My Rescuer Locked Me In A Remote Cabin — And Showed Me The Grave She Dug For Her Last Guest
Part 1
The smell of burning wood and stale dust filled my lungs before I even opened my eyes.
My left leg throbbed with a sickening, heavy pulse that made my stomach churn.
I tried to shift my weight on the thin mattress.
White-hot agony shot through my kneecap so fast I nearly vomited over the edge of the bed.
Across the dimly lit room, a rocking chair creaked against the wooden floorboards.
A woman sat by the cast-iron stove, knitting a dark gray sweater.
She stopped rocking when I groaned, setting her needles down on a side table.
Her face was soft, lined with age, and she smiled at me like an old friend stopping by for coffee.
“Where’s my phone?” I croaked, my throat raw and dry.
The woman chuckled lightly, pouring water from a metal pitcher into a tin cup.
She walked over to the bed, pressing the cold rim of the cup to my cracked lips.
“You’ve been asleep for two days, sweetheart,” she whispered, her breath smelling of peppermint.
“You shouldn’t worry about your phone right now.”
Pushing my elbows into the mattress, I tried to prop myself up to look at my leg.
Blinding pain ripped through my shin, entirely wiping out my vision for a split second.
Moving with shocking speed, she leaned over the bed.
Her hands pressed firmly into my shoulders with brutal strength, forcing me flat against the mattress.
“I found you on the trail with your leg bent the wrong way,” she said, her voice steady and smooth.
“I dragged you a mile through the mud in the freezing rain.”
With practiced precision, she smoothed the blanket over my chest, tucking the corners down tight.
“The least you can do is stay in bed.”
“My name is Brenda,” she offered, returning to her rocking chair.
I thanked her, my voice trembling, and asked if she could call someone for me.
Brenda didn’t look up from her knitting.
“The landline has been broken for years,” she said casually.
I asked about cell service, patting my pockets for my missing device.
Brenda let out a loud, echoing laugh that made my blood run cold.
“We’re so far from anything out here that God himself couldn’t get a signal.”
I asked when the dirt roads would be clear enough for a truck to pass.
The rocking chair stopped.
Brenda slowly lowered her knitting to her lap, her warm smile vanishing instantly.
Her eyes went completely flat, staring through me rather than at me.
“You keep asking about leaving, and it’s starting to make me angry.”
She leaned forward, the wood groaning under her weight.
“Nobody is coming up here.”
“It’s just us now, and the sooner you accept that, the easier this is going to be.”
I didn’t sleep at all that night, listening to the wind howl outside.
When the sun crept through the frosted window on the second day, I noticed a heavy iron latch installed on the door.
It was a deadbolt, but the locking mechanism was on the outside of my bedroom.
Brenda came in carrying a tray of oatmeal and black coffee.
I pointed to the heavy metal lock, my pulse throbbing in my ears.
I asked her why she needed to lock me inside.
She stirred her own coffee with a small silver spoon, the metal clinking rhythmically.
“So you don’t wander off and hurt yourself while I’m sleeping, you silly goose.”
She blew gently on her mug, taking a slow sip.
“The last one tried to crawl out a window in the middle of the night.”
I froze, the spoon halfway to my mouth.
Brenda sighed heavily, rubbing her lower back with a grimace.
“I found him in the morning with his face frozen in the dirt.”
She stared out the window into the dense pine trees.
“I had to dig the hole myself.”
She turned back to me, her eyes completely devoid of emotion.
“My back hurt for weeks.”
By the fifth day, the swelling in my leg had gone down just enough for me to wiggle my toes.
Brenda sat on the edge of my bed, humming a slow tune while folding laundry.
I told her I was feeling stronger, and maybe I could try putting some weight on it tomorrow.
Her hands stopped moving.
She slowly turned her head toward me, her jaw clenched tight.
Her hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around my broken shin like a vice.
She squeezed with all her strength.
I screamed until my lungs burned, thrashing against the mattress in sheer agony.
“You’re not listening to me,” she whispered, her face inches from mine.
“I am the only person in the world who will ever love you, and you keep trying to leave me.”
She let go, casually wiping her hands on her apron while I gasped for air.
She reached up and stroked my sweat-drenched hair like I was a small child.
“The last one fought me too,” she murmured, her thumb brushing my forehead.
“He screamed so loud I thought my ears would bleed.”
I pulled away from her touch, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.
“He kept crying about his wife and kids waiting for him.”
She rolled her eyes, scoffing quietly.
“Like that was supposed to mean something to me.”
I choked back a sob, asking her what happened to him.
Brenda smiled, adjusting the collar of my shirt with gentle precision.
“I got tired of the screaming, so the mountain has him now.”
She tucked the blankets tight around my crushed leg and whispered, “You’re going to stay with me until one of us dies.”
