The Cabin in the Woods

around, walking out to face the others.

Holden let out a gasp of relief. That was when he realized he’d been holding his breath.

“We were looking to buy some gas?” Curt said, taking a few steps toward the old man. Marty hung back, still holding the nozzle in the Rambler’s fuel pipe. “Does this pump work?”

“Works if you know how to work it,” The attendant said. He glanced to his left and paused, and Holden took the opportunity to slip from the building. He circled around the old man until he was standing just a few feet to Curt’s right, and past the guy he saw Dana and Jules appear cautiously around the side of the building. Both were wide-eyed and slightly panicked.

What have they seen? he wondered. Dana glanced at the attendant only briefly, then past him at Holden. They swapped nervous smiles.

The attendant didn’t move to help Marty with the fuel. The moment felt frozen, and Holden wanted to move it along.

“We also wanted to get directions…” he said.

“Yeah, we’re looking for…” Curt began, frowning, looking at Jules and asking, “What is it?”

“Tillerman Road,” Jules said, taking a step closer to the attendant. Holden could see her nervousness, but he also knew that she wouldn’t want to seem afraid. Her hands were fisted by her sides, holding on to control.

The attendant just peered at her, but something about him changed. He’d become still—jaw no longer chewing, body no longer swaying—as if the name had hit home. He looked Jules up and down, and Holden almost saw her skin flinching back from his gaze.

Then the attendant sighed and muttered, “What a waste.” He walked toward the pump, moving with an exaggerated gait as if neither leg belonged to him. Curt stepped aside, and the old man plucked a ring of keys from his pocket—far too many for this shack, surely?— and unlocked a latch on the pump. Marty stayed where he was, regarding the man with hooded eyes.

Sometimes it’s good to be stoned, Holden thought, and he smiled slightly, thinking how much Marty would appreciate the sentiment. “Tillerman Road takes you up into the hills. Dead end at the old Buckner place.”

“Is that the name of—?” Jules began.

“There wasn’t a name,” Curt said.

“Ready?” the attendant said to Marty, and when he nodded the old guy flicked a switch, then said, “Okay, pull the handle.” Marty pulled, the pump thunked and shook for a couple of seconds, and then the pungent smell of fuel filled the air. Holden wondered how old this fuel was, and whether it had an expiration date, and wished he were back in the city where he didn’t have to think about such things. The numbers behind the glass dome on top of the pump started turning. Holden thought he’d seen a pump like this in an old movie, once. Very old.

“My cousin bought a house up there,” Curt said to the attendant’s back. “You go through a mountain tunnel, there’s a lake, would that be…?”

“Buckner place,” the attendant confirmed, leaning on the pump and spitting a brown slick at his feet. “Always someone lookin’ to sell that plot.” He looked over his shoulder at Curt and smiled, exposing bad teeth stained brown, gaps here and there, and a thick gray tongue that looked to Holden like something trawled up from the bottom of the sea. “An’ always some fool lookin’ to buy.”

“You knew the original owners?” Jules asked.

“Not the first,” he replied, looking the girls up and down again. “But I’ve seen plenty come and go. Been here since the war.” “Which war?” she asked.

“You know damn well which war!” he shouted. He took two steps toward Marty and closed his hand over the nozzle, Marty just letting go and stepping back in time. He caught Holden’s eye and shrugged, hands held out.

Holden tried to smile at him, but the atmosphere didn’t feel light enough.

“Would that have been with the blue, and some in gray?” Marty asked. “Brother, perhaps fighting against brother in that war?”

“You sassin’ me, boy?”

“You were rude to my friend,” Marty said, his voice level, gentle as ever.

The attendant grew still again for a second, and Holden thought, Cogs turning in there, stuff happening, he’s processing what he didn’t expect. Then the old man looked at Jules again.

“That whore?”

Curt took a quick step forward but Holden was already moving, aware of what was about to happen. He splayed his left hand on Curt’s chest and held it there until his friend looked at him. He was angry but, Holden was pleased to see, also a little freaked. That was good. That would prevent this weird shit from descending into something more.

“I think we’ve got enough gas,” Holden said coolly.

“Enough to get you there,” the attendant said, removing the nozzle. “Gettin’ back’s your own concern.” The girls came over behind the old guy and climbed back into the Rambler. Curt threw a twenty at the old man’s feet, aiming for and hitting the slick of tobacco juice. He glanced at Holden, then nodded at the Rambler. Time to go.

Holden couldn’t have agreed more.

Marty was the last one to climb back into the vehicle. The old man was still standing beside the fuel pump, apparently dismissing the money at his feet, still chewing, still staring at them with one good eye and one flushed with blood.

“Good luck with your business,” Marty said, climbing the steps. “I know the railroad’s comin’ through here any day now, gonna be big. Streets paved with… actual street.” And as he started swinging the door shut, Holden heard him mutter, “Fucker.”

Curt was already firing the engine, and even in a vehicle so large he managed to leave a wheel-spin in their wake. Now will come the joking, Holden thought. An unpleasant situation cast aside with bravado, mocking, and rude quips.

But they drove away in silence, none of them catching another’s eye, and it was only as they turned a bend and started the long climb into the hills that the tension started to filter away.

THREE

Marty lit up a spliff, offering his pre-rolled joints around to everyone else. No one took him up on it, though he thought for a second Holden was going to. They smiled awkwardly at each other.

Yeah, Marty thought, he knows too. He knows that was super-weird and fucked up back there. Like, how the hell does that dude stay in business? And where the hell did he just pop up from? And why was he…?

“Why was he looking at Jules like that?” Marty whispered. Across the small table from him, Dana and Holden heard the question but did not respond. Probably because they’d been thinking the same thing themselves, and there was no comfortable answer.

Bland rock played from the radio, Jules hummed in the front passenger seat, Curt cut in now and then with a few badly-sung lines from some song or another. Feigning normality.

“Don’t give up the day job, dude,” Marty said. “At least I’ll have a day job!” Curt said. “I won’t spend my days stoned, wandering the woods, being at one with nature, and wondering how amazing it is that I’m actually alive.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Marty responded, “I pity you, man.” And everyone laughed.

That’s better, Marty thought. That’s much better. Laughter’s the second-best medicine. He took another drag on his joint and held the smoke down, breathing out slowly. He was relaxed again now, leaning back in his chair with his head resting against the window. The sun caressed his scalp, and it was good. Holden had fetched them another beer each, and he felt a warm glow, starting