SHOULD HAVE

SHOULD HAVE
by Dan Le Fever

The hole will always be with you. There wasn’t much else to look at before . . . It was a gash or a tear, tapering down near the earthen floor. Moss grew over the crumbling stones that made up the walls of the dilapidated cabin. And lichen too, almost as black as the forest that you can barely make out from where you sit with your back against the door. You don’t know how long you’ve been there, in the dark. Sometimes light comes through the hole, but then you look away. You don’t want to remember.

Only when the light fades do you let yourself look outside.

Your stomach growls and you would groan if you had the energy. Moisture drips down the stones on either side of the doorframe, but you’re too afraid to lick the wall to soothe your parched throat.Any noise could bring it back. Sometimes you hear the pattering of rain on the wooden roof. A staccato drum beat that makes you long for another hole above you. But you doubt it would be of any help.You are too far gone now. The pins and needles in your legs had faded some time ago, but you can still feel your swollen feet inside the hiking boots.

Then the light comes again, and you look away.

Occasionally, you hear movement in the light. Wordless songs and buzzing. The air is hot when the light comes, filled with a sickly-sweet stench, but you don’t take your jacket off. Because when it does fade, the biting cold returns.

The brightness dims, and you open your eyes, but that was a mistake. Silver light filters in through the hole and you remember you aren’t alone. In the pale moonlight, you can see Matt’s foot sticking out of the darkness. You remember why you’re here, and you would grimace if you could. But what would be the point? He can’t see your face anyway.

You just want someone to blame. And all of this is his fault anyway.

It was his idea to take a hike in the woods. His idea to leave the marked trails even though you argued against it. He got you both lost. And as night fell, he kept insisting he knew where he was going. You yelled in frustration. And something answered. Maybe it was your fault then. A deep, wet snort made you both stop, barely able to see each other in the inky darkness. Then, with a horrifying roar, the something came crashing toward you and you ran.

Panic stricken, all you could do was hope you didn’t break an ankle, or smash into a tree. You chased after the flurry of noise Matt made while he scrambled ahead of you. Behind you, it sounded as if the woods were being torn apart. Heavy breathing and inhuman growls were close, much too close.

No, it is Matt’s fault. He was the one who had found the cabin. He led you inside. Not that you knew it at the time until he closed the door behind you, muffling the sounds of the something. He’d screamed at you to help him hold it shut, and you did, right as the something slammed into the wooden door. You felt the impact deep in your bones, but the door held. It was a good door.

In the moonlight, you watch Matt’s foot move.

You want to tell him to keep still.

He stops when faint growling comes from the hole. The roar that chased you in here comes next and you shut your eyes tight. It’s been days, and you’d hoped it had left, but the something is always out there.

When everything is quiet once more, you hear Matt tell you to let the something inside.

You want to say for him not to be an idiot, but your tongue is too swollen to form words.

Maybe you did say it because he replies, you’re the one being stupid. From the darkness near the hole, he says, you can go slowly, or you can go quickly.

You want to say wait, just wait.

He says, food, you idiot.

Matt had dropped his pack when he was running. He had been carrying the protein bars. After you were both in the cabin, you thought it would be safe, but then you realized what had been left behind. It’s no big deal, he’d said. As soon as it’s morning, you’ll both leave and get out of these damn woods. He’d said it too loud and the something struck the door again, but not as hard. Hopefully, it was getting tired. Matt said whatever it was would probably wander off soon anyways.

Food, you idiot.

Your belly is empty, and you can feel your body eating itself. Funny how that works. You’ve got nothing in your stomach, but you can feel it pressing against your jacket as it gets more and more distended. You want to laugh. If anything was going to eat you, it might as well be yourself.

The light comes again, but now you don’t look away. You can’t. The wordless songs become birds and the buzzing transforms into insects. Daylight should feel safe. But there are no windows in here, just that damn hole, and the sun doesn’t make it far inside. Matt’s foot remains where it had been before, but he’s quiet now. You’re happy for that. You don’t want to die angry.

Matt had said to keep away from the hole at the back of the cabin after you had a look around. It was bare inside, empty.

You could try going out through there if the something was at the front.

Matt had said to just wait until morning. And to trust him.

Leaving wasn’t as easy as Matt had thought it would to be. Sure, it seemed safe. You hadn’t heard the something for hours. All it took was Matt getting to his feet, his boot knocking a loose stone into another, and the something smashed into the door. This time, you could see a faint line of light where the something had put a crack in the only thing keeping it outside. Matt had whispered that it was just waiting out there.

