Cabin in the Woods

The ghostly-gray fog swam mysteriously, rising just high enough to haunt the rusted door handle of the abandoned cabin. The corpse-colored wood of the cabin had rotted brutally due of the snowy winters in this majestic forest. On this autumn day, the crisp breeze blew pine needles and rocky-brown dust against the tin roof that covered the cabin like a halo. The constant ping of forest debris against the corroded, golden-brown roof was just loud enough to hear over the whooshing wind. This decaying relic in the forest, slightly slanted to the right, stood only yards away from the rocky pathway that twisted and turned through the hills. Looking straight on at the cabin, one would easily notice that the perfectly crafted rectangular windows, each sorrowly missing their long-gone glass coverings, were evenly spaced on the second-floor, on either side of the door. This simple architectural design made it look as if the front of the cabin was really a wide-eyed ghost, one of fearful expression; the long door a gaping mouth. As the sun peeked higher and higher over the heavenly mountains, covered with the greenest pine trees on earth, the fog crawled slowly back into its grave. The cabin knew though that within a day’s rotation, the ghastly fog would return to dance and drift along its foundation.