Should've Kept Driving

A car rolled through the middle of nowhere. Tall trees scraped the red, almost pink, sky on both sides of the road as the wipers worked tirelessly to protect the windshield from the downpour. It was two in the morning—not the time for a joyride across the country, but what else was the driver supposed to do after his wife kicked him out? He'd been driving around for hours, until he realized he was lost, driving through forested roads with zero service—no way to call her back and apologize.

A distant glow cut through the trees. Maybe some rural town that wasn’t on the maps? But rolling closer, the driver saw a decently-sized manor house. At least three stories high, made of dark wood and the ornamental kind of windows one would expect from a lavish mansion—not the kind of architecture you'd expect in rural Japan. It was fenced in, and the driver put his car into park by the fence to get a better look.

In the front yard, a man wearing a blue plaid shirt and a forestry face shield was chopping firewood on an old log. Strange thing to do at this time and in this rain, but it was pretty cold. Maybe the fireplace had burned out or something?

A faded, but well-maintained sign had been bolted onto the front fence under a lamp, saying “WOODSMAN'S INN / 5 STARS.” Below it, a crooked “ROOMS AVAILABLE” plate hung loosely, barely lit by the lamp.

“Score,” the husband thought. He wasn’t going to sleep in the damn car. The man who’d been chopping wood turned his head mid swing, then set his axe down on the log and waved with a smile, lifting his face shield up and walking to the fence.

He gestured to the driver to roll his window down and spoke. “Lost there, partner? Need a place to spend the night?” He sounded like he hadn’t been expecting visitors at this time, but nonetheless wasn’t willing to lose a potential customer. He opened the fence into the gravel driveway, guiding the driver to some grassless spots by the side of the manor—a makeshift parking lot. There were two more cars parked there, probably from other customers.

The guilty husband stepped out into the rain as the logger locked the fence and jogged up to him.

“It’s so late. What brought you out to the middle of nowhere?”

“Got into a bit of an argument with the wife. She kicked me out and I had to take a little night ride to calm my nerves. Got lost, you know. Can’t even call her back since there’s no service.”

“Ah, you won’t get service 'round these parts. Pretty off the grid.” The logger chuckled, his smile barely visible in the darkness. “Well, I’ll give you a discount for the night. Sleep it off, dry out, and it’ll be easier to find your way back in the morning and apologize to that sweetheart of yours.”

The husband followed him. “So, why are you cutting up logs this late?”

“I prefer the night. Less… distractions.” The logger replied, guiding the man toward the fireplace and giving him some smaller logs he’d chopped. “Throw a few into the fire and get settled in. I’ll brew you some tea. Cold night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” The husband went toward the fireplace, tossing the wet logs in and stoking the fire with a poker that’d been hanging on a hook.

The logger went into the adjacent kitchen. The house smelled of pine mixed with smoke from the fire, although there was a faint chemical sting coming from the floor. Probably had a deep clean done just earlier. For a manor in the middle of nowhere, it sure looked incredible inside. Five stars seemed about right.

A stove hissed and porcelain clinked from the kitchen. But they were not the only sounds—a rhythmic, metallic grinding joined them.

After a few minutes of poking the logs, the husband simply sat on the hardwood floor and stared at the fire, thinking of the best possible apology to tell his wife, and how to make her believe he didn’t just spend the night in some other woman’s bed or a love hotel. He smiled at the thought of her forgiving him and welcoming him back. All water under the bridge, he hoped.

Behind him, the floor creaked just slightly. The logger’s deep voice spoke, almost like he’d been anticipating this very moment all day. His grin was audible.

“Tea’s ready.”

"That was quick, huh?" The husband turned back from the fire, expecting a steaming mug.

But what he saw was the logger’s face curled into a grin, a leather apron over his plaid shirt and arms raised high, holding that same axe.

It swung down before he could even react.

It lodged itself in his left clavicle. He screamed and tried to grab at the logger’s legs, but the axe kept coming down and down until the husband was left a motionless collection of deep lacerations, shattered and pooling blood onto the boards.

The logger wiped the axeblade on the back of the man’s shirt, dragging the body away to the kitchen, staining the recently cleaned floor once again.

“Don’t forget to leave a five-star review.”

***

A van drove through a corridor of pine and cedar, snaking through the tight, winding roads as it passed a few other cars, all driving in the opposite direction. The morning sunlight was almost blinding, making Hayato flip the sun visor down.

