The Unseen Guest: An Encounter in the Lonely Cabin

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The Unseen Guest: An Encounter in the Lonely Cabin

Jake had always enjoyed solitude. The idea of spending a weekend in an isolated cabin deep in the woods was his way of escaping the daily grind. He packed his essentials, drove for hours, and finally arrived at the wooden structure nestled between towering pine trees. It was quiet—eerily quiet.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest, Jake settled in. He lit the fireplace, warmed some canned soup, and flipped through an old book he found on a dusty shelf. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows.

Then, it happened.

A soft creak echoed from the wooden floorboards behind him. Jake turned abruptly, heart pounding. "Hello?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

Brushing it off as the old wood adjusting to the night’s cold, he returned to his book. But moments later, another sound—a faint shuffle—sent a chill down his spine.

He stood up and scanned the dimly lit room. The cabin had only one entrance, and he had locked it securely. His breathing became ragged. Was someone—or something—inside with him?

Gathering his courage, he spoke again. "If someone’s here, show yourself!"

A whisper drifted through the air. "You shouldn’t have come..."

Jake’s stomach twisted into knots. The voice was raspy, otherworldly.

"Who’s there?" he demanded.

No answer.

His mind raced. Was this a prank? A trick of his imagination? He grabbed his flashlight and swept its beam across the room. Nothing. But the air felt charged, heavy, as if unseen eyes were watching.

Determined to find the source, he checked every corner, even under the rickety bed. Nothing seemed out of place, yet an undeniable sense of being observed lingered.

Then, he noticed something peculiar—a chair that had been tucked neatly under the wooden dining table was now slightly pulled out.

Jake’s throat tightened. He hadn’t touched that chair.

Summoning every ounce of bravery, he reached for it. Just as his fingers brushed the wood, a sudden gust of cold air swept through the room, extinguishing the fire.

Darkness.

Panic surged through him. He fumbled for his flashlight and clicked it on. The room was empty, yet the feeling of a presence was stronger than ever.

Then, the whisper returned. Closer.

"Leave... before it’s too late."

Jake’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet felt glued to the floor. "Who are you? What do you want?" he choked out.

Instead of a response, the air grew impossibly colder. His breath turned to mist before him. The old mirror hanging on the wall suddenly fogged over, and words appeared as if written by an unseen hand.

Get out.

That was enough for Jake. Grabbing his keys and bag, he bolted for the door, fumbling with the lock before wrenching it open. The night air felt almost welcoming despite the biting cold. He ran to his car, heart hammering, refusing to look back.

As he started the engine and sped away, he dared one final glance in the rearview mirror.

A shadowy figure stood at the cabin’s window, watching him leave.

Jake never spoke of that night again. He never returned to the cabin, and when he tried to look up its history, he found something that sent a final shudder down his spine.

The land had once belonged to a recluse named Thomas Grayson, who had mysteriously vanished decades ago. Some say his spirit still lingers, warning those who dare intrude on his solitude.

As for Jake, he learned one thing that night—some places aren’t meant to be visited. And some guests... are never truly unseen.

Days after the encounter, Jake found himself struggling to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the shadowy figure at the window. The more he tried to forget, the more intense his nightmares became. One night, he woke up to the sound of creaking floorboards in his apartment—just like in the cabin.

His breath hitched. He reached for his bedside lamp, but before his fingers could touch the switch, he heard it.

That same whisper.

"You shouldn’t have left..."

Cold sweat drenched his body. Jake scrambled out of bed and flipped the light on. The room was empty, but his closet door was slightly ajar. He was certain he had closed it before sleeping.

Summoning every ounce of courage, he approached the door and swung it open. Nothing. Just clothes hanging silently. But as he turned away, something caught his eye—his bedroom mirror had fogged up.

And scrawled across the glass were the words:

I'm still here.

Jake screamed.

The following morning, he packed his belongings and left town, determined never to look back. He moved to a different city, changed his number, and erased all traces of his former life. But no matter how far he ran, he could never escape the feeling that he was still being watched.

Some things, he realized, are not meant to be disturbed. And some guests... never leave.