Creaking Cabin

“It’s so nice, you’ll never want to leave. I guarantee it.”

That’s what the owner told me when I came by the property to observe it, check it out. It was a quaint little cabin set in the middle of the Blue Ridge mountain range, perfect for a weekend getaway. Granted, it was colder than I would’ve liked, but we were in the mountains so I didn’t mind. At that point, I didn’t care what the weather was like; I needed a cabin in the middle of nowhere, away from the stressors of life. I would’ve taken anything.

Coming across this place was nothing more than luck. There were just a few scattered reviews over the Internet, and the cabin wasn’t tied to a specific website; I had to do quite a bit of searching to come across this place. I ended up messaging the owner and here I was, standing in front of what was going to be my house for the next three days. It looked beautiful from the outside, and the images the owner sent me made it seem like it was gorgeous on the inside too. 

No red flags, nothing looked weird. The owner unlocked the front door for me and I wandered inside, glancing around. It looked exactly like it did in the pictures from the owner, but something felt… Off.

“Did you add something new in here after you took the pictures?” I turned to question the owner, eyebrow raised. 

“No… Why? Does it feel weird?”

“Yeah. Feels like you’ve changed something about it.”

The owner gave a small smile, and his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read. “I may have cleaned up a bit after sending you those pictures, but that’s all. Everything else in here is the same as it is in the pictures.”

I frowned and strolled into the kitchen, unsatisfied with his answer. My gut feeling was to run out of there, but I couldn’t afford to do that; everything looked fantastic, and it was exactly the kind of place I was looking for. I’d already paid a fair amount of the reservation fee already, so if I backed out now I’d lose money. I ground my teeth together and turned on my heel, strolling back outside, deciding that I’d just deal with the unsettling feeling.

The next day I packed all my bags, grabbing everything I’d need for a fun vacation the next three days, and drove myself back to the cabin, following the twisty mountain roads. As I pulled into the gravel driveway, my heart fluttered nervously, and I could see the owner pacing back and forth on the front porch, house keys in hand.

I stepped out of my car and popped the trunk. The owner graciously helped me unload the car of all my bags, and once we were done he handed me the keys and practically raced out of the cabin, speeding away in his own car. 

I closed the cabin door and locked it, turning to survey my temporary home once more. Now that I was alone, that twisting gut feeling I had grew exponentially, but I didn’t dwell on it. Instead, I walked towards the kitchen to see a piece of copy paper lying on the countertop, one that wasn’t there the last time I was here.

“What’s this?” I murmured to myself, picking up the sheet of paper. Written on it were a couple sentences and a few bullet points:

During your stay, it is mandatory that you follow a few rules. Failure to uphold these rules will result in a repair fee, as these rules are essential for maintaining this cabin.

• Every night before going to bed, turn the TV on and set the volume to the max. It doesn’t matter what channel, just pick something loud.
• Keep all windows closed, front and back doors locked at all times. 
• Always sleep upstairs, in a bedroom, with the door locked. Never sleep in any other part of the cabin. 
• Never use the downstairs bathroom. Use the upstairs one at all times.
• MOST IMPORTANT: LOCK THE BASEMENT DOOR EVERY NIGHT BEFORE GOING TO BED.

Once again, failure to uphold these rules will result in a repair fee after your stay. Thank you, and enjoy yourself!

Next to the note was a small woven basket with some chips, candy and a couple cheap beers. I placed the note back on the countertop, puzzled. Why didn’t the owner mention any of this when I first booked this place? The reviews I saw didn’t say anything about any rules, either. 

I groaned in frustration. This was getting much more complicated than I wanted it to be. I wanted a stress-free, relaxing break from work, life, and I’ve had nothing but stress since reserving this place. But I was stuck now; there was no backing out. I figured I’d follow the rules; instinct and that uneasy feeling in my stomach told me I should.

So for the next two days, I did exactly that. The first night, I made sure to follow all the rules to the letter; I made sure all the windows were shut, front and back doors closed and locked. That was fairly easy, since I hadn’t touched them since arriving. I didn’t use the downstairs bathroom at all, only the one upstairs, and before going to sleep I turned the TV to a sports channel and turned the volume as high as it could go. I wandered over to the basement door with the intent to lock it, but curiosity overtook me and I opened it.

Oddly enough, a musky smell wafted from the basement and the darkness beyond the basement stairs almost convinced me to walk away, but I switched on the basement light and took my time going down the steep steps. 

