Don't Open the Door After Midnight - 2. The Road Home

Wednesday, October 28, 2026

Ryan woke with the unpleasant feeling that he hadn't slept nearly as much as he should have.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains suggested that the weather had finally improved, but the brightness did little to dispel the lingering discomfort of the previous night. He remembered waking several times, once because of the wind and twice because he thought he'd heard footsteps somewhere downstairs. There had also been a dream involving the basement door, although most of it had already faded, leaving behind only the disturbing impression of standing in a narrow hallway while someone whispered from the other side of a wall. He couldn't remember what the voice had said, only that he'd been terribly afraid of hearing it again.

He lay still for a moment, listening to the cabin. The heating system hummed faintly beneath the floor, and somewhere downstairs a cupboard opened and closed, followed by the clatter of dishes. Caleb was apparently awake already, which wasn't particularly surprising. Ryan had begun to suspect that the young man was an early riser, although the previous morning he'd looked almost as tired as Ryan felt now.

He reached for his phone and checked the time.

8:43 a.m.

There were several notifications waiting for him, including an email from a client, a reminder about a design project due the following week, and another message from Owen that he decided not to open. Mara had sent him a photograph of her cat sitting inside a cardboard box, accompanied by a declaration that the animal had apparently decided to become a package. Ryan smiled and replied with an equally ridiculous comment before opening his conversation with Evelyn Hart.

The property manager had responded to the photographs he'd sent the previous evening.

Evelyn: good morning, Ryan. Thank you for sending the photographs. I'm not aware of anyone working around the cabin yesterday, but I'll ask the maintenance crew when they come to clear the road. The basement window is secured, so nobody should be able to enter through it. Please let me know if you notice anything else unusual.

Ryan read the message twice, then opened the photograph again. The muddy footprints were clearly visible beneath the basement window, their deep impressions running along the side of the cabin before stopping near the foundation. He'd examined the picture several times the previous night, hoping to find evidence that the tracks simply continued onto the grass or disappeared beneath the fallen leaves, but the angle made it impossible to tell.

Someone had stood outside that window. That much seemed certain. Whether they'd been there yesterday, the night before, or sometime earlier was considerably less clear.

He thought about the sounds he'd heard after going to bed. The scraping beneath the floorboards, the heavy movement that had seemed to come from somewhere below the house, and the three deliberate knocks against the basement door. He could think of several ordinary explanations for each sound individually, but he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with how many coincidences were beginning to accumulate.

Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat up. He hadn't come all the way to Vermont to spend his holiday frightening himself over noises in an old house. Evelyn had already offered to have the maintenance crew inspect the exterior, and he intended to ask her whether there was anything in the basement that could explain what he'd heard. If she couldn't provide a satisfactory answer, he'd simply find somewhere else to stay. The cabin was pleasant enough, but there were other rentals in Vermont, and Ryan had no intention of spending five days somewhere that made him uncomfortable merely because he'd already paid for it.

He got dressed and headed downstairs.

Caleb was standing in the kitchen, examining a dish towel with the concentration of someone attempting a particularly difficult origami project. He was still wearing Ryan's navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, his own clothes having remained too damp and muddy to wear comfortably. His dark blond hair was slightly disheveled, and the small dressing on his right hand had begun peeling at one corner.

He looked up when Ryan entered and greeted him with a smile.

"Morning. I made coffee, although I should probably warn you that I may have overcompensated for yesterday's disaster. It smells strong enough to keep us both awake for a week."

Ryan crossed to the counter and poured himself a mug, grateful for the familiar warmth against his fingers. He took a cautious sip and found that Caleb had, in fact, made perfectly acceptable coffee. After the night he'd had, he wasn't inclined to complain about the strength.

"It's good. And honestly, I could probably use something strong enough to wake the dead."

Caleb's smile faltered for the briefest moment.

Ryan noticed but assumed he'd simply made a bad joke.

"Didn't sleep well?" Caleb asked, setting the towel aside.

"Not really. I kept waking up, and I'm pretty sure I heard something downstairs again. Did you hear anything else after we went to bed?"

Caleb looked toward the kitchen window before answering.

"No. I didn't hear anything else."

Ryan studied him over the rim of his mug. Caleb's response hadn't been particularly strange, but there was something about the way he avoided looking directly at him that reminded Ryan of their conversation outside the basement the previous night.

"I still want to know what was making those noises. Evelyn says nobody was supposed to be working around the cabin yesterday, so she doesn't know where the footprints came from either."

"Maybe somebody was here before the storm," Caleb suggested.

"Maybe, but the rain was pretty heavy. I'd have thought it would wash most of the tracks away, especially if they'd been there for a while." Ryan glanced at the young man's borrowed sweatpants. "You haven't been outside since you arrived, have you? Apart from when we went out together?"

Caleb hesitated.

"No."

Ryan nodded, unaware of how carefully Caleb had chosen his answer, and took another sip of coffee.

"Can I ask you something?"

Caleb glanced up.

"Sure."

"When I told you about the knocking last night, you asked whether I'd opened the basement door. You seemed pretty worried about it. Was there a particular reason?"

Caleb's hands stopped moving. He looked down at the towel, then toward the narrow hallway beneath the staircase, where the basement door stood out of sight.

"Well, you said somebody was knocking from inside a basement you're not supposed to enter. That's pretty creepy, isn't it? And the owner specifically told you to stay out. I guess I just didn't want you getting hurt."

"I wasn't planning on opening it. I was trying to figure out whether somebody had somehow gotten inside, especially after finding those footprints near the window."

"I know. Sorry. I probably sounded a little paranoid."

Ryan considered the explanation. It was reasonable enough, and Caleb wasn't wrong about the basement being a potential hazard. Still, his reaction had seemed stronger than simple concern over an unfamiliar staircase.

He decided not to press the matter for now.

"Well, the good news is that I'm not planning on doing anything stupid. If there's something wrong down there, Evelyn can send somebody who actually knows what they're doing."

Caleb looked relieved, and the expression was so immediate that Ryan almost asked another question. Instead, he took another sip of coffee and suggested breakfast, which brought a much more familiar smile to Caleb's face.

They made scrambled eggs, toast, and the remaining bacon together. Ryan also collected Caleb's muddy jeans and jacket from the downstairs bathroom and put them into the washing machine, which was tucked inside a small laundry closet beside the kitchen. Caleb protested briefly, insisting that he'd already been enough trouble, but Ryan pointed out that returning to civilization in borrowed sweatpants probably wasn't the most practical solution.

"Besides, I'm going to need those back eventually. They're my favorite pair."

Caleb looked down at himself.

"Would you believe me if I said they look better on me?"

"No, but I admire your confidence."

"That's unfortunate. I was hoping you'd let me keep them."

Ryan laughed and closed the washing-machine door.

"You're welcome to borrow them until your clothes are clean. After that, you're on your own."

Caleb grinned, and for a little while, the conversation returned to the comfortable rhythm they'd established the day before. They ate breakfast beside the kitchen window, watching the sunlight move through the trees while discussing whether they should attempt another game of poker before leaving. Caleb seemed particularly enthusiastic about the idea, although Ryan suspected that had more to do with his determination to win again than with any genuine affection for the game.

By the time they finished eating, Ryan had almost managed to put the previous night's noises out of his mind.

Then his phone rang.

It was Evelyn.

"Good morning, Ryan. I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know the road crew's nearly finished clearing that tree. They should have the access road open within the next half hour."

"That's great. Thanks for letting me know."

"Of course. And I spoke with the maintenance supervisor about those footprints you sent me. Apparently none of his people have been near the basement window, so I'm afraid I don't have an explanation for that."

Ryan glanced toward the window.

"Right. That's a little concerning."

"I agree. I'll arrange for somebody to inspect the exterior of the property. In the meantime, have you noticed anything else unusual?"

Ryan hesitated, then decided there was no reason to downplay what had happened.

"Actually, yes. I heard some strange noises coming from the basement last night. Scraping, mostly, but there were also a few knocks against the door. Is there any equipment down there that could be making those sounds? A water pump or something?"

There was a brief pause.

"Not that I'm aware of. The heating system is in the utility closet near the laundry area. The basement is mostly unused storage space, and I haven't been down there myself in quite some time."

Ryan looked toward the hallway.

"So you don't know what could've been making those noises?"

"Not specifically. It could be animals, or perhaps old pipes shifting as the temperature changes. But I should tell you something, Ryan. You're not the first guest to mention unusual sounds around the house."

Ryan straightened in his chair.

"What kind of sounds?"

"Footsteps upstairs when everyone was supposedly downstairs, knocking in the walls, that sort of thing. I've had a few complaints during Halloween stays over the years. Two guests also reported that the old telephone in the kitchen rang late at night, even though they weren't expecting any calls."

Ryan stared toward the kitchen wall.

The cream-colored telephone hung motionless beside the counter, looking exactly as it had when he first arrived.

"That phone actually rings?"

"Apparently. Although the reports were rather inconsistent. One couple said it rang after midnight and stopped before they could reach it. Another guest said she heard the ringing from upstairs, but when she came down, the kitchen was quiet. Nobody answered it, as far as I know."

Ryan remembered the second house rule.

Do not answer the telephone after midnight.

"And you had it checked?"

"Yes. After the first complaint, I had the telephone and its line inspected. The technician couldn't reproduce the problem or find any fault that explained an unexplained call. I also had the maintenance crew inspect the house after guests mentioned footsteps and knocking. They checked the accessible areas, including the upstairs rooms and the spaces around the plumbing, but found nothing concerning."

Ryan was quiet for a moment.

"So what did you think was happening?"

"Honestly? I thought people were hearing ordinary noises and interpreting them as something mysterious because they were staying in a supposedly haunted cabin. It's an old wooden house, and sounds travel through it. Some guests found the atmosphere rather entertaining. One group even wrote in their review that the house had provided its own Halloween sound effects."

Ryan didn't smile.

"And the others?"

"They were unsettled, certainly. I took their complaints seriously enough to arrange inspections, but the noises weren't consistent, nobody reported being injured, and the house was quiet whenever anyone came to investigate. It didn't seem like evidence of a dangerous problem."

Ryan looked down at the photograph of the footprints on his phone.

He could understand Evelyn's reasoning, even if he didn't find it particularly comforting. Strange noises were common in old buildings, and a few reports spread over several years wouldn't necessarily persuade anyone that something supernatural was happening. But he'd now heard three deliberate knocks from behind a bolted basement door, and the thought that other guests might have heard similar sounds made his own experience considerably harder to dismiss.

"Why didn't you mention these complaints when I booked?"

Evelyn hesitated.

"You're right to ask. I suppose I should have been more forthcoming about them. I genuinely regarded them as harmless incidents, though, and the inspections never established anything dangerous. I certainly wasn't trying to conceal a known safety issue from you."

Ryan let out a slow breath.

"Okay. I appreciate you telling me now. But given everything I've heard, I'd really like somebody to inspect the basement itself."

"Of course. I'll arrange it as soon as possible. But please don't go down there yourself. The stairs are steep, and some of the old boards need replacing. That's why guests aren't allowed to enter."

"Don't worry. I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. And again, I'm terribly sorry about the inconvenience. This certainly isn't the relaxing holiday I promised you."

Ryan smiled faintly.

"Well, it's been interesting, I'll give you that."

