The Cabin Is Always Hungry

LAST RESORT

Part 7

[Fractal Omniscience] commencing…

Searching…

Searching…

Found.

Claire Castle was never a fan of funerals.

She only attended one when she was fifteen, almost a lifetime ago. Mee-maw Helen (from her mother’s side) croaked five years ago when she had a slight fall on her front porch. She didn’t think it was worth the hassle of going to the hospital and paying the exuberant hospital bills. She had a couple of falls long before this one, and it never amounted to much except a stern lecture from her doctor half her age, practically an infant, that it could be serious. To Helen, It was never that serious.

Why be pessimistic about your chances of dying when you can start living instead?

So, she took some Advil, decided not to go to Bi-Mart as planned, watched a couple of Cheers episodes, and then went to bed. She never woke up again. Her house nurse, who came by twice a week, found her three days later buried under thick blankets stinking into high heavens, and her two house-trained Jack Russell Terriers were found wandering her property, thankfully alive. The week after, a bunch of old people attended her wake, and Claire hardly knew anyone who came by.

She never knew that much about her mee-maw since Helen lived all the way down in Arizona, and they only visited her once or twice a year—Her birthdays on April 3rd and Thanksgiving. Mee-maw Helen loved her birthdays. She tended to always go out and splurge at Sunsplash in Mesa for a weekend of golf or at Wet n’ Wild in Phoenix. Claire’s mother, Abby, was more surprised she didn’t die in one of the theme parks she frequented like a toddler high in sugar, especially Disneyland. Claire and her cousins always looked forward to her birthdays since the tickets–and the fun–were free.

“In a past life, in another world, I might have been a Disney princess hick,” Mee-maw Helen claimed with a ruckus laugh after munching on corn dogs, BBQ beans, and, to be honest, a glass of beer and half a pack of cigarettes. She wasn’t exactly the epitome of healthy living.

“Live and let live. Fuck cancer,” she would often say. And yes, Mee-maw Helen had beaten cancer twice. With how many cigarettes that woman smoked, Claire was surprised it was skin cancer of all things that tried to kill her and not her blackened lungs.

And the stairs, of course, she thought.

So, when Helen Alberta Castle died at the age of seventy-three, leaving four (still alive) children, the funeral wasn’t sad, or gloomy, or anything like that. No. There were loads of old people, as Claire mentioned. At seventy-three, Helen would have known plenty of septuagenarians, and she wasn’t exactly shy at making new friends outside her generation, young and old. Sometimes, Claire envied such an almost superhuman skill.

Hundreds of people who knew her gathered in Mee-maw’s nicely decorated backyard, and within the next two days, people came over not to mourn but to celebrate her life. It was a nice, respectful way to honor her—a community gathering to cherish one person’s memory.

But it was barely tolerable at fifteen when there were hardly any kids her age except her brother and other cousins. Claire was also insufferable during those whirlwind couple of years. Always rebellious. Always wanted to be independent. Always the contrarian to what her mom and dad wanted her to do, and she went an extra mile to do the opposite. Stick it to the man. She got the teen angst bug most high school girls succumbed to with no way to dig herself out of it until, miraculously, a tunnel opened in the middle of senior year when Erica Sedowski, another girl in her English class, lost her mom from a car accident, and Claire got herself out of such funk. Anyway, she cringed every time the memory came up.

But Mark Castle’s funeral? No, that was different. It was just plain fucking depressing.

Unlike mee-maw Helen, Claire has known Mark since he was a baby. He was only three years younger than her, and together with her younger brother Charlie, who was a year older than Mark, they pretty much hung out all the time when they were kids. Mark was an only child, so in the time they spent together, he was like her second brother–the youngest. She and Charlie only lived five streets down from Aunt Vivian and Uncle Brandon’s house. A short bike ride to movie nights, video games, D&D, basketball on the driveway, and anything that could pass the time, really. She grew up in Point Hope all her life with Charlie and Mark and half a dozen other cousins from around Linn County. Sometimes, she missed those days, the innocence of youth.

