#so all five of us fuckin hunkered down in the middle of a giant blanket pile and there was accidental Noah spooning it was hysterical

[dirt-grub]

Such a wildly specific joy to watch tdi with my irl friend named Noah who is also sarcastic and gay

#connor talks #thinking back to like... New Years 2017 when we hung out all night #we were at a mutual friends house and I’m sure I have a picture somewhere if not I know someone who has it #but like me and my one friend who’s house it was grew up watching tdi and looking at cursed fanart in the early 2010s #so we were winding down at like two am and he noticed it was on Netflix and we all went nuts #let’s see I think there were. five of us? yeah so the other three hadn’t seen it and we were like oh we gotta put this on #and so we kept laughing when Noah was on screen and irl Noah was like what whats so funny #and then the fucking dead blank look he gave us at the awakeathon it was so good #fuck. I miss people. you know it’s bad when I’m missing high school of all fuckin things #ah... how come whenever I think of friend groups there’s no way in hell we could ever unite WKRJJFJF #it’s kinda magical how they’d never agree to be in the same room again but for one year the stars aligned #anyways yeah it was especially funny bc the only place to sleep was the floor #so all five of us fuckin hunkered down in the middle of a giant blanket pile and there was accidental Noah spooning it was hysterical #perhaps not accidental might have been for the lols now that I think about it but god. unmatched experience #I sound like I’m shitting you but I’m gonna text Noah right tf now and be like hey. hey remember #and he’s going to murder me AKDHDJKFKFJ

[sherala007]

Short Story

The Cabin in the Cove

The perfume of the decaying leaves of the valley embraced me, holding me like a frightened old lady, while farther up the mountain, a fresher scent promised relief. Gnarled tree roots and drooping branches encroached on the trail, clutching at my head and feet as I trudged along, forcing me to dodge them. The weight of my gear shifted with my gracelessness, making me stumble into the rough bark of the closest mountain ash, scraping the heel of my hand.

My lower back twinged as I leaned forward, working my way up and out of the valley while trying to support the weight of my devious pack as it attempted to send me back down the hill. Complaining back and hand? What made me think I could go from weekend hikes to taking a full ten-day camping trip? I was a short, chubby, middle-aged office worker. I was not in shape for this at all. The next time I let a man piss me off this much, I'm just going to Florida!

Wheezing, I paused to appreciate where I stood. Boulders were scattered haphazardly as if tossed by playing giants. Colorful fall leaves waved on the trees, rustling in the breeze, some fluttering down, and sprinkled on the forest floor. The morning autumn sun scattered pale rays through the canopy, dappling the ground with shifting shadows. Clouds gathered, diluting the warmth of the sun. Wind whipped around trees, nipping at my skin like piranhas, sending fallen leaves into whirling dervishes.

The radio I carried warned of an approaching winter blast, but shouldn't arrive for a few days, but the air carried the ominous scent of burning wood and snow. There was no way that winter storm was going to hold off for a few more hours let alone a few more days. It was coming in and coming in fast. My three-season sleeping bag would be no protection against snow and my tent wouldn't bear the weight of snowfall. I had to find something more substantial – and soon.

Shrugging off my pack, I pulled out the map, GPS, and compass and tried to find the best place to go. About two miles up the trail, there was a cut off into Cades Cove National Park where there were cabins. At this point, I didn't care the park was closed for the season. I was aiming for the nearest cabin, fines be damned! Better yet, let one of the rangers find me on the grounds. Then I could get a lift back to civilization and go home to my nice warm bed, a hot shower, and delivery pizza. I tied my flashlight to the cord around my neck; tucked everything else back in the outer pouch; wriggled back into my pack and with a deep, determined breath, got moving.

An hour later I hit the plateau. I was making good time; tired and breathing hard, working up a healthy sweat, but moving well, all things considered. Almost numb from sore muscles from the neck down, I was not stopping. "Keep going, Moira. You can do this!" kept echoing in my head. Too soon, the snow started in small flakes, blowing fast on the unrelenting wind. I stopped again to check the map, making sure I was still on course; took a drink from my water bottle, geared up and shoved off again. Despite the aches and pains, I knew I couldn't slack my pace at all. The world around me had a drab cast to it. What was once colorful was now diluted and dingy. Everything seemed shadowy and somber on this stretch of trail. Trees loomed darker, more sinister like someone hid behind them at every turn. I was getting scared, beginning to feel as if I was being followed, or stalked. One foot in front of the other, I had to keep moving.

The snow morphed from jitterbugging flakes to thick, wet, clingy drops pelting me in the face. My hoodie was wet and my fingers were numb. I was so damn cold it made me angry. I begrudgingly admitted this was no small winter bluster but a full-blown blizzard. The trees thinned and I could just see what looked like a cabin at the edge of the tree line.

