The Cabin in the Woods

By J.F. Combs

September survived a horrible ordeal at the house up Doc Polly Holler where she was held in a dark secret room where she was repeatedly raped by a serial killer named Donnie Stump. She witnessed her best friend Annabelle get shot and killed. She has moved several times and now she lives in Las Vegas, Nevada with her friend/cousin Tuesday. Things were going good for her until her handyman London Stump, fraternal twin brother to Donnie Stump, and her boyfriend Pete Ross wanted her dead. Pete Ross kidnaps her and her daughter Olive and drives them to a remote cabin in the woods where they are chained up, tormented and beaten. September’s daughter Olive was raped by Pete. They escape this horror just to find themselves lost in the dark forest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665561860

J.F. Combs

J. F. Combs is the author of The House up Doc Polly Holler, the first series in this duology and the author of The Cabin in the Woods. She enjoys living in town and walking her dogs Delgado and Sienna Rose. She enjoys writing, whether it’s a poem, song lyrics or books. If she isn’t writing, you’ll probably find her enjoying a good horror movie or reading a good thriller. Her favorite all time book and movie is Where the Red Fern Grows. She’s a proud mother to one son and proud grandma to three granddaughters. Her favorite season is Fall.

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CHAPTER ONE

I shouldn’t have survived the horror that took place up Doc Polly Holler because my best friend Annabelle did not. At least for 6 months, that’s how I felt. I hated myself for living. It’s been 10-years since surviving the horror where I was held captive, raped, and watched my best friend Annabelle edie from a gunshot to the head. even years after I was attacked, I began hanging out with my friend and long-lost cousin, Tuesday, her nickname and the third day of the week. Tuesday washas been a bad influence on me but I was going to let her move in with me soon. Tuesday was twice divorced and was homeless after she had gotten released from prison for murdering her rapist. She has almond-shaped eyes, long black hair, and a tall and slim build. She seemed to be protective of me because of what happened to me at the house up Doc Polly Holler and was always ready to lend a helping hand.

Since my divorce from Derick, I needed someone to help me through the dark days, and she’s been such a great help. I still miss Stephanie Laverty, the little red-haired girl my husband and I were going to adopt when we lived in Florida. Stephanie has been on my mind a lot. I’m constantly wondering what happened to her. She sneaked out her bedroom window one evening and I haven’t heard from her since, but I’ve always hoped that she’s okay.

Tuesday and I are moving to Las Vegas, Nevada, and were packed and waiting for the U-Haul. The house I purchased was a log house with a guesthouse just down a path that ran alongside a field.

A creek ran along with the property with large white stones shaped like ostrich eggs on the banks. I had been in the house once and fell in love with it. I referred to this log house as a cabin because it was nestled deep in the woods.

September! come downstairs, the U-Haul is here, Tuesday yelled. Sometimes it was hard to go downstairs or even get out of bed because of the depression that haunted me. I was still suffering from some survivor’s guilt because I lived and my best friend Annabelle didn’t. I had flashbacks, mood swings, and suicidal thoughts. Self-blame was the hardest thing to overcome. I thought I should have protected her and I failed to do so. After 6 months of therapy and medications, I was able to understand that it wasn’t my fault, but the blame was on Donnie Stump, the man that shot and killed her.

Come on, Mom, Olive, my daughter, yelled. Olive is 5’5, 114 pounds, and has straight blonde hair down to the center of her back. She is tough as nails. I remember she squirted mustard in a boy’s eye because he stuck his tongue out at her in the cafeteria when she was in grade school. She’s the sweetest kid I have ever known, free-spirited. I remember when she was two years old, she gave everybody a bottle of Pepsi when they came to visit. She is a wonderful and caring sister to her brother, Buster.

Coming, Olive, I squawked, as I careened down the stairs.

Mom! you can’t wear that, you’re breasts are showing and so are your butt cheeks, Olive barked. But I just ignored her.

After the U-Haul was loaded and Tuesday’s black Mustang was fastened to the back of it, we hugged my daughter and gave her my new address so she could come to visit me.