And I am attending his funeral, she thought wistfully. Eighteen years old. Dead before graduating high school. Decades still left of his future that she would never know. Going and graduating from college. Finding a partner. Getting a dog or a cat. Buying a house. Having a job. Having a family. Growing old. What a shitty world this has turned into.

At eight in the morning, her plane landed at PDX fifteen minutes late, which she didn’t mind. Half the flight was watching movies, and the second half was praying it wouldn’t crash when they encountered the worst turbulence she had experienced during their approach above the Cascades. She heard about that plane that exploded above the Columbia River and killed everyone on board. Though the authorities were still investigating it, the evidence they had gathered so far pointed away from what was initially believed to be terrorism. Just a freak accident. Life giveth and taketh away. Claire hated that happenstance could kill her. She would at least like to know how and why she was dying. On that last stretch of her flight, she was sweating bullets.

She didn’t carry much with her. A carry-on bag with at least three days of clothes, and her laptop carrier just in case she needed to finish up with some homework. She would have come home sooner if Aunt Vivian and her mother hadn’t insisted she stayed in New York so that she could focus on her crazy midterms while the rest of her family went looking for Mark with half of Point Hope in tow. He was only reported missing at the time.

She would have helped. She would like to help. But Claire was a broke college student living with four other roommates in one of the most expensive cities in the world, and she couldn’t possibly afford a plane ticket back to Oregon without her parents helping her while also paying her share of the rent, which was due. She kept tabs on Mark’s search through Zoom and FaceTime with Charlie, but she knew that was not enough. Even when she was doing her assignments and attending the lectures, It was unfair that she was living her life while Mark could be in danger. When the week turned to another, then another, well, Claire thought of the worst.

And it came true.

Claire followed the news like a hawk when the bodies were discovered. Though she only read three articles detailing what the police believed had happened, those were enough information for her, and she never delved deep into the nitty-gritty details. Reading those articles made her want to take a very long shower. People in the media and on the internet started to call it the Point Hope Massacre. People on TikTok tagged it as The Butchering. An ugly, disgusting name. In the past six weeks alone, they already renamed McLaren Forest and the surrounding lake as The Murder Forest or Devil Mountain. Not officially, but a sick, insulting nickname. They had the gall to laugh, chuckle at the macabre disassociation of the case, seeing the entire thing from an outside perspective, knowing it wouldn’t affect you but to gain tons of views, and also monetized the shit out of it.

Stupid. I am surrounded by stupid people, and they are populating, Claire thought. The age of short attention spans and fifteen minutes of fame. My generation is doomed.

Because it was a police investigation, they had to keep Mark Castle’s body for at least six weeks in the morgue until he was released to the family. Aunt Vivian and Uncle Brandon insisted on an open casket, but last Claire heard, her mother convinced them otherwise and succeeded. From what little she knew, it was probably for the best. She didn’t know what she would do if she saw Mark lying on the coffin, sporting the scrapes, cuts, and gashes those evil bastards brought upon him.

I should have done more, she thought.

But it was too late now. Heat flushed on her cheeks, and she was angry again, like when she first heard about it. Anger, helplessness, and pain. When her father told her some of the worst news of her life, she didn’t cry. Not at first. More numbed and bewildered. It was hard to imagine the end of mortality for someone who was barely twenty-one years old. At this age, she still took life as a suggestion, and the consequences were far out of reach. By the time she went to bed, though, Claire had cried herself to sleep.

Mark Castle. Dead at eighteen. Murdered. Claire shook her head. No. Butchered. Poor Markie.

Claire waited another fifteen minutes at the baggage claim area. Thank God there was a Starbucks nearby. She hated red-eye flights but had no choice but to take this one. It was the cheapest and earliest flight to Portland. A boost of caffeine was all she needed. After sipping on a hot grande cup of gingerbread latte, she received a text from Charlie that he was by the arrivals gates near the pickup lane and to hurry the eff up. Even at this early hour, the airport was already swarming with people, fleeting like ants, hoping to leave and be back in their own beds like Claire was.