There was no term that could describe this place as well as “the sticks” did. The view outside the window was relegated to trees and grass, and service was nothing but a distant dream. Neither mobile, GPS, nor radio signals worked. Everything here felt totally disconnected from the outside world.

The group inside the van—eight college students—had prepared a playlist to keep them entertained during the long ride to their weekend getaway. Some rock song was playing at the moment, definitely picked by Haruki.

Ken’s baseball cap was on his head sideways as he munched on a breadstick, getting crumbs all over the map he’d been looking at while in the passenger seat. “Sooo… we there yet?”

Hayato glanced at Ken for a moment, his buzzed head and blue hiking jacket making him look more serious than he really was. “Should be there in like twenty to thirty minutes.” He smiled. “If we’re even going the right way, that is.”

Reiji looked out the window, arms crossed in his black turtleneck sweater. "Should be right. This is the exact road we need to be on."

Ken reclined in his seat, still covering the map in crumbs. “Well, whatever. Just hope we get there sooner.” He spoke while chewing. “I’m totally starvin’ for some grilled meat!”

“Aren’t you eating right now?” Ayane teased from the very back, wrapped in her green shawl, stocking-covered legs crossed in a red skirt. She'd been silently taping the view outside the window with her camcorder.

“Don’t blame a guy for bein' hungry! I had a big game last night, so I can spare a few calories snackin’! Don’t gotta go on diets like you two models back there.”

“I’m an actress,” Ayane corrected him, flicking her short silver hair over her shoulder. “Ikumi’s the model. Queen blondie bee over here in designer.”

Ikumi rolled her eyes, adjusting her black and yellow chevron-patterned jacket. “At least I know my worth.”

Nozomi turned behind from in front, smiling with her chin on Haruki’s shoulder. “You two are like a cat and a dog, aren't ya?”

Reiji smirked. “Look who’s talking.”

Rin let out a giggle, taking her hands away from her sketchbook to wipe her fogged-up glasses on her hood.

Ikumi grinned. “Yeah, don’t you tease the hell out of Haruki whenever a horror movie scares him?”

Ayane mumbled. “Or any noise, for that matter.”

“Riight? Like the time we were at the—”

“Yeah, yeah…” Haruki jumped in before Ikumi could finish her sentence, fiddling with the fur trim on his brown bomber jacket. “I’m jumpy. Laugh it up.”

Nozomi pouted and looked at Haruki. “Aw… I don’t tease you that much, do I, babe?” She twirled a button on her fluffy cyan sweater while waiting for his response.

Haruki just lowered his palm onto her head, tousling her hair. “Who knows? Not like I’m going to tell you when to stop.” Her teasing wasn’t actually a problem for him. He saw his own nature as the problem, like getting scared so easily meant he wasn’t good enough to protect her—he wasn’t going to say it out loud, though.

Nozomi adjusted her hairband, pouting. “One day you’ll be as tough as me.” She winked. “When it comes to horror, at least.”

The ride continued for a while longer, the looming tree view never changing. Even in the heated car, the early March cold was biting enough to make some members of the group huddle up into their clothing.

After some time, the gated manor came into view, making Ken practically press his entire face up against the window to look at it. "Woah, this is the place? You weren't kidding about five stars. Looks like a damn mansion!"

Ayane gasped and immediately snapped a picture. "I'd love to film a movie here..."

Even Reiji's eyes widened. "Such elegance. Out here of all places."

"Told you guys it was worth it." Hayato smiled as he stopped the car by the metal gate.

Outside, the owner was already waiting—Hayato had called him prior, and thankfully, was right on time. He opened the gate and guided the van to the parking lot by the main house. No other cars were there aside from what was presumably the owner's truck, since the group had reserved the entire place just for themselves this weekend.

When the group all left the van, some ecstatic, others still tired, the owner walked up in his red plaid shirt, cargo pants and heavy boots, dressed like a lumberjack ready for work. Thick forestry gloves were tucked under his belt right beside the shirt. He looked quite imposing. Not only was he tall, but his frame seemed pretty muscular too. Built like a tree, Reiji thought. Apt for someone who did such work, right?

His shoulder-length hair just slightly curled at the ends, but that didn’t at all soften his aged face. His skin looked weathered by constant work around power tools and sawdust. He looked like he was in his early fifties, but he was probably a few years younger.

He sauntered up to the group, opened his arms and smiled wide.

“Welcome to the Woodsman’s Inn, folks!”