Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Cabin in the Woods | Parts 1 & 2

Episode Date: May 19, 2021

This story was written by u/Born-Beach on Reddit. He is an incredible horror writer. You can check out his subreddit here: r/TalesFromTheCryptid 🎉 Unlock exclusive bonus episodes HERE: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🔔 Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch DISCLAIMER: This story is R rated for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to aboard of Viaray. Embarked and profited. Embarked and relaxed. Ciroat. Bookine. Oh, that also. And profite. Viaray, the voice that we love. My grandmother passed away last month, but nobody found her a corpse until a week ago. Hazards are living out in the mountains, I suppose. My uncle couldn't believe it. He'd been driving her groceries and supplies once a month. and according to the coroner's report, she'd died a day after he'd left.

What are the chances? To hear him tell it, she was just fine when he'd driven away, too. Spry as she'd ever been. She was even getting her own water from the river and doing a bit of fishing on the side. And then poof, deceased. Griff, her golden retriever, was gone now too. My uncle thought he probably took off after realizing grandma wasn't waking up, Maybe got hungry and went off chasing squirrels in the woods or something.

My uncle strolled about and called Griff's name for hours after he'd found grandma, looking in all his usual hiding spots, but had no luck. My opinion, Griff probably got as far away as he could. After the funeral, my brother and I offered to come up and help our uncle clean up her things. Or at least, my brother did. And I got guilt-tripped along for the ride. Apparently, she left the cabin to the two of us in her will. split custody, not that either of us wanted it.

We'd more than had our fill of memories out there. That said, it was a nice day to tidy up a dead woman's things. The summer sun shone bright, and there wasn't so much as a cloud in the sky. Overhead, sparrows darted between the towering pine trees, flitting around the cabin's small clearing while they sang their birdsong. I'm going to bring this stuff down the mountain and head in for the night, Uncle Jake said, gesturing to his pickup truck full of grandma's furniture. You two going to take off soon?

Or spend the night? He looked like the spitting image of a mountain man, standing there with his tree trunk arms and red flannel shirt. The beard was the cherry on top. We'll be heading out soon, I said. Don't worry about us. The car got us up here just fine. It'll get us back down.

Uncle Jake was suspicious of any vehicle that didn't have a cargo bed. Sure thing, boys. Take it easy now. He hopped into the cab of the pickup and slammed the door with a metal clang. A moment later, the engine turned over, and the mountain air was replaced with a thick smell of diesel and rust. With a rumble, the truck rolled out of the cabin's dirt driveway, bobbed down the makeshift road, and disappeared to the faint riffs of ACDC's thunderstruck. Stay the night, my brother Eric said, snickering.

As if we'd spend a night in this hell-haul. Eric was tall and lanky, poor of eyesight, and blindingly pale. He pulled his thick glasses from his face and white. the lenses clean on his Marvel T-shirt. I say we finished these last couple boxes and follow him down. He peered up through the pine trees overhead, where the sun was beginning at slow descent into the evening. We're a few hours from dark yet, but I want to be far from these woods when the lights go out. He shot me a knowing wink. I walked up the creaking wooden porch and pulled the thick door open. Then stop looking at your phone every five minutes and help me get this shit done. I stepped inside,

leaving the door to swing in the breeze. Help me get this shit done. Done, he repeated in a mocking tone, following me inside. I'm just trying to get in touch with Dad. He still hasn't answered my texts. Maybe that's because we don't have any service out here. I meant since the funeral. The dude's been a total recluse since Mom died. Yeah, well, I could care less.

The guy's a complete asshole anyway. I crouched down in front of a bookshelf and began pulling out dusty tones, filling my arms with as many as I could manage. He's still our dad, Eric argued. Now that Grandma's dead, it's only a matter of time before it's just the two of us. And can we be honest? Uncle Jake's a few whiskey bottles shy from dead himself. He squatted down beside me and plucks some books from the shelf.