I sobbed out loud. "Please GOD, please let it be unlocked." I ran to the door facing the trees, joyful relief in my very grateful smile. I yanked it open only to feel it jerked out of my hand and slammed shut in my face.

"Oh no you fuckin' don't," I growled under my breath. My teeth chattered and hands violently shook with cold. I grabbed the handle with both hands, turned and yanked it again, pushing against the wind with what strength I had left, and forced my way inside. My pack hooked on the door jamb, spinning me around causing me to fall into the room. Finding myself disoriented on the floor, I tried to get up but the weight of my pack held me down. For a moment I couldn't move.

Shaking my head, I realized the wind and snow were no longer tormenting me. Looking around the room I saw the door was shut. The only light was from a small, grimy window in the front of the one, empty room. There was nothing of use. It was shelter and I was glad for it. In the dim of the interior, I tried to rise only to feel the pack jerk and shift, pulling me over, landing me painfully on my left side. I reached to unhook the waist belt of the pack, taking five tries to get my fingers wrapped around the end and feed it through the buckle, finally sliding it from my shoulders.

Knowing I had to quickly get out of my wet clothes, I propped the pack against the wall, pulling out my sleeping bag and a change of clothes. Relieved to find my packed clothes all dry, I attempted to change. Shaking, it took a bit to get my shoes off. The laces were covered in snow and matted together. Rid of them, I stood barefoot on the dirty floor and threw my wet clothes in a pile off to the side. Naked, I bent to start putting on my socks when I felt something on my bottom. Swatting, I felt nothing there. There was no welt from a bug bite. It almost felt like a pinch, but that was impossible. I was alone in here. I glanced over my shoulder just to be sure and felt the hairs on my arms start to rise.

I dressed quickly and laid my wet items out to dry as best I could, praying they wouldn't freeze. I picked up my flashlight and looked around the room. There was nothing in there but me, the dust, and whatever bugs were hiding in the crannies. I peeked out the window only to see quite a bit of snow piling up. I went back to my sleeping bag, propped it against the wall, stepped in, zipping it up the side and sat down. I pulled it over my head with a small opening for me to peek out and cocooned myself. Five minutes later, I was sound asleep.

Suddenly, I felt myself jerked to my left. My right shoulder felt as if it'd been hit. Shrugging out of the sleeping bag, I was on my feet bracing for anyone to come at me. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw nothing there. I grabbed the flashlight from around my neck and shone it around. Everything was where I'd left it. The front and back doors were still shut. Nothing was there.

Snuggling back into my bag, I kept the flashlight on. I was shaking from cold and fright and wide awake. I reached for the radio, thinking it might be a good idea to find out how long the storm would last, but there was nothing but static. Figuring the dial must have moved I tried to fine-tune it but still got nothing. I sat listening to static as it numbed my heart and hopes. How the hell was I going to get out of this mess? Static like white noise still playing from the radio I heard a guttural, masculine breath, "nnnooooo...."

"What the hell was that?" I dropped the radio on the floor, knocking the batteries loose. Silence filled the cabin. The pressure seemed to increase, my skin prickling up my arms and into my ears like stinging fire ants. I squirmed and slapped all over, feeling along my arms for bugs but found none. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and began to pace. Surely, I'm hearing things. Ghosts don't exist. People just have overactive imaginations! I've had too much time alone and the current stress is getting to me. I need to get some sleep and get home ASAP. I couldn't let this get to me. I fixed the radio, made sure I was snug against the wall, hunkered down in my bag, and closed my eyes. Focused on deep breathing, I drifted back off to sleep.

The pressure returned with a vengeance, weighing me down as if I were under ten blankets. The air felt heavy like a Florida summer, but the cold, winter air shimmied with swirls of ice fog inside the cabin. It didn't feel like bugs this time. It felt as if someone were standing over me, painfully invading my personal space. There was no sound, just a weighty, dense atmosphere. The floorboards slightly vibrated as if someone was trying to creep around. Quietly I pulled the flashlight out, made sure it was facing away from me and clicked it on, shining it around the room. There was no one there. I could still feel the steps. Was there an animal on the roof causing it? I listened again but didn't hear the skittering of a critter.

STOMP STOMP STOMP

I jumped up and out of the blankets at lightning speed. The flashlight beam bounced erratically. I looked around again; nothing. This was crazy! There had to be a reasonable explanation. I peered out the window but there was nothing. I was in socks so there should have been no sound, but I heard footsteps come up behind me. There was no reflection in the window but my own. I clicked off the light, let my eyes adjust, and looked again. Nothing.

