Actor and author Rider Strong took a vacation from the busy Hollywood scene in late fall 2013 to spend time alone outdoors. In addition to being well-known for playing Shawn Hunter on the popular program Boy Meets World, Rider was already a successful independent director and writer. He had hired an isolated, traditional home that was said to be more than a century old, and he traveled deep into the northern California forests in search of inspiration and tranquility. The cabin was unremarkable at first sight, with its moss-covered roof, aged wooden panels, and a single fireplace that blew gentle white smoke into the cool evening. It was close to the edge of an old logging trail, tucked away amid tall pines and twisted trees.
Reaching Dusk
The last of the light was disappearing behind the trees when Rider arrived. With every bend, the gravel road approaching the cabin had become narrower and more dangerous, and his phone coverage had vanished hours earlier. The cabin was described as “ideal for writers seeking solitude” in the rental listing. He believed that was precisely what he needed. However, the place gave him a sudden cold as he stepped onto the creaky porch carrying a rucksack. The air inside was more incredible than he thought. Even though the caretaker had probably lighted the fireplace earlier that day, it was already weakly burning with shrinking embers, and there was still a musty odor in the corners. The hush moved like fog, and dust motes swirled in the firelight. Rural vacations were nothing new to Rider, yet something seemed wrong here. He dismissed it as nervousness and exhaustion from the lengthy travel. He prepared a cup of instant coffee, took out his laptop and notebook, unpacked his bag, and sat by the fireplace. His mind was racing with ideas for a new script, but as he typed the opening words, something changed in the room, whispering, barely noticeable.
Unusual Events Start
He heard it at around ten o’clock at night, when he was sketching up the plot of a horror film that was ironically influenced by his surroundings. From the rear of the cabin came a low squeak. Then another. There was no breeze. There was silence in the night. He paused, listened. “Probably just the old wood settling,” he told himself in a whisper. He started writing again, but was confused. Beyond the reach of the firelight, shadows danced and flashed oddly along the walls. Suddenly, his laptop froze. Upstairs, there was a thud. The Rider’s back tensed. “There isn’t an upstairs,” he said. It had been said that the cabin was a one-story house. He took the flashlight out of his bag and strolled down the corridor. In the silence, every footfall on the wooden floor reverberated too loudly. He hadn’t noticed the door at the end of the hall before. He laughed and walked over to it, his hand shaking as he turned the handle. A narrow staircase that led upward impossibly upward was revealed when the door creaked slowly open.
The Secret Basement
The moonlight filtered through a gap in the wall, illuminating the steep stairs. There was a small attic at the top. Everything was covered in dust, including a stack of yellowed books and an antique rocking chair. There was only one window that looked out on the woods. However, Rider’s attention was drawn to a leather-bound diary that appeared to have been thrown in a rush on the floor. Fear lost out to curiosity. Blowing off the dust, he picked it up and turned the pages. Most of the entries, which were dated between the 1920s and 1940s, were authored by a young man by the name of the young man Harper. Typical early pages included hunting stories, weather forecasts, and complaints about the remote location. The tone eventually decreased, though.
Third of February, 1933
Once more, the voices began. It’s always after dark. They ask me to come outdoors in whispers through the walls. March 12th, Sarah won’t wake up. She sleeps all day now, eyes wide. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. I don’t think she’s breathing.
April 1st
I boarded the door to the basement. Something came in yesterday night. I didn’t see it. However, I sensed it.
The Clock Strikes
Midnight Heart thumping, Rider floated down the steps, journal clutching firmly. The cabin’s temperature had dropped dramatically. His breath fogged before him, and the fire had gone out. He tried turning on a lamp nothing. The electricity was gone. His laptop screen flashed slightly for a second, then died. Panic set in. Then the whispering began. Low and incoherent at first, like wind whistling through a keyhole, then clearer. Rider swore he heard his name. “Rider…” Come back upstairs…” He grabbed his keys and sprinted for the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. He cranked the knob, pushed his shoulder against it nothing. In desperation, he unlocked a window and climbed out into the darkness. The cold hit him like a wave. The woods were black as ink, and the sand path he’d arrived on had vanished. It was gone. No sign of tracks. No tire marks. Only forest. Behind him, the cabin lights flashed back on – even though there was no electricity. All the windows were glowing yellow, like eyes watching him. Then he caught sight of her.
The Cabin’s Ghost
There was a pale, still person standing in the attic window. A woman wearing older clothing, with empty, black eyes. She opened her mouth slowly as if to scream, but didn’t make a sound. The Rider spun around and took off. He struggled for air, branches scratched his face, and he dared not turn around. He rushed into the thick forest for hours before spotting headlights in the distance. On a service road, a logging truck. He hurriedly flagged it down. A senior citizen with wrinkled features was the driver who stopped. “Didn’t you come from the Harper cabin?” The man gave a head shake. In years, no one has remained there for more than an hour. Most of them never return.
Returning to the Real World
Rider returned to town in the morning. Local authorities heard his story but discovered no journal upon their return. The door to the attic was gone. No secret stairway. It has been decades since the fireplace was utilized.
A psychological episode caused by loneliness and stress?
Rider would never say. The following day, he vowed never to come back. Fans have noted an unexpected shift in his writing, even though he rarely discusses the occurrence. The following year saw the release of his second short film, The Attic Light, which, despite being a work of fiction, followed a guy confined in a haunted cabin and plagued by voices, whispers, and memories that are not his. Rider Strong returned to Hollywood with a story far more terrifying than any he had intended to write, regardless of whether his night in the haunted cabin was real or imagined. He also warned anyone who would seek too much alone in areas the forest has already taken.