The Cabin Is Always Hungry (A Dungeon Core Horror Slasher)

LAST RESORT
Epilogue

[Fractal Omniscience] commencing…

Searching…

Searching…

Found.

To think that the Hodges only lived a couple of blocks away from her house made Molly Redding want to crawl out of her skin.

Her husband, Daniel Redding, would occasionally invite the Hodges for the annual Redding BBQ brunch that they hosted during the fourth of July, their home a popular spot to celebrate the holiday, and the Hodges would bring with them a bowl of Melanie's famous–or infamous–potato salad, and only the potato salad, on repeat for the past three years since her dumb, aloof husband invited them. The potato salad was just okay. She had better.

It was her fault. She pestered her husband to make more male friends, or any friends for that matter, when they moved to Point Hope a few years ago. Point Hope was a completely different world compared to San Francisco. Rustic. Wild. Slow-paced, but cozy. She instantly acclimated to their new surroundings but her husband took a bit of time to catch up to the charm.

But Molly never liked the Hodges.

Well, she used to. They were decent company, and Justin Hodge was a handsome fellow that reminded her of Joe Manganiello if he was clean-shaven, until he began to creep her out. Always talking about her body and how Daniel ought to sign her up to the gym. Molly admitted that she was a bit chubby and she did not maintain a good diet because she baked too much, and she was a nurse for the elderly with long hours and less gratitude for her work. But she was proud of losing forty pounds in three years ever since she and her husband had been active: going on hikes, biking, walking more at nights around the neighborhood. Point Hope was good to them. But she never forgot what Justin Hodge said. His wife was at least friendly and nice, at least to her face.

Then she saw the Hodges hanging out with the wicked blonde of the west, Jenna Batten. Molly wondered what brought two drastically different women together, and it had nagged on her for years ever since Jenna rejected her proposal at the library where they volunteered together to create a special event for kids with special needs. Jenna Batten called it a diversity stunt the town did not have the funds to elaborate and entertain to kids who won't remember it next week. Her relationship with her soured after that. Jenna Batten always talked down to her as if she was stupid. Bad vibes all around every time she was in the same room with that woman. She claimed to be genuine, but she was anything but. She controlled about a quarter of the real estate properties in town, and she was probably insulted that the Reddings didn't go to her when they moved into town. After all, they bought one of the nicest ranch-style houses at a cul-de-sac this side of Creekside Road in Green Hill.

It turned out the only thing Jenna Batten and Melanie Hodge had in common was kidnapping innocent kids and butchering them in the woods to worship the devil. She never guessed there were going to be satanists in the middle of nowhere, Oregon. Back in San Francisco? More than likely. She sure picked the cuckoo town out of the pile when she and Daniel were thinking of moving north. Apartments in San Francisco were getting too expensive, but it seemed like they switched the city views for Murder Forest over here.

But Jenna's poor son. That boy's an orphan now, she thought.

Molly didn't know if she should be relieved that the boy wouldn't grow up under the thumb of that evil woman, or be sad that he would grow up without his parents. Maybe both could be true at the same time. The boy lost his father, too, last she heard. Although not as a cultist, but one of their victims. Jenna Batten probably murdered him to get full custody on their son. How awful was that? She and Daniel didn't have kids of their own. They never planned to. Who would in this economy? No, they were going to enjoy their time as they turned thirty together, keep going for the next five years being childless adventurers on this side of the Pacific Northwest, and maybe by thirty-three or thirty-four, they'll adopt two children, a boy and a girl. There were too many children in the world who needed a family and a home. Molly hated the thought of pregnancy, to watch her body bloat like a toad was skin crawling. Adoption is best, she thought.

Like Danny Bird, she thought about the boy again. That poor, poor boy.

The air in Point Hope had changed drastically ever since the massacre at North Cedar Lake. Molly couldn't quite explain what it was she felt in the cool breeze coming from the forest, like a miasma of dread. She reckoned she wasn't the only one who felt it. She remembered going to Spring Heights Living where she worked as a memory care specialist, hearing the news from one of the nursing assistants about the murders, and Molly could not pick her jaw off the floor as she took in the grisly details and that the Hodges were involved. No, not just involved but at the center of the storm. What she read online during her lunch break; she couldn't stomach the chicken and broccoli she brought for lunch that Daniel cooked for her.

We only live two blocks away, four houses down from them. Practically within choking distance, Molly thought grimly.

"To think we almost went hiking in those woods that weekend," Daniel said when they were about to go to bed. He didn't have to finish what he was going to say. If they were there in the woods, they'd probably be dead, too.

Molly just finished getting into her night shirt and undies, and climbed into bed next to her husband. "Should we still do it?"

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked.

"Our hike," she said. "We usually go by this time of the year to the falls before the cold snap. Do you think we should postpone? Maybe do it in the spring? I know we've scheduled a hike at Olympia in May, and you've been so looking forward to that."

Ever since they arrived at Point Hope, they made it an annual thing to hike the trails around McLaren Forest that lead to Anicho Falls. It would be beautiful at this time of the year, and less populated by tourists and wannabe influencers who saw the hidden landmark on Tiktok. It would be the Reddings' annual routine if they made their stay in Point Hope permanent, a pilgrimage to Anicho Falls. Part of their new roots into this town.

Daniel thought for a moment. "Glenn and Brian still want to hike up there, maybe this weekend."

Molly arched her eyebrow. "After what just happened? The police probably closed off the trails for months."

"Brian says it's long enough that they might open the trails back again. They can't close a state park forever, baby. Brian saw on Tiktok that people are already using the trails again."

"Is it that gross podcast again? What was it called? