Bookworm Cabin Novels & Stories

“It’s Arella Rogue who booked the cabin. Our guest is a guy named Clyve—” “Okay. I should start cleaning because we still have to go to town for groceries.” The cabin was made of finest woods from the foundation, walls, and floorboards. It was a little bit old that we had to make sure it was not infested by termites. This one had only a small room, kitchenette with small cupboards, and a single Viking stove. A living room with enough space for a wooden rocking chair and an old black leather couch, which was Keene’s father’s favorite. There was a small fireplace with readied piles of wood.

My wolf howls inwardly, triumphant and terrified. The cabin emerges from the trees like a hidden gem: log walls weathered by time, a stone chimney puffing faint smoke from the banked fire I’d left earlier. I push open the door, ushering her inside. The interior is simple— a large hearth dominating one wall, flanked by bookshelves crammed with tomes on pack history and herbal lore; a worn leather couch facing the fire; a kitchenette with herbs drying from the rafters, filling the air with sage and lavender. My bed looms in the corner, unmade, sheets rumpled from my restless sleep the night before. "Make yourself comfortable," I say, gesturing to the couch. "I’ll brew some tea—chamomile, to ca

I shake my head and chuckle, even though no one would dare to look at me with him around, he still was behaving like an insecure new boyfriend. Carter's gift to us was this beautiful trip to this paradise we came to know as Bora Bora island, now we are in this beautiful cabin over the transparent waters, enjoying the calm and the peace it came with it's setting. The hotel has a big two story building in the shore, but every room is actually a cabin floating nearby. Inside our cabin, everything is simple and yet fantastic; a white wooden bed with soft sheets, pillows everywhere. Even the weather here since we arrived has been fantastic, and I love leaving the windows wide open and to see the

Part of me was scared if Axel was ever to find us. And that we were just… forgotten. We found it just before dusk, a shape tucked between thick trees, half-covered in vines and shadow. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. But Amber saw it too. A cabin. Not a grand one. Just a single-room wooden structure with a slanted roof and a broken porch step. The door was hanging crooked on its hinges, creaking slightly with the breeze. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

Please, I promise you, whatever you believe about me, I have no intention of hurting you tonight. She stepped inside, and the small cabin's interior surprised her: simple, warm, lived-in, nothing like the cold, calculated architecture she'd expected from a man who'd built his entire adult life around careful invisibility. A fire crackled in a modest stone hearth. Books lined a single wooden shelf. And on a small table near the window, half-finished, sat a wooden birdhouse, carefully carved and sanded, the kind of patient, careful work she recognized immediately, painfully, from her own studio's workbench.

Everything was just cold and darkness and putting one foot in front of the other because Diro's hand was pulling her forward. Then, through the trees, she saw a shape. A building. Small and dark but definitely man-made. "There," Diro said, seeing it too. "Come on." It was a hunting cabin. Old and abandoned, with boarded windows and a door hanging crooked on its hinges. But the roof looked intact and the walls were solid wood. It was the most beautiful thing Beverly had ever seen. Diro pushed the door open. It groaned on rusty hinges but swung inward. Inside was darkness and the smell of dust and animal nests. But it was dry. And out of the wind.

The finality in his tone landed like a slammed door. For a second anger flared within me. I wanted to snap, ‘Stop treating me like an outsider, stop acting like a child.’ Instead I took a slow breath, forcing a casual shrug. “I'm sorry. I forgot my opinion is not needed.” April shifted, discomfort plain on her face. “Actually, Kael, where were you thinking? We’ve been juggling options for days.” “There’s an old carriage house rented out for literary salons,” I said. “High ceilings, courtyard garden, walls lined with books. People walk in and instantly feel like readers.”

The safehouse turned out to be a huge cabin hidden deep in the woods beside a lake. The second we arrived, I frowned. “This place looks like it belongs in a murder documentary.” Kane grabbed our bags from the trunk. “Comforting.” “I’m serious.” “It’s secure.” “That doesn’t make it less creepy.” He walked toward the cabin without answering. I followed reluctantly. Inside, the house was surprisingly warm. Dark wooden walls. Large fireplace. Soft lighting. Massive windows overlooking the lake. It looked cozy. In a terrifying rich-survivalist kind of way.

They exist only in books. He must sense my apprehension as he closes the door behind me, startling me into a small jump as I dart to the nearest piece of furniture for a semi-shield. Briefly taking in a comfortable interior with rustic seating, a table, and a bed. It’s a one-room cabin with a fire already lit and candles on every surface. Strewn with home-made items, like wool blankets, hand-painted art, and pottery. It doesn’t look like the dwelling of a demonic.

“I hope it’s not too late for us to stop by.” “No, of course not. Do come in.” Balin stepped aside so they could enter. The interior of the cabin was even more spare than Rave’s home. It was about six paces wide and ten paces long, furnished with simple, handmade wooden furniture similar to the stuff at Rave’s. A rectangular dining table with a split log bench on either side filled most of one end of the cabin, and a buckskin sleeping mat stuffed with straw lay upon the plank floor at the other end. In the middle of the room was a brown bearskin rug so old the fur had worn away down to the skin in several places. The fire in the fireplace had burned down to glowing orange and gold embers, wh