The Cabin
Rain pattered on the window, leaving streaks as it dripped down the dirty glass. The door to the house rattled on its hinges as the wind pushed it in. Off in the distance, wolves howled, their voices carrying in the cold, wet air. It’s an eerie sound, their cries echoing in the night as rain splattered onto the muddy ground. There hadn’t been any thunder yet, and the night was calm.
A single candle burned low in the cabin, filling its pan with wax that spilled over the sides. It had burned for far too long, the light flickering with every gust of wind that shook the door. The house was silent, except for the incessant rain on the roof. The wind grew stronger, turning from a constant breeze into a strong howl, making the cabin’s walls creak and moan. The night grew darker as heavy clouds disguised the Moon from view.
Finally, the candle blew out, maybe because of the wind that whispered through the cracks in the doorway, or maybe because it had burned itself out from the constant work it had been doing. Either way, the small, one roomed cabin was now shroud in a thick darkness, milkier than the darkness that loomed outside. Rain continued to knock at the windows, stream down the panes of glass, and drip from the sills. Inside the cabin was quiet. Outside, the wolves howled again, begging the rain to stop wetting their furs.
The darkness outside grew heavy to match inside. The Moon was still covered, and the Sun was hours from peeking over the horizon. The clouds above finally split open and released an even harder shower, one that pounded on the roof, clawed at the windows, and penetrated the earth. The ground all around the cabin turned to a mud that would swallow a foot whole and not let go.
The wind and the rain worked together to knock the door to the cabin in and infiltrate the inside. Immediately the cabin got cold, the floorboards groaning with the sudden wet intruders. It was old, it couldn’t handle the water that seeped between the cracks, warping and changing its structure. The hot candle wax cooled, the wick becoming moist, never to be lit again. There was no furniture inside for the rain and wind to ruin, so they did their best at soaking the floor, climbing the walls and painting the inside with water. The rain wasn’t sure what its goal was, but it knew it needed to get in, so it did just that. All that could be heard was the wind howling now and the rain gleefully splattering itself anywhere it could reach.
When the Sun finally decided to peak its eyes over the horizon, the rain quieted. The wind died down, afraid of the light. The Sun rose, stretching its rays over the soaked floor of the earth. The animals hiding in the trees sighed with relief– the storm was over. But the cabin was ruined. The storm, which had come quietly and wrecked its havoc without muttering a word, had moved on, its mission completed. It didn’t care about the cabin, it’s long history, its tired sighs, it just came in and molested it, simply for pleasure.
The cabin would never be the same. The lone candle burning had gone out and soaked so completely through that relighting it would be impossible. The door moaned again on its hinges, occasionally smacking the back wall behind it and swinging almost shut before falling open again. The floorboards were cold and warped, discolored and peeling. The whole cabin stank of damp, rotting wood. No one would come back to this place. There was no fixing it. So, the cabin heaved one last sigh and settled further into its foundation, tired of the troubles it was put through, tired of standing upright. If only one last breeze would come and knock it down.
