Whether you believe the following story or not, it does not matter. However, if you find it to be an exaggeration, mellow dramatic, or just straight up bullshit; I would much rather you write me off as crazy than as a liar. I firmly believe in the happenings of this story...though no choice was ever offered to me. However, you are free to believe in anything you wish. All I ask is that you keep your mind open to a possibility.

My Great Grandfather, Rufus King, was an avid gambler. His game of choice was 21. He never lost. Not because he was lucky by any means, but for the simple fact that he was a mathematical genius. In short: Rufus counted cards.

Rufus had friends who would pay him to gamble their money in various poker tournaments; even sending him to Vegas at a point or two against the high rollers. He did so well that, after he died, my great grandmother used his gambling earnings to buy our family an old log cabin in Cuchara, Colorado from a man with the family name of “Unfug.”

The Unfug’s had owned the cabin for many years prior to selling it to my family in 1963. The Unfug’s had acquired the cabin from an unknown family whom owned it prior to 1910. Needless to say, my family cabin has had lots of life go in and out of its doors. It has watched my family grow up throughout the many years we possessed it. Lord knows I grew to love visiting the small log cabin at the base of the mountains.

It wasn’t until the 3rd of July, 1997 that I stood eye to eye with the little girl at the entrance of the far bedroom.

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Yes, I was eight. Who the hell believes an eight year-old with night terrors? If you wish, you may dismiss the story to come as some twisted childhood imagination shot to Hell, but try explaining that which has happened since that night and you will find it to be much more difficult.

There is only one reason an eight-year-old will get out of their bed in the middle of the night. It was exactly that reason why I couldn’t go back to sleep.

I had to take a piss.

I woke up with an overwhelming need to urinate. My brother, cousins, and I were all sleeping on the floor next to the stone fireplace in the living room that night. I slept the closest to the fireplace, which was furthest from the bathroom and bedrooms. After allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I carefully left my warm sleeping-bag; stepping carefully over my brother and cousins whom were sleeping soundly. I made my way from the oval rug onto the cold, hardwood flooring. (If the frigid temperature of the floor didn’t wake you up, the rough texture of it was a sure awakening. )

My family cabin is anything but sound-proof. If someone (or something) were to walk through the tall grass outside, you would know. The constant low rush of the small brook, only a few yards away, could be heard through the cabin walls all through the night. If someone were to inhale ever-so-slightly in the far bedroom, whatever was moving in the grass outside would no doubt hear the exhale.

Yet, I didn’t hear the little girl waiting in the hallway.

I don’t expect you to believe in anything nor will I ask you to. I am not here to sway faith, preach religion, or blow smoke in your face. The truth is, I don’t know what to believe myself. I don’t claim to believe that the dead walk the earth as spirits waiting to be judged nor do I claim that ghosts are simply demons and angels out of hiding. I just don’t know, but I do know that what ever happened that night provoked something…something that still has a resounding presents.

I had to piss and had just made my way onto the cold, wood flooring when I grabbed onto the opening of the hallway. To my right was the bedroom where my Uncle Brent and future Aunt Jan slept. To my left would be the bathroom and, past that, the bedroom where my parents slept.

Hand clenched to the doorframe of the hallway entrance, I pulled myself left. I was now facing the latched, wooden door of my parents’ bedroom and in two short steps, I would be clear to open the bathroom door to my right, but I didn’t make it two more steps.

Eyes straining to see through the darkness, I stared towards the old, bedroom door. My foot had barely raised to take the first step towards the bathroom door; a step that, in the next moment, would turn into a full stride in the opposite direction.

I tried, but I couldn’t scream.

In that split second, a pale little girl with long, straight, black hair appeared in front of me. Standing only inches from my face, she gave me the most disturbingly, transparent smile….

…I ran.

I hurdled over my cousins and brother; sliding into my sleeping-bag, not looking over my shoulder to see if she was at my neck or grabbing for my ankles. I quickly flung my sleeping bag over my head. (Why is it that every one of us as children believed with all our hearts that if we pulled the covers over our head, we are exempted from any harm from outward sources?) I prayed to God that I wouldn’t hear her crawling closer or hear her breathing at my ear (why I thought she could breathe is beyond me). I didn’t know what would be worse: if she started whispering in my ear or laughing in my face.

I couldn’t go back to sleep. I waited and waited; praying to God that she was gone. I couldn’t breathe because I refused to allow anything (including oxygen) into my make-shift fortress/sleeping-bag.