Evelyn laughed, although she sounded considerably less cheerful than she had at the beginning of the call. They spoke for another minute before ending the conversation, and Ryan placed his phone beside his coffee mug.

Caleb had stopped eating.

He was watching Ryan with an expression that seemed almost apprehensive.

"Good news," Ryan said. "They've nearly cleared the tree. We should be able to drive out before lunch."

"Oh."

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"That's all you've got? I thought you'd be happy to finally get out of here."

"No, I am. That's great."

Caleb's words sounded sincere enough, but his expression suggested otherwise. He glanced toward the living room, then back at his plate, and for a moment Ryan had the impression that he wanted to say something but couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About getting home?"

Caleb nodded after a slight hesitation.

Ryan considered asking more, but he'd already spent much of the morning questioning him about the basement, and he didn't particularly want Caleb to feel as though he was being interrogated. He could be dealing with something personal, something that had nothing to do with Ryan or the cabin.

"Well, we'll figure it out. Once the road's open, I'll drive you into town, and you can make whatever arrangements you need. If your car's still at the trailhead, maybe we can find somebody who knows the area well enough to take us there."

Caleb looked at him for a moment, then managed a small smile.

"Thanks, Ryan. You've already done a lot for me."

Ryan shrugged.

"It's not a big deal. Besides, I wasn't planning on doing much today anyway."

Caleb lowered his eyes toward his plate.

For some reason, he didn't look particularly reassured.

At ten thirty-two, Evelyn called again to confirm that the road had been cleared.

Ryan was standing beside the living room window when the call came, watching a red squirrel dart across the porch railing. The morning had become considerably brighter, and the forest beyond the cabin looked almost inviting beneath the clear October sky. After two days of rain and gloomy weather, he was looking forward to seeing something other than the same collection of trees.

He thanked Evelyn, promised to contact her if anything else seemed wrong, and ended the call.

"All right," he announced, turning toward the couch. "We're officially free. I'm going into town to get a few things and maybe find somewhere with decent coffee. You ready?"

Caleb looked up from the mystery novel he'd been holding. He'd been sitting in the same position for nearly half an hour, and Ryan wasn't entirely convinced he'd turned a page during that time.

"Actually, would you mind if I stayed here a little longer?"

Ryan paused.

"Stayed here?"

"Just for a while. I could finish the laundry and clean up the kitchen. You can go into town if you need to."

Ryan stared at him, trying to make sense of the suggestion.

"Caleb, the whole point of going into town is to get you home. I thought that's what you wanted."

"It is. I just..." Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "I'm still pretty tired, and my ankle's bothering me a little. I was hoping I could rest for another hour or two before heading out."

Ryan glanced toward his feet.

Caleb had been walking around normally all morning. He hadn't complained about his ankle once, even when they'd carried the laundry basket across the room together. It was possible that the injury had started bothering him again, but the explanation felt a little convenient.

"Look, if there's something going on and you don't want to go home, that's fine. You don't have to tell me all your personal business. But I'd rather you just say that than keep making excuses."

Caleb's expression changed.

"I'm not trying to make excuses."

"Okay, then help me understand. You said you were lost, you don't have your phone, and your car's apparently somewhere near a trailhead. I'd think you'd be pretty eager to sort all that out."

For several seconds, Caleb didn't answer. He looked toward the window, then at the book in his hands, his fingers tightening slightly around the cover.

"I know how it sounds," he said eventually. "And I'm sorry. I just need a little more time."

Ryan studied him. He could have insisted, but Caleb was an adult, and Ryan wasn't about to physically drag him into the car. If he wanted to remain at the cabin for a few more hours, that was his decision, provided he understood that Ryan wasn't offering him indefinite accommodation.

"All right. I'm going into town anyway, but we'll need to figure out what you're doing afterward. I don't mind helping you, Caleb. I just don't want to spend my entire holiday wondering whether you're actually planning on leaving."

Caleb looked genuinely ashamed.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

Ryan sighed.

"You really need to stop apologizing for everything."

That earned him a faint smile, though Caleb still looked troubled.

Ryan checked that his phone was charged, picked up his keys, and put on his jacket. Caleb followed him to the front door, remaining a few steps behind as Ryan slipped on his shoes.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Ryan said. "You can help yourself to anything in the fridge. Just don't burn the place down while I'm gone."

Caleb didn't laugh. Instead, he looked toward the trees beyond the porch.

"Ryan, are you sure you need to go today?"

Ryan stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

"What?"

"Couldn't you wait until tomorrow? Maybe give the road a little more time to dry out after the storm?"

Ryan looked at him for a moment, increasingly puzzled by his behavior.

"Caleb, the road crew just cleared it. Evelyn says it's safe to drive. And honestly, I'd like to get out of the cabin for a while. I've spent two days looking at these walls."

Caleb nodded slowly.

"Right. Of course."

Ryan opened the door.

Cold morning air drifted inside, carrying the rich smell of damp soil and fallen leaves. The porch boards were still wet in places, and sunlight glimmered on small puddles scattered across the driveway.

"Hey," Caleb called as Ryan stepped outside.

Ryan turned.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of Ryan's sweatpants.

"Be careful on the road, okay?"

Ryan smiled.

"I survived the drive up here. I think I can manage twenty minutes into town."

Caleb returned the smile, but there was something strained about it.

Ryan considered asking him one more time whether anything was wrong. Then he decided he'd already asked enough questions for one morning.

He walked to the car, unlocked it, and climbed inside.

As he adjusted the rearview mirror, he caught sight of Caleb standing on the porch, watching him. Ryan raised a hand in farewell, and Caleb returned the gesture, though he remained where he was even after Ryan started the engine.

A moment later, Ryan put the car into gear and drove away.

The first few minutes were entirely ordinary.

Ryan followed the gravel road through the forest, passing the familiar bend where he'd photographed the fallen maple the previous day. The trunk had been removed, and the larger branches lay in neat piles beside the drainage ditch. Fresh tire marks crossed the muddy shoulder, confirming that the road crew had indeed been there, while a few smaller twigs remained scattered across the gravel.

He slowed briefly to inspect the cleared section before continuing downhill.

The road was narrow, but the surface was reasonably good, and the morning sunlight made the drive considerably more pleasant than the journey up from Boston. Ryan switched on the radio, found nothing but static, and connected his phone to the car's speakers instead. The music helped, filling the quiet interior as he passed between towering maples whose remaining leaves glowed red and gold against the blue sky.

He'd been driving for perhaps seven or eight minutes when he noticed a damaged road sign.

It stood beside a narrow bend, its metal surface bent inward as though something had struck it years earlier. The sign warned drivers of a sharp curve ahead, although the bottom corner was missing and rust had spread around the edges. Ryan remembered noticing it on his way to the cabin, mostly because it looked as though it had survived a collision with something much larger than a car.

He passed it without giving the matter much thought.

A little farther ahead, the road curved around an enormous boulder covered in moss. Ryan remembered that too. From a distance, the stone resembled a crouching animal, with a narrow strip of dark moss running across the top like a raised spine.

He smiled faintly at the memory and continued driving.

Several minutes later, he passed another damaged road sign.

Ryan frowned.

The sign was bent inward, with one missing corner and a familiar patch of rust spreading across the metal.

He slowed.

For a moment, he thought he'd simply encountered another sign damaged in a similar way. The roads were narrow, and the surrounding trees could easily have brought down branches during storms. There was nothing particularly remarkable about two battered road signs appearing along the same route.

Still, the resemblance bothered him.

He glanced at the navigation screen. According to Google Maps, he was still traveling southwest toward the highway, although the blue location indicator appeared to be moving more slowly than the car itself.

Ryan tapped the screen, assuming the weak reception was affecting the GPS.

The blue dot jumped several hundred feet forward.

Then it stopped.

He frowned, waited for it to update, and continued driving. There was no reason to panic over a navigation problem, particularly when the road itself was straightforward. He hadn't passed any intersections, and the gravel track continued in a single direction between the trees.

A few minutes later, he saw the moss-covered boulder again.

 

Ryan took his foot off the accelerator.

The stone stood beside the road, its dark green surface rising above a patch of fallen leaves. The distinctive strip of moss across the top was unmistakable, and beyond it the road curved gently to the right, disappearing between two enormous pine trees.

He stared.

"Okay, that's weird."

He slowed almost to a stop, looking ahead and then in the rearview mirror. There was no other road visible, no junction, and no obvious way he could have circled back. He'd been driving continuously in what he believed was the same direction, yet he was certain he'd already passed this exact spot.

Ryan pulled onto a slightly wider section of gravel and checked his phone.

The map still showed him on the access road, less than two miles from the highway.

Perhaps he'd misremembered the boulder. Perhaps there were several similar formations along the road, and the damaged sign had simply made him more alert to the repetition. He was tired, after all, and the forest was full of landmarks that looked remarkably alike.

He took a photograph of the boulder, noted the time, and continued.

For the next few minutes, he watched the road carefully, paying attention to every bend and every change in elevation. He crossed a small wooden bridge, followed the road uphill, and passed a patch of pale birch trees growing beside a drainage ditch.

Then, through the trees ahead, he saw a roof.

At first, he assumed it belonged to another property near the highway.

But as he approached, the trees thinned, revealing a familiar wooden porch decorated with orange Halloween lights. Two pumpkins sat beside the steps, one slightly crooked, and a stone chimney rose above the roof.

Ryan stared through the windshield.

Blackthorn Cabin stood at the end of the road.

He pressed the brake so abruptly that his seat belt tightened across his chest.

For several seconds, he sat motionless, trying to understand what he was seeing. The gravel driveway extended ahead of him, ending near the familiar porch, while the forest stood on either side exactly as it had when he'd left.

He looked in the rearview mirror.

There was no other vehicle behind him.

He checked the navigation screen.

The blue dot had finally updated.

It showed him at Blackthorn Cabin.

"What the hell?"

Ryan put the car in park and looked around, trying to reconstruct the route. Perhaps the access road made a much larger loop than he'd realized. There could have been a fork hidden among the trees, or a private logging road that eventually returned to the property.

But he hadn't turned.

He was almost certain of that.

He'd followed the gravel track from the cabin, passed the cleared tree, and continued along what appeared to be a single road. There had been no intersections that he remembered, and certainly no turn that should have brought him back to the driveway.

Ryan opened Google Maps on his phone and zoomed in.

The access road ran southwest from the property before connecting to the highway. There were no loops, no circular routes, and no secondary roads branching off toward the cabin.

He studied the map for nearly a minute, then looked through the windshield again.

The pumpkins were still there.

The orange lights remained strung along the porch railing.

And from somewhere inside the cabin, a thin trail of smoke drifted from the chimney into the clear morning sky.

Ryan felt an uncomfortable tightening in his stomach. He couldn't explain what had happened, but he wasn't prepared to assume anything extraordinary when he might simply have made a mistake.

He checked the car's fuel gauge, restarted the navigation, and drove away again.

This time, he paid close attention to the odometer.

He also switched off the music.

The road curved through the forest in a familiar sequence, passing the cleared maple before descending toward the wooden bridge. Ryan watched every bend, deliberately slowing whenever the road widened or a patch of trees concealed the shoulder.

He passed the damaged sign.

Then the moss-covered boulder.

Then the bridge.

Everything matched the route he'd taken minutes earlier.

He continued driving, keeping his eyes on the road and occasionally glancing at the navigation screen. The blue dot followed his progress for a while before freezing again, but the road itself remained perfectly ordinary.

