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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/11velociraptors on 2024-10-07 03:29:49+00:00.

A few weeks ago, I rented a cabin near Pitkin County, Colorado for a weekend getaway with my wife and daughter. For their privacy, I’ll refer to my wife as Elena, and my daughter, who’s between four and eight years old, as Sofia. It was dusk by the time we arrived at the cabin—far later than Elena and I had planned. The afternoon’s anticipation gone, the promise of a relaxing vacation already sullied, and my back sore from changing the tire which had been eviscerated by the forest road, the mood was thoroughly ruined. Maybe that should have been an indication as to how the rest of the trip would go.

The cabin itself was beautiful and rustic. Nestled among the towering pines, the two-story building blended into the surrounding woodlands with its dark-stained wooden siding and stone chimney. Large windows glistened with the last light of day, and the wrap-around porch boasted a hanging patio swing, much to Sofia’s delight. She ran straight for it and started swinging as Elena and I carried the bags inside. 

When I unlocked the door and turned on the lights, I found myself surprised by the decor. In stark contrast to the classy, almost minimalist exterior of the cabin, the interior was remarkably cluttered. It was like every square surface (countertops, bookshelves, tables, etc.) was covered in little trinkets. “Tchotchkes” as my mother would’ve called them. There were coasters, candles, vintage oil-lamps and compasses, and a bunch of wooden animal carvings, each about a foot tall. The interior wasn’t dirty by any means, just more crowded than expected. I found it charming in a weird way, though Elena was less fond. I remember her taking a long look at the place and saying “interesting”, which is her code for “I don’t like what I’m seeing but I also don’t want to make a big deal about it.” 

It was past Sofia’s bedtime, so after coaxing her off of the porch swing, I helped her get set up for the night. There were two bedrooms on the second floor; a master suite with an attached bathroom, and a smaller bedroom that was pretty clearly set up as a kids room for visitors to the cabin. The cabin was specifically advertised as family friendly and good for parents with younger children, so it was no surprise when the smaller bedroom was full of colorful toys and plushies. There was a fireplace across from the bed, its mantle showcasing a full set of those wooden animal carvings—one moose, one bear, one trout, and so on. There was also one particularly large teddy bear sitting on the bed, partially buried under the covers like it was getting ready for bed. Sofia instantly fell in love, and I thought it was sweet that the cabin’s owner had gone the extra mile to make the place welcoming. I didn’t love the idea of her cuddling it to sleep though, since it likely hadn’t been washed between visits, so I propped it up on a chair next to the bed before tucking Sofia in for the night. Tired from our travels, Elena and I went to sleep not too long afterwards. 

Saturday was our designated lake day. After making breakfast and waking up Sofia, who had to be convinced not to take her new best friend “Mr. Bear” out on the water with us, we grabbed the kayaks off of our roof rack and headed down to the shore. 

We were a short walk from the lake and I was absolutely blown away by the natural splendor. Our cabin was semi-isolated: remote enough to give my family peace and privacy, but close enough to civilization that we could easily access help in case of an emergency. We were a five minute drive into town and a five minute walk to the nearest neighboring cabin, which we passed on the way to the lake. It was a gorgeous building, far more intricate and seemingly much older than the one we were renting. There was an older woman sitting on the porch as we passed it by, and although I couldn’t wave since both hands were full with the kayaks, I gave her a nod and a friendly smile. She stared at me in response, her expression completely blank. She was looking directly at me, but almost looked like she was in a trance or something.

“What was that all about?” I quietly asked Elena once we were out of earshot. 

“Not sure,” my wife answered. “She looks pretty settled in there. Maybe that’s her home and she doesn’t appreciate her neighbor running an Airbnb.” 

