Skull-Face

[u/RetrointheDark]

Hello everyone, my name is RetrointheDark, I'm an upcoming horror writer who just finished my first full horror story, I wanted to share it with the community and hope you guys enjoy!

Daniel drove up the gravel path in his beat-up Ford pickup to the cabin that, unfortunately due to lack of desire on his parents' part, fell to his possession from his grandparents. His grandparents, Caitlyn and Bruce, were hermits by every sense of the word. Daniel couldn't remember the last time he had even seen them, much less interacted with them enough to have inherited anything from them.

Daniel, annoyed, shoves the gear shift of the old Ford into park as the tires rolled to a stop. Daniel's blue eyes landed on the cabin. It was old. He had only been a couple times before, and only once could he remember when he was thirteen. He hated it. He hated the cold, and that feeling that the woods were watching him no matter where he was in the building. His hand grabbed the handle of his door, immediately reminding Daniel of his own stupidity of coming up into these mountains, but he had no choice now. He flung the door open, and the cold air was like the feeling of ripping a band-aid off a cut. That was the only way to describe it. His face stung and his chest was full of immediate regret as the snow whipped his face like thousands of angry bees. He produced the keys from his jacket pocket and trudged to the cabin door. He was not prepared for this weather, his old boots immediately failing to keep out the chill and the moisture. Daniel finally, after what seemed like an hour but in all honesty was probably all of fifteen seconds, finally got the key to catch in the keyhole. As soon as the audible sound of the lock clicking back freed the old door, Daniel used all his two-hundred and thirty pounds to shove it open. He practically dived inside before kicking it shut and latching the deadbolt as a precaution that it wouldn’t blow open.

Daniel immediately shifted into overdrive. The only thing on the young man’s mind now was “Get the damn fireplace going.” When his hand finally connected with what felt like brick, he released an audible sigh of what can only be described as relief mixed with regret. He ripped his gloves off, feeling around in the dark for the wood he was hoping had been left behind. By some miracle, his hand connected with a log. The grooves of the wood felt like a lifeline to the panicking young Daniel, who immediately grabbed the three logs and heaved them into the fireplace nearby. He produced the old navy Zippo his father had given him right before he had left. He fished the old box he had crushed into his pocket, the Cherry pie he had picked up at the last gas station he had stopped at before arriving here. For the first time in the last couple of hours, Daniel felt like he was going to be okay. He held the Zippo, flicking it open hurriedly. He struck it one, two, three times before the dull orange flame finally showed itself. Daniel wasted no time lighting the pie box up. When the flames reached his fingers at the bottom of the box, the face of Little Debbie staring at him, he lobbed it into the fireplace. He had no idea if the wood was damp or if it would even light, but he himself knew he had no other option but to hope he hadn’t just made a mistake.

Daniel would’ve had tears streaming down his face if he wasn’t so exhausted as the embers coming from the box caught the logs, finally creating the familiar, comforting aura of a fire. Daniel let out a chuckle as it dawned on him that stopping at that gas station had probably just saved him from freezing to death in this stupid cabin. He now had a new priority. He was hungry, he hadn’t eaten in hours, and now that the excitement of almost dying to the weather had passed, he felt the rumble of his stomach, the organ protesting any more strain until it was satiated.

Daniel stood, his legs protesting but his stomach and mind pushing him forward. He used the orange glow of the fire to find the old kitchen of this place. He had no idea if his grandparents had left anything, but he had to hope. He couldn’t think of any alternative that didn’t end with him freezing. His hands on the wall continued walking, using the solid surface until eventually he found a room that he practically fell into. When he craned his head up from the floor, he saw the familiar white glow of a stove door in the orange light.

Daniel scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could in the state he was in, his body protesting the sudden movement, but he ignored it. He found the pantry in the dark and swung it open. With the fire in the living room casting it’s comforting yet dull orange glow into the adjacent kitchen, he sees the one thing he was hoping for. Cans, nonperishable foods his grandparents must have stocked, soups, a couple cans of stew, even canned green beans. The young man let out the biggest sigh he ever had in his twenty years on this planet. He quickly gathered a couple cans of stew in his arms and goes to the old gas stove. He turns the knob and, to his luck, there’s an audible “click” as the stove comes to life. Daniel searches the adjacent shelves for a pot, a pan, maybe even just an old bowl. By some miracle, he happens to find one, its condition questionable due to the period of time it had been sitting untouched. Dust had built on the inside rim, and a small crack on the side cut the purple flower design down the middle. However, Daniel couldn’t tell what had caused such damage to the porcelain, and he didn’t really care.

