TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ABUSE
kind of a long read, but so worth it
I always hated visiting my grandpa's old cabin. That might make me seem spoiled or ungrateful. What kid doesn't enjoy seeing her grandpa? Especially considering he was the only grandparent I had ever known. Both of my mom's parents were killed in a car accident before I was born, and my dad's mom walked out on him when he was very young. He still doesn't know where she is or if she's even alive. So that only leaves my paternal grandfather. My parents desperately wanted me to have a good relationship with him. My dad insisted that, although Grandpa was stern and quiet, he really did love me. He just didn't know how to express it. I figured that was probably true, but it didn't change the fact that trips to his house were filled with idle hours watching television and reading while he worked during the day, followed by awkwardly silent dinners in the evenings. I rarely saw him, and he seldom spoke in any loving way. He just kept a wary eye on me, like he was waiting for me to break something of his or talk out of line.
Still, my parents insisted on sending me to spend a week with him every summer since I was ten- old enough to look after myself for the day. I had visited his isolated cabin in the woods several times before with my parents, but this would be the first time I stayed overnight by myself.
There were no kids my age around, or neighbors of any age for that matter, so I would have to pass the time by reading and watching the few channels he had on television. This may sound awful for a ten year old girl, but I was used to being alone. I was an only child and was always a bit of an introvert. Truthfully, I knew I probably wouldn't be able to make new friends even if I had the option.
So, on my first day at the cabin, I set out into the woods with a Nancy Drew book tucked under my arm to find a peaceful area to read, away from the musty "old person" smell of the cabin.
After walking for a while, I found a little clearing illuminated by the sun breaking through the trees. Pushed against a large oak and surrounded by pretty flowers, was a large hollow log. The whole scene reminded me of a place where the characters in my stories would have their adventures, so I decided to make this little clearing my own special spot for the next six days. I plunked myself onto the center of the log, leaned against the trunk of the oak tree, and began to read, thinking that I might be able to enjoy my week here after all.
I was incredibly comfortable in my new place. The smell of the flowers, the hum of the insects around me, and the gentle breeze soon had me drifting to sleep, content with the feeling of nature.
The wonder was gone when I suddenly awoke hours later to find that the sun had set. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the ground. The trees that felt so welcoming during the day were spooky silhouettes against the darkness, bending and snapping in the wind. The insects' pleasant buzz was replaced with a distant howl and the low hoot of a nearby owl. The dry leaves scraped across the forest floor beside me with a rustle that chilled me to the bone.
I sat up on the log, rubbing my eyes and attempting to clear my sleep-fogged mind. Just as I was realizing the trouble I would surely be in for coming home so late, I heard it. To my left, at the end of the log, I heard a voice say two words.
"Hello, Ella."
I froze. I have never felt so cold, so vulnerable. There was something wrong with that voice. It was too creaky. Too low. Too dry. I heard the leaves scrape across the ground again, but I felt no more wind. The air was oddly still. The realization suddenly hit me that this creepy rustling noise was not leaves; it was the low, raspy giggle of whoever had spoken. They were laughing. Laughing at me.
Slowly, I turned to the source of the awful laugh, and felt my blood freeze at the sight beside me.
A little girl crouched at the end of the log, her cracked and bloody fingernails scraping the dark wood. Her hair was probably blonde, but it was also slick with dark red blood, pouring from the horrible gash on the side of her head. The blood trickled onto her grey, bruised face. Her eyes were bloodshot, as though she had been crying for hours, maybe even days. But I could only assume she eventually ran out of tears and decided instead... to smile.