Someone grabbed my shoulders, fingers dimpling my skin. Spinning around, I faced nothing, but the smell of cherry tobacco wisped against my cheek. It felt so close I should be able to see someone but all I saw was my own breath on the air. This was crazy. I hadn't been alone on the trail long enough to lose my mind. The hands-on my shoulders moved to my hips, digging into my flesh so hard I knew I'd have bruises. I was yanked into what felt like the thick leg of a tall man slamming against my pelvis. I trembled at the suddenness of it all. One second someone was there, then gone, the pressure in the air left and all was still.

I stumbled back to my sleeping bag, legs giving way, and bundled up. I didn't try to think. I was just numb, shivering in fear. I didn't do up the sleeping bag, instead, I tucked my knees to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around me. I felt the bag move up over my arm and tuck itself under my chin, wrapping me so tightly I couldn't move. My eyes closed and I felt a hand touch my head, fingers squeezing the top of my skull, pinning me still. After that? Nothing.

I woke up a few hours later to pitch blackness silence. Hitting the button on my watch, it flashed two forty-five at me. I crawled out of my sleeping bag and walked to the window again. The snow had slowed to flurries, looking like cotton rain, my breath fogging up the window. I started to turn away when I saw finger swipes go through the fog, and heard nails dragging along the glass. I heard shuffling along the floor and turned around. Clicking on the flashlight I saw my clothes being moved violently to the edge of the room next to my pack, leaving smears in the grime on the floor.

"Who are you and why are you doing this," I demanded. "Who the hell do you think you are?" My shout echoed through the small space. My mind was beyond doubting anymore. The breath, the stomping, something touching me, I couldn't deny it. Someone, something, was here with me. I got no response. "Why are you trying to scare me?" I waited, fists balled, shoulders squared. Nothing. I walked around the cabin looking for a nameplate or anything inside. Still nothing. I knew they'd have one out near the road with the particulars of who used to live here but I wasn't about to go in the storm. Despite the cold inside, it was worse out there.

I sat back down and tried to think. There was a legend of sorts about a man who lived in the area when it was declared a national park by the feds. They evicted everyone and he refused to leave, putting up quite a fight. Was this cabin his? I strained, unable to remember details. There were snatches of memory; old landmarks, but none of it clicked Physical and mental exhaustion took their toll. I wasn't frightened anymore. I was angry!

I remembered a map of the Cove from my last trip to the park, putting the pieces together; the weathered barn, the old mill, the rustic visitor's center. The last cabin on the trail, there was something about it. Yes, the last cabin was small, one room only. This one fit that description. It was almost as old as the Primitive Baptist Church at the center of the park and built pre-Civil War. The gateways flew open. The Civil War! That had something to do with this cabin and the guy who built it. My mind began to race. I got up and began to pace back and forth, my fingers snapping.

His name had something to do with a president; or was it two presidents. Names, why would no names come to my mind? I paced quickly, "Dammit!" I stomped once. "Fine, I'll start from the beginning. George Wash…" Violence and fury rushed up at me, pushing me backward. I felt him standing an inch away, trying to invade every sense I had, from the scent of cherry tobacco to an ice-cold chill. The vibrating energy of his presence raised the hair on my arms. He was here. His presence was a powerful electrical charge in the air after a storm. Yes!

"GEORGE WASHINGTON CARTER SHIELDS!" I shouted to the darkness. There was nothing visible, but I knew he was there. "That's who you are," I defiantly declared standing in the room. I would not back down. "Why are you doing this to me? I had nothing to do with your troubles." I stepped to the left to walk around him and felt him shift, blocking my path. There was no physical body there, but every fiber of me said he was. I moved to the right with the same result. He would not let me back to my bag. I took a step back and felt his arms wrap around me, pinning me tight.

His invisible form pressed against me. He was a large man with thick muscles from the hard work, living off the land. His legs pressed against mine, thick from tramping these same woods. One giant hand held my back, fingers reaching from one shoulder blade to the other, his other hand had a vulgar grip on my bottom, covering the entire left cheek; fingers curving down indecently. His barrel chest pressed me. He felt to be every bit of six feet tall and just as wide compared to my short frame. He was now face to face with me, his nose brushing mine; not warm and living, but frigid with death.

"Are you trying to intimidate me," I questioned. "I'll only be here for the night. Can't you see the weather outside," I asked. "Why would that bother you?" I tried to raise my arms but couldn't. I couldn't turn my head. His energy vibrated through me like a wolf growl. I could feel his frustration by the way he held me; wrapped in solid iron bars, cold and frozen. Fear returned.

"Let me go, please," I whispered. "All I want to do is rest and stay warm until morning. It's freezing outside." In my heart I was scared but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. I looked where I thought his eyes would be and tried to keep my voice calm. "I promise. I will leave tomorrow and I won't come back. Please, let me go." I felt his arms loosen a little allowing me to shift in his grip. I shouldn't have moved.

