The Trapper's Cabin

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. What most would view as an ominous sign, granted a young and disheveled man hope.

He approached the decrepit grounds with a lantern in hand, taking note of the fresh animal carcasses hung about the property. Pelts had been left out to dry, and bleached bones adorned the decayed support beams of the cabin.

Perhaps the excessive hunting was to blame for the forests’ eerie silence. He crossed the rickety floorboards of the porch, and glanced through the window to find a shadowed man at his work bench.

The traveler froze for a moment, listening to the ripping of the pelt. Grateful for the inability to see over the trapper’s shoulder, the young man continued for the door and knocked.

Silence.

Heavy footsteps resonated in the traveler’s ears. The door swung open to reveal an aged man with ungentlemanly features. His silver beard reached below his chest. Dried blood adhered to his grotesquely sinewy arms. His hand tightly grasped the handle of his hunting knife.

“P-pardon me sir, for this intrusion. And at such a-” the traveler paused, eyeing the bloodied blade, “And at such a late hour.” His voice trailed.

The trapper’s wild eyes never left him. He wiped the knife and placed it back into its sheath on his belt.

“Perhaps I may seek shelter here, until the sun rises?”

“Another lost traveler?” the trapper croaked.

The young man gave him a puzzled look.

He continued, “It has been ages since I have seen another human face. Come in. I will enjoy your company.”

The trapper seated his new visitor at a small table, and gathered wood for the fireplace. His broad figure became silhouetted in the dark. A warm glow filled the cabin, and the trapper appeared human once more.

“You must be famished.” he said, “Allow me to heat up some food.”

Old stew was presented to the young man. He forced a smile upon the first bite. Lack of spices, followed by the taste of rancid meat, challenged the traveler to withhold his vomit.

The trapper sat directly across from him with a bowl of his own, and began devouring its contents. His visitor struggled to take another bite.

“Do forgive me sir. It has come to my attention that we have not had a proper introduction. My name is Anthony Galloway.”

The trapper responded with repulsive slurping.

“And-” the traveler struggled to keep conversation, “And you are?”

His wild eyes stared coldly into the young man’s.

“Ezekiel.”

“Ezekiel?” Anthony repeated.

“Yes.” he replied, and rose from his seat.

He grabbed both bowls and disposed of them in the rusted sink. Ezekiel strode to the far corner of the room, drenched in darkness again.

“Do you smoke, Mr. Galloway?” he called over his shoulders.

“Anthony will do, sir. And yes.”

A moment passed, and Ezekiel returned with two handmade cigarettes. He produced a match and lit Anthony’s before his own. The traveler indulged in the nicotine release.

Silence.

“What brings you here, Anthony?” the trapper questioned, seating himself again.

“I seek refuge.”

“I am aware. But what brought you here?”

Anthony replied, “My colleagues and I have an interest in documenting the variety of fauna in the mountains of North America. Our trip was going well, but then-” his voice quietened.

Ezekiel kept a watchful eye on the traveler. Tattered clothes draped the boy’s body. His boots were muddied from his travels. The trapper’s gaze was fixated on Anthony’s fair complexion.

“But then Mr. Edwards had gone out for a hunt. We never heard back. And Mr. Clemmins insisted I stay at camp while he searched for him. I never saw either of them again.”

Ezekiel remained still.

“I have been wandering these cursed woods for days. If it weren’t for you, surely I would be dead.”

Swirls of smoke hid the trapper’s features. A small glint of light from his eyes showed through the toxic mist. Anthony shifted the conversation in hopes of receiving a more human response.

“You know, I always find trappers selling their wares in town. It’s fascinating to see one in their element. How long have you been in this profession?”

“I cannot count the years.”

“With all that time spent in the fur trade, one can easily see you are a most skilled craftsman.”

“I hold pride in my work.” Ezekiel said, “There’s not many who can say the same.”

“Yes. I have seen some of your works-”

The trapper interrupted, “Then again. Not many are cut out for this line of work. It takes a good eye to do what I do.”

“A good eye?”

“For hunting, one needs a good eye. Always select a healthy host.” The trapper’s tone chilled the traveler.

Silence.

Ezekiel left his seat, and headed for the door. He motioned for Anthony to follow.

“I can show you. A healthy host makes all the difference. Come. See my most prized items.”

The traveler reluctantly stood from his chair. Realizing Ezekiel awaited by the doorway in darkness, Anthony lit his lantern and hurried after him. They plunged into darkness.

The trapper led him to the side of the cabin, and opened the doors to a musty basement. A look of fear flashed across the young man’s face.

“Fear not.” Ezekiel coaxed, “The beasts are dead.”

Ezekiel traveled down first, “You won’t find anything else like it.”

He disappeared. Another source of light shone from the basement, encouraging Anthony to venture down. He reached the bottom, only to be greeted by a swinging lantern on the far end of the room. The creaking metal whittled away at the boy’s nerves. He called out to Ezekiel.

Silence.

The young man scoured the cramped basement in search of his new acquaintance. Carefully maneuvering amongst the boxes of pelts and bones, something familiar caught his attention in a darkened corner. Their uncanny nature beckoned Anthony to further examine them. He was struck by horror. The pelts were none other than his colleagues.

He turned to flee. The pathway was blocked by a grotesque and darkened figure wielding a hunting knife. Shrieks of terror echoed throughout the forest.

The sky was painted in wonderful shades of pink and gold. As beautiful as it was, the forest remained eerily still.

Anthony stumbled out of the basement. His face seemed unnatural; a hideous mask that mocked life itself.

“At last. A healthy host.”