The Cabin in the Woods

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. There was no sound, the woodland creatures dead silent and the wind non-existent. The full moon provided light where the trees were not as dense, but the cabin was in the darkest part of the forest.

Samantha had been lost for hours, losing her way after changing direction to avoid a mountain lion. She had heard the cat and then came across tracks and large scratches in tree trunks. Preferring to not be hunted by a large cat or compete with him for deer, she turned around and headed in another direction. Somehow she had hiked in the wrong direction and became lost. Once the sun had set and darkness took over, she felt even more disoriented.

She thought she knew the area well, having hunted in this same forest for many years with her father. It had been a decade since they last hunted together…before her father’s untimely death. He had been hunting with a friend in these same woods when he suffered a fatal heart attack. Her father loved this forest and had hunted there since he was a little boy. It was a tradition passed down through the generations. Samantha missed her father very much and felt that continuing their annual hunting trip without him was the best way to honor his memory.

As she wandered through the woods, the moonlight dimmed the further she went. In the distance, she could barely see a faint glow that seemed out of place among the thick trees. She headed toward the light and saw a small building start to take shape, its form hidden by the darkness. When she was close enough, she could make out the logs that formed the walls—it was a cabin buried deep within the forest. She had never noticed a cabin before in all the trips she made to these woods. She knew then that she was lost. She had never been in this part of the forest, so deep into the woods that the full moon was no longer visible. She cautiously approached the cabin, hoping that someone would be home.

“Hello?” she called as she knocked on the door. “Is anyone home? I am lost, and I need help.”

Samantha strained to listen for movement but heard nothing. The entire forest was still. She walked around to the small window with the candle and peered inside. She could see no sign of movement in the cabin other than the soft flickering of the flame. It looked small inside, with a tiny kitchen, a cot, and a rocking chair. She made her way back to the door and knocked again.

“Please,” she called, “I just need a place to rest for the night.”

Again, she heard nothing. She grabbed the doorknob to open the door, but it was locked. She then made her way to the other side of the cabin and saw a hint of light from a pair of storm doors leading to a cellar. She reached for her rifle on her back, reassuring herself that it was still there if she needed it, then approached the doors and knocked.

“Hello?” she voiced timidly, almost afraid. “Is anyone there?”

She paused to listen, keeping as still as possible, but heard nothing. She grabbed the handle of one of the doors and pulled slowly, expecting it to also be locked. The door opened with ease.

Samantha carefully descended the cement steps, watching for movement from within the cellar. She could see a candle burning on a wooden barrel directly ahead. Behind that was a wall with a red door. She stood up straight and advanced on the door, determined to find the owner of this cabin. She would not let fear control her—she was lost and needed help, and she assumed someone who lived in the woods would know the way back to town. She knocked on the door, realizing that it was made of metal.

“Is anyone home?” she called loudly, expecting this time to hear a reply.

Nothing.

She tried to open the door, but the knob would not budge. Feeling exhaustion start to overtake her, she looked around for any hint of a living creature. Someone had to have lit the candles, so where were they now?

In the corner, Samantha saw a ladder with a trapdoor at the top. She climbed the ladder and found herself in the first floor of the cabin. There was no one around. In one corner was a sink with a mirror above it, a pantry for dry goods, and a cupboard. Across from that sat a rocking chair and a stack of books. A cot and a wooden crate with an old oil lantern on top occupied another corner.

Samantha did not like staying in someone else’s house without their permission, but she was too tired to continue wandering the woods. She had not prepared to sleep outside, her plan to head home by sunset. It was cold, and a mountain lion was roaming the woods. She carefully lay down on the cot, trying her best not to disturb anything. She hoped that if the owner returned, they would not think her a burglar and attack her. She drifted off to sleep within a few minutes, exhaustion consuming her.

A noise awoke Samantha in the early morning hours—a scraping sound as if something was clawing at the front door. Afraid that a grizzly bear was nearby, she reached for her gun. The candle in the window was still burning, providing enough light for her to see that her gun was missing.

She jumped up and looked around. The front door was still locked, and she was sure she would have heard someone enter. She searched everywhere for her gun, thinking she must have set it down somewhere before lying on the cot. Her mind had been tired and in need of sleep, so she was sure she had just placed it somewhere safe and forgotten.

The cabin had no other furnish besides what Samantha saw when she came up the ladder, so there was no space to hide a rifle. She checked the cupboards just in case but found only dust. Aside from the candle, it appeared that no one had been inside the cabin for years.

The scraping noise was getting louder, allowing Samantha to hear that it was coming from the cellar, not the front door. Knowing that the sun would rise within the hour, Samantha decided to abandon the cabin rather than investigate the sound. She had seen enough horror movies to know that curiosity was not a good instinct in this situation. She rushed to the front door and grabbed the doorknob.

