By Morgan Hixson
November 1, 2018
It has only just now occurred to me that my situation could be considered less than ideal, from a survival standpoint that is. I mean, it is the night of Halloween on Friday the 13th and here I am completely isolated from my friends, family, and society, in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods, with no means of contacting anyone or protecting myself. And there just so happens to be a high likelihood that a psychopath is roughly twenty feet away from my location. I suppose I should explain how I came to be in this somewhat nerve wracking predicament.
Last month I was fired from my job, and I needed money for college. Luckily, as I was getting in my car the next day a newspaper was inexplicably picked up by the wind and thrown into my face. I was going to toss it in the trash can when I noticed an advertisement buried deep within the back pages. I cannot remember the exact phrasing but the gist of it was if one was willing to stay in a creepy building, they would be paid one hundred dollars for every hour they lived through.
In hindsight this seems a little fishy, but at the time circumstances allowed me to view it as an ideal scenario. I called the number from the ad (at least I believe it was the same number; truthfully there was so much grease on the paper I am not positive) to make sure no one else had beat me to the punch, and to get more details. It took approximately 4 seconds before the other end was picked up, and another 9 before the unnervingly loud breathing stopped and I could begin to speak.
“Hello, this is Doug Douglass”, said I, Doug Douglass.
Audible breathing. “What do you want?”
“I saw your ad in the paper, and wondered if the position was still available. Is it?”
More breathing, I feel I should mention it sounded like it stunk. “I haven’t advertised for three years. You must have the wrong number, but… if you really want to….” A few excited breaths. “... I can help you anyway.”
As he was talking/breathing I checked the date on the paper, and sure enough it was from three years prior. I mentioned this before telling the man what the ad specified.
“Ahh yes, that ad! I remember that ad. The last one to answer it was such good... fun. Do you prefer urban or rural?”
Again with the benefit of hindsight this seems to be a red flag. I saw nothing wrong at the time and decided on rural because I loved the complete separation from the rest of humanity it provided.
“Rural for sure!” I said into the phone.
A fiendish chuckle could be heard on the other end. “Good! I know… just the place. You shall be called later to be given… instructions… on where to go, when the time comes. After I get everything ready for you.” This last sentence was followed by what I can only describe as the auditory equivalent of the smiling devil emoji.
“Thanks! Before I go, what is your name?”
More breathing. “Pirscher”
“That’s cool! Sounds exotic.”
“It’s German. See you… soon.” He hung up.
Fast forward a month. My friend Bartholomew has dropped me off at a run down old cabin in the woods. I do not remember how many miles it was from the city, but I do remember being told by Pirscher on the phone that it was far enough away that no one would hear any hypothetical gunshots or bloodcurdling screams. Also the majority of the drive was on an unkept dirt road. I had Bartholomew drive away, leaving me without a car lest I should be tempted to go before racking in the dough. Once I was sure I was totally alone I grabbed my suitcase and headed inside.
The cabin had only one door, and assuming it had no lock I tried to open it. I found that with enough force the door would successfully open, at the expense of the lock. It was only after the fact that I remembered the location of the key in Pirscher’s instructions. I called him from the landline to tell him I had made it, and to start keeping track of the time, then I settled in. I discovered a surprisingly sharp butcher’s knife in what used to be the kitchen and started passing the time by seeing how hard I could throw it. The fourth attempt I accidentally severed the phone lines, and the fifth try it sank so far into the wall I could not get it out. Upon trying to get it out, I lost my footing and almost sliced my own throat. After which I determined it was probably best where it was.
It was around this time when I noticed the sound of footsteps outside the nearest window. I of course did the sensible thing which was to open the window, stick my head out, and stare into the darkness.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
No response. I called again.
“I know it’s you Bartholomew! Well, I don’t know that actually but I really, really hope so. Hello…?”
Suddenly the battery powered alarm clock which I had set earlier but then forgotten about went off, so I looked behind me with a slight jump. When I looked back I could just make out the outline of a man at the edge of the treeline. He looked a bit taller, breathed a bit louder, and looked a good deal more menacing than Bartholomew, but I thought I’d make sure.
“Bartholomew?”
The figure appeared to shake its head, then it held up a finger, made a “shh!” sound, and disappeared back into the woods. I promptly made my way into a corner, sat down, and began to realize that my situation could be considered less than ideal. There. Now we have come full circle. As I said I have a sneaking suspicion of who this fellow might be thanks to the benefit of hindsight. However I wish to pass no judgment until I know for sure. If only I knew the woodsman’s intentions. Perhaps this is all just a misunderstanding.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Wow. This guy. I must say I am quite disappointed. My expectations for this hunt were not high, but I thought at least he would be smarter than the last prey. Guess not. He is just… pathetic. He has pretty much done all the work for me short of slicing his own throat. Entry point? Check. Isolated? Check. Defenseless? Check again. Unable to contact anyone for help? He’s four for four. Honestly this is not even fun. I guess I’ll try to squeeze all the entertainment value out of this fiasco that I can.
Ugh. Where did I put that bloody “You’re next!” note? Oh right. My pocket. Now to sneak up to the window… voila… and now the rock of distraction. And the throw… good. Now to place the note while he’s looking away. Too. Easy. I have hunted pigeons with better survival instincts. Domesticated pigeons. You know what? Screw this. Let him live. No way he makes it to thirty. Let nature take its course… but IF he does, then I’ll return and do the world a favor. Time to go find my next mark. My guess is this idiot will be asleep within five minutes of me leaving.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Whoah. That’s creepy. I figured I was next anyway, but this note confirms it. Yikes. I wonder if I’ll get saved at the last second like in horror movies. Just as the knife is headed towards my chest… BAM! Bartholomew blasts the head off this creep with his shotgun he never told me abou- wait a second… Uh oh. It’s him. He’s walking towards the cabin. Quick! Weapon… weapon… ah! The alarm clock. Not much but better than nothing. Time to let him know I ain’t going down without a fight.
“Hey! I know you’re out there! If you want me to be ‘next’ then you’ll have to face the wrath of my small condensed plastic projectile, person who is most likely Pirscher!!”
No answer. I wait. Nothing. Now I venture to look out the window. The figure has almost disappeared down the road. Ha! I scared him off. Yeah! I. Am. Awesome. Wow this was tiring. I mean, it is not every day I have to fight for my life. Good thing I planned ahead and brought a sleeping bag. I always plan for the worst. That’s... why my fourth grade teacher once called me “The Survivalist”. Can not wait... to cash in from Mr. Pirscher. ….Pirscher. What an odd, …...foreign name. Wonder… what it… means……..
The End
The opinions expressed are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Infuse Student Media or Southwest Baptist University.
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