The Cabin

You and your group were hiking in the woods when the sky turned without warning. Thunder cracked overhead. Lightning tore through the trees. The wind erased the trail behind you, swallowing every landmark you had. Within minutes, you were completely lost. Then, through the storm — a glow. Lights on. Music faintly playing. The Cabin. You ran toward it. But the closer you got, the more unsettling it felt. Lights on, music playing — but no movement. No voices. The door was locked. You pounded on it, shouted into the storm. Nothing. No one answered. The storm left you no choice. You broke in. The moment you cross the threshold, something shifts. The air is heavy. Off. Everything inside looks lived in — dishes, belongings, signs of a life in mid-motion — but no one is here. It feels like someone was just here. And left in a hurry. Then the radio crackles to life with an emergency broadcast: ”…authorities are warning the public… multiple hikers reported missing… suspect believed to be hiding in a remote wooded cabin…” Your group freezes. They’re talking about this cabin. You didn’t find shelter. You broke into the worst place you could have found. And now every sound feels louder. Every shadow feels closer. Every detail you didn’t notice a moment ago suddenly demands your attention. Hidden clues reveal themselves. The story around you deepens. The pressure builds. Because if this is his cabin — he knows you’re here.