When the U-Haul pulled out, we followed it in my white Pontiac Grand Prix. The trip would be a six-hour drive, but we were on a fast road and making good time.

Tuesday was looking at a road map when she abruptly yelled for me to turn left, so I did, but it didn’t take long before I realized that we weren’t following the U-Haul anymore.

The road we were driving on was a winding blacktop road that seemed to get longer and darker. Potholes had stood water. The trees were waving frantically with the wind. The rain was thumping hard on the car making it a torturous drive.

Tuesday, what the hell? Where are we going? It’s getting dark.

It’s a shortcut, she answered.

In my opinion, we are lost, I said angrily.

Off in the distance was an old house that appeared to be abandoned, fallen trees lay on the property, the grass unkempt. reminding me of the horror I experienced at the house up Doc Polly Holler. Wanting to get the hell out of there, I sped up.

It was raining bucketful’s and the wind rushed across the water-filled potholes in front of us. The rain continued pattering against the windows; the menacing rumble of thunder got louder and louder.

Pull into that gas station, Tuesday shrieked. My anger boiling, I swerved through oncoming traffic, inches away from a head-on crash, sped into the gas station’s parking lot, and hit the breaks, nearly giving me a whiplash. We sat there for a bit then a round-faced man approached us.

How can I help you? he asked.

Just need some directions please, Tuesday said.

Could you tell us where Ice Storm Court is?

Yes, of course, you’re not far from there, he said. Just go straight, he explained as he pointed his finger toward the road. Stay on this road for about two miles then take the first right.

Thank you, sir. Tuesday chuckled. Feeling calmer, I slowly steered back onto the blacktop road, then two minutes later, I turned right onto a dirt road. The road curved like a snake; tree branches hung over the road and scraped our car as we passed. The smell of wood smoke filled the air. Animal sounds came from the surrounding woods. After about a ten-minute drive we arrived at our cabin.

We pulled onto the driveway, and the U-Haul was parked and the men were sitting inside. I looked up and saw a beautiful rainbow arched across the sky just above our house. The log house was nestled in the woods and surrounded by tall trees. In the field, there were several deer eating. Smoke was coming out from the chimney and the wood smell was pleasing to my nose. The path to the wrap-around porch was made of stepping stones. To the left of the stepping stones in the front yard was a large weeping willow tree with a park bench sitting underneath.

Off to the right were two trees that formed an arch across a concrete sidewalk. The round logs that formed the house were painted brown and interlocked at the corners.

Upon entering the house, the crackling sounds and the smell of wood from the stone fireplace were inviting, warm, and cozy. The living room was spacious and the walls were painted a cream color. Wondering who had been taking care of the house, I called the previous owner and inquired.

The caretaker’s name is London, and he lives in the guesthouse just past the field, she said. I thanked her and hung up the phone. One of the movers walked in holding a box and asked me where it belonged.

The boxes are labeled, you can take them in the rooms designated on the boxes, and the layout of the house is simple, I blurted.

Everything was unloaded and the furniture was placed where we wanted it. We had them put our brown couch straight out from the fireplace. We put our desk to the right of it. In front of the couch, we put our oblong white wooden coffee table and I placed a photo of Annabelle, Linda, and myself. In front of the window to the left of the front door, we put our bookcase. To the right, we put the loveseat and recliner facing the TV that was atop the white TV stand.

We worked until just before dark, hanging our pictures and decorating the living room. Soon the large living room looked like home. We then walked the movers outside. After they left, we decided to look around. The rain had stopped, but it was still cloudy.

We tread toward the path that ran along the field made by what looked like a four-wheeler. Let’s go down and look for the guesthouse, Tuesday suggested. Although I was somewhat hesitant, I went with her. Birds were singing from the treetops and a rabbit crossed the path in front of us.

Not a minute later, she asked, Are you ready to go back home?

Let’s find the damn house first, I insisted. It looks like the rain is going to start up again, I added. And we must hurry.

We continued down the path, and just behind a big oak tree