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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Aggravating_Road2692 on 2024-09-24 17:39:31+00:00.

I moved in with my Uncle who had a strange set of rules.

When I was twelve I was forced to spend a summer with my Great Uncle Jeremy. You see I was a bit of a troublemaker back in those days, and my parents thought if I spent some time with my strict grouch of an Uncle, I would somehow be rehabilitated. You can imagine how hard my eyes rolled when my mom and dad told me about their plan, but I was oblivious to the horrors I would endure that summer.

Uncle Jeremy was somewhat of a mountain man. He lived in the remote wilderness of Montana’s high pine forest. A homesteader through and through, he’d made a life where most people would go insane, granted Uncle Jerremy did seem a bit coocky to me at the time.

My dad almost tossed me out of the car as we rolled into my uncle’s mountain cabin. He didn’t even wait for Uncle Jeremy to greet me at the door. I watched as Dad’s little Prius made its way back down the long driveway and onto the unkempt dirt road. While I was a bit offended by how I’d just been abandoned, I was not envious of the long journey ahead of him. It took us almost two hours to traverse that nasty road. I was sure we’d be left stranded at one point or another, a Prius is no off-roading vehicle.

The hybrid’s tail lights disappeared amongst the dense forest. My attention turned to the rickety wooden cabin. This house was not what you would imagine it to be, it wasn’t the picturesque idea people have when they think of a log cabin. I could see the structure had been through a lot. The logs were weathered, faded by the hot Montana summer and the icy winter winds. I could tell that everything used in its construction was sourced from the surrounding forest. Likewise, no modern amenities were visible, no power lines, fire hydrants, not even a satellite dish. I knew then it was going to be a duller summer than I’d imagined.

I lifted a hand to knock on the old door and stopped when I noticed a few deep scratch marks on its facade.

‘Bears?.’ I thought to myself. An uneasy feeling that I was being watched from the pines came over me. I cocked my head in the direction of the tree line. It felt like something was calling me over to the woods. The door squealed open and I returned my gaze to the cabin.

In the passageway stood a grey-bearded man, the fibers in his beard long, greasy, and matted. His skin was old and weathered, I suspected the same reasoning as the cabin’s. He looked at me through the grey film in his eye. I’d never actually met Uncle Jerremy up until that point, but I’d heard stories about him from my father. My father had suffered the same fate as me the summer between seventh and eighth grade. He told me Uncle Jerremy was not a man to be trifled with.

“You listen to everything your Uncle Jerremy tells you, he is not a man you want to make angry.” My father would lecture, but when I looked into the face of the withering man, I didn’t sense an ounce of animosity. He almost seemed kind, nothing resembled the ferocity my father had mentioned.

“Hi, I’m Marcus.” I outstretched my hand in the introduction but he slapped it away, before placing a hand over my mouth.

“Shhh-- we don’t say names here!” He moved my head over to the side to make sure no one, or, nothing was listening. More of my father’s description of my great-uncle came to mind.

“Uncle Jeremy is a bit-- strange, but he has your best interest in mind, try your best to ignore his lack of civility.” The words were all starting to make sense now.

Uncle Jerremy ushered me into the cabin and I thought I heard him whisper my name, as he pushed me inside. That is until I turned to see the look of fear in his eyes. I knew then that the sound had drifted in on the early summer breeze, somewhere beyond the tree line, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood.

“Is everything Okay Uncle Jerremy?” His open palm slapped my cheek as I spoke his name.

“Damn it, kid! I told you no names!” He said through gritted teeth before returning his gaze to the tree line. Almost like a dream, a faint voice slithered into the cabin.

“Jerrrreeemmmy.” The voice called.

“What the hell is that?” I asked but received no reply. Uncle Jerremy quickly slammed the door shut.

“Rule number one, NO NAMES!” I dropped my gaze at his reprimand.

“Rule number two, if you hear something strange, leave-- it – be. Ignore it! You hear me?” I ponder his instructions before moving to question his logic.

“W-Why?”

“Not another word on the matter those are the rules. My only rules, you follow them or I’ll send you back to your little life in Boise you hear me!?”

