The Shadows in the Pines
The wind whispered through the darkened pines, carrying an air of menace that Megan couldn’t ignore. The closer she got to the cabin, the more oppressive the silence around her became. She tried to focus on the thrill of escaping the city for the weekend, but a nagging sensation nestled in her mind, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach.
The cabin had once been her grandparents'—she remembered them only as kind, quiet people. When they died, the place passed down to her mother, who never used it and had never talked about it. Megan, craving solitude after a tough breakup, had decided to reclaim it. Yet, as she pulled her car up to the overgrown path, she realized no one had set foot there in years.
Outside, it was deathly quiet. Even the birds seemed to avoid the place. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unlocked the door. The stale air inside greeted her with a chill that seemed too cold for late spring.
The layout was exactly as she’d imagined from her mother’s descriptions: a narrow kitchen, a small sitting area with a threadbare couch, and a fireplace, half-choked with ash. Dust clung to the surfaces, making the air feel thicker.
Once she’d unpacked, Megan decided to get some fresh air. She took a flashlight and wandered along a narrow path that wound between the trees. As night fell, her surroundings transformed. Shadows lengthened, stretching and twisting like living things. She could have sworn some of them moved, but she told herself it was just the wind.
It wasn’t until she was halfway through her walk that she noticed the sound.
It was faint, like a muffled scratching, or perhaps someone dragging something heavy through the underbrush. She froze, shining her flashlight into the dark spaces between the trees. There was nothing there—no animal, no figure, just emptiness. She tried to laugh it off, to shake off the unsettling feeling.
As she made her way back to the cabin, the scratching grew louder, then ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
Back inside, Megan locked the door and moved to light a fire. She fumbled with the matches, her fingers shaking more than they should have been. Eventually, she got a small blaze going and settled down with a book. She found it hard to focus, though. The sound—the dragging—had stopped, but the silence that replaced it felt worse, somehow, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting.
The hours crept by. She kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see someone or something lurking just out of sight. Midnight approached, and Megan decided to call it a night. She turned off the lights, her eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness.
She had just closed her eyes when she heard the first tap.
Her eyes snapped open, heart thudding. The sound came again, a light, deliberate tap on the cabin’s front door.
She sat up, listening intently. Another tap, slow and steady. Goosebumps prickled on her arms. "Hello?" she called, her voice wavering. Silence followed.
Then, the taps became louder. She steeled herself, grabbing her flashlight and moving to the door. Through the small window, she could see nothing but her own reflection. She waited, holding her breath.
The tapping continued, but now it was at the back of the cabin. Megan spun around, trying to steady her breathing. She walked to the kitchen, peering out the window over the sink. The night pressed against the glass, thick and impenetrable.
You’re just being paranoid, she told herself. It’s the wind, a branch scraping against the wood.
But she knew better. The sound had been deliberate. No animal or branch made a noise so steady, so patient.
For the next hour, the tapping circled the cabin, moving from one side to the other. She stayed in the center of the room, clutching a kitchen knife. Eventually, the noise faded, leaving her in a tense, shivering silence.
She didn’t sleep that night.
The next morning, she convinced herself it had been a trick of her mind, nerves from being alone in a strange place. As daylight streamed through the windows, she dared to step outside. She wandered the perimeter of the cabin, looking for any sign of disturbance. That’s when she saw them.
Footprints. Large, misshapen prints circled the cabin, too deep and too large to belong to any animal she knew of. They led off into the woods and vanished between the trees. She swallowed hard, instinct telling her to pack up and leave. But pride—or maybe just stubbornness—kept her rooted in place.
Megan spent the day wandering around, trying to calm her nerves. She found herself moving cautiously, though, casting quick glances into the pines, where shadows seemed to shift just out of sight.
As night fell, she steeled herself, deciding to stay one more night, if only to prove to herself that she could. She locked the doors and windows, throwing herself into a book and ignoring the growing darkness outside.
At midnight, it began again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
This time, it was faster, more insistent. She sat bolt upright, the knife clutched in her hand. The tapping came from the door, but then it began to move—around the cabin, tracing a path along the walls. Her pulse hammered as she listened, each sound scratching at her sanity.
The tapping stopped suddenly, replaced by a slow, heavy scrape, as though something was dragging itself across the porch. The noise settled just outside her bedroom window.
She turned off the light, plunging herself into darkness. She crawled to the window, peeking through a small gap in the curtain. She saw something—something huge, crouched low, pressed against the window. It had the faint shape of a man but was twisted, elongated, with long, bony fingers that scraped lightly against the glass.
Its eyes, yellow and too large for its face, stared directly at her.
She recoiled, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. The thing outside tilted its head, a sickening smile stretching across its face. It raised a long finger, tapping the glass three times, each tap sending a shudder through her.
Megan backed away, inching towards the door. She had to get out. Her mind screamed at her to run, but fear held her in place. The creature’s tapping grew faster, more frantic, until it was pounding at the window, the glass rattling with each impact.
Finally, she snapped. She bolted from the room, flinging open the cabin door and running into the forest. Behind her, she heard the cabin door creak open, the thing dragging itself after her, its footsteps heavy and deliberate.
The forest closed in around her, branches clawing at her arms and face as she ran. She dared not look back, the sound of dragging footsteps just behind her. She stumbled, falling to her knees. Her breath hitched as she heard it approach, the sound of something wet and labored in its breathing.
“Megan…” The voice was a whisper, broken and rasping, as if it were choking on every syllable. “Megan…”
The thing reached her, its bony hand grasping her ankle with a grip like ice. She screamed, kicking desperately. Her foot connected with its face, sending it reeling back just enough for her to scramble to her feet. She ran, pushing herself faster, heart thundering.
Somehow, she made it to her car. She fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped them. Finally, she unlocked the door and threw herself inside, slamming the door and locking it. She started the engine, tires spinning in the dirt as she sped down the forest road, never looking back.
It took her hours to reach the nearest town. She didn’t stop until she reached a gas station, collapsing against the steering wheel as adrenaline drained from her. She tried to explain to the clerk, but the words didn’t come out right. He looked at her, alarmed, offering her a phone.
The police went to the cabin, though she refused to go with them. When they came back, they told her they hadn’t found anything. No footprints, no scratches, not even a hint that anyone had been there but her.
But Megan knew better. She had seen it, felt its touch, heard it whisper her name. She sold the cabin a week later, and she never went back.
But sometimes, late at night, in the quiet hours when she’s alone, she hears it—the faintest tap on her window. A tap that reminds her it’s still out there, somewhere in the pines, waiting.
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