The Cabin at the End of the World

by Paul Tremblay

Too many people have smiles that don’t mean what a smile is supposed to mean.

Seven knocks (Wen counts them); quiet, polite, and in rhythm. Leonard said seven wasn’t always lucky.

Maybe this, whatever this is going to be, is her fault because instead of running inside as soon as Leonard and his big friendly smile showed up, she stayed and talked to him.

What he says has a hint of glee to it, as though what he’s saying is a terrifically funny joke you won’t get until later, or the kind of joke that is only funny to the teller, which is the worst kind.

He sounds shrunken, diminished, and Wen is afraid she’ll only ever hear this new voice.

“I don’t know, Leonard.” Redmond says his name like he’s teasing, mocking him somehow. “Have you considered that breaking in, tying them to chairs, and then us standing here like a bunch of freaks, cleaning up, making house, grinning like dick-holes, and now introducing ourselves like we’re all at a goddamned family reunion or something, is what’s scaring them?”

I’m single, if you can believe that.

Can I get a hug now, Adriane?” Adriane walks past Redmond to the center of the room and says, “I’d rather work on that screen door for eternity.”

Ultimately, whether the world ends or doesn’t end is entirely up to you three.