Cabin 3
Crosswind’s Red-Eye Horror #007
They had all come together, which made it easier to settle in without thinking too much about it. A couple of them had known each other for years, the others close enough that introductions didn’t feel forced, just a quick exchange of names before the conversation moved on to the drive, the lake, how long it had been since they’d done something like this. The retreat wasn’t really the point. It just gave them a place to be where nothing else was competing for their attention.
By the time they made it back to Cabin 3 that night, the energy had already dropped off. Not abruptly, just the natural fade after a full day. The kind of tired that settles in quietly and doesn’t need to be talked about. Someone mentioned the temperature as they stepped onto the porch, another joked about how early they’d all be up, and then the door opened with a firm pull and that slight resistance right before it latched, the kind of detail you notice without thinking about it.
Inside, the cabin felt smaller than it had during the day. Four bunks, two on each side, just enough space to move around without bumping into anything if you were careful. Bags tucked underneath, a couple jackets thrown over the ends of the frames, everything already starting to look like it belonged there even though they had only just arrived.
They didn’t stay up long. A few more conversations, quieter now, a couple laughs that didn’t carry the same way, and then one by one they turned in. No one needed to call it. It just happened. Lights off, the room dimming into something that felt separate from the rest of the retreat.
For a while, it wasn’t silent. Someone shifting in the top bunk, another adjusting a blanket, the small, uneven sounds of people settling into a place that wasn’t quite theirs yet. Then gradually it evened out. Breathing slowed. Movement stopped. The cabin held.
He lay awake a little longer, listening to it. The lake was just barely there through the window, not a sound so much as a presence that didn’t change. No wind, no movement in the trees, just a stillness that felt complete.
At some point, he drifted off.
He woke without knowing why. There wasn’t a sound that pulled him out of it or anything sharp enough to trace back afterward. It was just a shift, like something had changed slightly and his body had caught it before his mind did. He stayed still, eyes closed at first, listening to the same steady breathing around him. Nothing missing. Nothing added.
When he opened his eyes, it took a second to place what was wrong.
The door was open.
Not wide, just enough that the line of it broke differently against the wall. A narrow gap where there hadn’t been one before. It didn’t move. It just sat there, slightly off, enough to hold his attention longer than it should have.
He knew how that door closed. You had to pull it all the way in. It caught just before it latched, enough resistance that you always felt it. It wasn’t something that drifted open on its own.
He stayed where he was, watching it, letting the simplest explanation come first. Someone got up. Couldn’t sleep. Stepped outside for a second. Left the door cracked.
That made sense.
He listened for it.
Nothing came.
No footsteps on the porch. No shift in the gravel. No sound of the door moving again. Just the same steady breathing behind him, unchanged.
He pushed himself up slowly and swung his feet to the floor. The wood felt colder than it had earlier, though that didn’t mean anything on its own. He moved toward the door without rushing, the rest of the cabin holding steady behind him.
When he stepped outside, the air settled into his lungs differently. Colder, cleaner, the kind of quiet that doesn’t carry anything with it. The lake sat out beyond the trees, flat and dark, no reflection, no movement, just there.
He looked down without thinking.
Their boots were lined up along the edge of the porch.
Four pairs.
Exactly where they had left them.
For a second, that didn’t register as anything unusual. Then his eyes moved past them to the ground.
The dirt still held the shape of earlier. The impressions from when they had walked up, the scattered marks where they had shifted their footing. All of it made sense.
Except for one thing.
There were fresh tracks leading away.
Not toward the cabin.
Away from it.
He stood there, letting that settle, trying to line it up with something that didn’t push past what he could explain. Someone stepped off the porch. That part was obvious. The marks were clear, deeper than the others, edges still defined.
But there were no tracks coming back.
He listened again, holding still this time.
Nothing moved. Nothing shifted. The trees stayed still. The lake didn’t change. Behind him, through the open door, the cabin was quiet in the same way it had been before.
He looked back inside.
All three of them were there.
Exactly where they should have been.
He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say that wouldn’t immediately turn it into something else. He stepped back in and pulled the door closed, feeling it catch the same way it had before, that slight resistance before it latched into place.
That part felt right.
He stood there for a moment, hand still on the handle, then went back to his bunk and lay down.
Sleep didn’t come cleanly after that. It hovered just out of reach, close enough to dull things but not enough to take them away. At some point, it must have pulled him under anyway.
Morning came with light through the window and the sound of movement in the room. Someone pulling on boots, another clearing his throat, the quiet start of the day taking shape without effort. Everything felt normal again.
He sat up and looked across the room. All four bunks were filled. No one out of place. No extra bags. Nothing that suggested anything had been different.
He stepped outside.
The boots were where they had been.
All four pairs.
He looked past them to the ground.
The dirt was smooth.
Not disturbed. Not covered over. Just flat.
Like no one had stepped off the porch at all.
He stood there a moment longer, letting the quiet settle around him again, the lake unchanged beyond the trees.
Behind him, the cabin door opened and someone stepped out, saying something about coffee.
He turned back without answering.
As he stepped inside, his eyes moved once more to the line of boots by the door.
This time, he noticed it.
One pair wasn’t where it had been.
Not moved far. Not enough for anyone else to stop and question it.
Just turned slightly.
Facing the door.
He didn’t look at the others. Didn’t count them. Didn’t try to remember which pair belonged to who.
He just stood there for a second, letting the room settle around him again, the quiet start of the morning continuing like nothing had shifted.
Because the part that didn’t line up anymore wasn’t the tracks.
It was the feeling, standing there in the doorway, that whatever had stepped off that porch had come back.