The Forest's Cabin

            Once, there was a photographer who went camping in a forest not far from his home. He’d recently moved to the area and hadn’t explored the surrounding countryside yet. When he got a call from a magazine requesting nature photographs, he decided it would be a perfect chance to wander around the vast expanse of woods located behind his new estate. He determined that twilight and dawn would be the perfect times to get some brilliant shots so he packed a tent so that he could spend the night. Donning his hiking boots, and with his camera in hand he ventured out among the vegetation.

             He spent most of the day following a nature trail, taking a few photos of the wildlife as he went. Eventually, however, he became bored of sticking to the path, and diverted amidst the trees. He was about a mile off the trail, tracking his route on his map, when he came to a small stream. Glancing at his watch, and seeing he had just under an hour until sunset, he decided to make camp. He set up his tent, and built a small fire to cook supper. After he had eaten his makeshift barbeque he grabbed his camera and waited for the sky to darken. 

             He snapped his camera, taking shots of the treeline, the stream and the wildlife that were beginning to emerge from the undergrowth. When it was too dark to take any more he propped himself against a tree and scanned through his work. There were quite a few pictures he was pleased with and he smiled happily to himself as he put out the fire and then crawled into his tent so he could get enough sleep before the sun rose in the morning.

            He hadn’t been asleep long when it began to rain. Really heavy rain, that battered at the tree tops and blew down to the forest floor in great sheets on the wind. The man's tent was taking a beating in the harsh gale and soon enough it tore against the rough bark of a tree and split down one side, letting in torrents of water. Cursing to himself the man quickly packed his belongings back into his bag and decided he would have to call it quits and make the journey back home, or find shelter somewhere along the way.

            He reached into his pack and pulled out a torch and his map, following the route he marked earlier. However, after some time he began to feel a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. He should have reached the path by now, but there was still no sign of it. He swung around, aiming the light in every direction to see if he could find it; he couldn’t. The man inhaled deeply, trying to calm his rising panic. After a moment the man set off again, in the same direction. He figured he had misjudged the distance and eventually he would stumble upon the path. What he stumbled upon instead, was an old wooden cabin, lit up invitingly, in the middle of a cluster of oak trees.

            The man breathed a sigh of relief and ran up the steps onto the porch and banged on the door.

            “Hello?” He called through the thick timber “I’m sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but I’m afraid I lost the trail, I was wondering if you could help me? Is there anyone there?” He banged continuously until his knuckles were sore, but still nobody came to his aid.

He stepped off the porch and backed a few feet into the trees to get a good look at the cabin. Every window was lit up brightly, gleaming like a beacon in the night, but he couldn’t see any movement through any of them. He circled around, just to be sure, and when he reached the front of the house he stood, staring in its direction, pondering his next move. Absently he lifted his camera and took a photograph of the cabin. As he was lowering it again he saw the door creak open and a crack of light spill from the gap.

            He started slowly back up the steps and over the threshold. The cabin was filled with old fashioned wood furnishings and in the corner a large fire crackled quietly to itself, warming the inside. The man pushed the door shut behind him to keep the warm air in and called out again.

“Hello? Thank you for letting me in. This is a nice place you’ve got, where are you?” There was no answer. “Hey, can you hear me? Is it alright if I wait out the rain here? I won’t be any bother.” Still nobody answered. “Is there anyone here?” He asked the empty room before him. As if in answer he heard footsteps somewhere on the floor above. The man strode towards the stairs in front of him and made his way slowly up each creaking step.

“Hello?” He called again when he reached the top. There was a bang from behind the door to his left and he cautiously moved towards it. He knocked gently on the door and waited a minute for a reply before he swung the door open. Inside was a large four poster bed with golden drapes hanging over the top. On either side of the bed were two intricately carved tables, on top of which stood candles, almost burnt to the base. But there wasn’t anybody else in the room with him.

Confused, the man turned and went to check all the other rooms in the house. Every single one was empty; there was nobody in the house but him. He turned the lights off as he left each room to remind himself he had already checked there. He went back downstairs and slumped on the ivory sofa in front of the fire. He warmed himself and began to feel very drowsy. He moved to turn out the light in the living room, leaving the glow of the fire as the only lumination in the house. He decided that he may as well take a nap and if the owner of the cabin came back he would explain everything. If not, when he left in the morning he would leave a note for them to find to let them know he had stayed there.

He settled himself down and propped his head on a cushion and got comfortable. He led there staring at the fire as the heavy pull of sleep tugged at his mind. He was beginning to drift off when the fire started to flicker violently, like a sharp gust of wind was rattling through the building. He watched groggily, as the flames continued their elaborate dance. Then all of a sudden a vile face reared out of the fire, with huge, pointed teeth and a long forked tongue lashing out, trying to reach the man. The fiery face had skin that looked to be covered with oozing blisters and large eyes filled with malice. 
The man jumped off the sofa and backed away hurriedly. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away the terrifying sight before him. When he opened them again the fire was completely normal; the face had vanished. He rubbed his eyes, passing it off as a dream and was just about to settle down again when there was low, rumbling cackle from upstairs.

The man sat bolt upright.

“Hello? Is there someone there?” He got up and stood at the bottom of the stairs, torch in hand, pointed at the top. “Show yourself. Now.” There was no movement, no answering voice; nothing. The man looked around, wondering what to do now. That was when he noticed pale faces watching him from every window he could see. The cabin was completely surrounded by these milky skinned people and their faces were contorted with looks of violence and hatred. Then there was a series of loud bangs upstairs and what sounded like running footsteps. Lots of running footsteps.

With a gulp the man grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace and with it raised behind him padded up the steps, trying his hardest to keep them from creaking. He got to the top and the footsteps sounded like something ran right past him and into the bedroom he had checked earlier. But the torch revealed nobody. He steeled himself and edged slowly towards the room. The door was ajar and it creaked eerily when he gently pushed it open. In the far corner was a tall wardrobe he hadn’t noticed before. Its door too, was ajar and there was a murmuring whine coming from inside.

The man raised his torch and crept towards the sound. When he reached the wardrobe he flung the door wider and flashed his torch inside. It was empty, and the whining had stopped. The house was completely silent for a moment. A moment that made the man feel like he was suspended in time, weightlessly floating in its embrace, utterly helpless to its every whim. Then the bedroom door slammed shut.

The man raced over and tried to pry it open again, to no avail. The floorboards behind him creaked and there was the cackle again, this time it was coming from just over his shoulder.

He spun around to face the noise and was met with a dark, cloaked figure. It lifted it’s head and smiled a spiteful, toothy grin, stretching his papery skin taut. The figure rushed forward and grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him high above his head as though the man weighed nothing.

The robed man cackled once more and then said in a deep, throaty voice, “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re staying here now.” He cackled again as he gradually began to apply pressure until he heard the satisfying crack of the man's spine crumbling beneath his fingertips.

***

Shortly after, the photographer was reported as missing. Authorities searched for days but couldn't find a single trace of his whereabouts. All that was ever found of him was his camera. Every photo the man had taken was erased except one. The photo of the cabin which showed many pale faces staring maliciously from every window.