Tales of Terror

7. Little White

When I was a kid we used to take trips up to this mountain cabin my family had. I always hated going there because of the light.

I first noticed it when I was around eight or so. I looked out my window late one night to see a light, hanging around the edge of the trees, floating in the darkness like a firefly. It was small and white, never seeming to move beyond my field of vision, flitting between the tree trunks that I could see from my window.

I got to calling it "Little White". I hated him. He was always floating around aimlessly on the treeline, barely lighting up anything around him. I only every saw him at night, and whenever I tired to tell or show anyone in my family, they would laugh and say what an active imagination I had.

I started dreading visits to the cabin because I didn't want to see Little White. Every night I would lie in bed and beg for him to go away.

I remember our final trip to the cabin because it was the night of the huge storm. Our whole drive up, our car was battered by driving winds and sheets of icy rain. That night, high winds blew against our cabin, causing the walls the shake and making the trees in the lot lean almost sideways. For once, when I looked apprehensively out my window, I couldn't see Little White. I was happy for it.

I was just turning around to go back to bed when a bright flash of light suddenly filled the room. Turning, I saw Little White right up against my window, made blurry by the water that covered the glass, flashing repeatedly. I screamed and ran out into the hallway, but whatever noise I made was drowned out by the loudest snapping noise I had ever heard. I managed to dive to the side just in time as the biggest tree in the lot came crashing down on the roof of our cabin. In the split second before the roof was severed, I looked out the window to see Little White dip beneath the frame.

It was a miracle no one was injured. We managed to get our bearings together and drive down the mountain, where we called the fire department. The cabin was completely destroyed, something I was secretly glad for.

An officer stopped by our house a few hours later, with pictures of the wreckage. "Sir, we found this man dead in the remains of your cabin, do you know who he is?" He asked my father, showing a picture of a dirty-looking man crushed beneath the fallen tree.

The rest of my family expressed shock and began talking all at once, but I was silent. All I could do was stare at what was in the man's hands, clutched tightly in his fingers.

A flashlight. And a camera.

-- Discord_and_Dine (via Reddit)