The knob would not turn.

There was no lock on the doorknob, yet it would not move. Samantha desperately tried to force the door open but noticed a double cylinder deadbolt—she would need a key to open the deadbolt. She moved to the window, assessing its size, and saw it was nailed shut. Even if she could get it open, she was sure she would not fit through the narrow space.

A thud came from the basement, followed by the sound of the red door opening. Samantha grabbed the oil lantern, thinking she could use it as a weapon if needed. She waited to hear anything, expecting the trapdoor to burst open and some madman to come out of it.

There was silence.

After a half-hour, Samantha stirred up enough guts to enter the cellar. She knew now that the cellar doors were the best chance for her to escape the cabin. She hesitantly opened the trapdoor and looked down the ladder. The light from the candle on the barrel was still visible, casting shadows on the cellar wall. She climbed down the ladder as quietly as possible, afraid that someone would snatch her as she descended.

Samantha hit the floor of the cellar and looked around. The red door was open a few inches, piquing her curiosity. What was behind that door? She fought the urge to look and headed directly for the storm doors. She reached out to push them open, but they were stuck. She could see that the slide latch was open, yet the doors would not move.

She was trapped in the cabin.

She grabbed the lantern and reluctantly headed toward the red door. If someone was keeping her here, she would have to face them. She was terrified of what was waiting in the room, expecting to see a man looming over butchered bodies. She reached her hand out and grabbed the doorknob.

As she pulled the door slowly, she heard the scraping sound again, louder and more prominent, followed by another thud. The door creaked as it opened, its hinges rusted from years of neglect. She opened it just enough to get a look inside.

It was empty.

Samantha opened the red door and walked into the room. There was nothing in the room aside from a chair in the corner covered with a blanket and a couple shelves of random items on the wall. There was no one in the cabin but her. But then, how was she locked in? How would she get out?

Samantha looked at the items on the shelves. It was mostly just old baseball cards, but she found and picked up a wallet and a pack of matches. She lit the oil lantern with a match and looked around the room better. There was a painting of a family hanging on the wall with the year 1899 written on it. The painting gave her a creepy feeling, almost as if the people within were watching her.

She turned to the chair and could tell something was under the blanket. She grabbed a corner of the blanket, pulled it back, and then immediately dropped it in horror. The skeletal remains of a human were curled up in the chair with an old machete still in between two ribs.

Samantha rushed out of the room as fast as she could. She needed to leave the cabin. She kicked against the storm doors, willing them to open, but they were as solid as cement. She climbed the ladder and tried to kick down the front door again. That was also solid. It was as if she had been cemented into a tomb.

She sat on the cot, unsure of what she would do. She felt the wallet she had found in her pocket and pulled it out. Perhaps there was a key inside that would fit the lock on the door. She saw the wallet had over a hundred dollars inside but no key. An old driver’s license was stuffed behind the money. She pulled it out and gazed at it, shock rushing through her.

The driver’s license was her father’s.

She dropped the wallet and started to cry. How had her father actually died? Was it really a heart attack, or had he been murdered? She could not believe he had been killed—it was just too much. He was extremely well-liked and got along with everyone he met.

No, she thought to herself. Just because the wallet was down there does not mean that skeleton was my father. Maybe his wallet was stolen.

Samantha got to her feet and walked to the mirror above the kitchen sink. The mirror was cloudy, but she could still see her reflection. She gazed into her own eyes, giving herself an internal pep talk.

“I am going to get out of this house, and tomorrow I will be telling the story to everyone at work,” she said out loud to herself.

Just as she went to turn, something in the mirror caught her eye. A shadow rushed past behind her own reflection. She spun around quickly. There was nothing there. She turned back to the mirror and gazed at the reflection. She thought she saw people behind her in the mirror. She turned around again and saw nothing.

She stared into the mirror and backed up, taking her mirror image to the area where the people were standing. A sudden feeling of helplessness washed over her. She thought she saw faint outlines in the mirror, but there was nothing in the room. The rocking chair moved as if a breeze caught it, yet the air in the cabin was still. In the mirror, she could see a figure sitting in the chair. The figure seemed more defined than the others—it looked like her father.

Surely she was just imagining things. She was tired and hungry, so her mind was likely playing tricks on her. Ghosts aren’t real, she thought to herself, trying to clear her mind. The lighting in the cabin was terrible, and the old mirror was foggy.

“I’m just seeing things,” she told herself. “There is nothing here.” A shiver rushed through her body.