Yet nothing happened.

It wasn’t until my mother woke up the next morning to make coffee that I told her of the little girl…and that I had had an accident. She didn’t believe me. Like I said before, “who would believe an eight-year-old with night terrors?”

That Christmas, everything changed when friends of the family visited our little cabin.

They all believe now.

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It was a honey-moon getaway to the beautiful, snow-covered Rockies for the newly wedded couple. They asked my family if they could use the old cabin for a peaceful, inexpensive, lovers’ retreat. They didn’t even last a day.

The story that was told at Christmas was as follows:

They were only there a few short hours when the wife started to hear things. The husband insisted that he could hear nothing, but she stood her ground. After further troublesome earfuls of God-knows-what, she insisted that they leave immediately. He insisted that it must have been coming from outside, but she told him sternly,

“It’s coming from the bedroom.”

He knew she wouldn’t calm down enough to enjoy their time alone so he decided to pack everything that they had just unpacked. It was all in “that” bedroom.

You are probably wondering, “Which bedroom was it then?” I’m sorry to say they were not as descriptive as we would have liked them to be, but I am quite certain it was the far bedroom.

His wife wouldn’t leave the kitchen. The wife instructed her husband to get all the bags from the room and bring them to the car. He had two bags and a battery-operated lantern left to grab. One hand holding the lantern and the other holding one of the bags, he loaded them into the car.

All that was left was the bag…right?

He went in to grab the last bag and there on the bed was the lantern that he had just loaded into the vehicle….turned on.

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A year went by after I saw the little girl in the hallway before I had the first dream.

I was sitting on the bridge behind my cabin dangling my feet and looking out into one of the Cuchara Rivers and, as I looked, I saw that everything looked to be in its place…

Except for the little girl.

She stood off in the distance just watching me. She didn’t have a smile or fangs or even the slightest bit of emotion. The little girl only stood watching.

Then I awoke.

Another year went by before I had the second dream. I sat at the same bridge dangling my feet by the river, but things were different this time: the trees, grass, and buildings seemed as though they were dying or beginning to rot. I looked up the river to see the little girl just a bit closer this time with the same serious look upon her face as she watched me.

The next year the grass was dead, the trees were rotting, and the buildings were rubble and decomposing logs as I stood in the dried up creek looking up at the little girl standing at the foot of the creek….just watching.

Each year the dreams get worse.

A few years ago, she started to speak.

“If you only knew….” She said not but a year ago….

Yes, I know what you are wondering, “….Well?!? What the hell was she talking about?!”

I wish I knew.

So now I am spending my summer at that Cabin.

Alone.

Sleeping in that far bedroom.

Below, I will list any activity that happens as the days go by.

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Daily Logs During my time living in the cabin by myself:

Day 1 (June 14th): Approx. 1 AM I hear footsteps in the kitchen.

Day 2 (June 15th): Approx. 10PM the kitchen cabinet opens itself up. (It has a safety latch.)

Day 5 (June 18th): Approx. 12:30PM I was lying in bed when I asked her to move something in the cabin. As soon as I asked, she opened another latched cabinet.

Day 14 (June 27th) I had my annual dream....

There are times at night when we wake up for no apparent reason; times that we open our eyes and don’t know where we are or who is in the room with us and then we suddenly realize everything. What happened to me last night was one of those moments shot to Hell.

I honestly don’t feel comfortable telling you this, but I started this blog to keep an honest record of activity in my cabin and I refuse to cheat you from any detail.

 

I was dreaming about this past weekend away from the cabin. I had decided to stay one more day at Country Stampede and then I awoke, not knowing where I was.

I opened my eyes and looked around the room. I could smell and hear running water, feel the wind of an open window blowing cold at my feet, and after a few seconds, I realized I was at my cabin…

But what I didn’t yet understand was who I had my arm around.

Then the "here and now" gripped my lungs….I had come to my cabin alone.

“There should not be someone in this bed with me!”, my mind screamed to my consciousness.

She had long straight black hair.

Then “she” turned over to look at me.

I bolted out of bed and tried to run, but in dreams things are always slower. It was like running through water. I wasn’t getting away fast enough. I remember finally crawling into my car to drive the hell away and even remember dreaming that I started to back up the car, but then….I awoke.

It had all been a dream…

Until I realized my bare feet had dirt on them….