(An experiment I’ve adopted, posting a quick-paced and hopefully engaging short story in 5 different posts, to keep them shorter, more honest and sweet to read. No one really wants to sit and read over 5000 words of stories while browsing. So hopefully this format can keep the readers more occupied and have them enjoy the story in comfortable fashion)

If you haven’t read Part 1 yet, then be sure to check it out and not kill your own fun



Ellie is frantically trying to shove the door shut against the rush of wind but it keeps pushing back at her. All the planks she had collected were all scattered on the wet floor again. Just behind her stood this huge man poking at a smaller man with the end of his rifle. The small man looks like he’s about to faint. The larger man seems to enjoy this and keeps making grunting noises as he pokes the other man. Papa screams at both of them.
”Cut this crap and close the damn door!”
The big man looks up at him, grinning.

“Oh c’mon pops,” he says, “you know I’m just playing with him.”
What a vile thing to say. The little mans is bleached to a ghastly white as he stares fearfully into the other man’s eyes.

The wind howls inside again and Ellie once more falls away from the door.
”Elsie go shut the damn thing!,” papa orders me and I put the mop aside on a table and jog off towards the door, but am blocked by the larger man, who is now standing in front of me. My candlelight shadow cast upon him.
”Hold it lady,” his deep voice went, “I got this.”
He stomps off towards the door, kicks Ellie aside and grasps the door with one hand and slams it shut with a hard smack.

“Look? See pops? Why you cribbing? I got it,” he boasts, but that only makes father angrier who threatens to kick him outside into the storm.
The brute doesn’t seem to be ashamed of his behavior and is instead shaking a finger and saying , “Tsk tsk tsk pops. I paid for the whole day here in the morning. Don’t you be trying to con me now. ‘Cause…”
He gestures at his rifle and then grins and walks away from the door, asking for me to bring him a bottle. A cold bottle.
Ellie is scampering to get the planks back into place to keep the door shut and I am walking back towards the kitchen but stop as I reach papa and stoop down to whisper in his ear.
”I don’t like this guy papa, he talks all buff.”
Papa nods at me gently and whispers back in an even lower voice, “Keep her with you till he goes up.”

So I turn back at Ellie and motion at her to come to me, which she does and then we both enter the kitchen. Our small little kitchen, just one table, a stove and a fridge, from which I look for a bottle of beer.

I walk back into the lobby and the candlelight is cast on the brute sitting on a chair, his muddy shoes up on the table and the little man still petrified on the ground.
”You!” I yell at him and he turned to me timidly.
”Get off from there! Get a room or get to a corner. Lord knows you can’t be getting out now.”
He nervously looks around at all the faces around him and whimpers out “W-what? W-wh-why not?”
I think this man is a sort of a moronic wimp. I walk up to the brute and set the bottle on his table and then reply to the wimp, “’Cause there’s a damn hurricane outside you dolt.”
The little man starts to get up and walks over to the counter, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, the brute grabs hold of my arm and tugs me close, grinning and grunts in a raspy tone, “That’s no way to talk to customers.”

My arm starts sweating as I look back at this brute through the dim candlelight, who had seized me, during this unnerving pause, after which he adds-on, “Lady.”
I try to pull free but his grip is sturdy and his eyes, measured.
”Hey! You leave mommy alone!” Ellie cries out from the kitchen.
”Get the hell lost, you brat,” the brute yelled at my daughter, at which I slapped his face and jerked myself free. I left a cut beneath his eyes by my nails. He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes, swearing as he does and gets up huffing.


“That’s enough!” ordered Papa from the top floor over looking the one on the bottom. “You so much as say a damn word from your rotten mouth and I’ll kick you straight outta my cabin without giving it a damn thought.”
The brute eyes down papa with a criminal gleam and scoffs.
He then turns back and leans over for his rifle.
”DON’T YOU DARE!”, yells papa from the top, as he draws a small deer gun towards the brute, who stops dead in his motion.
Ellie is cowering behind the kitchen table now, I’m slowly walking back from the maniac and look to the side to see the small man frozen on his chair at the counter. He looks at papa and the brute, back and forth, back and forth. Back and forth. His mouth dangling open at the sight of the unexpected face-off. Deaf tension lays a hush over the hall and all that I can hear is the pattering of rain and the whirling of wind over and around the cabin.
Knocking. Hard and loud knocking on the door. Followed by shouting. More than one person is outside, screaming at us to open the door. But no one moves. Then father tells me to go open the door, so I walk over to the door, reserved in my walk and slowly start removing the planks we used to jam it shut. Its hard to do in such lighting.

The men outside thrust it open and I fall over on the wet ground, as three soaked men rush in. I see three people in open clothes, hairy men, one with a neck-long beard and another with equally long hair. The last one was wearing a red bandanna and all had little deer guns in their hands.
”Ooo look Kevin, looks like we pushed this little lady down,” says the bearded man as he leans over to help me get up.
”You so much as touch her and I’ll put a hole in your arm son,” threatens papa from above.
The three men step back but take time to notice papa standing up there under the now dying candlelight.
”Whoa, take it easy man,” the man in the bandanna speaks to papa. “We just looking for a room for the time ,okay? There’s a helluva blow out there.”
I get up and look at papa, who tells me and Ellie to go up to our room. So I go get Ellie from the kitchen and then back to the lobby from where we take the stairs at the corner to the upper area. Papa is now walking downstairs to register a room for the three men. The brute is sipping beer in the dark, his gun on his lap and a round on the table. One of the three people mentions how lucky they are to find this hunter’s cabin and I hear the little man repeating the words ‘hunter’s cabin,’ to himself and sighing, as if he was relieved as to the nature of the cabin.
Ellie and I go to our room at the right most, down the hall from the six rooms that we had on top. I tuck her in and lie down with her, turned over to the door, staring at the faint candlelight I see beneath the door. Fainting…fainting…fainting….
I wake up. There’s no light. The candle in my room is out. The storm has picked up, pelting itself onto the sides of our cabin, the wind reinforcing the hits. I slip out from my sheets, careful not to wake Ellie and tip-toe out the creaking door, which I slowly closed. I lean over the railing to see the candle at the bottom. Still burning, but almost out, in the final stages of its flicker. No one is down there, or awake, because I see that all three room doors are closed. I check the clock we have in the sitting area and it says that its about 3 A.M.

I take another candlestick out from a drawer nearby and silently descend the spiraling stairs and approach the dying candle. I mean to let it burn on as I light up the new one and then snuff it out. I put the new stick besides the dying one and try to find my lighter in my pockets. Then…
Someone tackles me from behind. The candles fall over. Dark. My hands are held tight to my back. Heart…pulsing. I mean to scream but a cloth is thrust into my mouth and forced back into my throat. My screams muffled by fabric and storm. Kicking my feet, but I can’t hit anything. Eyes…tearing. I’m choking. I struggle with my shoulders but the person wraps his arms around me tight. I feel him with my ankle and try to kick. But he squeezes my arms back.
My arm…broken. I scream. I think I scream. I did. But I can’t hear it. Anyone? HEAR ME SCREAM. PLEASE!! I cry, I know I cry. PLEASE!!
A cold touch is pressed on my pulsing neck. I can’t see anything. I’m choking. My arm. Please…let me go.
A face draws close to my ear. The faintest whisper. I hear it in the silence of my own screams.

He whips the knife and slits my throat.

I try to scream.
I…try to move…I..try……




Part 3, Part 4, Part 5


5 thoughts on “THE TRAILS RUN FRAIL (pt. 2)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s