Mara was afraid to stand and make the floor boards creak. She was afraid to sit and make the bed springs squeak. In a half delirious state, the girl was afraid that the nightmarish threat lurking just outside the lodge would hear her every move. The girl would talk to herself in a low hushed tone, attempting to make sense of the situation and her poor state of mind. The girl was afraid that even the rumbling of her starving stomach would be heard from outside. The walls felt paper thin, and the odds seemed to be stacked against her.
Just a week ago, the girl was confident, growing fond of the peaceful outdoors and the lush scenery, of the brightly freckled starry nights—of the solitude. Being alone wasn't so bad when surrounded by nothing—nothing other than nature itself and the changing seasons. When threats did not linger and there was nothing to be scared of; that is when tranquility steadily spread inside Mara's brain like a breath of fresh autumn air to her lungs.
Mara stared at the rotting, severed hand that lay on the porch. With a pale face she let go of the blinds, allowing them to close and plunging the room back into darkness.
One gift out of many.
For several days straight, he had been making appearances on the front yard of the lodge at odd hours of the morning, afternoon and night. He offered no warning, nothing like a schedule to which she could memorize to avoid bumping into him. She hid in her room, barricading herself in and covering anything that could let him see inside. The terrified girl was left to wait it out until the man eventually left. She never really knew when that was, as the girl opted to stay inside—indefinitely.
Mara watched the food slowly dwindle, and the fear of bumping into him suppressed any kind of hunger that the girl had. It wasn't long before the girl was down to the last rations of food and water. Nothing could make her step a single foot out. The severed, decaying hand left on the porch of the lodge sat beside all of the other gifts the man had left. Mara knew it was to mess with her head; that and the constant unwelcome visits were all a ploy to slowly kill her, to rid her of any sanity she had left.
Mara remembers feeling sick to her stomach when he'd first left a severed foot. The terror of what had happened sought after Mara even in her slumber. She often went a day without a wink of sleep, her mind so tired and paranoid and refusing to subject itself to terrifying nightmares. Every waking moment was filled with flashes of the gruesome sight. It had burned itself into her memory, and Mara wasn't sure she would ever be able to forget what she'd seen. The girl refrained from going outside, dreading what could come for her at any minute, or what could be there the moment she stepped foot out. That man, or whatever he was, found himself a home in the back of Mara's mind, where the thought of a slow and painful death constantly lingered like a foul stench.
Mara was no stranger to that sickening side of humanity, but it was only after the downfall of society that those people shamelessly paraded their deranged and twisted minds. Their idea of fun was to watching others succumb to their injuries. Death was not the objective but rather it was to make their victims wish they were dead. They made you beg for mercy until you were stripped from all dignity, all sense of self because now you were theirs. You were no longer an individual, you were property.
Mara was no stranger to it at all. In fact, she still had the scars on her ankles from being in shackles for too long: one of the few perks of being enslaved. The gut wrenching feeling was all too familiar. Now faced with a similar situation, this time in a place she should've felt safe in, those memories came flooding back so bitterly.
After a foot, came the leg.
Seeing as Mara didn't touch the gifts, the sick man continued to leave them on the porch, arranged neatly for a constant reminder. The flesh on the limbs was slowly rotting away, attracting other wild visitors that scavenged on the remains. Mara wished for them to eat faster—for the crows to fly away with the remains just so that she didn't have to see them every time she looked out the window. They were bad omens, and luck seemed to come seldom—just like today. Mara sat in bed with an insane craving for food, for anything she could get her hands on. However, she refrained from touching what little she had left, opting instead to wait—just a little more.
I can handle one more day.
But days passed without a way to gather more food as it dwindled more and more. It was a painful hunger, and Mara could feel herself shaking. Not only had she not been outside for two weeks, but her food? Gone. Mara had eaten every last bit of food in her stash, running solely on her limited supply of water.