Just then my escape from homestead living became clear, break a few rules here and there and I’d be back in the Gem state. I tried not to smile at the plot that was formulating in my mind.

“Your room is down yonder.” The old man pointed down a small hallway before leading me to it himself. We stepped into a small ten-by-ten room, I threw my backpack onto the bed and plopped down right beside it, giving a grunt of relief.

“What do you think you’re doing kid? This isn’t some luxurious mountain retreat.” I eyed the crumbling wooden walls, ‘The understatement of the century’ I thought to myself.

“We have work to do”, he moved to the window and pushed open the shutters taking in a lung full of pristine mountain air in the process. Beyond his gave stood a two-acre clearing in the forest. A mix of fields, more comparable to glorified gardens, and livestock, chickens, goats, and one cow. He turned to me and noted my disappointed face.

“What you think this was a free ride? No, we work for our food here.” He said with the first ounce of enjoyment I’d seen inch across his face. He pulled open a drawer on the nightstand.

“I placed these here for you before you got here.” I peered into the drawer to find some old torn overalls.

"You put those on and meet me outside, there’s a lot to get done around here. The faster we get it over with the faster we can have ourselves a nice supper.

Later that night I lay in bed unable to sleep. All of my muscles were aching. Uncle Jerremy was not lying, homestead living is not for the weak. We’d worked until the sun met the horizon, and this time of year in Montana, that was around 9:30 p.m.

We’d weeded the fields, fed the chickens, and milked the dairy cow whose name I found out to be Bessy, and done dozens upon dozens of other tasks that were not very enjoyable. The best thing about it was that Uncle Jerremy said we would do it all again the next day. I placed the pillow over my face hoping that it would suffocate me. I was a beat dog that needed to be put out of its misery. The warmth of the plush fabric seemed to comfort me a bit, so I left it there as the night slowly started to wash over me. Just as I was about to fall into an uneasy night of sleep, I heard scratching from the other side of the wall. It was coming from outside.

The sound was very faint, it almost reminded me of the time we had mice inside the walls back home, only these walls were not hollow, they were solid lumber. I moved the pillow off to the side making sure that nothing muted the scraping by my head.

'Scrape, scrape, scrape." The noise sounded rhythmic. Almost as if someone was sending a message.

'Scratch, scratch, scratch." Whatever it was it was clawing deeper into the side of the cabin. Whatever was making the noise was too strong to be a mouse, a raccoon maybe. Then the sound intensified, to a loud ear-piercing screech, like someone clawing at an old chalkboard.

“Screech, Screech, Screech.” I shot to a seated position. It must’ve been a bear. Montana Grizzlies scared the shit out of me, part of the reason why I’d never come to meet Uncle Jerremy in the first place. I heard the same faint whisper that had come from the tree line earlier that day, only this time instead of Uncle Jeremy’s name, my name hissed in through the cracks of the cabin.

“Maaaarccussss.” I looked at the shutters on the window, and my heart dropped when I saw something slowly pulling them open.

“Uncle Jerremy!” I shouted. From down the hall, I heard a bedroom door smash open, followed by my room’s door. Uncle Jerremy stood there holding his 22 in hand, his eyes meeting mine, before noticing the slowly creeping shutters. He leaned the gun on the wooden wall before running over to the shutters and forcing them closed. He quickly locked the latch before turning to me.

“Kid! I had two rules and you broke both of them the first night!” He shouted at me while I still trying to make sense of what just happened. I was hoping that the more my uncle talked the more the situation would clear up, but everything he said just made me more confused and frankly terrified.

“Now you’ve done it, kid. It now knows our names, it’s imprinted on us. You have no idea how hard it was to get rid of the last one.”

‘It? The last one?’ I thought.

“Wha-- what are you talking about.” I quivered.

“Never mind that, from now on you keep these shutters locked here?” He didn’t have to tell me twice.

“The whole house is going to be locked down. And just so we’re clear if you hear me calling your name, it ain’t me!”

‘What the hell, what else could it be?’ I opened my mouth to ask a clarifying question.

“What is-- it?” I said.

“What’s my second rule!?” My uncle commanded. I pondered for a bit, before responding.

“If I see something, leave it be.”

"That’s right! Leave-- it – be. No more of t…

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