The Cabin

Beware the Cabin

The old cabin stood hunched amongst the skeletal, claw-like trees, a relic of forgotten seasons. Sarah, Mark, and Chloe, chasing a final burst of autumn freedom, had rented it for the weekend. The air was crisp, the silence profound, almost suffocating.

They unpacked, the initial excitement slowly giving way to a subtle, creeping unease. The cabin’s interior was too quiet, the wood too dark. A faint, metallic scent seemed to cling to the very fabric of the place, subtle enough to be dismissed as old timber, but persistent.

On Saturday, Mark, ever the adventurous one, decided to explore the narrow game trail that snaked deeper into the woods, despite Chloe’s nervous protests. Sarah, feeling a prickle of unease, followed, trying to keep a lighthearted facade.

They walked for an hour, the forest growing denser, the light fading even though it was midday. Then, they stumbled upon it: a clearing, oddly circular, dominated by a single, ancient well. Its stone lip was slick with dark moisture, and no bucket or rope was visible. A low, guttural hum seemed to emanate from its depths, vibrations tingling in their feet.

"Creepy," Chloe whispered, pulling her jacket tighter. "Probably just groundwater," Mark scoffed, leaning over the edge. "Helloooo down there!" His voice echoed, then was swallowed by the well's maw. A sudden, violent tremor shook the ground. The well gurgled, a sound like liquid hunger, and a sickeningly sweet stench, like rot and something indescribably foul, wafted up. Mark stumbled back, coughing, a hand pressed to his mouth. "Ugh, what is that?"

That night, the humour was gone. Mark had developed a hacking cough and a fever. His eyes were bloodshot, and he kept muttering about a "wet chill" that had seeped into his bones. Sarah tried to reassure him, but a cold dread was tightening in her chest.

Around midnight, a scream tore through the cabin. Sarah and Chloe burst into Mark’s room. He was thrashing on the bed, his body contorting at unnatural angles. His skin was mottled, a sickly grey-purple, and angry black veins pulsed beneath the surface. His eyes, wide and unblinking, were milky white.

"Mark!" Sarah shrieked, recoiling as he began to foam at the mouth. Then, a wet, tearing sound. His torso began to swell, distending rapidly, his shirt buttons popping off one by one. A grotesque bulge erupted above his navel, growing larger, pulsing. He let out a choked, gurgling sound, and a geyser of black, viscous fluid exploded from his mouth, splattering the walls.

"Oh god!" Chloe screamed, stumbling back. The swelling intensified. Mark’s bones cracked audibly, his skin stretching taut, then ripping. A crimson spray erupted as his chest cavity burst open, revealing not organs, but a squirming mass of pallid, worm-like tendrils, glistening wetly in the dim light. They writhed, blindly searching, pulsing with a life that wasn’t his. Mark’s head lolled to the side, his jaw hanging open, a silent scream of agony contorted on his ruined face.

Chloe shrieked again, a raw, primal sound, and bolted. Sarah, paralyzed by the horror, could only stare at the pulsating, worm-ridden ruin of her friend. The sickeningly sweet smell was overwhelming now, mixed with the coppery tang of fresh blood.

A low, wet slithering sound began. The tendrils from Mark’s corpse were elongating, reaching for the floor, for anything. Sarah finally broke free of her trance, tearing her gaze from the horror. She scrambled out of the room, slamming the door shut.

"Chloe! Chloe, wait!" Sarah stumbled through the dark living room, her breath catching in her throat. The front door was ajar. Chloe had run outside. "No, no, no!"

She burst out into the moonless night. The silence was back, but now it was predatory. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a faint, desperate whimpering. Chloe.

"Chloe!" Sarah called, her voice trembling. The whimpering stopped. Then, a wet, dragging sound from the edge of the tree line. Sarah peered into the impenetrable darkness, her heart hammering against her ribs. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was Chloe.

"Chloe!" Sarah cried, relief flooding her, until she saw her friend more clearly. Chloe was hunched over, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. One arm dragged behind her, limp and broken. Her face was a mask of terror, but her eyes… they were Mark’s eyes. Milky white and unblinking. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, but no sound escaped, only a wet, rasping breath.

As Sarah watched in horror, Chloe’s skin began to ripple, a grotesque shifting beneath the surface. A bump formed on her forehead, growing larger, then another on her cheek. Her fingers elongated, thickening, her nails turning black and brittle. The metallic smell intensified.

"Chloe, what… what are you?" Sarah choked out, backing away slowly. Chloe shuffled forward, her movements jerky and inhuman. Her mouth stretched wider, impossibly wide, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. A low, distorted groan finally escaped her throat, a sound of profound agony and something else, something ancient and hungry.

Sarah turned and ran. She didn't know where, just away. The cabin was a mausoleum. The woods were a living tomb. The transformed Chloe was gaining on her, a horrifying parody of a chase, the wet dragging sounds faster now, closer.

She stumbled, falling hard, scraping her hands and knees on the frozen earth. She tried to rise, but a heavy weight landed on her back, driving the air from her lungs. Chloe’s breath, foul and hot, washed over her neck.

"Please," Sarah whimpered, tears streaming down her face. "Please don't." A sharp, agonizing pain erupted in her shoulder as Chloe’s distorted fingers dug into her flesh, not just gripping, but somehow merging. Sarah screamed, a high, desperate sound that echoed through the desolate woods.

The pain intensified, spreading like wildfire. Sarah felt a strange, cold sensation seeping into her veins, an internal chill that went beyond the autumn night. Her muscles spasmed. Her vision blurred, distorted by the grotesque, shifting form above her. She could feel something alien migrating beneath her skin, a cold, hungry presence consuming her from the inside out.

Her screams died in her throat, replaced by a wet gurgling. Her limbs locked into a spasm. The last thing she saw, through a film of blackness encroaching on her vision, was the moon, impossibly full and cruel, shining down on the distorted, writhing forms of Mark and Chloe, now slowly, inexorably, becoming one with her.

The next morning, the cabin stood silent and empty. The bloodstains in Mark’s room had dried to a dark, rusty black. A faint, sickeningly sweet stench still lingered. The well in the clearing hummed, its depths dark and inviting. And at the edge of the woods, a new figure stood, gaunt and unnaturally still, its milky white eyes fixed on the distant, winding road. Waiting. Always waiting. The cycle was just beginning again.