The darkness in the room she sat in was countered by a flickering candle she'd lit. In a room without windows it lit up the room pretty nicely, but even the candle reminded her of the unforgettable events. Mara sat still in a bed, one she never knew existed, in a room she never knew existed. The room was quaint, filled with the bare minimum for comfort, with plain white walls all around and not a single mirror in sight.
Mara could tell it was used as some sort of hidden panic room. She had found it while rummaging through the closet for a reason she couldn't quite remember now. The girl first noticed the crooked portrait of a hill scape topped with a blanket of colorful blossomed flowers. It was oddly placed towards the back wall and Mara wondered if it was simply artistic choices that lead the painting to end up in the closet. This peaked her curiosity, and Mara was quick to skulk around, pressing and trying to detach the frame. Upon pulling on the frame, her widening eyes fell upon a small hatch. As soon as her fingers unlatched it and pulled the door open, the girl was met with a dark set of stairs. She lit a candle, furthering visibility by a couple of cautious and wary steps down. There weren't too many, if anything four to five steps, but they felt eternal. The girl carefully made her way down, where she discovered the private section of the house, its interior ridden with a thin layer of dust that rose at the touch of Mara's hands. It was clear that this room hadn't had visitors for a while, and Mara was the first in who knew how long. For a minute, Mara let the room sink in. Noticing the slight change of atmosphere from dreadful and unsafe to secretive and secure. She felt as if she were finally away from the eyes that pried through the blinds at random, looking to invade every part of Mara in an attempt to intimidate her and kill her with fear.
So far, it's working, Mara thought, looking down to her bony fingers and hands. The girl stopped looking at herself in the mirror, afraid to look at how gaunt her face had become and how big her shirt fit on her. The girl was afraid to see the dark bags under her eyes, heavy as the anchor on her sinking ship. She refrained from looking directly at her vanishing soul in fear of being swallowed whole by the void of her dark eyes. Mara refrained from looking at her reflection in fear that it would not depict her, but rather how much she'd began to look like him. In her efforts to stay away, she'd instead drawn the looming threat closer.
She was the prey, driven to weakness through instilled fear. And he was the predator, the predator that would sit back and back their prey kill themselves slowly.
Mara couldn't believe she'd gone so long without noticing the hidden room. Had this been here since the last time I came? She'd only been here once during the winter, but she'd never come across it. The dreadful thought of somebody being in there at the same time she was inhabiting the lodge caused the hairs at the back of her neck to rise. The bedside tables, the knacks on the drawers, the items on the walls and even the ceiling fan were in perfect, untouched condition, but that didn't last too long. To say that she had a harmless look around the room was an understatement. Mara had turned the whole room upside down, searching through every nook and cranny the four walls could possibly offer. The stationary layer of dust on everything had been provoked into uproar, forming a cloud of dust when disturbed by Mara's rampant hands.
Mara rummaged through the drawers, hoping that perhaps she could find something to eat, something to temporarily satisfy her hungry stomach.
A crinkling sound filled the deafening silence, Mara's heart plummeted as she slowly pulled the object out. She hastily scurried over to the candle, flipping the object over to analyze the wrapper. The familiar colors and visuals of what appeared to be a granola bar could almost make her cry. The girl ran back to the drawer with candle in hand, lighting the small storage space as if she'd landed on a goldmine.
Mara's smile fell at the sight of only two lonely granola bars sat dejected at the very back. Dispirited, she took both and placed them on the bedside table for later, continuing to search for more in every cabinet she could find. Though it wasn't much, Mara was still grateful for the minimum. She hadn't eaten in so long that even a single granola bar could taste like a five star meal.
Mara moved onto another area of the room, noticing that a compartment was jutting out, a small handle on the outside waiting for her to pull it open. She did so cautiously, aware that she was in a foreign room she knew very little about. She had been very eager to explore the room, disregarding her safety in the plight of searching for food. The compartment was heavy and slightly rusted, gliding open with a faint creak.
