Hiding Out In An Abandoned Cabin Was One Of The Worst Mistakes I Ever Made

I must now admit I haven’t been entirely honest thus far. I am not entirely innocent. One of the reasons I had not given up on Trevor was because his friendship was incredibly lucrative to me. I allowed him to store copious amounts of heroin in various hiding spots all around my house in exchange for a healthy cut of what he made dealing in our area. It was enough for me to nearly pay off my house in just a couple of years, but it now meant I was going to prison for countless years if the cops came and searched the house if I ratted on Dee and we didn’t have time to clear the house out with Dee there.

We slipped out through the backyard and had Trevor’s friend pick us up when Dee ran out to his car to grab cleaning supplies.

Trevor outlined the Christmas tree farm hideout plan as his friend Bull drove us up into the mountains in the middle of the night as we hid under a blanket in the bed of Bull’s truck.

The plan. I would stay at a cabin on his friend’s Christmas tree farm and he would stay in Bull’s camper trailer even higher up the mountain from the farm until he could formulate a better plan. He would then come down and get me.

So I settled into the cozy cabin just a few day’s past New Year’s Day in the crushing heart of Winter.

It wasn’t all so bad. The cabin had a TV and DVD player and endless CD cases filled with burned DVDs of seemingly every movie released in the past 30 years. For someone as exquisitely lazy as myself, being able to binge on movies, eat the cabin’s stockpile of processed foods and sleep as long as I wanted to each day was actually kind of nice.

The only real downside was having to brave the cold every few days to gather fresh firewood, and the outhouse. There was no bathroom in the cabin, just a drafty, wooden hut behind it with a wooden box of a toilet perched over a dirty hole.

I would hold out as long as I could and hold it, but I would eventually have to trudge out to the outhouse and sit at least a few times a day.

About a week into my stay, the outhouse provided me with my first scare.

I was almost finished when I heard footsteps outside the outhouse door. I froze up and stared at the unlocked wooden door in front of me until it started shaking.

Whoever was out there was trying to get in.

I searched for something to defend myself with, but found nothing.

The door started to open from the other side. I winced until I heard whimpering and opened my eyes wide.


Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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