The Cabin

After another minute of climbing she crested a small rise. The trail widened and she saw it just ahead, barely visible through the mist: the cabin.

It was a single story, made of logs like some mountain man's lodge from an old western. Sam shuffled up onto the small porch and tried the door. Locked. There were no lights on inside but she knocked anyway, praying that there was no one home; no one who would be endangered simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sam waited, as little by little, the sounds of movement in the woods returned, growing louder.