Cabin In The Woods Novels & Stories

**The Cost of Trust** A remote cabin in the woods, far from the city. The warm glow from the fireplace casts soft shadows around the room. It's cozy, but the tension inside is palpable. The silence outside feels heavy, with the wind rustling the trees, adding to the sense of isolation.

The quiet recedes, replaced by the roaring in my own blood. The cabin is small, just two bedrooms, a living area dominated by a stone fireplace, and a kitchen looking out onto a deck perched above a steep, pine-covered slope. It smells of woodsmoke, pine resin, and the faintest trace of dust. Ours. Esther’s efficiency was terrifyingly thorough. Basic supplies fill the cupboards, firewood is stacked neatly outside, and two sturdy mountain bikes lean against the porch railing. No Bentley. No penthouse views. Just wilderness and anonymity.

Morning… I slam my suitcase shut with a wicked grin, tug on my curve-hugging coat, and head out before I can second-guess myself. By the time I reach his driveway, it’s snowing again — that thick, fluffy kind of snow that looks romantic until you have to drag a wheelie bag through it like you’re hiking to Narnia. The cabin appears out of the trees like something off a P*******t board. Dark wood, warm lights glowing through the windows, smoke curling from the chimney like a Hallmark orgasm. It smells like pine, fresh snow, and the kind of trouble I should not be walking into with lip gloss on.

POV: Lena Moretti The cabin had one bed. Not because anyone planned it that way. Because it was a cabin in the woods with one bedroom and one bathroom and a kitchen that was really just a counter with a hotplate. Naomi had secured whatever was available on short notice and available meant small and simple and equipped for one person, not two.

There was a pause ,then he continued "There is a cabin. You can clean your feet, take something to wear, and leave when you are ready." "I do not need your help." He turned his head just far enough that I could see his profile. "That is not what your feet say." I hated that he was right.Then,I followed him. The cabin was small and old, tucked between two massive fir trees like the forest had grown around it on purpose. Inside, it smelled like cedar smoke and something faintly chemical ,maybe of gun oil. There was a table, two chairs, a fireplace that still held warm coals, and a shelf lined with medical supplies that seemed out of place in something so rough.

Every time I moved, I felt it—his mark on me. The cabin was deep in the woods, miles from any signal or help. When I pulled up, Cain was already waiting on the porch, wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans that hugged his powerful thighs. His gray eyes gleamed with dark anticipation as I stepped out of the car. “On time for once,” he said, voice low. “Good girl.” Inside, the cabin was luxurious but isolated—thick wooden beams, a massive king bed in the open loft, and a heavy metal collar resting on the coffee table like a promise.

We traded the penthouse for a beat-up Land Rover and drove four hours north, into the deep woods of Upstate New York. The cabin belongs to an old friend of Alex’s—a prepper who thinks the internet is a government psy-op. It’s perfect. No neighbors for miles. No smart locks. No cameras. Just timber, stone, and a satellite uplink that barely supports text messages. I stand on the porch, wrapping a thick wool blanket around my shoulders. The air here is different—sharp, cold, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. It’s so quiet I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.

The cabin welcomed them the moment the door shut. It smelled faintly of cedar and smoke, the scent of the woods clinging to the beams and rugs, layered with something softer—herbs from the bundle hanging by the window, lavender and sage that Cheyenne had insisted on weeks ago. The hearth crackled lazily, flames licking low at the logs, painting everything in shades of copper and honey.

“Just two inches over… and you wouldn’t be breathing right now “Then I’m not lucky,” I said. “I missed my martyr moment.” Marlo huffed out a breath but didn’t argue. He knew better. --- The safehouse appeared between the trees, half-hidden like it didn’t want to be found. It was an old cabin—weathered, quiet, and tucked so deep in the woods it felt like the world had left it behind. Nothing about it was impressive. The roof sagged a little, the porch creaked with every step, and the air inside always smelled faintly of damp wood.

What happens when I’m no longer the dutiful daughter they can parade like a business deal wrapped in lace? I don't know. And for once, I don’t care. All I know is that I need time and space. A moment that belongs to me and only me. A place where I can breathe without expectation clawing at my throat. The cabin appears just before dusk. It's nestled deep in the woods, hidden behind thick trees and wrapped in silence. Rustic, small, and strangely perfect. It looks untouched by time, a place forgotten by the world. “I’ll come back in three days,” the driver says. “Unless you call earlier.”