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

I bit down hard upon the inside of my lip as he stalked the trees before picking a slightly lopsided one to execute with swift, violent whips of the saw, looking like a furious violinist. However, it wasn’t those mad saws that stoked my fear when I watched, it was what his movements revealed on his lower neck, a tattoo I had seen before. A tattoo I remember I saw on Dee’s neck. It was a cow’s skull with eerie burning green eyes.

I watched the unnamed man toss his tree into the back of his truck like it was a deer carcass, nod and drive away without a word. A cold wind whipped down the farm and up my jacket before I walked back to the cabin. That cow skull tattoo seared on my mind.

The cold the wind had shot upon my bare skin got much worse when I turned back to see the cabin door wide open, flapping in the wind. I sprinted as fast as I could to the door and looked in to see by bed empty again, no sign of Jo.


The nights grew long. I could barely sleep. Every sound outside my door made me assume that the man with the tattoo was coming back to finish the job. I barely got out from underneath my blanket anymore. Barely ate or changed movies, just laid in fear. Maybe I was getting cabin fever?

After a few nights of this, I could barely function anymore and to make matters worse, a snow storm had moved in. As a child I would have looked out the window and watched the fat flakes of snow sift down from the heavens and stick to the ground with wonder, but now I just felt even more trapped. I could see the snow drift stacking up against the door of the cabin out the front window.

I checked the door again to see how high it had reached, but only focused on it for a second because something else in the horizon caught my eye – the little dark dot of a human figure walking up the snowy road that led to the cabin. Just a little dot of a black jacket, hat and snow pants bracing against the wind and staggering through the high snow. My eyes remained as it got closer and closer.

I thought about running, but remained as the face of the person in the snow started to come into focus, now just about 10 yards from the door.

It was Trevor.


About the author

Jack Follman

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

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