The Pocket Dimension

Chapter 7: The Pasts Secrets

John awoke to Sarah's sudden screams. He quickly jumped to his feet and started towards the bedroom door. With haste, he rammed his right shoulder into the door and fell forward into the cabin hall's wall. "Sarah!" He helped out with worry and dominance. "Sarah where are you!"

He ran down the hall, following the sound of Sarah's terrified screams. He almost tripped into the archway of the kitchen as his eyes fell onto the open pantry door. He quickly made his way up the newly appeared steps towards what he could only assume to be a newfound attic of this old cabin.

Within seconds he made it to the top of the steps. His eyes shot forward as her screams stopped, and the room fell into silence. John regained his bearing as his comforting instincts kicked in. John slowly approached Sarah, being cautious to keep one foot in front of the other to not lose his footing.

He gently wrapped his arm around Sarah. "Hey, let's get out of this attic and back downstairs." He said softly as he helped her to her feet. "No! John, we need to help him!" Sarah said in a disheveled voice. "We can't just leave him here like... this..." Sarah's voice had drawn out as if she wanted to say more.

"I know. We'll get him down... I will get him down... you shouldn't be up here. Not while he's like this." John said softly into Sarah's ear as he helped her to her feet. "Come on... let's get you downstairs and in a chair... this isn't a good place for you to be right now."

Sarah was hesitant at first then slowly complied as John helped her down the steps, back to the main floor of the cabin. "Wait here. I'm going to go cut that man down... he deserves to not be out on display like some kind of Christmas decoration." John said in a worried tone as he laid a hand gently on Sarah's shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before turning and slowly started back towards the attic.

Once he made it back to the top, John felt a pull at his pocket, the knife that Sarah had gifted him. Was whatever magical essence that they had discovered trying to get him to cut the man down? "They must have had the same connection to this Forrest that we do." John said softly under his breath as he pulled the knife from its resting place in his pocket. Flicking it open with one swift motion and an audible click. John gripped the handle tight as he slowly approached the hanging figure.

"Will you help me... I don't know if I'll be able to do this on my own..." He asked the open air in a gentle tone. He felt a warm touch on his shoulder. Knowing that was the answer he was looking for, he made his way closer behind the man. He leaned down and slipped a nearby box beneath the man so he could step up and reach the rope.

Slowly he cut away at each fiber, as he felt more and more tension grow on the remaining threads of the rope, he wrapped an arm around the man to try and relieve some of the weight. John felt an extra lift as he continued to cut away at the rope. "Thank you" he whispered, as he knew the magical essence helped to relieve some of the weight for him to bear. As he cut the final strand John braced himself to take on the falling corpse; though when the final strand was cut, the body didn't fall. It was almost suspended in the air. He quickly pocketed the blade and wrapped another arm around the corpse. John slowly lowered the corpse to the ground. After laying the body down, a shimmer caught John's eye. Almost as if the light from the adjacent window was trying to show him something.

John glanced around the attic, his eyes scanning the dusty, forgotten corners. His gaze fell upon an old wooden chest tucked away beneath a moth-eaten blanket, the light from the sunrise almost cast a glistening glow over it. With careful hands, he brushed off the dust and cobwebs, revealing intricate carvings adorning the chest's surface.

Carefully prying it open, John discovered a trove of aged letters tied together with a weathered ribbon. He sifted through the letters, noticing faded ink and delicate handwriting that spoke of love, betrayal, and longing. Among the letters, he found a journal filled with entries chronicling the lives of the cabin's former residents.