I twisted a little to step away, but he didn't release me. Movement ground me against him, awakening a new desire. His arms tighten again, not to pin me, but to prevent me from walking away. His erection began to grow against me. Both hands were now cupping my backside, forcing me to lean back and grind my hips against him even more. He lifted me higher on his thigh, standing me on my tip-toes. I teetered bringing my numbed hands up to brace against his icy-hot chest.

His cheek brushed mine, our noses bumping, his lips grazing mine, but not to kiss me. The tip of his nose gently traced my cheek, moved along my forehead, and over to my ear. He followed my hairline, smelling me like a dog scents his prey. His exploration moved along my jaw, my ear, and onto my neck and I heard him whisper, "Mine now…" his breath causing my hair to float. His grip tightened and he bit into the curve of my neck making me scream in surprise and pain.

Blood dribbled down over my collarbone. His right hand came up, slamming my left cheek followed by a backhand to my right. Shielding my face with my arms did no good. He passed through them as he hit me repeatedly across the face. I tasted blood as my lips split and several teeth were knocked loose. My legs gave out beneath me. He grabbed me, lifting me and hurling me through the air, slamming me into the wall. Fireworks flashed behind my eyes as I hit and slid to the floor.

I tried to get up before he came at me again but wasn't fast enough. He kicked me in my stomach, again and again, lifting me with the force of the blows. I curled up into a fetal position trying to shield myself from him, visibly shaking in terror and pain, trying to make myself as small as I could but it was no use.

I felt his hand dig into my hair, grabbing a fist full, pulling me up. He pinned me to the wall with his body as his hands groped and pinched my breasts through my clothes. "STOP! Please no!" I tried in vain to push him away from me. It did no good as my hands just passed through the cold of him. I couldn't escape.

"How cowardly to rape a woman!" His anger boiled over to blind rage. I was thrown to the other side of the room, falling to the floor like a rag doll. His fury pursued me like a hurricane. He picked me up again, slamming me into the wall, bruising every part of me, and with each impact, new stars popped behind my eyes. I gave up all efforts of trying to defend myself. There was no escape.

Thrown back to the other side of the room, I fell in a heap face down on the floor. A booted foot stomped onto my back and hips sending fire burning through my spine. The cabin shook with his fury. I couldn't raise my arms. I couldn't move my head. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or closed. I only felt agony. I couldn't breathe. Then I felt … nothing.

All movement stopped, but I could still feel his energy crackle around me. There was a gurgling sound coming from the floor next to me so I opened my eyes to look. Everything was grey, down to the grain of the wood. Seeing the reflection in the window, I wasn't alone.

There in the glass, stood the specter of George Washington Carter Shields. How was he visible? How could I move after all he did? He began to laugh. Oh my God! I realized I no longer felt hot or cold. I looked at him directly. "What is going on," I hissed. He raised his finger to point at the floor.

Crumpled like a pile of rags was my body; battered and broken. Blood ran from my mouth, nose, and the back of my head, pooling on the floor. My lower back was concaved, hips cocked at a strange angle. My right wrist was bent sideways. There were bruises over all my exposed skin. I was dead. The ghost had killed me.

~~~

A braided rope hung across the top step of the porch, preventing anyone from entering the one-room cabin and there was a historical plaque out front by the parking lot by the road. The doors were removed, replaced with Plexiglas so people could see inside. Once few were brave enough to visit; now many came to gawk. Unexplained murder will do that.

Everyone took pictures. Now and then an image would show in a rare photo; copies of which were sent to the visitor's center. Pictures would show a woman standing in the window, one hand on the glass. She always looked as if she were crying. Even rarer still would be a man behind her in the pictures, glaring at her. None of them were displayed. The Rangers were ordered not talk about what was found in that cabin one late autumn after a freak blizzard. They answered no questions of a supernatural nature. There was no such thing as ghosts.

But in town, you could hear stories of a woman found murdered in the little cabin at the end of the ring road in Cades Cove. It happened on the night of a blizzard, about four years ago. Her name was Moira Fuller and she was forty-four years old. She had only been in Tennessee for a few years after moving from Connecticut. Rumor had it she decided to take a camping trip after breaking up with her boyfriend. The storm came upon her quickly causing her to seek shelter but the only place she could find was in the Carter Shields' cabin. He was a Civil war veteran who hated Yankees. They took his land and he vowed to take it back. He never did. He wasn't even buried near the cabin where he was happiest. After he died, there were rumors of his ghost roaming. Any time a Yankee went in, something bad always happened to them. Moira didn't know that. She was found beaten to death in the cabin a week after the storm. The police thought her boyfriend might have followed her and killed her but he had an airtight alibi. They assumed that some random psycho hiker followed her and killed her. There was no trace of anyone else with her.

To this day her death is still unexplained.

#short story #horror #ghost story #original fiction #Cades Cove fiction #Tennessee mountains