A few minutes later, the gravel began climbing.

Ryan recognized the bend ahead.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

He knew what he was going to see before it appeared.

The trees opened.

Sunlight fell across a familiar clearing.

And Blackthorn Cabin stood directly ahead.

Ryan stopped the car.

He didn't speak this time.

He simply sat there, staring at the house while his mind struggled to make sense of what had happened.

The second attempt had been more deliberate than the first. He'd watched the road carefully, noted every landmark, and checked the odometer. There had been no turn that could possibly have brought him back to the property.

Yet somehow he'd returned to the same place.

He looked down at his hands.

They were trembling slightly.

Not enough to interfere with driving, but enough that he noticed when he reached for his phone.

Ryan considered calling Evelyn immediately. Then he decided he wanted something more substantial than his own account of the drive, because he could already imagine how the conversation would sound.

I keep driving down the road, but it brings me back to your cabin.

She would understandably assume he'd gotten lost.

So he positioned his phone against the dashboard, adjusted the camera to capture the road through the windshield, and began recording.

"Wednesday, October twenty-eighth," he said aloud, feeling faintly ridiculous. "It's eleven forty-six in the morning. I'm leaving Blackthorn Cabin, and I'm recording the drive because apparently I've forgotten how roads work. I'm following the access road toward the highway, and I'm not taking any turns unless the road actually splits."

He checked the recording, confirmed that the road was clearly visible, and started driving again.

For the next half hour, he kept the camera running.

He passed the same damaged sign, the same moss-covered boulder, and the same wooden bridge. At one point, the road seemed to stretch considerably farther than he remembered, descending through a section of forest where the trees grew so close together that their branches formed a dark canopy overhead. Ryan slowed, expecting to emerge near the highway, but after several minutes the road began climbing again.

Then the damaged sign appeared.

Again.

Ryan felt his stomach turn.

He glanced at the recording phone, making sure it was still capturing the drive. It was.

He hadn't turned around.

He hadn't taken a different road.

And yet the sign stood beside the gravel track as though it had been waiting for him.

He continued driving, increasingly aware of how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. The surrounding forest seemed to have become unnaturally repetitive, each curve revealing another arrangement of trees that felt both familiar and slightly wrong. He passed a broken branch lying across the ditch and recognized it immediately, although he couldn't have said whether he'd seen it five minutes earlier or during his first attempt.

The road climbed.

Ryan felt a cold certainty settle over him.

A moment later, Blackthorn Cabin appeared through the trees.

He drove into the driveway and stopped.

The dashboard clock showed 12:17 p.m.

For several seconds, he remained motionless, listening to the soft ticking of the engine as it cooled.

Then he reached for his phone and stopped the recording.

He watched the video.

The first several minutes looked entirely normal. The car passed the cleared maple, followed the gravel road, and crossed the wooden bridge. The camera captured the damaged sign clearly, along with the moss-covered boulder and the familiar line of birch trees.

Then, without any visible turn or interruption, the same sign appeared again.

Ryan replayed that section.

He watched the road disappear beneath the windshield, watched the trees pass on either side, and listened to his own voice muttering in disbelief when the sign came into view.

There was no cut in the recording.

No obvious loop.

No explanation.

Ryan lowered the phone.

For the first time since arriving in Vermont, he felt genuinely frightened.

Not the pleasant, controlled nervousness of watching a horror movie or hearing an unexpected noise in an old house. This was something colder and far less manageable, the realization that a familiar part of the world had stopped behaving according to rules he'd trusted his entire life.

He knew how roads worked.

He knew that traveling in one direction along a single road should eventually take him somewhere other than his starting point.

And yet he had just watched himself return to the same cabin three times.

Ryan sat in the car, breathing slowly until the trembling in his hands began to subside.

Then he opened his contacts and called Evelyn.

By the time Ryan finished explaining what had happened, Evelyn sounded almost as confused as he felt.

She initially suggested that he might have taken an old logging road near the quarry, although she admitted that she didn't think it was accessible by car anymore. Ryan explained that he'd followed the same gravel track the entire time, and when he offered to send her the recording, she immediately agreed.

He went inside long enough to connect to the cabin's Wi-Fi and upload the video, then returned to the porch to wait for her response.

Evelyn called again ten minutes later.

"Ryan, I've watched the recording, and I have to admit I'm rather confused. I know that road very well, and I can't see where you could possibly have turned around. The section near the old bridge should lead directly toward the highway."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you. I didn't turn around. I just kept driving, and somehow I ended up back here."

"Could there be something wrong with the recording? Perhaps the camera stopped and restarted?"

"No. It's continuous. You can hear me talking the whole time. And even if the video had somehow glitched, that wouldn't explain why I'm sitting in the driveway again."

Evelyn was quiet for a moment.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I wasn't suggesting you were making it up."

Ryan rubbed his forehead.

"Have you ever had anyone else complain about the road?"

There was another pause, noticeably longer than the first.

"Actually, yes," Evelyn admitted. "I should probably have mentioned this when you called earlier. We had a guest complain about getting lost on the access road a couple of years ago. She said her navigation system kept directing her back toward the cabin when she was trying to reach the highway."

Ryan straightened.

"What?"

"It happened in 2024, if I remember correctly. She and her husband were staying for Halloween, and apparently they had a terrible time finding their way out after dinner one evening. She called me from the cabin afterward, quite upset, and insisted that they'd passed the same bridge several times."

Ryan looked toward the trees.

"The wooden bridge?"

"Yes. The one near the old quarry road."

Ryan felt a cold sensation spread through his chest.

"And what happened to them?"

"They managed to leave later that evening. Her husband tried again, and this time they reached the highway without any trouble. I drove out the following day to check the signs and see whether a fallen branch had obscured one of the old turnoffs, but I couldn't find anything wrong."

Ryan stared at the gravel road.

"You're telling me somebody else had almost exactly the same experience, and you never thought it was strange?"

"Of course I thought it was strange," Evelyn replied, sounding genuinely distressed. "But there are abandoned logging tracks in that area, and the mobile reception can be unreliable. I assumed they'd been confused by their navigation system. They were able to leave, Ryan, and I drove the road myself afterward. Everything was perfectly normal."

Ryan took a slow breath.

He understood why she'd reached that conclusion, at least under ordinary circumstances. A single complaint about getting lost in an unfamiliar forest wasn't proof of anything supernatural, particularly when the guests had subsequently driven away without assistance.

But knowing that the complaint existed made his own experience considerably more frightening.

"Was that the only one?"

"There was another guest who mentioned taking an unusually long time to find the highway, but I don't remember the circumstances clearly. I thought it was the same sort of navigation problem. None of those people reported being unable to leave for an entire day, and nobody ever showed me anything like this recording."

Ryan looked toward the porch.

"So you've had guests hearing footsteps and telephone calls at night, and you've had people reporting that the road keeps bringing them back. Did anybody ever complain about both?"

Evelyn hesitated.

"Not in a way that suggested a connection. The guests who mentioned the noises usually stayed for the rest of their holiday without further trouble. The people who became disoriented on the road eventually found their way out. I dealt with the complaints separately because I had no reason to believe they were related."

"And you never considered that the old stories might be true?"

"Ryan, I considered the possibility that people were frightened by a house with a reputation for being haunted. I didn't believe an actual haunting was the explanation, no. But after watching your recording, I agree that something is seriously wrong, and I'm not going to dismiss it."

Ryan appreciated the honesty, even if it didn't make him feel any better.

Evelyn continued, "I'm going to contact the road crew and ask somebody to come back and guide you out. And I'm going to forward your recording to the sheriff's office if you're comfortable with that. Whatever is happening, I don't want you attempting that drive repeatedly on your own."

"Please do. And I'm going to call them myself."

"Of course. I'll stay available."

Ryan thanked her and ended the call.

He remained on the porch for another moment, looking down the gravel road as it disappeared between the trees.

The complaints changed something.

Until now, he'd been considering explanations that involved his own perception, his exhaustion, or a peculiar road configuration he hadn't understood. But other guests had apparently encountered similar difficulties, and Evelyn had also received complaints about sounds that closely resembled those he'd heard at the cabin.

Perhaps there was still a rational explanation.

Perhaps there were several unrelated problems that happened to seem connected because they occurred at the same old house.

But if that were true, Ryan was beginning to think Blackthorn Cabin was experiencing an extraordinary run of bad luck.

He turned toward the front door.

Caleb was standing just inside, watching him.

Ryan hadn't heard him approach, but he recognized the expression on his face immediately.

Fear.

Not confusion or curiosity.

Fear.

"What happened?" Caleb asked. "You've been gone a long time."

Ryan stepped inside.

"I can't leave."

Caleb went still.

For a moment, he didn't seem to understand.

"What?"

"The road. I keep driving toward the highway, and somehow I end up back here. I've tried three times. I recorded it, Caleb. There aren't any turns, and I haven't gone in circles, but every time I drive down that road, I end up right where I started."

Caleb's face went pale.

He looked past Ryan toward the driveway, then toward the road disappearing among the trees.

"How long were you gone?"

Ryan frowned.

"What?"

"Each time. How long did it take before you came back?"

"Ten minutes the first time, maybe fifteen the second. Nearly half an hour the last time. Why does that matter?"

Caleb didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the trees, and Ryan noticed that his hands had begun trembling slightly.

Something about that reaction made Ryan's irritation sharpen.

"Caleb, look at me. Have you seen something like this before?"

The young man swallowed.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he nodded.

Ryan stared at him.

"What?"

Caleb looked deeply uncomfortable.

"I've heard of it happening."

"Heard of what happening?"

"People getting turned around in the woods. Driving in circles, ending up back where they started. Sometimes they couldn't figure out how they'd done it."

Ryan let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"That's not what happened. I didn't get turned around, Caleb. I drove straight down the road, and the recording proves it. And now you're telling me you've heard of other people having the same problem?"

Caleb looked at him helplessly.

"Ryan, I believe you. I know you're not making it up."

The answer stopped him.

Ryan had expected Caleb to suggest exhaustion, confusion, or some other perfectly ordinary explanation. Instead, the young man was looking at him with unmistakable fear, as though Ryan had just confirmed something he'd been dreading.

"You believe me?"

Caleb nodded.

"Yes."

"Then tell me what you know."

Caleb glanced toward the cabin, his expression tightening. He seemed to be searching for the right words, but whatever he wanted to say remained frustratingly out of reach.

"I don't know how to explain it."

"Try."

Ryan took a step closer, his patience thinning.

"You knew something was wrong with this place before I left. That's why you kept asking me to wait, isn't it? You didn't want me to go down that road."

Caleb lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

"Then give me one. How do you even know about this? You told me you got lost hiking. You said you didn't know where you were, and now you're acting like you've known about this cabin for years."

Caleb looked up sharply.

For a moment, Ryan thought he might finally say something useful. Instead, his expression crumpled into something resembling shame.

"Ryan, please. I didn't want any of this to happen."

Ryan went still.

The words were too strange, too suggestive of knowledge Caleb shouldn't have possessed. He remembered the young man's reluctance to leave, his repeated glances toward the basement, and the way he'd watched Ryan drive away that morning.

A thought occurred to him that he found distinctly unpleasant.

"Are you lying to me?"

Caleb looked genuinely hurt.

"Not about wanting to help you."

Ryan stared at him.

The qualification was impossible to miss.