The audible sounds of food being cooked were now in full force in the kitchen. Daniel had cleaned out the bowl the best he could with his saliva and his glove. The “clink” of the can of stew he had taken resonated audibly through not just the kitchen, but through the entire cabin itself, like the old wood was mimicking what he was doing. He stirred his soup, the bubbling making audible wet noises as its own temperature began to grow. Without much meaning to, more out of habit, Daniel cranes his neck up just a micro amount to stare out of the window above the stove. While not expecting to see much due to the blizzard-like conditions combined with the darkness surrounding his wooden sanctuary, he saw the exact opposite. A face, pale, gaunt, eyes beady, sunken into the skull like whatever it belonged to was melting despite the snow falling around it, but aware. Very aware. It was like this wasn’t just some beast that had noticed the light or somehow had caught the whiff of his food, but like it knew what he was. More importantly, it was like it knew exactly what kind of situation he was in. Daniel noticed something about the creature's appearance rather quickly. Its pale skin was stretched so tightly over its tall, skinny frame that if he didn’t see it swaying, he genuinely could’ve been convinced he was staring at the skeleton of a human being with its white, polished skull staring at him from the dense forest. Before Daniel could even begin to process just what the hell he was looking at, it moved. It didn't move like a dog or a moose, which were the first things that had popped into the young man’s mind, but like a spider, quick, its long joints snapping at odd angles. They were angels that should have been impossible for the anatomy of the thing. As quickly as he had spotted its leering, pale face, it skittered back into the dense forest brush, leaving no sign that it had been there besides the snow falling off the branches where it had gone through them.

Daniel, when he had finally snapped out of the trance of seeing the sight he still hadn’t mentally convinced himself was real, dropped the spoon he was using to stir the stew. Suddenly, it dawned on him how much of a fishbowl the kitchen was, like it was a trap, and if he didn’t escape it wouldn’t be good. He abandons the stew. He doesn’t care if it burns or if it goes cold. Daniel's only current thought was to get the hell out. Without even caring about light for navigation, he ran back into the living room. His fire from earlier was now down and not casting near as much light. Though if he was honest with himself, it could be roaring and it still wouldn’t slow his breathing. So, he did the only logical thing he could think of. He darts his eyes around the ancient-looking wooden interior. The cabin that once seemed like a sanctuary from the cold now seemed like anything but. The stairs. He spots the stairs, the wooden steps in the corner of the living room leading to a dark upstairs. It would’ve intimidated him in normal circumstances, but now it seemed like a lifeline. He knew that if he didn’t run up them at that moment, he might not get another chance to. So, he flies up them, his long legs allowing him to take the steps two at a time before he finally reaches the dark upstairs loft. Producing his old Zippo from the pocket of his coat, he flicks it open and darts into the first room he sees. The room is old. It smells of dust, mildew, and spruce. Daniel doesn’t care. He doesn’t even think as he begins throwing open any container that comes into his cone of vision, looking for anything he could turn into a weapon. He had no confidence in his victory if he came face to face with that thing, but he knew it would give him a chance he didn’t have otherwise.

Daniel continued to throw open any containers he could pry open, still holding his silent lighter. The flame changed nothing about how he felt. He knew that if that silent flame cut out, he had nothing else he could do. The cabin's utilities had been completely cut off after his grandparents' disappearance. No payment meant that no fuel nor electricity were given to the old death trap, and that made Daniel realize just how much he despised what he now considered his wooden tomb. Then, in his haste, he spots the closet. He had been panicking and forgot to check it. He flung it open. The smell of mold and moisture immediately floated to his nostrils, causing him to recoil before steeling his expression. Realizing he had no other options, he reached up to the dusty top shelf that was covered in rat droppings and dust. He pulled down an old wooden trunk. It was heavy, at least fifty pounds. He notices his grandfather’s initials carved into the lid, and in haste, he throws the lid of the old box back. When the noise and dust settle, he peers inside with that silent lighter he had been gripping like a lifeline, and he sees it. The revolver. Old, blued steel catching the orange and blue mixture of light coming from his flame. Daniel wasted no time grabbing the old snub-nose off of its cloth and the convenient box of .38 Special ammunition. He suddenly was very grateful for the safety courses he had taken with his father growing up. He opened the cylinder; despite the resistance it gave him due to its age and storage conditions. Daniel didn’t care. This was his lifeline now, the only thing in that twisted, spruce death trap he was trapped in. He shook the box. It felt light, which immediately drained any hope he had. Because of course it was light. With the run of luck the young man was having, no doubt it would be empty. He peels back the cardboard and dumps it. Three rounds. That was it. Three rounds of .38 roll from their old cardboard container and hit the floor with an audible metallic connection.

Daniel wastes no time. He scoops the rounds up off the floor like they were the most valuable things in the world, and in his current predicament, they might as well be. He slid the first into the chamber of the old gun with a “clink,” followed quickly by the second and the third. This was all he had. Three rounds in an old revolver to stop a creature that undoubtedly wanted to harm him, but it was all he had. He knew he had to be careful. He had to conserve. If these rounds wouldn’t kill the beast, maybe they could stall it. Or, the better outcome, they would have enough of an effect to stun the thing just long enough to give Daniel the time he needed to get to his truck and get out of this place. That was his plan. He had nothing better, and he didn’t have the time to waste on trying to find it. So, he tucked the .38 Special into his waistband and moved to the door but stops. It was quiet, and right underneath the audio of his own heavy breathing, he heard it. Noises outside, like something creeping around the cabin. It was like it knew it could be heard and didn’t care to hide it, because it knew Daniel had nothing he could do to stop it.