It'd be nice not to burn every bridge in this family. Can't burn a bridge that never existed in the first place, can you? I stood up and walked to the boxes by the window, then tossed the books in carelessly, wanting to be done with this as soon as possible. The longer I spent here, the more the memories threatened to come. I'm crawling back. Do you ever think about what happened? Eric asked, coming up from behind me and gently placing his books in the box. He frowned at my disorganized mess and began restacking them

neatly. No. Really? Eric didn't sound convinced. I think about it almost every day. It was horrible. I didn't say anything. Instead, I walked back to the bookshelf and grabbed another armful of books, then stomp back to the box and dunk them in. Hey, Eric said. Listen, jackass. You could at least have a little courtesy. He gestured to the books he was arranging inside, neat and tidily with their spines facing upward.

One of them was called Mysteries of the Cryptids. I looked away. See the effort I'm putting in? He said, do you really need to chuck your shit everywhere? Sorry, man. I just don't like this place. I shook my head, feeling a chill wash over me. I want to finish this and go.

So do I. But don't you think talking could be good? Not really. No. I started toward the den. Time to put some space between me and this conversation. He grabbed my arm. Please, Matt.

It was 12 years ago, but it feels like a lifetime. I don't even know if I'm remembering real events anymore or just inventing things in my head. I shrugged him off, but his expression was pleading. He needed this. You won't talk to me about it. He stammered. I have no fucking clue of what I remember even happened. With a sigh, I thunked down in my grandmother's rocking chair.

It sat in front of a red brick fireplace, now filled with only the ghosts of old charred logs. I idly thought to myself that it'd probably never be used again, because I planned on tearing this cabin down and leaving it for the insects. It would be better that way. I only wished I could tear down the memories with it. A week at this cabin had gifted me a decade of alcoholism, chronic depression, and a side of insomnia. It took a cocktail of prescription meds just to get me to sleep these days. And when I did, it was a coin toss whether or not I'd experience sleep paralysis. And now Eric wanted to dig those memories up?

I flexed my right hand, staring at the thick scars that wound their way across it. Even now, all these years later, I could still see the blood, smell it, taste it. My heart started racing just thinking about it, and I forced myself to look away. I focused on the hearth before me, and something caught my eye. What the hell? I muttered, leaning forward. It wasn't a log. It was something much smoother.

The shape was all wrong, though. I left the chair and knelt down, sifting through the ashes and burnt timber, uncovering the curious object with mounting horror. I pulled it free, brushing away flakes of ash with my finger, tips, my arm quivered. Eric? I said, pushing the word from my mouth. What's up? He called. I swallowed. Is this griff?

Footsteps sounded from the other room, and he came bounding in, face brimming with excitement. You found griff? I didn't say anything. I stared at the skull in my hand, doing my best to hold back the floodgates of memories. My eyes found Erick's. and I held the skull aloft. What the fuck? He shouted, stumbling forward. He dropped to his knees, looking at the skull in terror. No way that's griff, no fucking way.

He shook his head furiously. What would he be doing in the damn fireplace, Matt? I didn't know what to say. I knew there was no reason he should have been in the fireplace. None. No dog would willingly let itself burn to death. Maybe it's a coyote, Eric reasoned, tripping over his words.

Grandma probably killed it and chucked it in here so the scent wouldn't attract other animals, and... There's no coyotes out here. You know that. I dropped the skull, and it cracked against the solid wood floor. A shutter ran through me. And it's way too small to be a wolf. Eric looked on the verge of tears.

Griff was probably the only happy memory we had of this horrible place. Matt, why would she do that? A thousand reasons crossed my mind. All of them beginning and ending with one night 12 years ago. I stood up from the fireplace, my feet feeling weak and my sense of balance waning. I fell back into the rocking chair, and it croaked a haunting welcome. All right, I said quietly. I think it's time to talk about what happened when we were kids.

