The Candy Cabin

one

The winding mountain road snaked through a dense pine forest, its icy curves illuminated only by the flickering headlights. Snow fell in thick, swirling curtains, each flake catching the dim light before dissolving into darkness. The air was sharp and metallic, slipping through the cracked window and clawing at Sarah’s exposed skin. She hunched over the steering wheel, her breath fogging the windshield as she squinted into the blizzard. The forest seemed to swallow sound, muffling the engine’s dying groans beneath a blanket of eerie silence.

“So… this is glamping, huh?” Sierra said with forced cheerfulness, huddling deeper into her coat. “I was hoping for a yurt and maybe some hot cocoa, not a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere.”

Sarah shot her a tired look, her lips twitching despite herself. “Don’t jinx it. We still have a whole forest to explore—maybe there’s a cozy cabin with WiFi around the corner.”

Sierra rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a heavy wool blanket. “Okay, seriously though, it’s freezing. Do we wait it out in the car, or try to find help?”

“No one’s coming down this road,” Sarah replied, her voice wavering but resolute. “And we can’t sit here and turn into popsicles. There’s gotta be something up that creek—they always say to follow the water, right?”

Bundled up, they stepped into the biting wind. The snow crunched beneath their boots, each step sinking deeper into the deceptive surface. The girls followed the creek, moving through the dense underbrush and into the shadows of the pines.

two

The cabin loomed in the clearing, its silhouette dark against the falling snow. Moonlight revealed intricate carvings along its walls, each twist and curve resembling icing on a cake. The wood was deep and glossy, like hardened chocolate, and the ornate door carvings resembled creeping vines, swirling in patterns that seemed almost edible.

“Is it just me,” Sierra whispered, “or does that cabin look… edible?”

Sarah nodded slowly, her breath visible in the cold air. “Like something out of a fairytale. But… wrong somehow.”

The scent of burnt sugar drifted toward them, faint but unmistakable, mingling with the crisp smell of pine. It was a sweetness that lingered too long, clinging to the air like a dark promise.

Sarah reached for the doorknob, but a deep growl emerged from the darkness. Sierra spun around, heart racing, as a massive Rottweiler lunged from the trees. The dog’s bark was sharp and insistent, its eyes fierce and strangely intelligent.

“Run!” Sarah yelled, grabbing Sierra’s arm and pulling her away from the cabin. They stumbled back toward the creek, the dog’s barking echoing in the cold night air.

They stopped only when they reached a small clearing, out of breath and shivering. The dog reappeared, but this time it didn’t attack. It stood watching them with a steady, patient gaze.

“What’s with this dog?” Sierra asked, rubbing her arms for warmth.

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know. But maybe he’s trying to help.”

three

The girls trudged through the snow until they found a small clearing near the creek. The icy water gurgled nearby, its sound both soothing and unsettling in the heavy silence of the forest. Sarah and Sierra dropped their backpacks, shivering in the sudden stillness.

“We need to get a fire going,” Sarah said, her voice firm but tired. She knelt down, scraping together the kindling that Grimm had dragged over—broken branches and dried twigs, piled neatly at her feet.

Sierra frowned, eyeing the dog warily. “How does he know to do that?”

Sarah shrugged, lighting the kindling with the emergency matches she’d packed. “Maybe he’s used to helping lost hikers. Or maybe he’s just smart.”

The fire crackled to life, its glow casting eerie shadows across the snow. The flames flickered uneasily, as if unsure whether to thrive or die out in the cold. Grimm lay beside the girls, watching the fire with unblinking eyes, his presence oddly comforting.

As they warmed themselves, Sierra’s mind drifted back to their folklore class. “You know, this whole situation reminds me of that story we studied… Hansel & Gretel. The witch’s house in the woods.”

Sarah nodded slowly, staring into the fire. “Except this cabin looks more like it’s made of chocolate than candy. And we’ve got a wolf instead of breadcrumbs.”

“More like a guardian wolf,” Sierra corrected. “He’s trying to protect us.”

Sarah glanced over at Grimm, whose gaze was fixed on the darkness beyond the firelight. “Or keep us from going back to that cabin.”

Sierra shivered, despite the growing warmth of the fire. “The weirdest part is how sweet it smelled, like burnt sugar. It was almost… inviting.”

“That’s how traps work,” Sarah said bluntly. “It lures you in with something you want.”

Sierra’s voice was low, as if she didn’t want the darkness to overhear. “But why would anyone make a trap like that? Who builds a house that looks like a fairytale in the middle of nowhere?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she thought about it. “Someone who doesn’t want you to leave.”

The fire snapped loudly, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Grimm lifted his head suddenly, his ears perked up. His growl was deep and guttural, sending a chill through both girls.

Sierra leaned closer to Sarah, whispering urgently. “Do you think she’s watching us right now?”

Sarah scanned the darkness, seeing nothing but the twisting silhouettes of trees. “I don’t know… but I think we should take turns keeping watch.”

As the night wore on, the cold pressed in, and the forest grew impossibly quiet. The fire’s warmth felt fragile, as though it could be snuffed out at any moment. Sarah lay awake, clutching a thick branch in her hand, her eyes flickering between Grimm and the dark shadows beyond.