The pickup lane was busy when she got out through the sliding doors. Three columns of vehicles squeezed into three lanes, hoping to pick up their loved ones waiting by the sidewalk. Only the designated taxi and Uber/Lyft areas had ample space to move. She instantly recognized Charlie’s new gray Ford Explorer, which he posted on Instagram, wedged between a Toyota and a Tesla, duking it out to whoever could reach the sidewalk first. Charlie won, of course, since his car was much bigger, and the annoying honking from the Tesla owner only grated her brother’s nerves. Charlie threw his arms out when he climbed out of the car, showing his annoyance at why the Tesla driver couldn’t be more patient for at least a minute while he helped Claire put her bags into the back seat. The big ol’ “Come on, dude! Are you freaking serious?” look he sported, possibly making the Tesla driver more annoyed with his constant honking. As if that would speed up the process.

“How are you doing, sis? Long time no see,” Charlie said and hugged Claire.

“You, too. Thanks for picking me up,” Claire said.

“Bah, no problem. You can’t Uber for two hours to Point Hope. That’d be crazy expensive! But I also want to show off the car I just bought. You like it?”

“It’s really nice, Charlie,” Claire said. “This isn’t from Dad’s allowance, right?”

“Nope. Bought it six months ago with my own paychecks. Plural.”

“Look at you joining the adulting club.”

“Mark helped me pick it.”

Charlie frowned, and the silence enveloped them, broken only by the Tesla driver honking again behind them. A brief, spurring honk that said, “I’m still waiting here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off. We have a funeral to go to,” Charlie said under his breath. “Wait, is that all your bags?”

“Yep! I didn’t bring much. Just the necessities. I still have clothes back at the house, so I’ll just wear those.”

“Are you sure they’re still gonna fit?” Charlie looked her up and down with disgust. “Freshman fifteen.”

Claire couldn’t help but chortle. “Fuck you, too, prick. And I’m already a junior, Charleston.”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled. He hated being called by his full name. “You know what, let’s get into the car before that asshole in the Tesla rams us or something.” He paused with that amused smile and added, “Well, I hope he does. Insurance money will really come in handy to pay this car off.”

“Let’s not give Mom and Dad a heart attack, okay? Charleston?”

“Hey. Quit it. I concede.” But Charlie couldn’t help but smile.

The drive to Point Hope was boring, just as she remembered it. Trees, trees, and more trees. Also, the rain. She shouldn’t forget that part. And also the occasional dips, ups, and downs as they traveled along the Cascades. And last, the snow-capped peaks of the mountains in the distance, towering like postcards outside the window. Ahh, it’s good to be home, she sighed.

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As they reached Linn County, Claire realized Charlie had taken the longer route to Point Hope by going through the northern pass…heading to McLaren Forest and North Cedar Lake. Charlie must have sensed her alarm, and he smiled reassuringly and patted her arm. “It’s okay, sis. It’s a slight detour. I just have something I want to show you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s for Mark.”

“But why are we going to–”

“It’s okay, Claire. Trust me, okay? Do you trust me?”

Of course, she trusted him. Always. Charlie was really good at calming people down. Claire liked to imagine he inherited Mee-maw Helen’s superpowers of being super chill all the time and making the people around them love them. That’s what Claire hated about him. She inherited the opposite side of the coin: being an anxious, nervous, burnt-out mess. Charlie decided not to go to college and instead went into an internship in town to become an electrician without making both their parents throw a fit. Now, that’s a superpower, too. It’s been two years since, and he seemed happy.

They drove for another ten minutes until they reached the exit ramp toward Cedar Pine Summer Camp. Then, they drove another ten minutes along twisting roads hugging the foot of Mount Selene, where the dimly lit woods seemed to lean into the narrow slice of asphalt, trying to swallow it.

Charlie parked on the side of the road in front of a Toyota Camry, where a woman sat cross-legged on the hood of the car. She gulped down the last bits of her purple Vitaminwater and jumped off the hood just as Charlie climbed out of the vehicle. The woman leaped into his arms and gave him a chaste kiss. It took Claire a second to recognize her, and her jaw dropped. Erica Sedowski? My brother is dating her?

