A House in the Woods

Fuck. Marlowe gasped for air. He was drenched in sweat. Smack!The mosquitoes were eating him alive. He looked up. The trees were too tall. Too dense. To see the sky. He was entrapped. Why did I do this? Why did I think this was a good idea? I was over-300 pounds and spent all my time eating Taco Bell on the couch less than a year ago. Why did I say ‘hey I’m a little thinner now so let me hike the Appalachian Trail by myself without any training’? Well, you were a Boy Scout. Yeah a decade ago! Fuck! I’m idiot. Marlowe thought. He uncorked his canteen. He tipped out the last drops of water into his mouth (the only part of his body that felt dry). Great! Now I’m out of water. He chucked the canteen at a tree. Then he flung his backpack off. Fuck it! I’m just going to find a good place to curl up and die. And so Marlowe wandered further into the wood.

Mirages are only in deserts? Marlowe asked to no one. The house sat in a perfect circle free of trees. It was dark and weather-worn. You could hear the creak of the wood from where Marlowe stood several yards away. There was something about the house that Marlowe remembered. This was why it must have been a mirage. Something from his head. He could not remember something he did not already know. Whether mirage or not, Marlowe continued toward it. And eventually knocked on the door.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise you have manners,” the man holding open the door said, “most people just walk right in”. He was a tall man, well over 6 feet. He was lean. He had a leading man’s face like Rock Hudson or Cary Grant. His hair had touch of gray. He led Marlowe to a small wooden table and gestured for him to take a seat. He brought Marlowe a glass of water. Marlowe downed it. 

“Speaking of manners, let me introduce myself, I am George,” he said as he took the glass from Marlowe to refill, “and who might you be?”

“Marlowe”

George places another full glass and a pitcher of water on the table, “Well, Marlowe, I’ve had my fair share of hikers come to my home. Many stray too far off the path and fortunately find their way here. So take your time and recuperate. And when you are feeling better I’ll lead you back onto the trail”. Marlowe swallowed another large gulp of water. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure,” George smiled, “It’s funny, I built this house in the woods to escape people, but now I cherish these little interactions with the hikers, like yourself, who stray from the path. But isn’t that how it goes? I know it’s because it’s so rare, that makes it so special. But enough about me, what about you? How did you find yourself here?”

Marlowe knew the proper response was something simple like “I was hiking and I got lost”. He thought he definitely should not tell this stranger his whole melodramatic story of how he got dumped by a girl. And though he was fat when they started dating, she definitely dumped him because he was fat. Even though she said “Yes, you’ve gotten fatter but it’s not that, it’s that you’ve gotten sadder and you just don’t care about the fact you are getting fatter, or anything about your appearance, or anything at all”. But it was definitely just because he was fat. And so he decided to lose some weight to get her back. And he had done well. And so stupidly he thought let’s ramp things up and hike the Appalachian Trail. That would definitely burn some calories. Fucking idiot. It almost killed him. And Marlowe felt he could say all this to George so he did.

“That’s quite the story. I’m glad you found yourself here. Because, I mean, I know we have only known each other for a few minutes,” George reached into his cardigan and pulled out a silver pocket watch, “well an half an hour. But anyway, you are a handsome man, if you do not mind my saying so, and you know I’m sure even with a little extra weight, I mean some people even prefer a little more meat on the bones, you were and are very handsome is all. Just in an objective sense. And objectively, I mean I don’t know the girl. But she seems wrong. You care. I can see that just from our little interaction here. You are a caring guy. She seems cruel. Pardon my French, but she sounds like a bitch. And you don’t need that in your life. You are hiking for her. You have ended up in my home ragged and worn because of her. No, no. My friend, I tell you what, I am going to run you a hot bath and then I’ll let you take a lie down in my bed, I don’t sleep very much and I have a sleeping bag somewhere, I’ll be fine, you can sleep to your heart’s content and then I’ll take you into town. There is one not too far from here and we will send you on your way home. How does that sound?”

Marlowe was overwhelmed by George’s reaction. He never thought a stranger would be so kind. Marlowe had always been apprehensive about strangers for as long as he could remember. But maybe he was wrong, maybe it was “the kindness of strangers” thing not “stranger danger” that was true. And George was right, she was a bitch. 

“That’s sounds great,” Marlowe said.

The hot water ran over George’s hand, “It’s warm now. It’ll take a few minutes to fill up. We can chat to pass the time. If that’s okay? I mean I can dust off you rather.”

“No, no a chat is fine.”

“Excellent. I hope you don’t mind me asking but were you a fat child? I only ask because I fancy myself a bit of an amateur psychoanalyst and feel lot of who we are comes from childhood. I know all my idiosyncrasies seem stem from events from my third year of grade school. But anyway, were you a fat boy?”

Marlowe knew this was odd. There was definitely something wrong with this stranger asking if he was a “fat boy” while drawing him a bath, yet Marlowe felt compelled to tell him his story:

“No, I was a fairly small kid for the longest time. I often joked that I peaked as kid. That I was most attractive as child, which is weird because that’s what made me fat. I had this silly fear that if I was attractive I would get molested. It was third grade I think and I was a Cub Scout, the younger level of the Boy Scouts and they showed us this video. I still remember the Pack Leader rolling in the the boxy TV and pushing a tape into the VCR. The video was about reporting child abuse and stranger danger and what child abuse looked like. There was one segment with this old man in a garage that would paint with the boys then throw paint on them and make them strip down then he would touch them and take photos of them and he had this drawer full of photos of boys covered in paint. And honestly I can’t remember if that was all in the video or if some of it is from the nightmares I had following the video. I was terrified. And the only solution I could come up with was that if I was ugly, fat that no one would want to molest me. So I just ate and ate. I didn’t shower or brush my teeth. This went on for months. My parents finally took me to a psychiatrist, and I started to keep up with my basic hygiene again but I didn’t stop eating. And I guess like every other teenager and then like every other young adult I got depression and anxiety which fed my feeding. So I wound up like over-300 pounds, but now I’ve lost some weight. You know that part of the story already.”

Marlowe nervously laughed. George chuckled in solidarity. He sticks his hand into the tub, “The bath is ready. I’ll leave you to it”. Then he walked past Marlowe out of the bathroom.  

Marlowe awoke. The water was now cold. Yet he felt warm liquid running down his arm. The sound of suckling caused him to turn his head. His arm was covered in little slits. And George was sucking at the wounds. Marlowe erupted. He flailed his body out of the tub. He snatched a towel from the toilet seat. He wrapped it around himself. 

“What the fuck man?! What the hell are doing? What the fuck is going on?”

George got off his knees and inched towards Marlowe, “Calm down. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I’ll come out with it. I’m a vampire. But believe me, I was not going to kill you. You are too beautiful. Too plump. Too ripe. Your blood is so sweet. You are delicious. I want to savor you. I want to take care of you. I will feed you. I will worship you. All I ask for in return is a little of your blood. Just enough to sustain me. When others come I’ll devour them, can them, use them as a main source of sustenance. You are just my sweet treat. Please just let me show you. I promise, the way I was doing it, it feels good for both of us”.

Marlowe felt sick. This was too weird. He had to get out of there, but it was like he could not move.

“She didn’t appreciate you. Let me show you how it feels. I know you treated her well. Didn’t you? Let me show you the other side, let me show you how is to be worshipped. I know you will appreciate it. We both will. Come on get back in the tub,” George moved his arms toward the tub. Marlowe followed them in. 

“Turn the other way so I can get the other arm.”

Marlowe followed George’s instructions. Marlowe laid his arm out on the cold porcelain. The knife gently entered his skin and the warm blood began to flow out.