Eric sat down across from me in one of the old wicker chairs we'd helped Grandma make. Where should we start? He said quietly. He stared at me with the gravity I'd never seen in him before. his hands fidgeting with the chair's wooden armrests. Poor kid was nervous. I knew a thing or two about that. I took a deep breath and placed my face in my hands,

wishing I'd never quit smoking, wishing I'd never agreed to come out here. My heart thrummed and my palms were slick with sweat. Meanwhile, my thoughts couldn't stop toying with the idea that maybe confronting these memories was a mistake. Maybe acknowledging them would somehow make them real. Matt? he said softly. Let's start with the man by the river, I said, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. You remember him? Eric's expression said it all. He remembered. His eyes darted to the front door,

still swinging open in the breeze from when we both walked inside. I'm going to grab the door, he said. I didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. We both knew it would be easier to talk about these things with some degree of security between us and the outdoors. He stalked off, shut the door, and then returned a moment later. We were what? Eleven then? I said. He nodded. Though we were twins, we looked nothing alike. Eric was thin and gangling, with giant glasses and a passion for all things pop culture. I was short, a bit overweight, and had an unhealthy addiction to every form of metal under the sun. My hearing was practically shot, but the wall of noise was. But the wall of that music created was the only time I felt like I got any peace and quiet.

It was the second day at the cabin, I think. Eric looked out the window, toward where the river flowed, just past the dreamline. You and I were out having a swim. Yeah, and he was watching us on the other side. How long was he there for? I shrugged. You were the one who spotted him. I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't pointed him out.

Tough to miss, really. He had that beige ball cap, and... And the mask, yeah. Who wore a mask out in the woods? The kind of guy who liked to watch kids swim, I guess. It was a wolf mask, a really well-made one. Thinking back on it, it almost looked like a real wolf. Remember what he said? It was impossible to forget. His words had been the catalyst to everything, the jump-off point for the worst experience of our lives. It's nearly dark, I said. It's nearly dark. Eric repeated. The two of us were silent for a moment, the shrinking daylight and the implications of what that meant, not lost on us. Maybe we should do this in the car. On the way down, he said. I shook my head. I don't think it works like that. And I think you know that now, too. Standing up, I crossed the room and grabbed my leather jacket from the coat rack. I threw it over my shoulders like a poncho. Now that the sun had dipped behind the tree line, the temperature had dropped with it. You're remembering things clearly again, aren't you?

I know I am. He frowned, avoiding my gaze. We both knew this wasn't a normal cabin, and deep down. I guess we both came to realize we couldn't run away from our history forever either. Eric was right. If we didn't confront this now, then we'd probably be running from it for the rest of our lives. I suppose things do feel clearer, he said. Being here feels strange, like everything's coming back as vivid as the day had happened.

I knew what he meant. I could picture the man by the river almost perfectly now. Dirty jeans, a checkered shirt, and that mask. It had to have been torn right off of a real wolf. Because I remember the smell. It smelled dead. Decane. Eric plugged his nose, contorting his face in revulsion.

You smell that too? I asked. He nodded. What is that? That's what he smelled like, the man by the river. I'd forgotten how horrible it was. But this cabin is bringing it all back to me. I glanced around the dimly lit room,

where shadows grew in the corners as the sun fell lower in the sky. He told us to come to him, after warning that it was nearly dark. He said he had a gift for us. You thought he was Uncle Jake. I remember that. Yeah, I mean, who else could it have been? Grandma had built her cabin on the land of an abandoned firewatch post,

far from the sleepy village below. Nobody lives up here. It was only the four of us that week. When you swam over, Eric said quietly. Did he say anything to you? I don't think so. I closed my eyes and drifted back to that moment 12 years ago. In spite of it being the height of summer, the river was freezing that day,

and the current that made it hard to get across. The man stood on the other side waiting patiently, though. He was holding the gift behind his back. I said, I remember thinking it was a fishing rod. Eric cracked a bittersweet smile. We'd both been badgering Uncle Jake to let us use his fishing rod. I, too, remember hoping that's what it was.