"Then what aren't you telling me?"

Caleb opened his mouth, but no words came.

Ryan took a slow breath. He didn't want to accuse someone of something without evidence, particularly someone who'd been pleasant company for the past two days. But he was frightened, and Caleb's evasiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.

"Look, I don't know whether somebody's playing a trick on me or whether there's something seriously wrong with that road. But I'm going to figure it out, and if you know anything that could help, I need you to tell me."

Caleb nodded miserably.

"I know."

Ryan stared at him for another moment before turning toward the dining table. He needed to speak to someone who could offer an explanation grounded in something other than vague suggestions and apologies.

Behind him, Caleb spoke again.

"Ryan, please don't try driving out there anymore. Not until we know what's happening."

Ryan turned.

The young man was standing beside the doorway, his face pale beneath the afternoon sunlight.

"Why?"

Caleb hesitated.

"Because I don't want you getting hurt."

Ryan looked at him for a long moment.

Then he took out his phone.

"I'm calling for help."

Caleb nodded without argument.

By early afternoon, Ryan had spoken to Evelyn twice more, contacted the sheriff's office, and sent his driving video to Mara.

None of it had produced an explanation.

Evelyn had arranged for one of the road crew workers to return to the area, but according to her, he'd experienced something almost as confusing as Ryan had. The man had driven down the access road from the highway, passed the damaged sign and the small wooden bridge, and then somehow emerged back onto the highway a short distance from where he'd started. He'd initially assumed he'd taken a wrong turn onto one of the old logging tracks, but when he tried again, the same thing happened.

Evelyn sounded increasingly unsettled when she relayed the information.

"I've driven that road dozens of times, Ryan. There isn't another turnoff after the bridge. And the crew reached your property without any trouble this morning, so I genuinely don't understand what's happening now."

Ryan looked toward the forest beyond the porch.

"Neither do I. But at least somebody else has seen it. I was starting to think there was something wrong with me."

"Oh, goodness, no. Please don't think that. I've already explained the situation to the sheriff's office, and they're coordinating with the road crew. I'm going to keep trying to arrange help."

"Thanks, Evelyn. I appreciate it."

"And Ryan? I've checked my old correspondence. I found the 2024 guest's complaint, along with the earlier emails about the telephone and strange noises. I'll make sure the authorities receive copies of everything."

Ryan could hear the concern in her voice.

He was frightened, and he knew he would have preferred to receive that information before arriving at the cabin. But Evelyn had at least kept records of the complaints and arranged inspections when guests reported problems. Her mistake had been treating the incidents as unrelated, not pretending they had never happened.

"Just send them everything you've got," he said. "Right now, that's probably the most useful thing you can do."

After ending the call, Ryan returned to the porch and waited for news from the sheriff's office.

He'd deliberately avoided mentioning anything supernatural to the dispatcher. Instead, he'd explained that he was staying at an isolated rental property, that the access road appeared to be directing him back to the cabin despite his repeated attempts to leave, and that a road worker had now experienced something similar. He provided the address, his GPS coordinates, and the recording he'd made, offering to remain on the phone while someone attempted to locate him.

The dispatcher initially suggested a navigation error.

Ryan understood why. Under ordinary circumstances, he probably would have suggested the same thing.

But when he explained that Evelyn had confirmed the road's layout and that another driver had encountered the same problem, the dispatcher agreed to have a deputy investigate.

For nearly an hour, Ryan remained in contact with the sheriff's office while they attempted to determine what was happening.

His phone worked. His location appeared correctly on the map. The cabin's address was valid, and the access road was clearly visible on satellite images. Yet whenever someone attempted to reach the property, they somehow emerged back onto the highway without ever seeing the cabin.

At one point, the dispatcher asked Ryan to remain on the line while the deputy made another attempt.

Ryan stood on the porch, watching the trees. The sun had moved farther west, casting long shadows across the clearing, and the air had grown noticeably colder. Behind him, the cabin stood warm and inviting, its windows reflecting the afternoon light.

He could hear the deputy's voice faintly through the telephone connection as the dispatcher relayed information.

The deputy described passing the damaged sign, then the moss-covered boulder, and finally the wooden bridge. Ryan listened with his heart pounding, hoping that somehow the vehicle would appear around the bend and drive into the clearing.

Several minutes passed.

Then the dispatcher spoke again.

"Mr. Mitchell? The deputy says he's back at the highway."

Ryan closed his eyes.

"Without reaching the cabin?"

"That's correct. We're trying to determine how that happened."

Ryan looked toward the gravel road.

For the first time, he was almost grateful that someone else had experienced the same impossible route. He hadn't imagined it. He wasn't confused or exhausted to the point of losing his sense of direction. Something was genuinely wrong, and there was now an official witness who could confirm it.

But that realization brought little comfort.

If the police couldn't reach the cabin, what exactly was he supposed to do?

The dispatcher asked him to remain on the line while she consulted another officer. Ryan heard faint voices in the background, followed by the clicking of a keyboard and a brief exchange he couldn't make out.

When she returned, her tone had changed.

"Mr. Mitchell, we've also checked some earlier reports involving that access road. There have been a few complaints over the years from motorists who became disoriented or believed they were being directed in circles."

Ryan straightened.

"So this has happened before?"

"There have been similar complaints, yes. Most were resolved without assistance, and none of the previous reports established a problem with the road itself. Some mentioned unreliable navigation or confusion near the old logging tracks."

Ryan glanced toward the trees.

"How many complaints?"

"A small number. I don't have a complete history in front of me, but I can see several reports spanning different years. One caller said he'd passed the same bridge more than once while trying to reach the highway, although he eventually found his way out."

Ryan felt a chill.

"The same bridge."

"That appears to be what he reported."

"And nobody investigated?"

"The complaints were reviewed at the time, Mr. Mitchell. In those cases, the motorists were able to leave, and responding personnel didn't identify any obstruction or road defect. What you're describing today is different because we now have a deputy who's experienced the same difficulty."

Ryan looked toward the driveway.

He appreciated that she wasn't dismissing him, but he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that other people had reported similar experiences and then simply gone home, leaving the mystery unresolved.

"Did any of them mention strange things happening at the cabin itself? Footsteps, knocking, a telephone ringing after midnight?"

The dispatcher paused.

"I don't see those details in the road reports I'm reviewing. Ms. Hart has provided some additional correspondence about complaints at the property, though, and we're adding that information to the incident record."

Ryan rubbed his forehead.

"So there might be a connection."

"We don't know that yet. But we are reviewing the information rather than treating the reports separately."

It wasn't much of an answer, but it was better than being dismissed.

The dispatcher continued, "We're treating this as an unusual situation, and we're going to keep trying to reach you. For now, please stay at the property, avoid making further attempts to drive out on your own, and keep your phone available. If anything changes or you feel threatened, call us immediately."

Ryan agreed.

He confirmed once again that he had food, water, electricity, and a working internet connection, and that neither he nor Caleb was injured. He also mentioned the footprints around the basement window and the sounds he'd heard in the house, explaining that he was concerned somebody might have been trespassing.

The dispatcher advised him not to investigate any suspicious activity himself.

Ryan thanked her and ended the call.

For a while, he remained on the porch, looking toward the road that had brought him to Blackthorn Cabin two nights earlier.

The forest was perfectly ordinary.

Sunlight filtered through the branches, turning the clearing into a patchwork of gold and shadow. A breeze stirred the fallen leaves along the driveway, and somewhere in the distance a woodpecker tapped steadily against a tree.

Nothing appeared threatening.

That was what frightened him most.

There was no wall of fog blocking the road, no glowing barrier surrounding the property, and no sinister figure standing among the trees. Just an ordinary little cabin sitting peacefully in the Vermont countryside, with a perfectly ordinary gravel road leading away from it.

Except that road no longer led anywhere.

And apparently, it had been doing something similar to other people for years.

The difference was that those people had eventually gotten out.

Ryan hadn't.

Ryan tried leaving on foot shortly after three.

He hadn't made the decision impulsively. By then, he'd already examined the satellite map, downloaded an offline copy of the surrounding area, and studied the access road carefully enough to identify several potential routes through the woods. If there was some unusual configuration of logging tracks or a navigational error affecting vehicles, walking directly toward the highway might help him understand what was happening.

He'd also told the sheriff's office what he intended to do. The dispatcher had advised him against making another attempt without assistance, and Ryan understood the warning. He was no longer confident that his own sense of direction could be trusted, and he certainly wasn't interested in becoming another person who needed rescuing from the Vermont wilderness.

Still, the thought of sitting inside the cabin while strangers tried unsuccessfully to reach him was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. The highway lay less than four miles away, and Ryan found it almost impossible to accept that a distance he could ordinarily walk in little more than an hour had somehow become insurmountable.

He wasn't an experienced hiker, but he wasn't completely helpless outdoors either. He had sturdy boots, a fully charged phone, a bottle of water, and a small compass he'd found among the cabin's emergency supplies. He also brought a brightly colored scarf to mark his route, along with a flashlight in case he returned later than expected.

Caleb found him preparing his backpack in the kitchen.

"Where are you going?"

Ryan looked up.

"Walking toward the highway. I've tried driving out, and the police can't get here. I want to find out whether the same thing happens if I leave the road."

Caleb's expression changed immediately.

"Ryan, I really don't think that's a good idea. You don't know these woods, and it's going to get dark in a couple of hours."

"I'm aware of that. I'm not planning on wandering around aimlessly. I'll follow the road until I reach the bridge, then try a direct route through the trees. I've got offline maps and a compass, and I'll mark where I've been. If I can't find the highway, I'll turn back."

Caleb moved closer, his anxiety becoming increasingly apparent.

"Please don't. Whatever's happening with the road, it could happen in the woods too. And if you get turned around out there, there may not be anyone who can find you."

Ryan looked at him.

For a moment, he considered abandoning the idea. Caleb was frightened, and the sheriff's office had already advised caution. But the cabin felt increasingly like a place he couldn't escape, and Ryan was unwilling to surrender the last possibility of finding his own way out without at least making a controlled attempt.

"Caleb, I understand you're worried. But sitting here and waiting isn't making me feel any safer, especially when nobody seems able to reach us. I'm going to be careful, and I'm not going far. If anything looks wrong, I'll come straight back."

Caleb looked toward the window, where the afternoon sunlight was beginning to fade. For several seconds, he seemed to be struggling with something he wanted to say, and Ryan was reminded of the same helpless expression he'd seen when they discussed the road earlier.

"Then promise me you'll be back before dark," Caleb said finally. "I mean it, Ryan. Whatever happens, don't stay out there after sunset."

The seriousness of his tone made Ryan pause. He studied Caleb's face, searching for some indication that the warning was anything other than ordinary concern. The young man looked genuinely frightened, almost pleading, and Ryan felt an unexpected pang of sympathy despite his growing frustration.

"All right," he said. "I'll be back before dark."

Caleb nodded, although he didn't look particularly reassured.

Ryan checked his phone once more, tightened the straps of his backpack, and stepped outside.

The air was cold and damp, carrying the rich scent of wet leaves and decaying vegetation. Sunlight filtered through the trees in long, slanting beams, illuminating patches of orange and yellow foliage against the darker pines. The clearing looked peaceful enough, and for a moment Ryan almost convinced himself that the strange events of the day had somehow been the result of an elaborate misunderstanding.