Mara stumbled back in shock, hand shaking weakly as she held up the candle to the item in the compartment. It's paint was chipping in some places, but otherwise it glistened under the light as Mara scanned it incredulously. Her eyes were blown wide, and her eyesight was blurry as they glossed over with disbelieving tears.
Under her light, and in the rusted compartment sat a fairly used, but seemingly in good condition, bright red generator. The brand of the generator was illegible due to the chipping paint, but Mara recognized one when she saw it.
Just above it, sitting idly but it's metal shining brighter as Mara shined the candle over, was a black pistol. Mara felt her heartbeat in her ears—maybe it was the silence in the room or her becoming increasingly wary. Though Mara wasn't quite fond of guns—in fact, quite scared of them—a sense of relief washed over her. Her mind could only think of one reason why she felt this, and suddenly Mara didn't feel so powerless—so vulnerable. Mara's eyes ran over the sleek carbon fiber of the gun, her hands almost feeling the sensation of the cold metal against her skin.
When picking it up, it felt just like she had imagined, however it was heavier than she would've ever thought. People had made it look so easy when picking one up and murdering each other, or brutes, with it. People seemed to handle them with great confidence almost as if one pull of the trigger wasn't enough to take a life. They handled them with so much intent, so much unhinged power, and the willingness to kill was almost unstoppable.
Mara held it in her hand, slightly terrified of accidentally setting it off and hurting herself, or attracting the attention of unwanted visitors—both dead and alive.
The girl carefully placed it on the main dresser, unsure of what to do with it at the moment. She didn't know how to use one and the poor girl wasn't strong enough to handle the power of a gun's recoil. She'd seen people shoot themselves dead from mishandled pistols, and she wasn't going to become one of them.
Mara headed back to the bed, setting the candle on the nightstand and sitting giddily, smile widening as she took the granola bar and unwrapped it. She was far too indulgent on the taste of it that the fear of making noise had slipped her mind. On her tongue were the crumbs and chunks of granola she munched on, the taste causing her to sigh with relief. The girl felt her hunger grow painfully hard to control as she glanced at the other two bars, wondering if it would hurt to take another one. Surely more food will show up, Mara thought.
She couldn't handle the hunger, and though she'd been through a couple hard times, she hadn't yet mastered the art of self-control. Mara didn't stop at one bar, going for the second one, and the third one. She could hold back the hunger that drove her to continue eating. So when Mara reached for another granola bar only to grab the empty air, she knew she had messed up. Three granola bars down and she was left empty handed again. Her stomach, however, was satisfied with what she'd eaten despite the guilt that began to bubble.
Mara cursed under her breath, "Fuck. No no no," the girl rummaged through the drawers of the nightstand, hoping for food to magically reappear. Mara sat back down with a despondent sigh, her head in her hands as she shook her head fervently. She regretted eating so much when she had so little to begin with. Her greediness had gotten the best of her, and now self hatred seeped out of Mara's chapped lips.
"Mara what the fuck is wrong with you," Mara chided, her hands balling to fists and resting against her forehead. The girl brought her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball in which she scolded herself for her lack of restraint against something as innocent as hunger. She refused herself patience, instead harshly holding herself accountable. She angrily squeezing her eyes shut, shaking her head slowly.
"Now I really don't have food," Mara sighed.
The night went by and the temporary fullness of her stomach slowly faded. Her energy had been slightly replenished but she remained too weak to do much. Mara sat with with her knees tucked under her chin, cradling herself in her bed with eyes wide open as the day came to an end. The girl found herself to be in a daze, one in which she daydreamed about a perfect life, food and safety. She remained in the panic room, refusing to exit as the feeling of security was abundant in the dimly lit room.
Mara looked over to the compartment she'd closed back up, curiosity peaking as she wondered if she could use it somehow. She didn't quite have a use for it herself considering she didn't have anything to power. She knew generators needed fuel to run, and she didn't want to risk running out of whatever it had left. Mara simply left it for emergencies, deeming it unnecessary to turn it on.
Too loud, she thought.
