Listen to the voiceover here. 👆🏻
The dream always ended the same way.
My hands pressed against the window.
Screaming.
"LET ME OUT!"
Which was strange, because I had never stayed in a cabin before. And that was clearly what it was. A wood cabin, hewn of long dark timbers.
Yet the details were always so vivid.
Red-and-black hunter plaid bedding. A novelty lamp shaped like two black bear cubs climbing a pine tree.
I could never remember how the dream began.
Only the ending.
Afterwards, I always woke up.
I did love the outdoors. Like any good Mainer, I enjoyed a good hike. Dabbled in a bit of fishing.
Recently, I'd been hiking a lot. Broke up with my boyfriend. Needed to touch grass. Get back to nature.
That said, I wasn't one to rough it. I had booked a rather plush hotel room in Bar Harbor overlooking Acadia National Park.
My suitcase lay half-empty on the bed as I packed a small hiking rucksack. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and threaded it through the back of my Patagonia baseball cap.
Then I was off.
I crossed the sandbar connecting Bar Harbor to Bar Island. The tide would return in a few hours and swallow the path beneath the sea, but I had plenty of time for a nice nature walk.
The day held that particular golden glow of late summer. Sunlight dappled the well-trodden trail through the canopy above. I paused to photograph a chickadee perched on a low branch.
It felt nice. Peaceful.
For a while, I simply walked and breathed. Pine sap. Salt air. Wind whispering through the trees.
Yes. This had been what I needed.
And then the woods went silent.
Not gradually. Instantly.
The wind stopped. The birdsong vanished.
Even the leaves seemed to still themselves.
A sharp pain bloomed behind my eyes.
The ground lurched beneath me.
And then everything went black.
When I came to, night had already fallen.
I cursed. Trapped.
I couldn't leave until the tide went out, which could be hours away.
I sat up. The woods looked… strange.
In the darkness, the trees seemed older. Larger. Ancient, even.
Shadows danced just beyond my vision, like saplings swaying in a wind I couldn't feel.
They unnerved me.
Little rainbows floated in the air around me—like the ones that linger on walls when sunlight passes through crystal.
I touched the side of my head.
Concussion, probably.
And no way to get to a hospital.
Great.
I stood. I would go back the way I came. Be ready to cross the sandbar the second the tide retreated.
But the path looked different than I remembered.
And yet… familiar somehow.
Like I had been here many times before.
Then I caught the scent of woodsmoke.
Far up the path stood the largest moose I had ever seen.
Its pale body seemed almost luminous in the darkness. Vast shoulders rolled beneath ghost-white fur. Antlers like the branches of ancient trees brushed the canopy above.
The Specter Moose.
I had heard the stories. Maine had no shortage of cryptids.
For a wild moment, I wondered if I was still unconscious beneath the trees.
Dreaming.
The moose stared at me with its silver eyes, the expression in them almost human.
And then it turned and disappeared deeper into the woods.
My stomach growled.
I drifted toward the smell of smoke. Perhaps they had food. Perhaps they knew first aid.
More rainbows dappled my vision. Fog curled low across the forest floor.
I was definitely getting a CT scan the second I got off this damned island.
The path eventually opened toward the bay.
Strange. I didn't remember this stretch of shoreline at all.
Fog smothered the water, turning the sea into a pale, shifting void.
Then came the splash.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Something enormous moved beneath the surface.
Slowly, an eerie head rose from the bay.
Horse-like. Almost.
Or perhaps bovine.
Its slick black skin glistened with seawater, dappled with gray.
Behind it, coils emerged from the fog—massive and undulating.
Far too large.
A sea serpent.
My blood went cold.
What the hell was happening?
The creature turned toward me.
And I ran.
I wasn't looking where I was going.
My boot caught against a root. I pitched forward hard, slamming into the dirt.
Pain flared through my palms and knees.
By the time I staggered back to my feet, I was scraped bloody and covered in mud and pine needles.
Then I saw it.
The cabin.
Ice licked through my limbs.
A sharp ringing filled my ears.
No.
No, no…
It couldn't be.
The dark timber walls.
The hunter plaid curtains glowing amber through the window.
And beside the door, illuminated by warm golden light—
a novelty lamp shaped like two black bear cubs climbing a pine tree.
Exactly as I had seen it.
Every night.
No. I couldn't go in there.
My breaths came, fast and shallow. I dropped to my knees.
This couldn't be happening.
The fog still rolled. Prismatic lights still played at my vision.
I tried to slow my breathing. A concussion. That was all. This was a hallucination. A dream.
And then, a rustling from behind me.
Eyes gleamed from the brush.
A large, muscular body. Pale fur.
A cougar.
No. They were extinct. People claimed to see them all the time but everyone knew they'd been gone for almost a hundred years.
There was no time to question it.
It prepared to pounce and I ran full tilt towards the cabin door, ripping it open and slipping inside.
I heard the beast thud against the wood and then begin to pace impatiently.
I sank to the floor and tried to catch my breath.
The cabin was where the woodsmoke smell had been coming from. A small fire was kindled further in.
A woman prodded it with a poker, in an old-fashioned dress. Pale pink and full-skirted.
She smiled at me.
"Come in, dear. I could use the company."
"Do you live here?" I asked.
"Oh, no. I'm just waiting for the tide to go out."
"How long have you been waiting?"
Silence.
"I… I don't know."
The woman stared into the fire as she said it.
She sounded strangely resigned.
My stomach tightened.
"What year is it?" I asked softly.
The woman frowned.
"Year?"
Outside, the cougar still circled the cabin. Slow. Patient.
I could hear the ocean lapping against the shore.
I rose unsteadily to my feet.
"I should go."
The woman finally looked at me then.
Pity flickered across her face.
"Dear," she whispered, "the tide already came in."
A strange pressure built behind my eyes.
The room tilted.
And suddenly—
I knew this cabin.
Not from dreams.
From memory.
My hands began to shake.
The hunter plaid.
The bear cub lamp.
The warped glass of the window overlooking the sea.
I had stood here before.
Screaming until my throat bled.
Begging the dark woods to let me out.
Begging the tide to recede.
Outside, something moved past the window.
I ran and pressed my hands against the glass, trying to see out.
Not the cougar.
Shapes.
People.
Dozens of them. Wandering silently between the trees. Semitransparent. Lost.
Some in oilskins.
Some in old colonial dress.
Some wearing gilded age finery.
And a few in modern hiking gear.
Watching the water with hollow, starving eyes.
Waiting for the tide to go out.
The woman walked over and gently placed a hand on mine.
Her skin felt like river stone.
"It gets easier after a while," she said softly.
Then someone began screaming.
It took me several seconds to realize the sound was coming from me.
That ending gave me goosebumps! So good 😍🔥
The slow realization that the cabin was memory instead of dream was beautifully handled.
What stayed with me most wasn’t the horror itself, but the image of all those people from different centuries still waiting for the tide to go out. It turned the island into something larger than a haunting — almost a geography of unfinished leaving.