Then he looked down the gravel road and remembered the damaged sign appearing again and again, no matter how far he drove.

He started walking.

The road was quiet, and his boots crunched steadily against the gravel as he passed between the trees. Water still gathered in shallow depressions along the shoulder, reflecting pieces of blue sky and the bare branches overhead. Ryan followed the familiar bends until he reached the wooden bridge, then continued another hundred yards toward the section of road where the trees began to thin.

He checked his compass and the offline map. The highway lay to the southwest, and while the terrain wasn't perfectly flat, the slope through the forest appeared manageable. If he kept the road within sight for the first part of his walk, he could return to it without relying entirely on the navigation system.

Ryan selected a low branch beside the road and tied his bright scarf around it. He took a photograph, noting the location, then stepped into the woods.

For the first several minutes, everything seemed normal. The ground was uneven and covered in wet leaves, but the undergrowth was relatively sparse. Ryan moved slowly, stepping over fallen branches and avoiding patches of loose soil while checking his compass frequently. Whenever possible, he kept the road within sight, although the trees occasionally obscured it as he moved farther downhill.

The forest grew quieter around him, which wasn't particularly surprising. Away from the gravel road, his footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of leaves, and the surrounding trees absorbed most of the distant sounds. A few birds called overhead, but otherwise the woodland seemed almost unnaturally still, as though the entire place had settled into the quiet pause between afternoon and evening.

Ryan crossed a shallow depression, climbed a gentle rise, and checked his phone. The location indicator placed him less than a mile from the highway, and he felt the first cautious stirrings of relief. Perhaps the road really was the problem. Perhaps some combination of misleading landmarks and an unfamiliar route had caused him to drive in circles without realizing it. He knew that didn't adequately explain the recording, but he was increasingly willing to accept an imperfect explanation if it meant finding a way back to civilization.

He continued walking.

A few minutes later, he heard water.

Ryan stopped, listening to the faint rushing noise beneath the quiet rustle of leaves. According to the map, there shouldn't have been a stream directly ahead of him, and he was almost certain the terrain should have been growing flatter as he approached the highway.

He checked the compass.

Still southwest.

The sound of water grew louder as he descended the slope, and by the time the trees opened slightly, he could make out a narrow stream moving over dark stones. A wooden bridge crossed it, its planks damp from the previous night's rain.

Ryan stopped walking.

He recognized the bridge immediately. One section of the railing had been repaired with noticeably paler wood, and the gravel road curved toward it from the opposite bank. He'd passed it during every attempt to leave the cabin that morning.

For several seconds, he stood motionless, trying to understand how he'd managed to return to it. Perhaps the forest had forced him into a broad curve without his noticing. Perhaps he'd misread the compass or followed a slope that gradually changed direction. It was possible to walk in circles without realizing it, particularly in unfamiliar woodland, and Ryan was willing to entertain that possibility.

But when he looked down at the needle, it was still pointing southwest.

He checked the map again.

The blue location indicator had stopped moving.

Ryan tapped the screen, waited for it to update, and took several steps toward the bridge. The needle didn't change, yet the road lay ahead of him, exactly where it shouldn't have been.

A cold sensation spread through his chest.

He approached the gravel track, moving more quickly now, and stopped at the edge of the trees.

Then he saw the scarf.

It hung from a low branch perhaps fifty yards away, its bright orange fabric stirring gently in the breeze.

Ryan stared at it.

He'd tied it there less than half an hour earlier. He'd walked southwest from that point, maintaining the same general direction the entire time, and somehow he'd returned to exactly where he'd started.

He crossed the road and examined the knot. It was still exactly as he'd tied it, and when he compared the branch with the photograph on his phone, every detail matched.

For a moment, Ryan was tempted to try again. He could choose a different route, perhaps cross the stream farther downstream or follow the road in the opposite direction to see whether the same thing happened.

Then he remembered that the police had already failed to reach the cabin despite following the correct route.

He looked toward the forest.

The trees stood close together beyond the road, their trunks rising straight and dark beneath the thinning canopy. Long shadows stretched across the ground, and the sunlight had begun taking on the amber quality that came shortly before dusk.

Something moved between the trees.

Ryan froze.

At first, he thought it was a deer. The shape was partly obscured by the trunks, and the uneven light made it difficult to judge distances. But as he watched, he became aware that whatever stood there was taller and narrower than a deer, with a shape that suggested shoulders and a head.

Someone was standing among the trees, perhaps fifty yards away.

Ryan squinted.

"Hello?"

The figure didn't move.

He couldn't make out any details, not even the color of its clothing. It stood in a patch of shadow between two pines, so still that Ryan might have mistaken it for part of the forest if he hadn't seen it move.

"Is somebody there? I'm staying at the cabin up the road. I've been having some trouble getting out, and I was wondering if you could help me."

He felt faintly ridiculous speaking to a shape he couldn't see clearly, but a stranger in the woods was still a more ordinary explanation than anything else he'd encountered that day. Perhaps the figure belonged to a local resident who knew the surrounding trails, or someone from the road crew returning to inspect the cleared section.

But whoever stood between the trees didn't answer.

A faint breeze passed through the woodland, stirring the remaining leaves overhead. For a moment, the sunlight shifted, and the dark space between the pines became briefly illuminated.

The figure was gone.

Ryan's mouth went dry.

He stared at the empty space, trying to determine whether the person had stepped behind one of the trunks. There were plenty of places to hide, and the forest was dense enough that someone could easily disappear from view with only a few steps.

But he hadn't heard anything. No footsteps, no rustling leaves, nothing to suggest that a person had moved away from the spot.

He stood there for several more seconds, feeling increasingly exposed on the empty road. He suddenly became aware of how far he was from the cabin, how little he knew about the surrounding forest, and how much time he'd already wasted trying to find a route that apparently refused to lead anywhere.

He had no desire to continue exploring.

Ryan took out his phone and called the sheriff's office again.

This time, he was considerably less concerned with sounding reasonable. He explained that he'd attempted to walk toward the highway, followed his compass, and somehow returned to the same location. He told the dispatcher about the repeated landmarks, the scarf he'd tied beside the road, and the figure he'd seen standing among the trees.

The dispatcher asked whether he felt in immediate danger.

Ryan looked toward the woodland.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't want to stay out here."

She advised him to return to the cabin if he could do so safely and to remain indoors afterward. The sheriff's office was reviewing the earlier reports and arranging another coordinated attempt to reach the property, but they didn't want him becoming disoriented in the woods or getting injured where nobody could locate him.

Ryan agreed.

He ended the call, tightened the straps of his backpack, and started walking back toward Blackthorn Cabin.

He moved quickly but resisted the urge to run. The gravel shifted beneath his boots, and fallen leaves scraped against the road as the wind moved through the trees. Every few minutes, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see someone following him, but the road remained empty.

Once, as he passed the damaged sign, he heard something moving through the undergrowth beyond the ditch.

It wasn't the quick, irregular rustling of a small animal. The sound was slower, accompanied by the faint crunch of leaves beneath what seemed to be deliberate footsteps. Ryan stopped, and the noise stopped with him.

He looked toward the trees, searching the narrow spaces between the trunks. Nothing moved, but he had the distinctly unpleasant sensation that whatever had been making the noise was still there, hidden just beyond his sight.

He started walking again.

A few seconds later, the rustling resumed.

Ryan felt the hairs rise along his arms. He didn't call out this time, and he didn't stop to investigate. He kept his eyes on the road ahead and quickened his pace, listening to the sound fade gradually behind him.

By the time Blackthorn Cabin came into view, the sun was already sinking toward the treetops. The clearing lay partly in shadow, and the windows reflected the pale evening sky.

Caleb was standing on the porch.

He hurried down the steps when he saw Ryan, his expression shifting from anxious concentration to unmistakable relief.

"Ryan! Thank God. I was starting to worry. Are you okay?"

Ryan stopped beside the car, breathing harder than he wanted to admit.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Caleb looked him over, apparently checking for injuries.

"What happened? Did you find the highway?"

Ryan shook his head.

"I followed the road, then tried cutting through the woods. Ended up back at the bridge, right where I started. I marked the place before I left, so I know it was the same spot."

Caleb closed his eyes briefly.

Ryan noticed.

"You knew that would happen."

Caleb opened his eyes and looked at him.

"I was afraid it might."

"How?"

Caleb glanced toward the forest.

For a moment, he seemed unable to answer, and Ryan felt his remaining patience begin to fray.

"Caleb, please. I've spent the entire day trying to get out of here. The police can't reach us, the road keeps bringing me back, and now I'm apparently walking in circles even when I follow a compass. You keep acting like you know something about all this, but you won't tell me what it is."

Caleb looked miserable.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Ryan let out a long breath. He wanted to be angry, but Caleb looked so genuinely frightened that the emotion kept getting tangled with concern.

"Look, I don't know what you're keeping from me. But something is seriously wrong here, and I need you to understand that I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I need help, Caleb. Not apologies. Not vague warnings. Actual answers."

Caleb's expression softened.

For a moment, he looked almost painfully sad.

"I want to help you," he said quietly. "More than anything."

Ryan held his gaze.

"Then start telling me the truth."

Caleb lowered his eyes.

"I will."

"When?"

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the trees behind Ryan. The remaining sunlight was fading quickly, leaving the forest dark beneath the canopy.

"Please," he said. "Can we go inside first? It's getting late."

Ryan wanted to argue. He wanted to demand an explanation before taking another step. But his legs ached, his throat was dry, and the thought of remaining outside even a minute longer had become deeply unpleasant.

He nodded.

"Fine. But we're talking about this tonight."

Caleb looked relieved.

"Okay."

They walked toward the porch together.

Ryan noticed that Caleb kept glancing toward the trees, his shoulders tense beneath the navy sweatshirt. Whatever was frightening him, it seemed to have very little to do with the possibility of another rainstorm.

As they reached the front door, Ryan looked back toward the road.

The gravel track disappeared between the maples, curving gently out of sight. He had driven down it repeatedly that day and walked along it twice, yet despite his best efforts, he'd never managed to reach the highway.

The realization left him with an unpleasant hollow feeling in his chest.

He followed Caleb inside.

As the door closed behind them, the familiar warmth of the cabin surrounded him, carrying the smell of burning wood and the soup Caleb had apparently been preparing.

For the first time in his life, Ryan found himself grateful to be inside a house he desperately wanted to leave.

By six thirty, Ryan had spoken to Mara twice.

The first conversation had been brief and increasingly concerned. She'd watched the driving video, and although she'd initially assumed Ryan had accidentally followed a circular route, she'd changed her mind after he explained the lack of intersections and the repeated landmarks.

Now, after hearing about the sheriff's unsuccessful attempt to reach him and his equally unsuccessful journey through the woods, she sounded genuinely frightened.

"Ryan, I don't care what the explanation is. You need to get out of there."

"I'm trying, Mara. Believe me, if I could just walk down the road and find a motel, I'd already be halfway there."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just don't like the idea of you being stuck in that house with nobody able to reach you. Have the police said anything else?"

"They're still trying to work out what's happening. They've got the address, my GPS coordinates, and the video. Evelyn's been helping too."

"Okay. Good. At least they're taking you seriously."

Ryan sat at the dining table with his laptop open, studying a satellite map of the surrounding area. The screen showed the cabin as a tiny roof among an almost continuous expanse of trees, with a single gravel road winding southwest toward the highway.