All of that stressing over food and safety had given Mara a headache. Exhaustion was clear in the dark bags under her eyes, and fatigue seeped through her slouched posture. She couldn't hold back the desire to sleep, and after making sure the door was locked and shut, Mara got comfortable.
The room grew blurry as her eyes failed to focus, and her head lulled to the side, her vision darkening as her eyelids closed.
Mara slept soundly, the faint sound of nature muffled by the thin walls around her.
...
It was unmistakable.
That sound.
Mara's eyes shot open, the drowsiness of a short nap attempting to lull her back to sleep, but her brain refusing to close her lids once more. The girl laid frozen in bed, straining her hearing to make out the sounds she heard just moments prior.
Yes, she recognized the sounds.
Mara tried to calm her breathing, but as it grew heavier it became harder to ignore. Mara slowly sat up in bed, eyes peering around the room in fear that something...or someone, had joined her in the comfort of the four dark corners. However, the candle that was still lit on her bedside gave light to the entire room. Albeit dim, it provided the relief that she was alone in the room.
Mara paused once more, fearing that her shuffling could somehow scare away whatever was making noise.
Mara froze when the sound repeated again.
And again.
It was unmistakable, the sound of light footsteps walking on the floor above her. The floorboards creaked and the thumping was repetitive, the movement going from one end of the ceiling to the other—then back. It was as if whoever had snuck into the lodge was looking for something.
Mara's heart began to beat in her throat, her breath caught in the fear that consumed her body that very moment. Terrified, she curled back up under the covers, hoping that whoever this was would leave.
It's him. It's gotta be, Mara thought to herself.
He's come to kill me.
The simple thought sent shivers down her spine, and it left the thought of this being Mara's last night alive engrained in her brain. The girl had never felt so terrified, and in that moment, in the darkness and stillness of a frightening night, Mara wished she could run away. She wished that she could set flight like an owl with its beautiful wings and disappear into the night, only to be seen amidst the clouds—the unreachable sky.
Mara held the pillow against her mouth, muffling her cries as she begged for God or whoever was watching from above to keep that man away from her. She hoped and prayed that he wouldn't find the secret door, and that she was safe as long as she stayed inside this very room.
She wished to save her soul from unimaginable torture.
Mara couldn't tell if it was day or night. She'd been inside the room for who knows how long, too afraid to come out in fear of being murdered. It had been a decision she had made on a whim—to stay in the panic room for the night.
She believed that the decision had saved her life.
Every action she had taken had saved her life—down to the bed she chose to sleep on.
She couldn't quite fathom the fact that he'd forced his way inside, searching for her to do whatever it is he had planned. She was his new muse and she knew he wouldn't relent until he had his way.
Mara stared up at the ceiling, most specifically at the hatch in the very corner of the room. The panic room was already small in dimensions, her head just two feet from reaching the ceiling. With her arms stretched up to the sky she could barely touch it. She'd never gotten the courage to open it, unsure of exactly where it would lead to. To open it and come out the other end she would need something to climb on to, and the girl refused to make noise by dragging the night stand to it.
The night prior had forced her to stay inside, and with the candle dangerously low and dimly burning, Mara was afraid to be plunged into darkness.
Surely he's gone, Mara tried to convince herself.
If he couldn't find me, he would give up on searching.
Right?
Mara was eager to leave the panic room, hoping that her things would still be intact.
She'd made up her mind.
She was leaving as soon as she got the chance too, and she wasn't risking staying another night. She wouldn't give him the opportunity to catch her off guard, to catch her before she could make her escape. Regardless of it not being who she thought it was, the lodge seemed to attract more attention than she was hoping.
Now it was just about gathering the courage to investigate.
Mara glanced over at the gun on the nightstand, inhaling a jittery breath before lifting her arm and retrieving it. It felt wrong to hold it, but without much else to protect herself with, it was her only option.
Mara held the gun with a deathly grip, anxious breaths coming from her trembling mouth.
——
-wethenaive