The Knotted Cord

The summer I turned thirty, my best friend Cora convinced me to spend a week in the cedar forest near our hometown. She had inherited a cabin from an aunt she’d never mentioned, and she was adamant about ‘reconnecting with nature’ and ‘facing our fears.’ I thought it was nonsense, but Cora had a way of wearing me down, especially after she confessed she’d been having nightmares about the place. ‘I need you there, Lena,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I can’t go alone.’ So I packed my bags, kissed my wife goodbye, and drove four hours into the deep green silence.

The cabin was a relic—log walls dark with age, a porch that groaned underfoot, and a basement door that seemed to vibrate with cold air even in July. The first night, Cora cooked a stew that tasted like ash, and we sat by the fireplace, listening to the wind. Around midnight, she produced a dusty game box from a shelf and placed it on the coffee table. ‘It’s a talking board,’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘I found it in the basement. I think my aunt used it.’ I laughed. ‘You’re not serious. That’s just a piece of wood and a plastic triangle.’ But Cora’s hands were shaking as she opened the box. ‘Please, Lena. Just try it with me. If nothing happens, we’ll burn it tomorrow and forget all about it.’ I sighed, but I couldn’t say no to her when she looked like that.

We set the board on the floor, sat cross-legged, and placed our fingers on the planchette. The room was quiet except for the tick of a grandfather clock that had stopped at 3:33. ‘Is anyone there?’ Cora whispered. The planchette didn’t move. I rolled my eyes. ‘See? Nothing.’ Then the floorboards above us creaked, and the planchette slid to ‘YES.’ I frowned. ‘Very funny, Cora. You’re pushing it.’ She shook her head, her face pale. ‘It’s not me. I swear.’ I made a mental note to check her hands later, but for the next hour, we asked questions, and the board answered. Always ‘YES’ or ‘NO,’ never a name, until I asked, ‘What are you?’ The planchette moved slowly, spelling out: ‘A FRIEND.’ I scoffed. ‘Great. A friend. How original.’

Then the board went still for a long moment. Cora’s fingers were trembling against mine. ‘I don’t like this, Lena.’ she said. ‘Let’s stop.’ But as she tried to lift her hand, the planchette shot to the corner and wrote: ‘IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE, I WILL MAKE YOU BELIEVE. WATCH AS YOUR FRIEND SUFFERS.’ I laughed, but Cora screamed. Her body jerked violently, and she fell to the floor, convulsing. Her eyes rolled back, and foam bubbled at her lips. I rushed to her, but as I reached out, I felt a cold hand press against my back, pushing me down. The lights flickered, and I heard a low, guttural voice from Cora’s throat: ‘You doubted me. Now you will see.’

I tried to call for help, but my phone was dead. The cabin door was locked from the outside. I was trapped in that room with Cora’s twitching body and the smell of rot. For hours, I held her, screaming for anyone to hear, but the forest was silent. When dawn came, the convulsions stopped. Cora lay still, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She was breathing, but her lips were moving, whispering something over and over. I leaned in close. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. She turned her head slowly, her neck making a sound like snapping twigs, and said, ‘He wants you to join us.’

That was two years ago. Cora has been in a psychiatric facility ever since, locked in a padded room. I visit her every Sunday, but she never recognizes me. She just sits in the corner, humming a tune I’ve never heard, and occasionally, she looks at me with a blank face and says, ‘He’s still watching.’

Last night, I received a package with no return address. Inside was a wooden board and a planchette, carved from a dark, gnarled wood. There was a note, written in Cora’s handwriting: ‘He says you have until the third full moon to prove your faith. If you don’t, I will be the one to end you.’ I looked at the calendar. The third full moon from now is in six days. I should burn the board, but something stops me. Every night, I hear a tapping at my window, and the smell of cedar fills my room. Last night, I looked out and saw a figure standing at the edge of the forest, wearing Cora’s favorite dress, waving at me with a slow, deliberate motion. And in her other hand, she held a rope, knotted in three places.