CAGED IN THE MOUNTAINS

I shouldn’t have come here alone.

Not because it’s dangerous—not really—but because now I can’t pretend anymore. The woods are too quiet to lie to myself.

I tug the zipper of my sleeping bag up to my chin and lie still, staring at the curved ceiling of my tent. It shudders every few seconds, the nylon sides twitching with each gust of wind. The forest groans around me, all creaking branches and shifting shadows, like the trees themselves are fucking watching.

This was supposed to be empowering. Brave. Something to shove in my mother’s face the next time she calls me fragile or tells me I’ll never make it on my own if I don’t toughen up.

You should be more like your sister. 

She always says, her voice clipped and polished like the heels she wears to court. 

Hannah would never waste her time with silly books and daydreaming in the clouds.

Yeah, well, Hannah also wouldn't cry herself to sleep night after night. She wouldn’t fantasize about a cabin in the woods and a man with rough hands who wants nothing more than to keep her safe and make her pregnant.

God. I’m thinking about it all over again.

I roll onto my side and squeeze my thighs together. It’s not even a real fantasy—it’s something I half-read in a steamy novel, something that made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain. I want someone who sees me. Who claims me. Not because I’m impressive or successful or perfect—but because I’m his.

Pathetic.

I reach for my flashlight, flick it on, and scan the inside of the tent. Books stacked neatly in the corner. My journal. It’s only night two and already I’m restless. I hiked four miles from the dirt road and set up my camp near the edge of the mountain, close enough to the river to hear it at night. I wanted peace. Space. Proof I can survive without anyone.

So why do I feel like I’m not alone?

The wind shifts, and I freeze. There it is again. The snap of a branch. The whisper of movement just outside the tent. Not an animal. Too slow. Too careful. But unmistakably predatory.

My heart kicks up in my chest. I flick off the flashlight and hold my breath.

Nothing.

The silence swells around me, pressing against the thin walls of the tent like it wants in. I pull the sleeping bag tighter, my pulse roaring in my ears. I’m being fucking ridiculous. No one’s out here. That was just a deer. A raccoon, maybe.

Still… I feel watched.

And not in the scary movie, serial killer kind of way. It's worse than that. Slower. More deliberate. Like someone has all the time in the world to wait me out.

I sit up fast, unzip the flap of the tent, and peek out.

Pitch black.

Clouds cover the stars, thick and heavy. Thunder rolls low and far away, distant enough that I could probably pretend I didn’t hear it. But the air feels damp. A storm is coming.

“Just great.” I sigh and zip the tent closed again.

Another crack in the woods, this time to the left.

Okay. Screw this.

I yank on my hoodie, pull on my boots, and grab my flashlight. I tell myself it’s just to check the perimeter. Just to ease the paranoia.

But the second I step outside, the air hits me like a slap—wet, sharp, and way too cold for early summer. My breath fogs in front of me. The trees loom overhead like they’re leaning in to watch me closely.

I shine the flashlight around the small clearing.

Nothing.

No eyes. No shadows. No people.

But that doesn’t mean it's… nothing.

I wrap my arms around myself and slowly circle the tent. My mind plays tricks on me—was that a boot print in the dirt? Is it mine? I can’t tell anymore. I’m too deep in my own head.

And then the sky opens up.

Rain slams down like a flipped switch. The wind howls, snapping my tent to one side, yanking a corner of the tarp loose. I lunge to grab it, but the flashlight slips from my hand and bounces away.

Thunder cracks, so loud it shakes the ground.

I don't even scream—I just dash into my tent, grab my shit and run.

I don't think. I don’t stop to pick a direction. I just run. Straight into the trees.

The rain blinds me. Mud sucks at my boots, and branches whip at my arms and face. I skid down a slope I can’t see, my ankle twisting painfully before I crash to my knees. I don’t even feel it.

All I can feel is the panic in my chest, like something is chasing me. Like I’ve already been caught and just haven’t realized it yet.

Then, through the darkness, a shape emerges.

A cabin.

A real one. Not my mind playing nasty tricks on me.

It’s sturdy, with smoke curling faintly from the chimney and golden light glowing in the window. It's tucked deep in the trees, like it grew from the earth instead of being built.

I don’t hesitate.

I stumble up the steps, soaking and shivering, and pound on the door.

No answer.

I try the knob. It turns.

Inside is dim, warm, and heavy with the scent of smoke. The fire crackles in the stone hearth. A soft throw blanket lies tossed across a tattered couch. A stack of logs waits near the wall, neat and precise.

Someone lives here.

But they’re not here right now.

I slam the door shut behind me and sink to the floor, trembling.

“I’m not weak,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my knees. “I’m not fucking weak.”

But the cabin says otherwise. This doesn’t feel like freedom.

It feels like I just stepped into another cage.