That seemed a logical explanation. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder before the house completely disappeared behind us, and saw that the woman was now walking down the steps of her front porch, her gaze still fixed on us. Elena and I exchanged worried looks and picked up the pace a little, Sofia running along ahead of us, joyful and oblivious. Once we reached the shore, we hopped into the kayaks and pushed off into the water. We weren’t exactly running away from the woman, it was more so that we wanted to avoid a confrontation if we could. As we started paddling out into the lake, the woman appeared at the treeline, but never came any closer. I gave her a wave, and again, she gave me no response but a glower. It occurred to me that she might’ve been trying to warn us about the lake, maybe about a current or algal bloom, but I’d researched the area extensively to make sure it was safe, and her demeanor wasn’t quite urgent or benevolent enough for that to be the case. 

The rest of the day was thankfully devoid of any more strange encounters. After a calm day of swimming and hiking, we returned to the cabin in the evening for dinner and s’mores. Sofia brought Mr. Bear outside to “help” with the s’mores, to mine and Elena’s amusement. We had no idea how we would convince her to leave the stuffed animal behind when we left on Monday night. After we put Sofia to sleep at 8 pm, Elena and I watched a movie, had a drink, and then went to sleep at 10:30 or so.

At midnight, according to my phone clock, I heard what sounded like a knock. I sat up in bed, checked the time, and listened for a minute. A few seconds passed, and then there came three knocks in quick succession. I gently shook Elena awake, waiting to hear the sound again, and after a moment, I did. There was someone at the front door of the cabin in the middle of the night. Concerned, I got out of bed and tried to look out the bedroom window. I could only see a sliver of the front porch, and though I couldn’t see an actual person, I could see the shadow of one thanks to the porch lights. 

Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled to have a stranger pay our isolated cabin a midnight visit. I told Elena to stay upstairs and made my way to the first floor, stopping by the living room to pull back the curtains ever so slightly and peer through the window. Still, given the shape of the house and the placement of the windows, it was impossible to see anything but a shadow. The person must have been standing an inch away from the front door. I scanned the front yard and the distant treeline, but didn’t see anyone else, so a decoy/ambush situation seemed unlikely, but I still grabbed my handgun just in case. 

Just my luck—the old front door of the house didn’t have a peephole, so I got up close to the door and tried talking to the person on the other end. 

“Can I help you?” I said. Instead of answering, the person knocked again, this time more urgently. No way in hell was I opening that door now. 

“Look, friend, if you need help you better speak up, otherwise I’m gonna have to ask you to get off my damn porch before I call the police.” 

The knocking stopped, and after a moment, there was a woman’s voice on the other side of the door. Her tone was nervous and her voice was soft. She said a single sentence: 

“He’s watching your daughter through the bear.” 

Of all the things I expected to hear from our unwelcome visitor, that was not one of them. I readied my gun and cracked the door open. When I looked out into the night, I saw the elderly woman from earlier quickly shambling away from my door. Her back was turned towards me and she looked like she was trying to get away from my porch as quickly as she could. I called after her, asking her what she was talking about, but she didn’t look back. She just kept going until the night swallowed her up completely. 

I was pretty disturbed at this point, so I shut and locked the door and made my way back upstairs. Elena was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, and I quietly explained to her what was going on. Horrified, she went into Sofia’s room and gently took the teddy bear out of our sleeping daughter’s arms. We went downstairs and laid the bear out on the kitchen counter. I grabbed a pair of kitchen shears and dissected the thing, making an incision in its fluffy body and pulling out its cotton innards. It wasn’t that I believed the old woman, just that as a parent, anything related to my kid’s safety, even something that sounds outlandish, is something I take seriously. Even though the woman was likely suffering from some kind of cognitive impairment, I still wanted to investigate. I pulled all of the stuffing out of Mr. Bear and found nothing, though Elena pointed out that the bear had two very large glass eyes which could potentially be concealing a small camera. I was unable to find a hammer, but I did find a wrench under the kitchen sink. I wrapped the eyes in a kitchen towel and smashed them to bits, but when I sorted through the fragments, I didn’t see anything that looked like a recording device. 

I was relieved, but I was also equal parts creeped out and…

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