In the distance, a soft, melodic humming drifted through the trees. It was faint, almost like a lullaby, but it sent a deep chill through her bones. She sat up, heart pounding.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered to Sierra.

Sierra stirred, her eyes wide with fear. “Is it…,” she said, her voice barely audible. “A witch?”

The girls huddled closer to the fire, their breaths shallow and quick. Grimm stood up, growling into the darkness, his teeth bared. The humming continued, growing louder, more distinct. It was a woman’s voice, soft and deceptively soothing.

“Sleep, my sweet ones,” the voice sang. “The forest holds you tight… let darkness be your light.”

Sarah gripped the branch tighter, her mind racing. “We have to stay awake. If we fall asleep, she’ll have us.”

Sierra nodded, her face pale. “I know. But how do we fight something like this?”

Grimm’s growl turned into a soft whine, as if he, too, was feeling the pull. He nudged closer to the girls, his body tense but protective.

The humming faded into the cold night air, leaving only the crackling of the fire and the distant murmur of the creek. The girls remained alert, their fear sharpening into a grim determination.

“We’ll find a way,” Sarah said quietly. “We have to.”

The darkness lingered, thick and watchful, but the girls were no longer paralyzed by it. They were awake, ready for whatever came next.

four

The campfire sputtered and crackled, its feeble flames licking at the dark sky as if desperately trying to ward off the encroaching cold. The wind howled through the trees, sending sharp, icy gusts that rattled the branches overhead. Shadows, twisted and elongated, danced erratically across the snow, moving like silent wraiths summoned by the flickering firelight. The darkness felt heavy, almost tangible, as though the forest itself were closing in around them.

Sierra rubbed her arms, glancing warily over her shoulder. “You ever get that feeling? Like eyes are on you… but you can’t see them?”

Sarah poked the fire with a stick, making the embers flare. “Every horror movie ever? Yeah, I’m feeling it now.”

“No, seriously,” Sierra insisted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s more than just being alone in the woods. It’s like… the forest is watching us.”

Sarah looked up, her expression softening slightly. “I know, but we can’t let it mess with our heads. If we start freaking out now, we’ll never make it till morning.”

Suddenly, the dog—Grimm—let out a low, urgent growl, his hackles raised. The girls froze, listening to the faint sound of footsteps approaching. The air grew colder, the shadows darker, as a low, melodic voice drifted through the trees.

“Lost, are we?” the voice asked, soft and teasing.

five

The fire crackled faintly as Sarah and Sierra huddled close, trying to find warmth in the bitter night. Grimm stood tense, eyes focused beyond the firelight, his growl low and steady.

Without warning, the shadows shifted, and a figure emerged from the misty darkness—a tall woman cloaked in tattered layers. Her skin was unnaturally pale, her long, black hair tangled with twigs and frost. Her hollow, piercing eyes glittered like shards of obsidian.

“Good evening, my dears,” she said, her voice both sweet and hollow. “What brings you so deep into my forest?”

Sierra instinctively stepped back, but Sarah stood her ground. “Who are you?”

The woman’s smile widened, more unsettling than kind. “Oh, just an old healer. I’ve been here a long time… long enough to see travelers like you come and go.”

“Stay back,” Sierra warned, clutching the sharp branch she had been using to stoke the fire.

Morvana chuckled, a soft, chilling sound. “Don’t be frightened. I mean you no harm… not yet, anyway.” Her eyes flicked to Grimm, who was growling louder now, teeth bared. “Ah, the loyal dog. How noble, how futile.”

“Let us go,” Sarah demanded. “We’ll find our way out.”

Morvana’s expression twisted into mockery. “You think you can leave so easily? This forest is cursed, and you’re part of it now.”

Before Sarah or Sierra could react, Morvana faded back into the mist, her laughter echoing through the trees. Grimm lunged forward but stopped short, whining as if restrained by an invisible force.

“What does she mean?” Sierra whispered, trembling.

“It’s a trap,” Sarah replied, her face pale but resolute. “We have to break it, or we’ll never get out.”

six

The creek roared beneath a thin layer of ice, its gurgling currents breaking into frantic bursts that cascaded over the mill’s wooden paddles. The paddles sliced through the water with a soft, almost hypnotic hum, sending icy spray into the frigid air.

“Hold up,” Sarah said, kneeling by the paddles. She traced her finger along strange symbols etched into the wood. “These aren’t random marks.”

“Are those… runes?” Sierra asked, crouching beside her. “They look like the ones we studied in folklore class—the ones meant to trap spirits in objects.”

“It’s like a binding spell,” Sarah muttered, her eyes narrowing. “The mill is… it’s the core. It’s Morvana’s heart, keeping everything turning.” She smirked and added, “And you didn’t want to take that class.”

Sierra rolled her eyes, then widened them. “If we can stop it, she won’t have a way to sustain herself.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, a spark of hope in her voice. “We have to break it—now.”