Talking about that was cathartic, but torturous all at once. My mouth felt dry as a bone. When I got closer, I got this weird feeling, like something was wrong. Yeah? Yeah. It's hard to explain, but it's like, even then, I knew something wasn't. right. I gave into the memory, letting it swallow me in my search for answers. Grandma's cabin seemed to fade away, replaced by a warm summer day. The river rumbled behind me now, and the mountain breeze

caught at my wet, shaggy brown hair. Above, the sun beat down furiously, dressing me in a full-body sunburn. I realized it wasn't Uncle Jake when I stepped out of the river. You never told me that before. I don't think I ever let myself believe it. In the cabin, the branches swayed above us, their long arms scratching at the roof in the rising wind. So, Eric said, so what? So what made you realize it wasn't him? I chewed on my lip, my eyes staring at griff's cracked skull on the floor. It was because he twitched. Titched? Yeah, I said, looking Eric in the eyes, My voice cracked, despite my deep efforts to keep it steady. His entire body twitched, like some kind of predator reaction, like a cat seeing a mouse, or a wolf seeing a rabbit.

The implication hung in the air between us. We were prey. I wanted to run back into the river. I wanted to scream for help. I wanted to hide. But he held the gift out. The book, Eric said. That's right.

The mysteries of the cryptids. I'd gotten halfway back across the river when Uncle Jake came down, I continued. He was on your side of the river and dressed entirely different from the man. I paused, recognizing this was one of the memories I'd never fully accepted. How could I have? Accepting it meant I was more broken than I was comfortable admitting. That's when I realized we weren't alone on the mountain. And pulled myself out of the memory.

It felt a little disorienting, like my senses were being thrown about and some sort of amnesiac tornado. But I did what I could to reground myself in reality. I focused on my weight in the rocking chair, the cool feeling of leather around my shoulders, and the roaring wind outside. Eventually, the cabin returned to focus. Eric ran a hand through his curly brown hair. You think that maybe...

Outside, the sound of shattering glass rang out. Eric and I jumped to our feet. My heart thundered in my chest. The two of us stood frozen, each knowing we needed to act, but not knowing how. Being the older twin, I breathed deep and stepped forward, forcing my body to act in spite of its fear. I slid along the wall toward the four-pane window.

It was dusk now, and the last rays of sunlight barely pierced through the thick pine trees. Darkness began to overtake the landscape, and the once lush tree line now looked more like a gaping, nightmarish mall. I peered out the window at an angle, so that I wasn't squarely in front of it, in case anybody was watching from outside. Fuck! I shouted, catching a view of my car. A massive broken branch lay flat against its now equally broken windshield. What? Eric took a furtive step forward.

Is somebody there? No. I pulled my jacket from around my shoulders and shoved my arms through the sleeves, zipping it up proper. Fucking branch just smashed my windshield. Story time is over. We're getting out of here. Eric burst out laughing, his hand on his chest. Holy shit, Matt.

That sounds scared the crap out of me. It was just a tree branch? Yeah, I said bitterly. storming from the room and toward the front door. Just a tree branch smashing a windshield that I can't afford to fix. What a goddamn relief. I'm sorry, man, Eric shouted jogging after me. He wasn't really sorry, but I couldn't blame him.

That sound could have been about a thousand worse things than a stupid branch. Even still, it wasn't in my budget. I gripped the handle of the front door and flung it open, preparing for a chilly drive down the mountain. And then I stumbled backwards. My breath caught itself in my chest. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words weren't there. Behind me, I heard Eric mumble a soft, oh, then a loud crash.

Had he fainted? No, this wasn't happening. Please, don't let this be happening. A boot stepped past the doorway, creaking on the cabin's old wooden floorboards. With it came a stench of decay. I reached blindly, desperately around me, unwilling to take my eyes off of the figure, but also needing a weapon, anything. I only found empty air. Uncle Jake had already moved most of Grandma's things.

With each step, the intruder took, I took one back, until finally I came up against the far wall. The figure stood framed in the dark of the hallway, a ball cap on its head, and two glowing yellow eyes. It's nearly dark, it said. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyant for 15 minutes.

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horror writer. To check out more of his work, go to his subreddit at R slash Tales from the Cryptid. The link to his subreddit is in the episode description. Thank you so much for tuning in. If you're listening on Spotify, don't forget to hit that follow button to get notified every time a new episode is released. Also, please take a second to leave a rating for the podcast. This is so important to help the podcast grow. Thank you.