The Abandoned Cabin

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Jameson shouldn't have been out there, that night, but he stumbled out from the thicket, scraping his hands on the rocks as he hit the ground. He had come out to the woods to escape from the stress for a while, but once he had seen that candle flickering in the distance, he forgot what he was stressed about.

His fight-or-flight instinct was screaming, pleading with him to fly, to run as fast as he could in any direction, as long as it got him away from that cabin. He knew, though, what his classmates at the local high school would say, if he tried telling them about the candle in the window, without proof -- so he trudged over the uneven terrain, toward that mysterious, derelict cabin.

He shook his head as he drew closer, "I've finally lost it; there's no other explanation for this," he mumbled to himself as he came to a stop in front of the window where he'd seen the candle.

His eyes widened as they landed on the spot where the candle had been, only to find that it had seemingly vanished, leaving nothing but the heat of the open flame radiating through the glass. He shook his head, beginning to think he'd imagined the candle. He turned around, still shaking his head, and began to make the trek back through the woods. He tried his best to ignore the hairs on the back of his neck, which had risen the moment he turned his back on the cabin; the hairs turned out to be the least of his worries.

You know what you saw...

Jameson stopped short, he knew what the voice in his head sounded like -and that wasn't it. He chanced a look over his shoulder only to catch the cabin door -that he was sure had been closed when he had entered this abandoned clearing- slowly opening. Most people would run -forget what everyone else said later- but Jameson's family had always had a reputation throughout the state of Massachusetts and he wanted to do his part to clear the family name; he turned on his heel and walked right back up to that cabin, not even stopping at the threshold -the last thing that separated the relative safety of the rest of the woods from what lie in wait inside that cabin.

He whipped around as the door creaked and he could do nothing except watch as the door slowly swung shut with an ominous click. He tried the knob, only to find that he couldn't budge it, and jumped when he felt something touch his hand. His heart stuttered and he backed up until his back hit the wall when an old vase crashed and shattered onto the cabin floor, and he struggled to catch his breath as his eyes darted around the room, only to land on a decrepit painting barely hanging onto the peeling, mold stained, ivy and moss covered wall. With still ragged breathing he inched toward the wall, unsure -not for the first time that night- if he was truly seeing what he thought he was.

When he finally came to that wall and peered up at that painting he gasped -it was his Great-Great Aunt Elsbeth! What was her painting doing in that cabin? A cabin in the woods, three towns away from where she lived and died? His head snapped to the side when he heard footsteps, his eyes peering into what seemed to be the kitchen, but he didn't see the point in searching there; people almost never hid the important things in the kitchens in movies. He peered back up at the painting of his Aunt and looked everywhere but her face, as he felt as if her eyes could actually see him -follow him- around the cabin. He focused on her hands, trying to see if he could see the heirloom wedding band that had been in the family since the early 1800's. He was finally able to make it out on the fading, bleeding canvas he noticed something seemingly more important -her hand was painted with her index finger pointing to the edge of the painting.

His fingers carefully brushed over the chipping, gold plated ornate frame and he almost jumped back when the painting moved. An idea made its way to the forefront of his mind and he shook his head yet again, dismissing it as insane. He whipped around as he felt a light pressure on his back that pushed him toward the painting.

"Alright... I guess I am taking it down," he mumbled as he reached up and carefully slid the painting from its place.

He looked around before deciding to check the kitchen for a table; when he found one that was surprisingly sturdy, he slowly rested the painting on the dusty, damp wood. He found that the wood backing on the painting wasn't flush with the canvas and cursed as he slowly lifted it out of the frame. There, directly behind the canvas lay a skeleton key, somehow without a single speck of rust or leaf of ivy. How could it be that no one found this key? How could his family not mention that this cabin belonged to his Aunt? Did they even know?

He pocketed the key and turned to move further into the cabin, the floorboards creaking and groaning with every step; Jameson couldn't help but feel as if someone was walking right behind him, as if following along to see if he would change his mind about finding out more. He'd made his mind up the moment he crossed that threshold though, he wasn't leaving until he found out why his Aunt's portrait was in that cabin and where that candle had disappeared to. Each door he came to he searched for more information and found nothing except unlit candles and herbs in every window.

Each door creaked and slowly closed behind him as he left, as if they were checking themselves off some list; he passed a mirror, stopped, and turned around, knowing that he had just seen another face alongside his in that antique dangling from the wall. He found nothing except a bone chilling arrow etching itself into the dust layered atop the glass. He followed where the arrow pointed and saw an indention in the floor; he didn't even pause in grabbing the key from his pocket and shoving it into the keyhole. The trapdoor clicked open and he took a breath as he began walking down; he only made it two steps when he felt hands push against his back, sending him crashing down the stairs. He landed on the concrete flooring with a groan, in a cloud of dust, and took a few moments to recollect himself before standing. What he saw next made him wish he'd stayed down, or better yet: hadn't come in at all.

Jameson spun on his heel and booked it up the stairs, careful of the holes that his body had made on the way down. He could hear something -or someone- following every step through the house, just like before, except this time: this person... this thing was hunting him. There's no way his Great-Great Aunt had anything to do with this horrible, disgusting cabin. Even if she had, no one would believe him; not unless they'd lied to him, all his life. As he ran through the hall he could hear the doors repeatedly opening and slamming behind him, as if more spirits were coming out to chase him. He came to the front door and reached out for the knob, and just as his fingertips grazed the aged edge he felt tips of something else's fingernails digging into his shoulders and dragging him back toward that trap door. The last thing he saw as he felt those nails digging deeper into his shoulders was a sprig of Baby's Breath, and that candle flickering in the window.