I rented a cabin to get away for a while. The neighbor across the field watched me every night. - Reddit Horror Stories

I rented a cabin to get away for a while. The neighbor across the field watched me every night. - Reddit Horror Stories

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
I rented a cabin to get away for a while.
The neighbor across the field watched me every night. I'm
posting this under a throwaway because I don't want anyone
I know connecting it back to me. This happened three
months ago, and I'm still not sure how much of
it I can explain logically. I'm a thirty one year
old guy. I had a breakdown after a pretty brutal year.

(00:21):
My mom passed away, I got laid off, my relationship
of seven years ended all within six months. I was
burned out and angry, and I couldn't be around people anymore.
So I did what people like me do. I ran away.
I found a listing on a vacation rental site for
a small cabin in rural organ two bedroom, old wood floors,

(00:43):
no Wi Fi, surrounded by forest and fields. The pictures
made it look peaceful, quiet. I thought I could clear
my head, maybe right again. I booked it for three weeks.
The host was an older guy named Jim, who told
me to call him if I needed anything, but that
i'd probably enjoy the solitude. He was right about that.

(01:03):
The first few days were perfect. I slept a lot,
made coffee every morning, sat on the porch reading. There
were deer sometimes and a hawk that kept circling. The
cabin faced a large open field, maybe two football fields wide,
with another small house at the far end, mostly hidden
by trees. That house became important later. At first I

(01:25):
didn't even notice it, just to shape through the trees.
On day five, I realized someone lived there when I
saw a flicker of light, probably a TV. I didn't
think much of it, but that night, as I stepped
outside to smoke, I saw a figure. Someone was standing
just outside that house, on their porch or in the yard.

(01:46):
I couldn't tell from the distance. They were facing my cabin,
not moving, just standing there. I squinted trying to see details,
but it was too far. I assumed it was just
a neighbor stepping out same as me. I went inside
and forgot about it. The next night, it happened again.
Around midnight. I stepped out, lit a cigarette, and there

(02:08):
they were, same spot, still facing me. It felt off.
The third night, I didn't go outside. I watched from
behind the curtain. Sure enough, there they were. I couldn't
see a face or even close, just the shape of
a person, still as a statue. I told myself I

(02:28):
was being paranoid. Maybe they were watching stars, maybe they
had a telescope. But by night six, I wasn't buying
my own excuses. That night, I stayed outside longer, pretending
to talk on the phone, just to see what they do.
They didn't move, not once, but now it felt like
they were closer, maybe halfway across the field. I didn't

(02:50):
sleep well. The next morning. I walked out to the
edge of the property. The grass was dewy and full
of little prints, not boots, bare feet. I called Jim,
the cabin owner, asked if he knew who lived across
the field. He paused, then said, no, one's supposed to
be in that house. It's been empty since two thousand

(03:12):
and four. I laughed nervously. Well, someone's definitely there now.
He told me he'd check it out later in the week.
That was it. That night, I didn't turn on any lights.
I sat on the floor by the front window and waited.
At exactly twelve seventeen am, they appeared, not on the

(03:32):
porch anymore, right at the center of the field, still
facing the cabin, no flashlight, no phone, just standing, And
then they started walking slowly deliberately toward the cabin. I froze.
My heart was pounding so loud I swear I could
hear at echo. They got halfway across the field and

(03:55):
stopped again. I couldn't take it. I yelled out the window, Hey,
what do you want? They didn't move. I backed away
and locked the door. Sat with a knife from the kitchen,
breathing hard. I didn't sleep. I watched until the sun
came up. When I finally stepped outside at dawn, the
field was empty, but there were footprints in the grass,

(04:16):
bare feet. I left that day, didn't even ask for
a refund. I texted Jim and told him I left early.
He replied, I don't blame you. That was it. No explanation.
I don't know who that person was, or if it
even was a person. I still dream about it sometimes,
the silence, the slowness, the stillness of someone staring at

(04:39):
me from far away. Sometimes the dream ends the same
way the real night did, me staring out the window
watching them walk across the field. But sometimes in the
dream they make it to the door.