"They found some old reports too," Ryan said. "Apparently other people have complained about getting lost on the access road. Not just this year. There were incidents going back several years, maybe longer."

Mara was quiet for a moment.

"And nobody thought to tell you that before you booked the place?"

"To be fair, nobody knew the road was doing anything impossible. Evelyn said she had a guest complain about getting turned around in 2024, but the woman eventually got out. When Evelyn checked the road afterward, everything was normal."

"Well, that's convenient."

Ryan almost smiled.

"Yeah. I thought so too."

"Still, Ryan, there are records. Somebody must've known the place had a problem."

"They knew people sometimes got lost. That's a little different from knowing the road apparently bends reality."

Mara sighed.

"Okay. Fair. I just hate that you're the one stuck there trying to prove it."

Ryan rubbed his forehead.

"Believe me, I'd be very happy to let somebody else take over."

He glanced toward the kitchen wall, where the antique telephone hung beside the counter.

"There's something else," he added. "Evelyn told me she'd had complaints about noises in the cabin over the years. Footsteps, knocking, even the old phone ringing in the middle of the night. She had people check the place, but nobody ever found anything wrong."

"Wait. The owner knew guests were hearing weird things, and she's advertising the house as haunted?"

"She says they were minor complaints, and some guests thought it was part of the fun. I guess it didn't seem serious when nothing else happened."

Mara didn't answer immediately.

Then she said, "Ryan, I'm trying really hard to be reasonable here, but that's a lot of coincidences. People get lost on the road. Other people hear footsteps and phones ringing. And now you can't leave while somebody's apparently moving around your house."

"I know."

"Do you think somebody's doing this deliberately?"

Ryan considered that.

"I honestly don't know. Part of me keeps looking for a prank or some technical explanation, but I can't see how anybody could've made that road do what it did."

Mara sighed.

"Just don't go exploring the basement to find out."

Ryan looked toward the dark hallway.

"Believe me, I have absolutely no intention of doing that."

They spoke for another few minutes before the conversation turned to Caleb.

Mara lowered her voice slightly.

"What about the guy?"

Ryan glanced toward the living room.

Caleb was kneeling beside the fireplace, arranging another log among the glowing embers. The sight was so ordinary that Ryan almost felt embarrassed by the conversation he'd been having.

"What about him?"

"Is he still there?"

"Yeah."

"Do you trust him?"

Ryan hesitated.

He hadn't expected that question to be so difficult.

"I don't know," he admitted. "He's been really nice, and I don't think he's trying to hurt me. But he definitely knows something about the cabin. When I told him about the road, he wasn't surprised. He was scared."

"That's weird, Ryan. Really weird."

"I know."

"Look, I'm not trying to make you paranoid, but you met him two days ago. You don't know anything about him beyond what he's told you, and honestly, the story about getting lost hiking is starting to sound a little convenient."

Ryan rubbed his forehead.

"I've thought about that."

"Just be careful, okay? Keep your phone with you, and don't worry about being polite if he starts doing anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Ryan gave a tired smile.

"Believe me, I'm well past worrying about being polite."

"Good. And call me before you go to bed. I don't care how late it is. I want to know you're okay."

Ryan promised he would, and they spoke for another few minutes before ending the call.

He remained at the table afterward, staring at the map.

The highway was clearly visible on the screen, an ordinary strip of gray cutting through the green expanse of Vermont woodland. There were houses along it, stores, gas stations, and people presumably going about their Wednesday evening without the slightest idea that a man less than four miles away couldn't reach them.

Ryan closed the laptop.

The sky outside had grown completely dark.

His reflection stared back at him from the kitchen window, pale and slightly distorted by the glass. Behind it, the forest had become a continuous wall of black, broken only by the nearest tree trunks illuminated by the porch light.

For a moment, he thought he saw something standing beyond those trees.

A narrow, motionless shape, darker than the shadows around it.

Ryan leaned forward.

The shape seemed to shift.

He turned toward the window, trying to look past his own reflection.

There was nothing there. Only the trees, the darkness, and a few leaves moving in the wind.

Ryan stared for several seconds before reaching for the curtains.

He was beginning to hate those windows.

Caleb had made soup.

Ryan wasn't particularly hungry, but the smell of vegetables and warm bread eventually persuaded him to sit down at the table. They ate quietly at first, the easy conversation of the previous day replaced by an awkwardness neither seemed entirely certain how to resolve.

Ryan didn't blame Caleb for the impossible road. Not exactly. But he knew the young man was hiding something important, and he was growing increasingly frustrated by the way Caleb seemed to approach every question before retreating from it.

Eventually, he put down his spoon.

"How many people?"

Caleb looked up.

"What?"

"You said other people have had trouble leaving the cabin. How many?"

Caleb hesitated.

"I don't know exactly."

"More than one?"

"Yeah. A few."

Ryan leaned back in his chair.

"And what happened to them? Did they all just drive around until the road decided to let them go?"

Caleb looked down at his bowl. For several seconds, he seemed to be considering how much he should say.

"Most of them eventually got out. Sometimes the road just went back to normal, and they could leave. Other times they had to wait until morning, but it usually didn't last very long."

Ryan studied him.

"Usually?"

Caleb nodded.

"Yeah."

Ryan thought about Evelyn's account of the 2024 complaint and the older incident reports the dispatcher had mentioned. The dates, the repeated bridge, and the fact that people had eventually managed to leave all seemed to fit Caleb's explanation.

But one part continued to bother him.

"How do you know all this? Evelyn told me about a couple of guests who got lost, but you were talking about the road before I even mentioned those complaints."

Caleb stared into his bowl.

"I've heard stories. From people who've been here."

Ryan felt a familiar surge of irritation.

"Caleb, that doesn't make sense. You told me you were a hiker who got lost in the woods, and now you're telling me you know about people who've stayed at this cabin before. Did you know something about this place before you knocked on my door?"

Caleb looked up sharply.

For a moment, Ryan thought he'd finally surprised him into telling the truth. Instead, Caleb lowered his eyes.

"Yes."

Ryan went still.

He hadn't expected the admission to come so readily.

"Then why didn't you say so? You acted like you'd never seen the place before."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Ryan closed his eyes briefly.

"Caleb, please stop apologizing and just explain. How do you know this place?"

Caleb's fingers tightened around his spoon.

"I've been here before."

Ryan stared at him.

"Here? At this cabin?"

Caleb nodded.

"More than once."

Ryan felt a cold sensation settle beneath his ribs.

"And you didn't think that was worth telling me?"

Caleb looked genuinely miserable.

"I didn't know it would happen to you. Not like this."

Ryan leaned forward.

"What exactly does that mean?"

Caleb glanced toward the window.

For a moment, his expression became distant.

Then he spoke so quietly that Ryan almost missed it.

"I've never known the road to keep doing this during the day."

Ryan stared at him.

He'd spent most of the afternoon trying to find a rational explanation for what was happening. Now Caleb was telling him that previous visitors had experienced something similar, that they'd sometimes become trapped for hours, and that whatever was responsible appeared to be behaving differently this time.

"Then when does it normally happen?"

Caleb hesitated.

"Mostly at night. Sometimes around Halloween. People have trouble finding their way, or they end up back here when they think they're going somewhere else. But usually it stops after a while. Sometimes they get out that same night, sometimes the next morning."

"And it's never happened all day?"

"Not that I've seen."

Ryan studied him.

There was something deeply unsettling about the distinction.

The earlier complaints hadn't necessarily been imaginary. They'd simply been temporary. By the time guests reported the problem or authorities attempted to investigate, the road was behaving normally again.

But today, the disturbance had continued through the morning and afternoon, long enough for both the road crew and a deputy to experience it themselves.

Whatever was happening, it seemed to have become stronger.

Ryan looked toward Caleb.

"How long have you known about this cabin?"

Caleb's expression changed.

He looked almost startled by the question.

Then he lowered his eyes again.

"Long enough."

Ryan let out a humorless laugh.

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

"Then give me one."

Caleb's jaw tightened. He seemed to be struggling with something, his gaze moving from Ryan to the darkened window and back again.

For a moment, Ryan thought he might finally speak.

Instead, Caleb pushed his bowl away.

"I'm sorry."

Ryan stood so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor.

He carried his bowl into the kitchen, needing a moment away from the table and Caleb's increasingly miserable expression. He didn't want to shout at him, but the combination of fear, frustration, and exhaustion was beginning to make that difficult.

He rinsed the bowl, placed it in the sink, and gripped the counter.

Behind him, Caleb spoke.

"Ryan?"

Ryan didn't turn.

"What?"

"I didn't want this to happen. I know that probably doesn't mean much right now, but I really didn't."

Ryan looked over his shoulder.

Caleb stood beside the dining table, his face pale and drawn. There was something almost painfully earnest about his expression, as though he was trying to communicate something he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.

Ryan felt his anger falter.

"Then tell me what's going on. Whatever it is, Caleb, I think we've passed the point where keeping it to yourself is helping anybody."

Caleb opened his mouth.

For one hopeful second, Ryan thought he was finally going to explain.

Then something struck the floor overhead.

Both men froze.

Ryan looked toward the ceiling, listening as another heavy impact sounded farther along the upstairs hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath what seemed to be a considerable weight, followed by the slow scrape of something being dragged across the bedroom floor.

He stared at the staircase.

"Did you hear that?"

Caleb didn't answer.

Another thump came from above, louder than the others. Something moved across the upper hallway, and the vibration was strong enough to make one of the kitchen light fixtures tremble slightly.

Ryan felt his pulse quicken.

"There's somebody upstairs."

Caleb shook his head.

"No."

Ryan turned toward him.

"What do you mean, no? You heard that. Somebody's moving around up there."

Caleb stepped closer.

"Ryan, stay here. Please."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you going upstairs until we know what's happening."

Ryan stared at him for a moment. He was irritated by the evasiveness, but the advice itself was sensible. Whatever was making those noises, he wasn't about to march upstairs and confront it alone.

He reached for his phone.

"I'm calling the sheriff."

Caleb nodded without objection.

Ryan made the call, explained that he and Caleb were downstairs, and reported hearing what sounded like someone moving around on the upper floor. The dispatcher advised them to remain in a secure part of the house, avoid investigating, and keep his phone available while officers continued attempting to reach the property.

She also confirmed that the earlier road complaints were being reviewed alongside the emails Evelyn had supplied about the telephone and unexplained noises. Nothing in those records established that an intruder had entered the cabin, but the sheriff's office was treating Ryan's reports seriously, particularly now that deputies had independently experienced the access problem.

After ending the call, Ryan looked toward Caleb.

"Okay. We're staying down here. If somebody's gotten into the house, I'm not going to make things worse by chasing them around."

Caleb nodded.

They remained in the kitchen, listening as the noises continued overhead. The footsteps moved slowly along the upper hallway, pausing occasionally before resuming with a deliberate heaviness that made the floorboards complain. Ryan found himself watching the ceiling, half expecting something to come crashing through it.

Then the footsteps stopped.

For several seconds, the house was silent. A faint wind moved against the windows, and the fire crackled softly in the living room.

Ryan began to relax.

Three knocks sounded from somewhere directly overhead.

Not from the front door or the basement, but from the ceiling above the dining table. They were slow, deliberate, and evenly spaced, with a pause between each impact that reminded Ryan so strongly of the knocks he'd heard at the front door on his first night that he felt a cold sensation spread through his chest.

