The Echoes of Cabin 13

It was supposed to be a peaceful weekend getaway for four friends, one cabin, and no cell service. Cabin 13 was tucked deep within the Old Pine Forest, surrounded by fog-drenched trees and silence so thick it felt like it pressed against your ears.

Jake found it listed on an obscure rental site. Dirt cheap, he said, waving the phone in front of us. “Just needs a little charm and courage.

When we arrived, the place looked untouched by time. Dust coated the windows. The porch steps creaked like bones. An iron number 13 hung sideways on the front, nailed into decaying wood.

Inside, it was cold. Not normal cold, hollow cold. The air had weight. Every room had furniture covered in white sheets, all stiff and strangely shaped, like people standing still beneath them.

We unpacked, lit the fireplace, and opened beers. Laughter filled the living room. We joked about ghost stories and the classic horror setup. But when the fire flickered out, something changed.

At 2:16 a.m., the first sound came: a soft knocking from the bedroom wall. Three taps. Then silence. We assumed it was the wind.

Then Ellie screamed.

She pointed to the antique mirror beside the fireplace. I saw someone behind me! She cried. But when we looked, nothing was there. Her reflection stared back, pale and shaken, yet nothing else was visible.

Jake, trying to break the tension, offered to check outside. He grabbed a flashlight and stepped into the fog. Minutes passed. Then his scream echoed through the forest.

We rushed out and found him shaking, staring at the old well behind the cabin, which none of us had noticed earlier. There’s someone down there, he whispered. But they weren’t human.

We heard a whisper float out of the well, our names, spoken softly, as if by someone imitating a voice they’d heard once and didn’t quite understand.

We bolted inside, slammed the door, and tried to call for help. No signal. No power. The mirror in the corner began to fog up, though the room was cold. On the glass, a handprint appeared. From the inside.

From then on, time felt broken. The clock stuck at 3:00 a.m. Shadows moved in ways light couldn’t explain. Ellie whispered in her sleep in a language none of us knew. And I kept hearing my mother’s voice calling me from the forest, except she died years ago.

By dawn, Ellie was gone. We found her shoes placed neatly by the back door. No sign of struggle. No tracks. The only clue was a wet set of bare footprints leading into the forest, too small for Ellie. Like a child’s.

Jake lost it and ran. We found him hours later, curled near the mirror, whispering, They want faces. They can’t make their own.

When rescue arrived two days later, they found only me and Mark. Cabin 13 had collapsed. Must’ve been years ago, the ranger said. This place hasn’t been standing since '83. Lightning strike took it down. No one’s rented it in decades.

But I had the receipts. I showed them the photos on my phone. Only now, they were gone. Just static. Except one photo that remained.

A photo of us asleep, taken from outside the window. In the reflection, five people. Only four of us ever came.

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Submitted By : Shinwari khan

Email Address: [email protected]

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