Three Left in the Cabin

The first snow of December had barely begun blanketing the peaceful town of Ashford, Maine, when Evelyn Ross took her SUV down Sycamore Road. The tall stand of pine trees and the rolling fog rendered the old cabin nearly invisible until she was almost directly above it.

Evelyn switched off the headlights and let the warm orange glow of the lantern on the porch guide her. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 7:46. He said he would be there at eight.

But another car was already in the gravel driveway.

Her heart started pounding.

The cabin was already warm inside. She smelled the smoky pinewood of the fireplace and the sweet metallic tang of something else.

That was when she saw Daniel Pierce, leaning against the counter, a glass of bourbon in his hand.

“You’re early,” he said with a half-smile.

“So are you,” Evelyn replied. Her voice was calm, but her eyes darted toward the hallway.

Daniel followed her gaze. “Relax. You’ll see them soon enough.”

Them.

The plan had been simple: four people, one sitting room, and the truth laid out on the table. Evelyn, Daniel, Marcus Hale, and Clara Whitfield—all bound by a secret buried nearly a decade earlier.

By 8:05, the sitting room of the cabin was filled with all four.

Marcus, a broad shoulder and military-trained, stood at the window as if there were intruders lurking outside to be excluded. Clara, elegantly dressed in a long woollen coat, sat on the arm of a chair, her legs crossed daintily, her lipstick a bright crimson. Evelyn sat close to the fire, her hands clasped around a mug that she hadn't drunk.

Daniel, the smooth one as ever, strode up and down between them.

It's ten years," he replied, his tone light but touched with something hard. "Ten years since we came out that evening. And now… well, let's just say that the past doesn't stay hidden all the time."

"Get to the point," Marcus growled. His jaw was tight. "Why did we come here, Daniel?"

Because someone knows.

There was a silence that hung there, heavy and oppressive.

Clara arched her eyebrow. "Knows what, exactly?" We've all all made successful lives for ourselves since then. Do you really think anyone still cares?"

Daniel's smile fell just short of his eyes. "The body never did turn up, Clara. But what if it's finally happened?"

Evelyn's gut dropped. She hadn't given the quarry any thought in years. The screaming. The fall. The splash. And the sound of silence that followed.

She gripped her mug tighter. "That was an accident," she whispered.

Marcus turned to her. "We said we'd never speak of it again."

At 8:27, the knock. Three sharp raps on the cabin door.

Everyone halted.

Daniel set down his bourbon, his ashen for the first time that evening. "Were you expecting someone?"

"No," Evelyn answered quickly.

Marcus moved his hand into his jacket—where she suspected a gun would be hidden. Clara stood, patting her coat into place with trembling hands.

The knock came again. Louder.

"Open it," Marcus ordered.

Daniel swallowed hard but obeyed.

The door creaked open, revealing nothing but the swirling snow. No footprint on the porch. No silhouette in the trees. Nothing.

Then a crumpled piece of paper slid across the doorway, coming to rest at Evelyn's feet.

She smoothed it out, shaking hands. The message was written in thick black marker:

"I KNOW WHAT YOU DID."

The group erupted into accusations.

“This is your doing,” Marcus snarled at Daniel. “Some sick game to scare us.”

Daniel shook his head, sweat glistening at his temple. “You think I’d drive six hours just to spook you? No. Someone’s been watching us. All of us.”

Clara laughed, brittle and near-hysterical. "Oh, please. It's 2025, Marcus. More disgusting confessions are online and no one bats an eye. If they know, then what are they waiting for? Why send letters when they can go to the police?"

"Because they want us afraid," Evelyn whispered. She trembled. "They want us to kill ourselves before they ever have to do anything.".

Marcus glared at her. "And maybe they'll succeed if you keep panicking."

The old wooden floorboards creaked above.

All the heads snapped up.

Marcus pounded up the stairs in his booted feet, Daniel following behind him, leaving Clara and Evelyn standing in the dancing flames.

Clara caught Evelyn's hand. Her hand was freezing. "If this is a joke, it's gone too far," she whispered.

Evelyn's head shook. "Daniel would never risk his career. Marcus would never squander his time. And you—" She pulled her hand out of his. "You always used to be the one to jump to conclusions first."

A door exploded open in the upstairs hallway. Then a yell. Then silence.

The two women sprinted up to find Marcus with his gun raised. Daniel was against the wall, gasping.

"There was someone here," Marcus announced. "I saw the shadow. They ran."

But all doors were shut. All windows blocked.

No one was there.

Back in the downstairs, the group collapsed into strained silence. The fire had subsided, and the room was in half-light.

Daniel shook with shaky hands to pour another drink. "We can't go on pretending. One of us has cracked. One of us told."

"No one told," Marcus spat.

"Then explain the note!"

Clara stood up, her crimson lipstick smudged. "Alright. You want to hear the truth? I talked to someone. Ages ago. A therapist. Confidentiality, of course. But maybe…" She broke off, her face pale. "Maybe it wasn't as confidential as I thought."

Evelyn's heart sank. "You told a therapist? About that night?"

Clara's voice crumbled. "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't breathe. I needed to talk to someone. But I swear, I never said names."

Daniel crushed his glass, and it shattered. "Names or not, you destroyed us all."

The tempest outside had grown more wild, howling against cabin walls.

At 9:15, the power went out. The room went black.

Evelyn hunted for her phone's flashlight beam, slicing through the darkness. She noticed Marcus's gun. Daniel's set jaw. Clara's quivering shoulders.

Then—another sound. Footsteps. From the back door.

Marcus moved quickly, but not quickly enough. A shadow darted into the kitchen. A struggle, the sound of metal on tile clashing. Evelyn shrieked as a shot rang out.

When the light steadied, Daniel lay on the floor, blood spreading across his chest.

Marcus loomed over him, gun still hot.

"He was the one who was betraying us," Marcus said, his voice low.

"Needed to be."

But Evelyn wasn't quite so sure.

By midnight, Daniel's corpse covered in a blanket. The three of them quietly, the storm still raging on the outside.

Then the phone rang.

One new message. No number. Just letters:

"HE WASN'T THE ONE. THREE LEFT."

Her blood ran cold.

She glanced up at Marcus and Clara. Neither had moved. Both stared at her as though she were the enemy.

And for the first time, Evelyn comprehended.

The enemy wasn't on the outside.

It was one of them.