It still is.

Huffing and snorting, the something wants you to know it’s there too.

It’s taunting us.

You don’t know that. It’s just some wild animal.

The two of you had sat for another day in the cabin, waiting. You thought it was best to keep quiet because the door couldn’t take much more. Occasionally, you could hear the something walking around. Sometimes it would dig at the wall, and the scraping of claws against the stone sent chills down your spine. Your water ran out the morning after that. What did you expect? This was only supposed to be a hike.

You can’t stop looking at the hole now. You can’t move your head from where it slumps against your shoulder. Matt’s foot moves randomly during the day and you don’t know how. You want to sleep, but you know you’ll never wake up again if you do.

You’re a snorer.

You want to say you know, now be quiet.

It smells like shit in here.

You know. It’s not yours. There’s nothing left inside of you to come out.

The light goes away again, and surprisingly, you can’t believe you’re still alive.

Not much longer.

Brown fur. That’s all you’d been able to see of the something. It had passed by the hole in the back of the cabin once. At least you think it was the something. Whatever it was, it was big. You don’t know how long you’d been trapped at that point, but Matt was losing it. Or maybe you were. You could hear him muttering to himself on his side of the cabin. It irritated you to no end, but you were too afraid to tell him to shut up.

It would have happened sooner if you had.

You saved his life.

Only to die like this.

In the light cast by the moon, Matt’s foot turns over.

Going somewhere?

And Matt doesn’t say anything.

You remember Matt getting up, something you weren’t sure you could do.

He said it’d been hours since he’d heard anything from the something.

He’d said that before.

You were sitting just where you are now, your back to the door. He wanted you to move. He wanted to open it, to go outside.

You wanted to say you couldn’t move, you just didn’t have the strength.

He tried shoving you aside, but he clearly didn’t have it either.

After all his grunting and cursing, it dawned on you that the something really might have been gone. There was no roaring, no digging, no growling. The door didn’t bust in on top of you.

Are you trying to leave again?

Matt says he couldn’t even if he wanted to.

You watch as Matt’s foot slides back and forth across the dirt floor. His boot leaves a deep groove in the packed soil.

You want to ask him again where he’s finding the energy.

But he answers a different question.

It could have worked.

No, it couldn’t have.

The quiet had been reassuring. Maybe that’s what the something had planned. Matt had gone to the hole. It looked smaller when he got close, narrower. You had been so worried the something would get in through it that you almost wanted to laugh. Silhouetted by the sunlight shining outside, you remembered Matt trying to work his shoulders through the hole. You could tell it wasn’t going to work.

You wanted to say to give up.

Matt did anyway without you having to say it. He’d turned and swore loudly, much too loudly. The something had reached in through the hole and grabbed him. Massive, furred claws wrapped around his head and chest, engulfing him. He screamed as he tried to get away, while the something pulled at him from outside. You wanted to get up to help him, but you couldn’t. Over his cries, you could hear the something roar. Matt had clutched at the wall, to try to hold on, but it was no use. You watched his legs kick in the air when his head disappeared through the hole. But, like before, his shoulders kept him from slipping the rest of the way out.

For a moment, it looked like the something had given up too. Matt was able to get his head back inside. He begged you to help him. Then the something violently slammed his body, over and over, against the hole. Stones gave way and tumbled to the ground, but not enough to let him pass and ease his suffering. His agonized screams sounded oddly orgasmic to your ears, and the last time you saw his face it was covered in blood. It wasn’t his screams that you wished to forget. It was the sound, like sticks breaking, when his bones cracked and his shoulders gave way and he finally fell silent. His ribs popped, one by one, as his chest folded in on itself, and the something wrenched him through the hole. Well, most of him. His foot got caught near the bottom, and his boot wouldn’t fit through. The something didn’t seem to care, it got what it wanted.

You just sat there and watched.

His foot slides back into the light.

You want to say that there wasn’t anything you could do.

You’ll be dead soon anyway.

Who’ll be dead?

You want to say you.

A loud bang comes from outside the hole. The something roars, but it sounds strange. It sounds scared. You hear feathers flapping in the air, and crows cawing. Then, over the buzzing cloud of flies that grows larger every day, come voices—real voices.

You want to keep your eyes open now, more than anything.

But they’re so heavy.

You want to shout, to let them know you’re there.

But your throat is so dry.

All you can do is breathe in Matt’s stench and hope they’ll smell it too.