Cabin 13

The lake stretched out like a sheet of black glass, reflecting the pale moonlight. The summer air was thick with the scent of pine, and the only sounds were the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface. It was the perfect getaway—or so they thought.

“This place is sick,” Nate said, dropping his bags in the main room of the cabin. “Right by the water, no parents, no rules.”

“Except one,” Jenna reminded him. “The lady at the rental place said to stay away from the crawlspace under the cabin.”

“Yeah, because every horror movie starts with ignoring creepy warnings,” Lucas joked, nudging open one of the creaky doors.

They laughed, but unease settled in their stomachs. There was something off about Cabin 13.

The first night passed uneventfully—until Jenna woke up gasping for air. A weight pressed against her chest, and when she opened her eyes, she swore she saw something looming in the shadows. A figure? A mass of writhing darkness?

She screamed, but by the time the others rushed into her room, it was gone.

“Just a nightmare,” Nate said, rubbing his eyes.

But the next morning, they found claw marks on the wooden floor. Deep ones.

By the second night, the air inside the cabin had changed. It felt heavy, charged, like a storm was about to break. The lights flickered, the temperature dropped, and whispers echoed from beneath the floorboards.

Curiosity got the best of them.

Armed with flashlights, Lucas and Nate pried open the crawlspace hatch. The space beneath the cabin was small, packed with dirt and rotting wooden beams. But at the far end, buried partially in the earth, was a wooden box covered in strange carvings.

“Maybe we shouldn’t mess with that,” Jenna whispered.

“Or maybe we should see what’s inside,” Nate countered, prying the box open.

Inside lay old, yellowed bones.

And then the cabin trembled.

That night, Jenna awoke to the sound of something dragging across the floor. A black, twisted form loomed over Nate’s bed, its hollow eyes fixated on him. Before she could scream, it vanished, leaving behind the scent of rot.

Lucas ran for the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. The windows wouldn’t break. The cabin had locked them in.

The whispers grew louder, a chorus of voices crying out from beneath them.

“You shouldn’t have disturbed it,” Jenna whispered.

They tried everything—breaking down doors, setting fires, even pleading with whatever entity had awoken. But it wanted something in return.

A sacrifice.

The group huddled together as the floorboards groaned and splintered. Shadows stretched unnaturally, clawing toward them. One by one, they were pulled under, vanishing into the darkness.

By dawn, the cabin was silent.

Days later, a rental agent arrived to inspect the property. Finding no sign of the teens, she made a note in her logbook:

Cabin 13 available for new guests.