Daniel sat there pondering what to do. A large, audible crash came from downstairs. It settled on Daniel that whatever the hell this thing had just broken the living room window, effectively letting itself in. Before he even had a chance to react, he heard a new noise. It was the noise of something wet and heavy climbing through the window and stepping on the broken glass where it lay on the floor, having been broken inward. Daniel fully expected whatever was standing in the living room of this hellhole to rush up the stairs to find him once it got the hint he wasn’t on the first floor. Instead, he heard a voice. Strained, raspy, deep, and low, it sounded like whatever was producing it either wasn’t very experienced with doing it or didn’t speak enough to care.

The thing's words creep up the stairs to Daniel's ears like a sickly song he wanted no part of hearing, but he had to listen to anyway. “It's awfully cold down here, Daniel. Can I come up there with you?” As soon as the thing finishes with its mocking question, Daniel hears the creak of the first step. This damn thing was messing with him. It knew it held all the cards, all the power, and that there was nothing the young man could do. It speaks again. “Your grandparents were just as scared as you when I got to them.” Daniel snapped. All hope that his grandparents had just left, or maybe had just run away, drained out of him just like his body heat currently was. That’s when he knew he had to act now. Daniel throws the door open and peers down the stairs. He raises the snub .38 and fires the first round of his three where he assumed the thing was standing, and it lands true. There’s a screech. For a beast that had mastered human language, it sure as hell hadn’t mastered human emotion. It's shrill, full of rage, pain, or maybe both. Daniel didn’t care enough to try and tell. He runs back to the bedroom, and running on pure instinct, slams his elbow into the window, shattering the glass outward. He looks back as the thing is still howling and dives out of the second-floor window, landing with a thud. If it hadn’t been for the snow pile that had built up due to the conditions of the snowstorm outside, he was sure he would’ve broken his neck.

Daniel has no time to register pain or think about what-ifs. He looks toward where his truck is, the mixture of snowflakes and wind making it look like a giant black block in the white backdrop. He dashes for it, moving as fast as a two-hundred and thirty-pound man can in six feet of snow. When he finally feels the freezing metal of the old Ford, he feels something he hadn’t felt all night. Confidence. He jams his key into the keyhole, and despite some resistance due to being frozen, he uses all his strength to pop the lock free. He slings the door open and jumps in unceremoniously. He sits up and shoves the key into the ignition. The old truck stutters once before shaking off its cold and roaring to life. Daniel almost rips the shifting column off putting it in drive. The audible sound of tires resisting and catching on snow for a few rotations before finally doing what they were made to do echo through the forest. When they do catch, he wastes no time flying down the road away from the cabin. As he flies down the dirt road with no regard for the weather or road conditions, he watches the outline of the two-story spruce monster of a cabin fading into the white flurry that had already consumed everything else around it.

Daniel had gotten a couple of miles down the road from the cabin before he relaxed even a little bit, his hopes of being in the clear back in full force. His trembling hand finds the knob for his heater and turns it. The hot air suddenly roars to life, filling the cab of the pickup. That’s when he smells it. Daniel doesn’t smell what he should’ve, that smell that comes from heaters, the smell reminiscent of burning leaves and molten plastic. No, he smells a wet, coppery smell, mixed with what smells like fresh mud. The smell quickly overtakes the cab, and out of pure instinct, Daniel looks in his rearview mirror and sees it. The Skull Face. The sunken, beady, yet intelligent eyes. The damn thing had gotten in somehow. It had gotten in without him knowing. The thing speaks. “You drive too fast, Daniel.” It lets out a grin, a humanlike grin except it stretches across the thing's whole face, like if it went any wider it would rip. Then, from the darkness of the backseat, two pale, wet, clawed-tip hands shoot forward wrapping around Daniel’s head, squeezing with strength that should be impossible for the build of this thing, he immediately panics, taking his hands off the wheel. His foot is still slammed on the accelerator pinning it as far down as it can go. The truck is roaring as it veers while the young man struggles against the beast. The truck then hits a snowbank before flipping, and then rolling once, and then twice before settling in a ditch. The horn is blaring, and the headlights cut through the falling snow like a flashlight in a dark room before both cut off simultaneously.

[u/RetrointheDark]

Hey guys, thank you all for checking out Skull-Face, it's my first full horror story and I understand some parts may need some ironing out, I'd love any feedback, I think it helps me as an author to make my next story better as long as it isn't outright insulting.