

It was the magic golden hour, just past dusk, close to full night. He could still see to the tree line, so there must be a sliver of a moon out, or cloud cover. There were a few pickups parked around the yard, an old, rusted out dirt bike, a kind of shed out by the tree line, a wood pile with an axe buried in a round. That might be a possibility. He put his ear to the crack in the door and listened for a few minutes as hard as he could.

There were voices, out in the woods. He listened a bit longer.

Finally, he decided there were at least ten people milling about in the forest doing, well? He didn’t have a clue, but he didn’t want to find out, either. This place was crazy enough without more company. He looked quickly inside around the cabin, then back out the door again. There may be more in the woods than he could hear, if they simply weren’t talking. Could be a hundred out there for all he knew.

In fact, maybe it was an entire clan meeting of…who? Who and what the hell were these people. Who would strap a complete stranger (was he a stranger?) to a kitchen table and start hacking on him? And then, just leave him there? He peaked back outside. It was hard to tell exactly where any of them were. Still, he might be able to make a break for it. The front yard seemed to be clear. For now. Hesitation.

Tom closed the door. He looked around until he found both of his shoes. Leaning back against the wall, he slipped them both on. He returned to the front door. Cracking it open a bit again, he looked around, listening. Nothing. Braving it, he began to swing the door wide enough to slip through. Just as he did, someone walked into the front yard from the left, about twenty feet from the door he was about to slip out of.

In one swift complete move he swung the door quietly back and carefully closed it. Hesitating, he carefully opened the door a crack and looked back out. The guy was now sitting on the wood pile, facing off to the side. Tom had a view of the woods, as well as the front door and was just sitting there doing something with a big knife. The guy could have been the twin brother of the dead guy on the floor behind him. Dressed differently, but a similar look and build.

Considering the risks, he just might be able to take the guy, having the power of surprise on his side and gritting hard beforehand to ignore the ensuing pain from his wound. As he started to slip out the door, another guy walked up joining the first.

Sliding despondently back inside, Tom closed the door for possibly the last time. It closed too loudly and he broke into a cold sweat, knowing they must have heard him.

“God dammit!” he whispered softly to himself.

He started to rest his head back against the wall but remembered the blood, jerking away before he had leaned back into the already coagulating blood. He looked over at the stairwell room again, but shook his head no, adamantly not wanting to lock himself into that possible dead end.

Bracing himself, he cracked the door, very well expecting to see both men nearly to the door. They were still at the wood pile, talking, as if he had made no sound at all. Maybe they just figured it was the dead guy in here, quietly kicking my ass around the room?

There was nothing left to do, except….

Tom lowered his head, shaking it slowly from side to side again, with head hung low, feeling damned and dejected. He headed over to the stairwell door and with one hand on his side as the pain continued to radiate outward, he put his hand on the doorknob. Just then outside, a third man was walking by the kitchen window carrying a light. The light cast a shadow of Tom onto the inside of the cabin and ceiling and spooked him for a second.

Noticing a darkness moving along the ceiling, in a knee jerk reaction Tom startled away from it, wrenching his wound and bringing tears to his eyes. He grimaced annoyed and looked up at the ceiling, his eyes large and nervous. He quickly realized it was a shadow trail from the ceiling going down to and coming from himself.

Turning around to look at the kitchen window, he realized where the shadow was coming from and that there was now yet another danger lurking around outside. They were closing in. Realizing he was now fully invested in what lay beyond that door and down those stairs, Tom pushed the door open and walked through, closing it quietly behind him until it latched tightly shut.