Holding my breath, I stepped off the stairs and turned to the right to see a relatively normal room. A single lightbulb illuminated two wooden shelves along two of the walls, as well as a small wooden chair in the very center of the room. A small metal hook that had been driven into the ceiling above the chair glimmered in the yellow light.

I wandered over to the chair and looked down at it, then up at the metal hook, trying to imagine what use this chair was to the owner. All the shelves were empty, too. 

What the hell was this place? 

A shiver ran through me, and goosebumps spread across my arms. Thoroughly freaked out, I zoomed back up the stairs, shut the light off, and closed the door, locking it with the house keys. 

“Okay, never going back in there again,” I muttered out loud, and I walked quickly back upstairs, still unsettled.

I finished getting myself ready to sleep and settled into one of the bedrooms at the end of the upstairs hall, closing the bedroom door and locking it. 

I slept like a baby that night. The next day, I mostly watched television and laid on the couch; I was planning on drinking the next night, so I went to sleep early. Of course, I did everything I needed to before falling asleep that night in the same bedroom upstairs. The one odd thing I noticed before settling into the bedroom was that the basement door had been unlocked somehow since the first night, even though I hadn’t touched it. 

I just re-locked it and trudged upstairs, thinking the lock must be old and damaged.

The third and last day of my stay, I cracked open a couple beers, broke out my speaker and blared music at full volume, watching the various sports games they were broadcasting. I called a few friends who were watching the same games, and we cheered at various times, booed at others. By the time it had gotten late, I was thoroughly drunk, and I hung up the call with my friends, settling in on the couch for a deep, drunken sleep.

By the time I woke up, it was well into the night. I woke up startled, the television still playing softly. I checked my phone; 2:45 AM. 

Something was different; what was different?

The rules. I forgot the rules.

I sprang up from the couch in a panic. Was it too late? I ran around, double-checking that the windows were shut, the front and back doors locked. I ran back into the living room and grabbed the remote from the floor, pumping the TV to full volume, too full of adrenaline to care what channel it was on. I took the stairs two at a time and practically flew into the bedroom, and I was about to shut the door when I heard a loud creak of wood from downstairs. 

I paused, head spinning from my thoughts, heart pounding in my ears. I glanced at my phone; time was 3:00 AM, on the dot. 

Every fibre of my being was telling me not to go down there. I heard another creak from downstairs, like a floorboard, but it sounded closer. 

And I realized that, in my panic, I didn’t lock the basement door.

I cursed at myself; I knew I needed to lock that door, and I’d bet all my measly savings it wasn’t locked. But no way in hell was I gonna be stupid about it. 

 I looked around for something, anything I could use as a weapon, and I settled on a small metal baseball bat I found in the bedroom closet, propped next to a baseball and small hat. Facing the empty hallway, clutching that small metal bat like it was my only connection to life itself, I moved quietly and slowly to the top of the steps.

Even slower, I took the stairs one at a time, and poked my head around the corner to the living room and kitchen. Both looked empty, so I sighed in relief and made my way cautiously to the basement door. 

The first thing I noticed was that the basement door was wide open. Whatever sense of relief I felt before was quickly washed away, and on the inside of the door I saw something I hadn’t caught that first night; grooves that had been dug into the wood of the door, almost looking like claw marks, or fingernail scrapings. Some of them looked fresh, too.

“Who the fuck’s in there?!” I shouted into the dark basement, my voice shooting up an octave from my nerves. Almost in reply, something wooden inside creaked.

Did I really want to do this? I could just walk out of the cabin now, lose out on the money. But if there was someone else here, and the owner didn’t know, would I be held liable? Or even worse, did the owner have someone else staying here at the same time?

I tightened my grip on the bat and took a step forward, onto the first stair, but before I knew it I was in the middle of the basement.

I felt something tighten around my neck, something was kicked out from under me, and I heard a sharp snap.

 The loud clattering of the bat hitting the floor filled my ears, and the last thing I saw was a man standing before me that I didn’t recognize, neck bruised purple.

The man smiled an unnatural smile and sauntered towards the small wooden chair just out of my reach, pulling it further away.

I felt my arms fall limp at my sides, and all went black.

The owner fidgeted with the cabin keys as he watched the young couple wander the inside of the cabin, talking with each other excitedly. They’d already made their reservation, and only a week after the last guest; his cabin was getting popular these days. Good for business, and better for him personally. The more people in his cabin, the better.

He guided the future guests upstairs and let them have a look at all the bedrooms, save for one. He hadn’t cleaned that one out yet.

“It’s so nice, you’ll never want to leave. I guarantee it.”