My Great Grandpa had bought a cabin during the Second World War. It was down in the swamps of Louisiana. Every weekend he'd be down there, enjoying himself a great retirement after serving his time in the war. At the time of his passing, the cabin then fell to my dad, and he also couldn't stop going to that place. I, on the other hand, always hated that cabin. It was constructed solely from wood, and the panels would creak whenever stepped upon. The exterior of it was fully covered with green moss, combined with the undertone of the wood, it looked like something out of a horror movie.
He brought me for the first time when I came of age to go hunting for alligators. The area surrounding was so densely packed with swamps, I was in awe at the fact that the cabin hadn't sunk yet. The only form of civilization there was, was a small town at the edge of the swamp. It was about a thirty-minute drive from the cabin. My dad and I stopped there to stock up on supplies before the trips. The hardware stores usually had everything we needed but It didn't matter how much bug spray I drenched myself with, I would always get mauled by mosquitos, and I could never sleep because of the sound of the wildlife coming alive at night.
Then my dad died.
The ownership of the cabin came to me. I had gone there almost every weekend as a kid but didn't return since the death of my father nearly now ten years ago. It never even crossed my mind to return to that horrid place. It looked like my worst nightmare that, I, for some reason got stuck living in. That all changed when I returned again and almost didn't come back...
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Old Axie
KorkuI've never enjoyed been there, to the cabin. A fun hunting trip with my best friend turned to my worst nightmare.