What if I’m wrong, her inner voice said, filling her mind with dread and doubt. Was her mind playing tricks on her, or was she actually seeing things? It sure seemed real to her, and finding her father’s wallet was a strange coincidence.

Fear suddenly overtook Samantha. She needed to get out of this cabin in any way possible. She grabbed the rocking chair and smashed the small window, knocking the candle to the floor, its low flame extinguishing upon impact. She brushed away as much glass as possible from the frame and then started to climb through the opening. She could hear voices all around her, whispering, but could not understand what they were saying.

She managed to get her shoulders through the window with some difficulty, giving her some hope that her nightmare would soon be over. She wiggled as she pushed with her arms against the outside of the house, trying to pull herself through. She could feel the frame digging into her back, her hips too wide to fit through the small opening. She tried to wiggle back into the cabin to attempt a different angle, but the frame pushed against her ribs. She was stuck. She started screaming for help, hoping anyone nearby would hear her.

Surely a hunter would hear her screams.

“Over this way,” the man in a park ranger uniform called, motioning for a woman to join him. “I can see the tracks.”

The park ranger was aiding a researcher with tracking a mountain lion they had been monitoring and studying for years. The cat had led them away from her usual hunting grounds and into a remote forest frequented by hunters.

The cold winter air hit the pair as they made their way through the woods, but the fresh snow made it easier to follow the cat’s footprints. The trees were bare of leaves, allowing plenty of light for them to continue their research.

“There must be a male around here,” the ranger said. “I can see territorial markings on the trees.”

“Excellent. Maybe our girl will have a few more cubs then,” the researcher replied. “Is that a cabin up ahead? It seems out of place here.”

“Yeah,” the ranger answered. “It’s an old hunting cabin from the early 1900s. No one has been in it for years. Or at least not that any of us park rangers know about. The rangers installed new locks to keep people out a few years ago.”

“It looks pretty creepy.”

“It is. It was abandoned after the owner killed himself.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Oh, it’s worse than that. He brought his family along and murdered them with a machete, then he slit his own throat. Or at least, that’s how the story is told.” The ranger glared at the cabin, deep in thought. “A local writer bought the cabin to use as a quiet place to write. He eventually donated it to the park, claiming that the silence was driving him mad. He started seeing things that were not there. He left town quickly. The rangers never heard from him again.”

“Is it haunted?” the researcher asked.

“Not that we know of, but none of us want to spend the night there and find out. They put the new locks on it after a couple incidents.”

“What kind of incidents?”

“Poachers would use it to hide overnight so they could hunt illegally. Endangered species, trophy killings, that sort of stuff. The poachers were never quite the same after.” The ranger turned his gaze from the cabin to the researcher. “There’s something about that place. We think there’s some sort of hallucinogenic gas or something. Best just to keep clear.”

“I hope our cat didn’t go near that place,” the researcher said.

“It looks like she turned and went around it, so lucky for us.” The ranger gazed at the tracks on the ground, following them. “The tracks show she traveled deeper into the woods.”

“Good. I don’t want her getting killed by a hunter. We have few enough of these cats around here as it is. They used to have a lot more space…before that development was built.”

“That’s a shame,” the ranger commented as he glanced at the cabin again. “Hold up a minute.”

“What do you see? Is it the male mountain lion?” the researcher asked in excitement.

“No,” the ranger said, his focus on the cabin. “Just wait here.”

“Okay. I’ll call and check-in. I’m curious how the other group is doing with tracking that bison herd in Yellowstone.”

The ranger cautiously advanced on the cabin, hoping he was not seeing what he thought he saw. There was some sort of cloth hanging out the window of the small cabin. He was learning the lay of the land, having transferred from the Pacific Northwest. His job was to aid researchers in tracking cougars in the area that covered miles of terrain. He had yet to explore all of it.

He remembered hearing stories of a cabin buried in the forest and was told that most rangers avoided it. They checked it occasionally to see if the structure was still standing and that the locks were secure. The rangers had debated tearing it down, but it was at the bottom of a long “to-do” list.

The ranger approached the window, his fears confirmed. The cloth he saw was the clothing on a body. He recognized the clothing from a missing person’s report filed shortly after he moved to the area. The missing woman’s girlfriend filed the report three days after the woman did not return home from a hunting trip. That had been over two years ago.

“What did you find?” the researcher asked when she finished her phone call.

“Human skeletal remains,” the ranger replied as he grabbed his radio. “Chief, we have human remains at that old cabin in the woods," he said into the radio. “Looks like she got stuck in the window and died.”

“Human remains?” the chief asked over the radio.

“I’m pretty sure I found that missing girl. I think I’ve found Samantha.”