He looked at Caleb.

The young man's face had gone white.

Another three knocks sounded, louder this time.

Ryan stepped away from the table, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. There was no possibility that he'd mistaken the sound for plumbing. Whatever was making those knocks seemed to be striking the floorboards directly above them.

For a moment, Ryan had the strange impression that the sound wasn't intended to frighten him.

It was intended to get his attention.

Then everything stopped.

The sudden silence was almost worse than the noise. Ryan waited, barely breathing, but nothing else came from upstairs. The ordinary sounds of the cabin gradually returned: the low hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking of the clock above the fireplace, and the quiet crackle of burning wood.

He checked his phone.

7:42 p.m.

He had no idea how he was supposed to make it through another night in this place.

By nine, Ryan had decided that being frightened was considerably more exhausting than he'd expected.

The initial surge of adrenaline had faded, leaving him with a dull headache and an unpleasant tightness across his shoulders. He'd spent much of the evening checking his phone for updates from the sheriff's office, occasionally pacing between the kitchen and living room whenever he grew too restless to sit still.

Caleb stayed nearby.

He didn't try to convince Ryan that everything was normal or insist that the noises had some harmless explanation. He seemed to understand that those approaches would accomplish nothing now. Instead, he made tea, brought Ryan another blanket, and sat beside him on the couch while they waited for news.

The television was on, but neither paid much attention to it.

Ryan found himself listening to the house even while the characters on the screen carried on with their lives. Every small creak made him glance toward the staircase, and whenever the wind stirred the branches outside, he imagined footsteps moving through the leaves.

After a while, he realized Caleb had been watching him.

He turned.

"What?"

Caleb shook his head.

"Nothing. Just wondering if you were okay."

Ryan let out a tired breath.

"You're doing that a lot."

"Doing what?"

"Saying nothing when it's obviously something."

Caleb looked down at his hands.

Ryan considered apologizing, but he was too tired to pretend he wasn't upset.

"Look, I know I've been snapping at you all day. I'm sorry about that. But I'm scared, Caleb. I've never experienced anything like this, and every time I think I've figured out one thing, something else happens that makes even less sense."

Caleb listened quietly.

Ryan rubbed his forehead.

"And I don't know whether I should trust you. That's the part that's really bothering me. You've been good to me, and I've enjoyed spending time with you, but you keep avoiding questions. Sometimes you act like you're expecting something terrible to happen, and I don't know what to make of that."

For a moment, Caleb didn't answer.

Then he said softly, "You shouldn't have to trust me."

Ryan frowned.

"What?"

"You barely know me. And you're right. I haven't told you everything. I know how that looks, and I can't really blame you for being suspicious."

Ryan studied him. He hadn't expected Caleb to admit that quite so readily, and the honesty caught him off guard.

"Then why don't you tell me?"

Caleb stared toward the fire. The orange light moved across his face, softening the shadows beneath his eyes and illuminating the faint scratches on his injured hand.

"I wish I knew how," he said after a long silence.

Ryan wanted to press him, but something in Caleb's voice made him stop. The words hadn't sounded evasive this time. They'd sounded helpless, almost as though Caleb was genuinely struggling with something he didn't know how to explain.

He leaned back against the couch.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm already stuck here. I don't think knowing the truth is going to make things much worse."

Caleb looked at him.

For a moment, he seemed on the verge of speaking.

Then his expression tightened.

"Ryan, I really am sorry. I know that probably doesn't mean anything right now, but I didn't want you to get hurt. I swear."

Ryan studied him.

There was no humor in his voice, none of the teasing confidence that usually made their conversations so easy. Caleb looked frightened, ashamed, and so deeply unhappy that Ryan felt his remaining anger loosen despite himself.

He believed Caleb was afraid.

He believed that he felt guilty.

What he couldn't understand was why.

After a while, Ryan nodded.

"Okay. I'm not saying everything's fine, because it isn't. And we're still going to talk about this. But I don't think you're trying to hurt me."

Caleb looked almost surprised.

"Thank you."

Ryan sighed.

"Just promise me you'll stop acting like I'm going to fall apart if you tell me something unpleasant. Whatever's happening here, I'd rather understand it than spend another day wondering what you're hiding."

Caleb gave a faint, sad smile.

"I'll try."

Ryan accepted that for the moment. It wasn't much, but after the day they'd had, he wasn't sure either of them was capable of anything more.

They sat quietly for a while, the television playing softly in the background while the fire gradually settled into a bed of glowing embers. Ryan found himself watching the flames rather than the screen, tracing their movement across the dark wood and trying to imagine what he would tell people when he finally got home.

He supposed nobody would believe him.

Mara might, particularly after seeing the recording, but even she seemed to be struggling with the implications of what he'd described. Owen would probably suggest that he was overtired, although Ryan could imagine him trying to disguise his skepticism out of politeness.

The thought of Owen brought an unexpected pang of sadness.

Ryan had spent nearly four years sharing his life with someone, and now, when something genuinely frightening was happening, he wasn't even sure whether he wanted to call him.

Caleb shifted beside him.

"You should get some sleep," he said quietly.

Ryan gave a humorless laugh.

"Where? Upstairs with whoever's apparently doing renovations in the middle of the night?"

Caleb smiled faintly.

"You can stay down here. The couch is pretty comfortable, and there's another blanket in the cupboard if you need it."

"That's probably what I'm going to do. I'm not particularly interested in going upstairs again until somebody can explain those noises."

"I'll stay with you, if you want."

Ryan looked at him.

"You don't have to. You can use the other couch, or go upstairs if you'd rather sleep in a proper bed."

Caleb shook his head.

"I don't mind staying. Besides, I don't think I'd sleep much anyway."

Something about the simple offer warmed Ryan more than he'd expected. For all his suspicions, he couldn't deny that having Caleb nearby made the cabin feel considerably less frightening.

"Thanks," he said.

Caleb nodded and settled back against the cushions.

They remained there for another twenty minutes, neither speaking much. Ryan found himself leaning slightly toward Caleb as his exhaustion caught up with him. At some point, their shoulders touched, and when he shifted to get comfortable, his head came to rest against Caleb's shoulder.

Ryan was aware of the contact for a few seconds.

He considered sitting up.

Then he decided he didn't particularly care.

Caleb remained still beside him, his warmth reassuring against Ryan's side. The young man smelled faintly of soap and woodsmoke, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing made the silence feel less oppressive.

For the first time since morning, Ryan felt himself relaxing.

He closed his eyes.

And for a little while, the cabin was quiet.

Ryan woke with a start.

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but the television was off and the living room had grown dim. Only the lamp beside the couch remained on, casting a warm pool of light across the rug. The fire had burned low, leaving a few glowing coals beneath the blackened logs.

Caleb sat beside him, looking toward the fireplace.

Ryan straightened, suddenly embarrassed to realize he'd fallen asleep against him.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to use you as a pillow."

Caleb glanced over and smiled.

"Wasn't exactly a hardship. You barely weigh anything."

Ryan laughed softly.

"That's very generous of you."

"You're welcome."

Ryan checked the clock above the fireplace.

11:26 p.m.

He'd been asleep for nearly an hour.

"Anything happen while I was out?"

Caleb shook his head.

"No. It's been quiet. I checked the doors, and everything's locked. Haven't heard anything upstairs either."

Ryan glanced toward the staircase.

The upper hallway was dark, and nothing moved beyond the railing. He felt a cautious sense of relief, although he was no longer willing to assume that silence meant everything was normal.

"Maybe whatever it was has finally gone."

Caleb didn't answer immediately.

Ryan looked toward him.

"Sorry. I know you don't want to talk about it."

"It's not that," Caleb said. "I just don't think we should assume anything yet. Let's wait until morning and see whether the police can get somebody here."

Ryan considered that.

"Fair enough. I'm getting pretty tired of making assumptions anyway."

He stood and stretched, feeling the stiffness in his back after sleeping awkwardly on the couch. His neck ached, and one of his feet had gone slightly numb from being tucked beneath him for too long.

"I'm going to make some more tea. You want some?"

"Sure. I'll go wash up while you do that."

Ryan nodded and headed into the kitchen as Caleb started toward the stairs.

The overhead light flickered once when he switched it on, then steadied. Ryan looked up at the fixture, waited a moment, and decided not to add unreliable electrical wiring to his growing list of concerns.

He filled the kettle and placed it on the stove.

Above him, he heard Caleb walking along the hallway, followed by the bathroom door opening and closing. A moment later, water began running through the pipes.

Ryan took two mugs from the cupboard and set them beside the kettle. He found the tea bags in the welcome basket, which was still sitting on the counter, and was reaching for the sugar when the kitchen light flickered again.

This time, it went out.

The refrigerator stopped humming, the microwave's digital display disappeared, and from the living room came a faint electronic click as the television lost power. The familiar background sounds of the cabin vanished almost simultaneously, leaving Ryan standing in a darkness so complete that he could barely make out the pale outline of the counter.

He waited a few seconds, hoping the electricity would return.

It didn't.

"Of course," he muttered.

Ryan took out his phone and switched on the flashlight. The beam illuminated the pale kitchen cabinets, the kettle, and the two mugs waiting on the counter. Beyond the doorway, the living room was mostly dark, with only the faint orange glow of the dying fire providing any light.

He checked the time.

11:38 p.m.

He considered calling Evelyn, but it was late, and she couldn't do much immediately. The storm might have damaged a power line, or perhaps the cabin's electrical system had simply tripped a breaker. He could ask Caleb whether he'd noticed the location of the electrical panel once he came back downstairs. If they couldn't restore the power, Ryan would contact Evelyn and let her know.

He was turning toward the living room when he heard something.

A voice.

It was faint and muffled, almost lost beneath the quiet creaking of the house. For a moment, Ryan thought he'd imagined it, but then he heard his name spoken again, softly and with a familiarity that made him stop moving.

"Ryan?"

He went still.

It was Caleb's voice.

Ryan looked toward the staircase, where he could still hear water running upstairs.

"Caleb?"

There was no answer from above. Instead, the voice came again, quieter this time, as though it was speaking through something thick and solid.

"Ryan, please."

Ryan felt the hairs rise along his arms.

The sound was coming from the narrow hallway beneath the staircase.

From behind the basement door.

He stared into the darkness, his phone held in front of him. The flashlight beam illuminated the old wooden frame, catching the iron handle and the heavy sliding bolt that secured the door from the outside. A narrow strip of dark iron ran across the threshold beneath it, apparently part of the same old-fashioned reinforcement that lined the frame.

For several seconds, Ryan couldn't move.

Then he heard the voice again.

"Ryan, can you hear me?"

It sounded unmistakably like Caleb. The same familiar tone, the same slight rasp at the end of certain words, and the same voice that had been talking and laughing beside him only minutes earlier.

But there was something wrong with it.

The voice sounded strained, frightened, and almost painfully desperate.

Ryan swallowed.

"Who's there?"

"It's me."

Ryan stared at the door.

"Who?"

"Caleb."

A pause followed.

Then the voice continued, more urgently.

"Ryan, listen to me. I don't know how much time I've got, and you have to believe what I'm about to tell you. That thing upstairs isn't me."

Ryan felt his stomach drop.

For a moment, he couldn't make sense of the words.

He looked toward the staircase again.