They grabbed rocks and branches, attacking the mill’s paddles with urgency. The wood groaned, dark energy rippling outward as the mill shuddered to a stop. Morvana’s voice shrieked from the depths of the cave, filled with rage and desperation.

seven

The cave’s entrance yawned open like a hungry mouth, a jagged gap obscured by heavy vines. The air within was stale and damp, tinged with the metallic scent of old blood and wet earth.

Morvana materialized before them, her twisted form flickering between monstrous and human. “Did you like my cabin?” she taunted. “It was once a place of healing—sweet treats for sweet children. I saved them… until my deal demanded more.”

Sierra’s voice was sharp. “You fed them to the cabin, didn’t you?”

Morvana’s smile was bitter, her voice low and hollow. “I fed them what they needed. Sweetness to soothe their pain. But sweetness is a two-edged sword—too much, and it consumes.”

As the girls attacked the runes, the cave trembled violently. Morvana’s form flickered, her voice cracking. “I only wanted to save them,” she whispered, eyes filled with twisted regret. “Beware the sweetness you crave, for it will be the end of you.”

eight

With dawn still hours away, the girls tried to find their way back to the road. The forest seemed different now—darker, more tangled, as if the trees had shifted to block their path.

“We’re going in circles,” Sierra said, frustration cracking through her voice. “We’ve seen that same fallen log three times now.”

Sarah’s breath came out in heavy puffs, visible in the cold air. “The forest is shifting around us. It’s like she’s changing the paths to keep us here.”

Suddenly, the ground shifted beneath them, sending both girls tumbling into the snow. Thick, thorny vines snaked up from the ground, wrapping around their ankles and wrists. Sarah struggled, but the vines only tightened, thorns biting into her skin.

Morvana’s voice drifted down from the trees. “Did you really think you could escape? This forest is mine, and so are you.”

Grimm lunged at the vines, trying to bite through them, but was knocked back by an unseen force. The girls were dragged toward a darker part of the forest, toward an entrance hidden behind overgrown ivy—Morvana’s cave.

As they were pulled inside, the air grew colder, heavy with damp earth and a sour sweetness. The cave’s twisting passages seemed alive, the roots along the walls writhing like serpents.

“We’re trapped,” Sierra gasped, struggling. “She’s got us.”

“Not yet,” Sarah said, filled with fierce determination. “We still have a chance. But we need to understand what she wants.”

nine

Deep within the cave, the girls found themselves in a cavern filled with remnants of the past—old clothes, abandoned toys, and yellowed photographs. Each object bore signs of age and decay, as if kept here for decades.

“This is where she keeps them,” Sarah whispered, her eyes scanning the room. “The children she took.”

Sierra picked up a small doll, its face faded but still smiling. “These were the kids from her village, weren’t they?”

Grimm let out a low whimper, his eyes reflecting deep sadness. Morvana’s voice echoed softly from the shadows. “I saved them from suffering. I gave them sweet dreams.”

The girls turned to see Morvana standing at the cavern’s edge, her form flickering between the healer she once was and the witch she had become. “They were sick, cold, hungry… I fed them sweetness, and the forest claimed their pain.”

Sarah’s eyes were cold as she confronted the witch. “You used their pain for power.”

Morvana’s eyes flashed with a mixture of rage and regret. “The world outside brought death. The settlers poisoned the rivers and the land. I was only trying to protect what was mine.”

“You chose darkness,” Sierra said, stepping forward. “You became the very thing you were trying to fight.”

Morvana’s form flickered, momentarily shifting back to the woman she once was—kind, tired, and desperate. “I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. “The contract demanded blood.”

“Then we’ll stop it,” Sarah declared. “We’ll break the mill’s curse.”

ten

Grimm led the girls deeper into the cave, where they found the source of the mill’s dark power—an altar surrounded by strange, pulsing roots. At its center was a large, rune-carved stone connected to the mill’s machinery above.

“This is it,” Sarah said, her voice steady. “The heart of her curse.”

They grabbed rocks and heavy branches, striking the runes with all their strength. The cave trembled violently, the ground beneath them cracking as the runes shattered one by one. Morvana let out a piercing scream, her form collapsing inward, like a shadow sucked back into darkness.

“I only wanted to protect them,” she sobbed, her voice cracking as her form flickered between monstrous and human. “Who will save them now?”

Sarah and Sierra watched as Morvana’s figure dissolved into dust, her voice lingering in the air: “Beware the sweetness you crave…”

The girls barely managed to escape as the cave collapsed behind them, the rumbling earth swallowing the remnants of Morvana’s lair. The forest, once oppressive and dark, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

eleven

As the girls reached the road, they found their car parked exactly as they had left it, without a trace of the breakdown. The snow was undisturbed, and the air felt almost warm.

“How… how is this even possible?” Sierra whispered, staring at the car’s intact headlights and unbroken windows. “It’s like… like it never happened.”

Sarah reached for the ignition, her fingers shaking. “Or like it all happened, just… somewhere else. Like we stepped out of time.”

As they drove away, they glanced back and saw the cabin, now decayed and crumbling, its once-enticing sweetness now rotten and hollow. Grimm stood at the forest’s edge, watching them go, his eyes filled with a silent, grateful goodbye.