Bugsby Cabin

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was a small, easily unnoticed light in the shadows of a past long-forgotten. Usually, that lone candle hidden behind dusty, cracked glass remained unlit as the memories behind it were of true horror.

The cabin was built sometime in the late 1800s made by a man named William Bugsby. He'd built the small building after his family moved south to find work. This home was supposed to be a promise to his family of new beginnings, a promise of a new future, and a forever home.

That is, in all honesty, exactly what it had become.

Bugsby built the home out of cedar and oakwood he'd found in the woodlands. He'd cut the logs and dragged them to the building site himself. He'd forged nails to create the exterior and used moss blankets, tightly woven to make excellent insulation.

His wife, Amelia Bugsby used scraps of fabric to forge cushions and mattresses. Their son, Tyler Bugsby, made the furniture for each cushion. Together, the family made their home, finishing after almost two years of construction.

They lived peacefully, a happy family in a new future. Or so that's what most stories tend to say. But the truth behind the light is an evershadowed darkness that overtook the family, wound it tightly in its hand, and crushed it.

I remember speaking with the owner of the local carpentry Bugsby and his son worked at while they constructed the building. He was an older man, in his early forties, going by the name of Ezekial Harrows.

Mr. Harrows had hired William and Tyler as he needed workers and they needed work. According to him, they were both very punctual in the beginning, they always arrived to work in time, and often stayed late, and He paid them earnestly for it.

"I remember that William said they were building a house!" Mr. Harows told me. "He needed experience and the money to do so."

But Harrows had noticed something strange soon after. The bugsby's behaviors had changed drastically after a short period.

"After they'd worked for me for about seven months, I began noticing that William often complained about some woman who kept appearing at their building site." Mr. Harrows said.

After pressing further, I found nothing much about this woman, so I asked a few locals other than Mr. harrows.

The local bakery owner that often supplied Mrs. Harrows with the family's food had noticed Amelia had begun to change too.

"At first, She was always such a darling, always came in with a smile and ordered a few loaves of bread. We often chatted about the house her husband was building, as gossip was rare in our small town." Said Elizabeth Towers, the bakery owner's wife. "But after a few months, she came in and started asking questions about a woman named Lisa Allits. This woman had been bothering her husband about their house."

Curious about miss Lisa Allits I took a trip to the local town hall and was allowed access to the town's birth records.

Allison "Lisa" Allits was an old name to the records. Her death was in the early 1300s, well before William Bugsby had even been born. So how was this woman able to harass him if she was dead?

I paid a visit to the estate registered to miss Allits. She had died alone, with no husband, no children. When I arrived, I found only a disheveled, destroyed house. Ruins of what appeared to have once been a beautiful family home.

The windows were shattered, several places of the stone foundation were charred black and the building gave off a faint sense of hate. That was when I found myself face to face with the estate's current owner.

"Lisa Allits was a witch." Said Olliver Phelps, The current estate owner. "She was burned alive in that house, Bound and gagged on the living room floor, and burned for her crimes against nature."

Phelps had no further information for me but instead directed me to the local library, where I met with Sarah Paras, The granddaughter of Eleanor Paras, who had run the library in the town around the time of the Busby family.

"Little is known as to what brought the family here," Paras stated. "But according to witnesses at the time, the family had moved here after Bugsby lost his job in the city. They had purchased a small plot of land from a man called Henry Phelps, who was selling the land for cheap."

Miss Paras also told me that Henry Phelps was the grandfather of Olliver Phelps, so I once more visited him.

"Ah yes, The estate my grandfather had obtained from an auction the town was doing." Olliver Phelps stated, showing me records of the property. "He sold the land urgently to a man who practically begged for it. After selling it to him, that man and his son had removed quite a few large rocks and salvaged some scrap woods from woodland brush nearby."

I once again found myself rushing to city hall and there I found the most disturbing piece of information I had yet received: The plot of land Bugsby built on was an unmarked Witch's grave.

Propping myself back in the chairs in the town hall, pieces of a puzzle started to fall into place. A theory formed in my head that nearly explained what happened in that cabin.

