The Lost CreepyGrams - CABIN IN THE WOODS

 

Recently, I discussed how I had a large volume of CreepyGrams to publish from the CreepyGram and the Mourning Show podcast. I also stated that it was TOO large and cut it into four segments, one for each season of the year. Winter was just released in this series.

With the reorganization of the larger compendium into smaller digestible volumes, I lost some the the "flair" that went with the original book. One of those elements being original CreepyGrams never before released.

Until now.

Here is a CreepyGram (a short horror story of exactly 365 words or a two minute read) that has never seen the light of day. For context, this was a meta-CreepyGram, meaning it was a story within a story setting up the next section of stories. Phew. 

For this section, Charlie Barker (The Skeletal host of the CreepyGram books), discusses the "lost" section for previously unpublished stories. Now, without further setup and context, here it is for the first time.

CABIN IN THE WOODS

A Meta-CreepyGram

Charlie Barker was lost. He supposed that all ghosts cursed to roam the earth were lost, but this was more of a literal sense than a metaphorical definition. He wandered the forest in search of a way out.

He had only trekked to the remote woodland as part of his penance. He had to amass more glimpses into the infinite beyond. Doomed to forever relate terrors. To never find a way back.

He wondered if other ghosts had so much internal turmoil and angst. Best not to ponder such things, he thought. Besides, he had all of eternity to mull over the consequences his mortal coil had bequeathed him.

The sun had set, or so he thought. It was setting, but the premature darkness was due to the impending storm as announced by a peal of thunder. No sooner had Char realized this than it began to rain.

Most ghosts were incorporeal, he knew. But not Charlie. Charlie was still held firmly within his reanimated skeleton. Also part of the curse. To be an undead and not reap from the benefits of the disembodied was tortuous.

The rain turned to a deluge. Char knew that his poor old bones couldn’t take the onslaught. He had to find shelter.

Fate presented him with a viable option. Through a microsecond flash of lightning, he saw it. A modest little cabin in the woods.

Char made his way through the overgrown path to the shack. The rickety old door opened outwards with a groan of splintery wood and rusted hinges. He went in.

It was an old trapper’s cabin, as indicated by various pelts and traps hanging from the wall. There was an old coffee pot and can with a single enamel cup on a mantle above the fireplace. There was fresh wood in the fire, which Charlie put to good use. He had to dry his bones.

How does one go about haunting a cabin? Charlie wondered to himself. He supposed that merely being there as a skeleton would go far. His stories from the mirror of infinity would help, too.

The storm had drawn others to the place. The door creaked open.

“Welcome,” he said grimly.