Chapter 4 - The Blackwood Cabin
Deep in the woods of Blackwood Ridge, the wind howled through the skeletal branches of ancient pines. The snow drifted against the rotting wooden walls of the old hunting cabin, casting long, eerie shadows in the moonlight.
Four state trooper cruisers sat idling on the unplowed logging trail, their red and blue lights reflecting off the falling snow without a sound. Officer Vance led the team, his heavy boots crunching against the frozen crust of the ground. His hand rested firmly on the holster of his service weapon.
“Keep your flashlight beams low,” Vance whispered into his radio mic. “He’s armed and he knows these woods better than anyone.”
The cabin door was unlocked. It swung inward with a dismal, rusted groan, releasing a wave of stagnant air mixed with the scent of woodsmoke, old leather, and damp earth.
Miller swept his weapon inside, illuminating the single-room interior. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, cold and choked with gray ash. A narrow cot sat in the corner, covered in a moth-eaten woolen blanket. On a wooden table in the center of the room sat a kerosene lamp—still warm to the touch.
“He was just here,” Miller muttered, signaling toward the table.
Vance stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the cluttered shelves lined with rusted tools, old hunting magazines, and taxidermy mounts whose glass eyes seemed to watch their every move.
Pinned to the wooden wall above the cot was a massive corkboard. It was covered in photographs—not just of the cabin or the woods, but candid shots of our family. Photos of Emma walking home from school. Photos of me parking my car at the grocery store. Photos of Daniel leaving his office building.
They had been taken through telephoto lenses, hidden and unauthorized.
“He was watching us for months,” Vance said, stepping closer to the board. In the center, right over a photo of Emma smiling on her eighth birthday, someone had drawn a heavy red X.
Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in the corner behind a stack of wooden crates.
“Freeze! Police!” Vance shouted, spinning around, his flashlight beam slicing through the darkness.
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A figure lunged from the shadows—not toward the door, but toward the back window, shattering the glass as he dove out into the freezing night.
“He’s heading for the ridge!” Miller yelled, sprinting after him into the blinding snow.
