The Cabin in the Woods

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Holden thought, and he uttered another nervous giggle. Heading back outside, he saw Marty and Curt through the doorway, trying to work one of the pumps. Marty was holding the nozzle in the mouth of the Rambler’s fuel pipe, while Curt circled the pump, reaching out now and then to run his hands across the flaking painted surface. Looking for a switch or lever, Holden guessed, though he seemed to find neither.

“I don’t think there’s gonna be-” Holden began, voice raised to carry out as he approached the door.

Suddenly a shadowy figure filled the doorway, blocking most of the light, and a voice said, “You come in here uninvited?”

“Fuck!” Holden gasped loudly. “Dude… ”

“Sign says closed,” the attendant said, because that must have been what this man was. Tall and broad, old and weathered until his skin looked like a leather jacket left out in the sun too long, his left eye terribly bloodshot and swollen. His lips and chin were stained and glistening with chewed tobacco and drool, and he scowled in anger and disgust.

He blocked the exit completely, and that was what worried Holden the most, more than his grotesque face and pissed attitude. If I want to get out and he doesn’t want me to… He was just about to start looking around for an alternative escape-jump through a window, perhaps, or maybe he’d find a door hidden behind a pile of badly stuffed animals at the back of the shop-when the attendant grunted and turned 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.