He'd watched Caleb go upstairs. He'd heard him enter the bathroom, and he'd heard the water running. There was no possible way he could have reached the basement without passing through the kitchen, much less without unfastening the heavy iron bolt from the outside.

Ryan tightened his grip on the phone.

"What are you talking about?"

The voice behind the door became more urgent.

"Please, Ryan. I've been down here the whole time. The person you've been talking to isn't Caleb. I don't know what it is, but it's been pretending to be me."

Ryan stared at the wood.

His mind raced through possible explanations, none of them convincing.

Perhaps someone was playing a recording, or there was a speaker hidden behind the door. Perhaps Caleb was involved in some elaborate prank, although Ryan couldn't imagine why anyone would go to such lengths, particularly after everything that had happened that day.

Or perhaps there was genuinely someone trapped downstairs.

Someone who sounded exactly like Caleb.

He took a step closer, keeping his eyes on the heavy iron bolt.

"How did you get down there?"

"I don't know. I woke up here. I can't remember how I got in, but I heard you talking upstairs, and I knew it wasn't me. Please, Ryan, you have to help me."

Ryan glanced toward the staircase again.

The water had stopped running.

Above him, a floorboard creaked.

He turned back toward the basement.

"Stay where you are. I'm going to call the police. If somebody's locked you down there, they can help."

"No!"

The sudden sharpness of the voice made Ryan flinch.

"There's no time. He's coming back. Ryan, please, you have to open the door before he finds out I'm talking to you."

Ryan looked at the heavy iron bolt securing the basement door, then glanced toward the staircase, trying to decide what to do. He could easily slide it back and open the door, but he wasn't about to enter an unfamiliar basement simply because a frightened voice told him to. The owner had warned him that the stairs were unsafe, and after everything that had happened that afternoon, he had no reason to believe the situation was as straightforward as it seemed.

But he also couldn't dismiss the possibility that someone was genuinely trapped down there.

"Tell me something," Ryan said.

The voice fell silent.

"If you're Caleb, tell me something only you would know."

A pause followed.

Then the voice answered.

"You made me grilled cheese when I came here. You gave me your clothes because mine were soaking wet. Yesterday you showed me that poster you were working on, and I said the bird looked like a potato with wings."

Ryan's mouth went dry.

That was exactly what Caleb had said. He remembered the ridiculous conversation at the dining table, the joke that had made him laugh, and how unexpectedly comfortable he'd felt showing a near stranger something he wasn't even particularly happy with himself.

Only the two of them had been there.

Ryan stared at the door.

The voice continued, growing steadier.

"We played poker, and you kept accusing me of cheating. You told me about Owen. You said you weren't sure whether you missed him or just missed having somebody around."

Ryan felt his heart pounding.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I'm Caleb."

The voice broke slightly.

"Ryan, please. I'm scared. I don't know what that thing upstairs wants, but it's been pretending to be me, and I think it's going to hurt you."

Ryan stood motionless.

For the first time, he seriously considered the possibility that somebody had been watching them. The footprints outside the basement window, the noises beneath the floorboards, and the strange movements overhead suddenly seemed connected in a way he hadn't understood before.

If someone had been hiding somewhere inside the house, perhaps they'd overheard conversations or seen things through the windows.

But knowing about the poster, the poker game, and Owen would have required remarkable access to their private conversations.

Ryan couldn't explain it.

And that uncertainty frightened him more than anything.

He stepped closer to the basement door, raising the flashlight.

"I'm going to get help. Stay where you are, and don't touch anything until we know what's happening."

The voice became frantic.

"Ryan, please! You can't leave me here. He's coming back, and I don't know what he'll do when he finds me."

Ryan felt a surge of sympathy despite his fear. Whoever was speaking sounded genuinely terrified, and for a moment he pictured Caleb trapped in the darkness below, unable to escape while something dangerous moved around the house.

He forced himself to remain calm.

"Listen to me. I don't know who you are or how you got down there, but I'm not opening the door until I understand what's happening. I'm going to call someone who can help, and then we'll figure this out."

Something struck the other side of the door.

Ryan jumped backward.

The heavy wood shuddered in its frame, and the iron fittings rattled violently against the surrounding timber. A second impact followed almost immediately, louder than the first, making the floor beneath Ryan's feet vibrate.

Then came a slow, dragging sound.

Something scraped across the inner surface of the door, moving from near the top toward the floor with a rough, grinding noise that made Ryan's skin crawl.

The voice cried out.

"Ryan!"

Ryan stumbled another step backward, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The sound continued. Something heavy seemed to be moving on the other side, pressing against the door before slowly withdrawing. Ryan could hear a faint rustling beneath the scraping, almost like fabric dragging across rough stone.

Then everything stopped.

For several seconds, the hallway was perfectly silent.

The voice returned, barely more than a whisper.

"Please. Don't let him hurt me."

Ryan swallowed.

He could hear his own breathing, harsh and uneven in the narrow hallway. The phone trembled slightly in his hand, throwing the flashlight beam across the iron handle and the dark wooden panels.

He was reaching for the emergency-call button when footsteps sounded behind him.

Not from the basement.

From the staircase.

"Ryan?"

He turned sharply.

Caleb stood at the foot of the stairs.

He was wearing Ryan's navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, his hair damp from washing up. The flashlight beam caught his face, illuminating an expression of confusion that rapidly changed as he took in the scene.

Ryan stood only a few feet from the basement door, his phone raised, with the heavy iron bolt within easy reach.

Caleb's face went white.

"Ryan," he said slowly, "what are you doing?"

Ryan stared at him.

For a moment, he couldn't speak.

Then the voice behind the basement door screamed.

"RYAN! THAT'S NOT ME!"

Caleb flinched.

Ryan looked between him and the door, his mind struggling to reconcile what he was hearing with what stood directly in front of him. The voice continued shouting, frantic and increasingly desperate, insisting that the young man on the staircase was an impostor and that Ryan needed to open the door before it was too late.

Caleb took a cautious step forward.

"Ryan, listen to me. I need you to move away from that door. Whatever you're hearing, don't answer it."

Ryan shook his head.

"What the hell is going on? There's somebody down there who sounds exactly like you. He knows things we've talked about, things nobody else should know."

"I know."

Ryan stared at him.

"You know?"

Caleb stopped.

For a moment, neither moved.

The voice behind the door fell silent. Ryan could hear the faint creaking of the staircase as Caleb shifted his weight, and somewhere in the living room, the old clock continued ticking steadily toward midnight.

"Caleb, tell me what's happening. Right now. I'm done with the vague explanations, and I'm done pretending any of this makes sense."

Caleb's expression tightened.

"Ryan, I promise I'll explain everything. But first, I need you to step away from that door. Please. We can talk about whatever you want once we're in the living room."

Ryan let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Trust you? Caleb, there's somebody downstairs who sounds exactly like you, and you're standing here telling me to ignore him. How am I supposed to know which one of you is telling the truth?"

Caleb looked pained.

"I know how this looks. And I know I've given you plenty of reasons to doubt me. But whatever's speaking to you from down there, it isn't me."

From behind the door came a soft, breathless sound.

At first, Ryan thought someone was crying.

Then he realized it was laughter.

It began quietly, almost hesitantly, before growing louder. The sound was horribly familiar, carrying the same warmth and easy amusement Ryan had heard from Caleb throughout the previous two days.

Except there was something wrong with it.

The laughter went on too long, rising and falling in strange, uneven bursts, as though whoever was making it had learned what laughter sounded like without understanding when it was supposed to stop.

Ryan stared at the door.

Caleb closed his eyes briefly.

When the laughter finally ended, the silence felt almost oppressive.

Then the voice returned.

This time, it was gentle.

Almost affectionate.

"Ryan, don't believe him. You know me. You know I'm the one who's been here with you."

Ryan's stomach twisted.

He remembered Caleb sitting beside him at the dining table, laughing at his terrible poker skills. He remembered the way he'd smiled over breakfast and the warmth of his shoulder beneath Ryan's cheek while they sat together on the couch.

All those ordinary moments suddenly felt uncertain, their comforting familiarity poisoned by the possibility that something had been pretending to be someone else all along.

He turned toward the young man standing in front of him.

Caleb looked terrified.

Not confused.

Not angry.

Terrified.

"Ryan," he said quietly, "please come over here. I know you're scared, and I know you don't trust me right now. But whatever's behind that door can't get to you as long as you stay away from it."

Ryan swallowed.

"How do you know that?"

Caleb hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Ryan saw the truth of something he'd suspected all day.

Caleb knew exactly what was happening.

He might not understand every detail, and he might be frightened by it, but the sounds from the basement were not unfamiliar to him. Neither was the impossible road, the footsteps upstairs, or the three knocks.

Ryan stared at him, feeling a cold realization settle over him.

"You knew," he whispered.

Caleb's expression changed.

"Ryan—"

"You knew there was something wrong with this place. That's why you didn't want me to leave. That's why you kept looking at the basement door. You knew something like this could happen."

Caleb lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Ryan shook his head.

"Stop saying that."

Behind the door, something shifted.

The sound was faint at first, a soft scraping against the wood, followed by what seemed to be a slow movement along the floor. Then came three deliberate knocks, each one heavier than the last.

Ryan flinched.

Caleb moved immediately.

He crossed the remaining distance between them and caught Ryan's wrist, pulling him away from the door. Ryan stumbled toward him, startled by the sudden movement, but Caleb's grip was firm without being painful.

"Caleb!"

"Please," Caleb whispered.

Ryan looked at him.

Their faces were only inches apart, and in the dim light of Ryan's phone, he could see how badly the young man's hands were trembling. Caleb's eyes were wide, his breathing uneven, and the fear in his expression was so intense that Ryan felt his own anger falter.

"Whatever you hear from down there, whatever it says to you, don't open that door. I know you don't understand, and I know I've been lying to you, but please believe me about this one thing."

Ryan swallowed.

"Why?"

Caleb looked toward the basement.

For a moment, his expression became almost unbearably sad.

Then he turned back.

"Because if you open it, I won't be able to save you."

Ryan stared at him.

The words were spoken quietly, without any attempt at drama, and that made them considerably more frightening.

For several seconds, he couldn't think of anything to say.

Then something struck the other side of the basement door with such force that the entire frame shuddered. The iron bolt rattled violently, and a low, grinding sound moved through the wood, as though something enormous were pressing its weight against it.

Ryan stumbled backward.

Caleb immediately stepped between him and the door.

Another impact followed, then another. The old wood groaned beneath the pressure, but the iron fittings held.

Ryan stared in horror, unable to understand how anything could strike the door so violently without breaking through it. He could feel the vibrations through the floorboards, and somewhere above them, the staircase began creaking as though someone were descending it.

But no one appeared.

Caleb reached behind him and found Ryan's hand.

"Come on," he whispered. "We have to get away from here."

Ryan didn't move immediately.

He stared at the young man in front of him, trying to reconcile the frightened expression with the warm, familiar face he'd grown accustomed to over the past two days.

The face of someone who'd eaten grilled cheese at his kitchen table, laughed over a card game, and spent an entire afternoon teasing him about a badly drawn bird.

Someone whose company he'd genuinely begun to enjoy.

Someone he now realized he knew almost nothing about.

"Caleb," Ryan said, his voice barely audible, "what are you?"

Caleb went still.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint creaking of the cabin around them.

Then, from behind the basement door, the other Caleb began to laugh again.

And somewhere in the living room, the clock continued ticking toward midnight.