If the ending version of Nice Regina George from Mean Girls existed, it would be in the form of Erica Sedowski. She played softball, was prom queen twice in a row, both her parents were professors at the local college, and was popular all throughout high school. Erica was only a grade lower than Claire, but everyone knew Erica. During Claire’s senior year, Erica became known as “the girl with the dead mom,” but that didn’t even dent her popularity in school. Claire couldn’t help but be proud of her for taking such an ugly moniker in stride.

To be fair, a handful of kids in school lost a family member or a parent once in a while, but Erica’s mom was known across Point Hope as that professor who snapped, went crazy, and hanged herself at the college’s bell tower. The only good thing that came out of the aftermath was that Erica and her dad didn’t also go insane from the trauma and the scrutiny of everyone in town.

But still. I can’t believe she’s dating my brother, Claire thought.

It had been two years since she last saw Charlie, and he had filled his clothes quite well now that he had more time to go to the gym (and a lot of growing to do after high school). But Claire still saw him as her baby brother who loved to play video games rather than meet girls. Since when did he find the confidence? That little twerp. Claire tried to hide her grin as she stepped out and hugged Erica.

“So, you and my brother, huh?” Claire smacked Charlie on the shoulder. “Since when are you planning on telling me?”

Charlie scratched the back of his head. “Well, I was gonna, but it’s still too early, you know?”

Erica laughed. “He only asked me out before summer started. And he waited a month before finally asking to make things official.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know if you like me that much,” Charlie said, red flushing his cheeks.

“That’s still up in the air,” Erica teased.

“Sorry. My brother is a bit slow in that department,” Claire joked.

“Hey! Not nice,” Charlie said. “Oh! Did you get what I asked for, babe?”

“Oh, yeah! Hold on. Let me grab it from the back.” Erica returned to her car and grabbed a bouquet of white roses and calla lilies. She handed it to Charlie.

Charlie led Claire and Erica toward the street corner just a few steps behind Erica’s car, where the asphalt turned into gravel, plunging into the depths of McLaren Forest. Forty feet in was a wooden gate arm with a placard nailed into the wood that read: PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING, in faded letters with the drawn silhouette of a hunting rifle in the background. Claire’s body went cold and rigid when she realized this gravel road would ultimately lead to the Fairlie cabin she had only read on the news.

Before she could tear into Charlie for bringing her to the place where Mark had died, Charlie showed her a shrine by the side of the gravel road. A wooden cross surrounded by flowers, nicely decorated vases, toys, and other mementos that Claire recognized Mark used to own in the past. A picture of Mark smiling happily while wearing that ugly sweater of a fat reindeer his mother bought for him during the Christmas party a year ago was at the center. Beside Mark’s framed photograph was a placard that read: MARK CASTLE, LOVING SON & LIGHT OF OUR LIVES.

Claire burst into tears. It overpowered her like a hurricane, and she couldn’t hold it any longer. Ever since she embarked on this long pilgrimage to attend her cousin’s funeral, she promised herself not to cry. She shed too many tears already. But this? It came roaring back to the surface and breaking her into pieces again. Charlie and Erica hugged her for a long while; she needed it. Erica broke off the hug and ran back to the car again, grabbed a six-pack from the cooler in her trunk, and handed Charlie and Claire a can of cold beer. Claire didn’t question how Erica managed to buy alcohol when she was still twenty.

Charlie explained that he was the one who suggested that Aunt Vivian and Uncle Brandon create this shrine in McLaren Forest, and they agreed. They’d only been here three times since Charlie and some of his friends erected it, but Charlie came by weekly to replace the flowers and added more tokens around the cross. For Aunt Vivian and Uncle Brandon, the forest was too much of a reminder of what happened to their son, but they still tried to visit when it didn’t hurt too much to remember.

They spent more than an hour drinking and reminiscing about their memories with Mark. Their laughter echoed across the woods, where only the animals and the trees could hear. No cars passed them by to interrupt them. No cars ever would. This stretch of road led to a dead end, and only the Sawyer Ranch, the closed-down summer camp, and the abandoned asylum were waiting for them. Charlie quickly updated Claire that some British millionaire with ties to royalty bought the latter and turned it into a giant mansion. A giant haunted mansion, most likely, Claire added.