That was when I once more paid a visit to the estate. The building was rotting, wood falling apart from its tattered remains, the front door of the cabin barely held onto its hinges, creaking open with a terrifying shriek as I made my way inside. Holes lined the floor from where it sank in, vines and shrubbery breaking through the cracks of a small three-room estate. The windows shattered, some cracked, showing signs of caked dirt and grime that arrived with age. I could feel an air of Angst, hatred, and fear as I stepped inside. An old rickety table and chair stood in the corner, splintered and damaged as if by animals. as it was growing near dark, I simply lit a candle which I found lying on the floor with a lighter I kept in my pocket.

Laying the candle on the windowsill, the room began to light up in dim light. Searching the house, I found nothing but tattered, decomposed parchments and ink-stained, moth-eaten carpets.

"What could have happened?" I seethed, frustrated I could find no evidence.

suddenly, the room around me grew cold, and the skin of my arms prickled as if touched by ice.

"If answers you seek, speak thy mind."

I turned to face the speaker, which seemed close, but only found myself in an empty room, alone.

"Hello? Is someone there?" I asked.

Silence followed my question, and I began to wonder if I had only imagined it when once again words seemed to come from somewhere.

"Only the remnants of who once breathed as thyself. But breathe I no longer."

My mind immediately began to rush, and for a moment, I considered running and getting out of that house. But something told me to stay.

"Are you by chance Amelia Bugsby?" I asked as the spoken voice seemed to be that of a woman.

"Not for eons have I heard that name." The voice stated. "But she I am not."

The voice confirmed one of my suspicions.

"Lisa Allits?" I asked, putting my theory to the test.

"Yes."

My heart seemed to stop, I felt myself getting heavier, whether it be because I was getting scared or the realization I was speaking to a long-dead witch, I don't know.

"What happened to the family that lived here? The bugsbys?" I asked, gathering myself to speak.

Silence filled the room once more and I listened to my heartbeat beat for a several few minutes, it seemed to race in anticipation. Expecting an answer, I only received a question in turn.

"Are you not knowledgable of thine own ancestors?"

My heart stopped entirely. How did she know who I was?

"My name is Annabelle Bugsby," I stated frantically." My mother, Alice, was William's Granddaughter. She was only an infant when her father Tyler sent his wife and her back to their hometown to protect them from something my grandmother would never say."

I took a few steps back, beginning to lean against a rotten wall.

"I've only come here, to this cabin, to find out why."

I stood in silence and the air around me seemed to thicken.

"The family were foolish to move here. They disrupted my final resting place to build this...atrocity. I returned from the beyond so that I may exact vengeance on them. I first warned the family of their misdeeds, asking them only to return my headstone to its proper place. But one of the men laughed at me."

The voice spoke slowly, but clearly as it reminisced. Every word the witch spoke seemed to draw daggers to open wounds.

"I used my abilities as a spirit to make one of the women sick, painfully sick as I believe she was carrying an unborn baby. and the babe was born premature and ill."

The Speaking spirit paused, only a moment to let the thought sink in.

"Then, after one of the meant sent the sick woman away with the babe in search of medicine, he and the other foolish man began to demand I leave my burial site to which I am bound."

The spirit began to drawl now, almost as if bored or upset at the prospect.

"But I only stayed put, now beginning to affect the weakened mind of the younger man. Having to send off his true love and child he could not raise bothered him. I fed him feelings of Insecurity and Hatred towards myself, himself for sending his family away, and his parents who forbade him to leave with his wife."

My mind began to whirl, and my eyes opened in fear, understanding what this spirit can do, I began to back away, inching closer to the door, but foolishly, my mind urged me to ask more.

"And...what happened to the family?" I asked, still backstepping slowly.

"The man took his own life in despair, distraught at his own emotions. Enraged by his actions and finally heeding my words, The older couple fled. To where I do not know. However, The man who built this place attempted to destroy his creation by knocking over a candle on the windowsill and causing an inferno in an attempt to rid me of my resting place."

My hand paused, a hand grasped the now broken latch of the unhinged door before emotions began to rush into my head, I could feel adrenaline becoming my life force as I yanked open the door, and rushed out of the remains of that cabin with a terrifying shriek. Only a few thoughts rang through my mind as ran, hearing only a sinister, cold laugh follow me.

William Bugsby and his wife abandoned their heritage after their son killed himself. Willaim tried to burn the house, with a candle by the windowsill, the very candle I had lit and set back on the windowsill. and now as I leave the cabin, I leave behind the devil spirit who tore apart my ancestors, and a burning candle that failed to destroy a past mistake.