The Cursed Cabin of Bear Creek (Colorado)

Narrator Profile:

• Name: Adam Cole
• Age: 33
• Hometown: Bear Creek, Colorado
• Occupation: Park Ranger
• Background: Adam grew up in the small mountain town of Bear Creek, nestled in the Rockies. Having a deep love for nature and hiking, he became a park ranger after leaving college. Despite the town’s serene beauty, there’s an old cabin near the edge of the forest that has always been shrouded in mystery and fear.

Story:

I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by the vast wilderness of the Rocky Mountains. It’s a beautiful, peaceful place—until you come across something that should’ve never been found. I work as a park ranger in Bear Creek, and part of my job is ensuring that all visitors stay safe. But there’s a place near the edge of the forest, just past a trail no one dares take, where something evil lingers.

I first heard the rumors of the cabin when I was just a boy. People in the town would whisper about it, warning others to stay away. They said it was cursed, that anyone who ventured too close never came back. Of course, I didn’t believe it. I thought it was just small-town superstition, a story to keep people out of the wilds. But when I grew older and became a ranger, I learned there was more to the story than I could’ve imagined.

One night, after a long shift, I decided to take a hike. The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting an orange glow over the valley, and I felt an irresistible pull to explore that forbidden part of the woods. I knew the warnings, but I had to see for myself. I made my way through the trees, deeper into the forest, following the crumbled remnants of an old trail. After about an hour of walking, I found it—the cabin.

It was older than I expected, barely standing, its wood gray and splintered from years of neglect. The air around it felt strangely still, as though even the wind was too afraid to pass through. I hesitated but stepped closer, compelled by something I couldn’t explain.

When I touched the cabin’s rotting door, a cold chill ran up my spine. The door creaked open, revealing a dim interior. Dust and cobwebs filled the air, and it smelled like decay. But what really unsettled me were the markings on the walls. Symbols—scrawled in what looked like blood—covered every surface. I ran my fingers over one of the marks, feeling the strange energy pulsating from it. My stomach churned with dread.

Then, I heard it.

A whisper, soft at first, like the wind brushing through the trees, but growing louder and more distinct. It sounded like a chant, words I couldn’t understand. I turned to leave, but something stopped me. A figure stood in the corner of the cabin, its face obscured by darkness. I couldn’t make out its features, but I could feel its eyes on me, cold and full of malice.

I backed away slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. The whispering grew louder, more frantic, until it felt like a thousand voices were speaking in unison, echoing through the walls. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

I ran out of the cabin, the air thick with the scent of decay and death. When I reached the trail, I looked back, expecting to see nothing but trees. But in the window of the cabin, I saw a shadow watching me.

I never returned to that place, and I told no one about my experience. But I know the truth now. The cabin is cursed—haunted by the spirits of those who came before me, drawn into its dark history, never to leave. No one should venture there, not unless they want to join the ranks of the lost souls who wander its halls.