“Oh, shit. Before I forget.” Charlie pulled something out of his jacket, a DVD case of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. “I know Halloween was like last week, but you might appreciate this, bro.” Charlie placed the DVD case on Mark’s shrine. “Enjoy it wherever you are.”

Erica pulled out another DVD case. Claire recognized the cover for Let the Right One In. The Swedish original, not the derivative remake.” And the first horror movie you showed me. I hope we get to watch it again someday.”

“Damn. Now I feel left out,” Claire said. “If you would have told me we were doing this, I would have bought something from the airport.”

“That’s why I got you this.” Charlie handed her a DVD case for Friday the 13th. “They’re cheap and in the bin forever at Walmart.”

Claire smiled and grabbed the DVD. She shuffled toward the shrine and placed the case next to the others. “Happy Halloween, cuz,” she said. “I wonder who you’d dress up as this time if you were here.”

“Probably the Babadook,” Charlie chimed in, and Erica laughed.

Claire chuckled. “He was thinking of dressing up as the Babadook one time.”

“Hey, mom and dad are probably waiting. They’re expecting us an hour ago,” Charlie said.

Claire nodded. Mark’s burial was tomorrow, and she needed all the energy she could get before that. No doubt there would be a lot of crying happening, and she wanted to be prepared.

When they returned to where they parked their cars, another vehicle—an old, beaten-up Ford truck—sat waiting on the road. Garth Sawyer sat behind the wheel, Luke stood by the truck bed, and the oldest of the Sawyer brothers leaned against the truck’s hood, watching them walk out of the gravel road.

“Oh, um, hey, Alan. We’re just leaving,” Charlie greeted nervously.

Alan glanced at the sky and took two steps forward. “I told you not to dally around here before dark, Castle. Don’t you know these woods aren’t safe? The sheriff wants me to kick any trespassers out. Did I ever tell you that?”

“How can I forget? You remind me every time I come here,” Charlie said under his breath.

But Alan Sawyer heard him clear as day. “And for good reason, kid. You’re running a little later than usual,” Alan said.

“You know, Alan, it’s not illegal to come here after dark,” Charlie said.

“You don’t want to be here after dark,” Alan said sternly. “As I said, the sheriff doesn’t like people getting caught in the dark out here. Do you want me to report you to the police?”

“These woods don’t take kindly to strangers,” Luke said from the truck bed with a grin. “Especially after what happened to your cousin.”

Charlie’s eyes flared. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey! We’re leaving, okay? We’re leaving. I apologize for my brother’s outburst, sir,” Claire said, pushing Charlie back from lunging at Luke. Meanwhile, Luke just laughed it off. “Jesus Christ, Charlie. Get a hold of yourself.”

“Listen to your sis, bro. Pretty little thing has a lot more common sense than you,” Luke said and howled, actually howled at them and laughed.

Claire whirled around and threw Luke the middle finger, dragging Charlie back toward his truck. She wondered why the Sawyer brothers were this way, but her memories came up empty. They weren’t like this before, right? No, she didn’t have a run-in with them in the past, but the Sawyer family have lived on this land for…how long, exactly? A century? That explains why they think they own the entire freaking mountain.

“Real mature, Luke. Real fucking mature,” Erica said and rolled her eyes. Luke just waved him off, but Alan glared at him to stop, and the boy quickly shrank back into his shell like a scolded puppy.

Erica followed Claire and Charlie to the truck, giving her boyfriend a peck on the cheek before she marched to her own car and climbed behind the wheel.

“They’re jerks,” Charlie whispered with venom once he was behind the wheel.

Claire nodded. “Let’s just get out of here,” she said. A thought occurred to her. “Didn’t Luke go to our high school? My year?” Am I remembering that right?

Charlie looked at her as if she had grown another head. “Well, yeah. He was an asshole then. Still an asshole now. Half of the school hated and was scared of him. The only saving grace was that he made us win State three years in a row.” He paused. “You told me he was bad news.”

“Right, right.” Did I? Claire tried to wrack her brain for a memory of Luke Sawyer, but everything inside was a jumbled mess. She thought they attended biology together. It was around the time Alan Senior passed away, and the Sawyer brothers inherited the entire ranch and property. Not only an asshole but a rich asshole.

Claire almost jumped out of her seat when she realized Alan Sawyer was standing by her window. He gestured for Charlie to lower it down so he could speak. Charlie hesitated for a moment, but he eventually did as asked. Once the window was down, Alan propped his elbows on the dash and leaned close–close enough that she could smell the deep, earthy scent that clung to him like sweat, of cedar and leather, and the crisp aroma after spending hours under the sun.

He was about to say something when Alan turned toward the forest as if he heard something in the gloom. He gave a slight nod to the empty air as if receiving a silent command; the gesture caused goosebumps to crawl up Claire’s spine. Something about it didn’t sit right with her.

“Never go in threes,” Alan said firmly.

“Er, what?” Charlie asked.

Alan clenched his jaw. “Never enter the woods in threes,” he said. “There were three of you. Never do that again.”

“Why not three?” Claire asked.

Alan looked at her, his eyes softening. “Or else the mountain won’t let you leave.”

Claire turned to his brother and forced a nervous laugh. The sound felt wrong in her throat. I didn’t know the Sawyers were a superstitious lot. “We’ll keep that in mind, Alan.”

Charlie chuckled alongside her. “But there’s three of you, too,” he said, pointing at Garth and Luke.

Alan’s expression was unreadable. “The mountain won’t hurt us, Sawyers,” he said. “And it never will.”

“You okay, boss?” Luke asked me.

I could no longer feel Claire and Charlie’s presence as they exited my domain’s periphery. “That was a close call,” I said.

Luke shrugged. “We got them out of here in time,” he said reassuringly.

I did not feed for six weeks. This would be the longest I had gone without feeding on essence, and it was maddening. I tried to hold on as much as possible but didn’t know how long I could last. The need to feed was getting stronger every day once I hit past Day Thirty. Now, essence, scenarios, and delvers were all I could think about and filled every inch of my waking mind. Charlie was lucky that he came alone or only with Erica when he visited my shrine twice a week. That was nice of him but also dangerous. What if he brought another friend? That would make them three, and a scenario might get triggered.

I really need to feed soon, I paused, hesitating. No, it needs to be tonight.

There were plenty of cops and aspiring journalists walking into the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of my cabin. Some curious hikers, too. But I kept rejecting the urge to feed. It felt like it was too soon after a massacre. Sometimes, I just didn’t want to feed on them once [ Fractal omniscience ] was active, and I got to know my food…I lost my appetite. Okay, that last part was a lie. It was always there, but it kept my hunger at bay, enough to watch the potential delvers walk out of my domain without triggering a scenario. I was proud of that. Proud that I could resist my temptations.

But this time, I couldn’t hold it any longer. Six weeks. I can only hold it for six weeks? Can I make it to seven? Eight? Three months? See if my endurance is that strong…no. It has to be tonight.

TONIGHT.

My thoughts lingered on my parents, receiving several guests offering condolences at my home. My casket was not far from where they stood. They didn’t install home security cameras around the house, so I could only glimpse them from several people’s phones and listen to their conversations. I watched as Charlie and Claire arrived, saw Aunt Abby and Uncle Kerry scolded them for being late, and then joined my other cousins, who had arrived a day ago, in the backyard.

They’ll bury my body tomorrow, I thought glumly. And they’ll grieve me forever. It was hard not to be there at my former home and touch everyone’s presence. With my growing hunger and a Death Core’s unpredictability, I didn’t think moving my Core into town would be a good idea, even when I wanted to be closer to my family. It wouldn’t be safe. All I could do was watch them grieve me.

But that grief of theirs would heal over time. It would not be easy, and it would hurt, and there would be plenty of bumps on the road, but it would heal, nonetheless. The scars it would leave behind would be a memory of me. At least there was some comfort to that.

My stomach growled, and the earth rumbled beneath me. I took a deep breath. Just another week. Let me last another week and make it after the funeral. And then...

And then I’ll feed again.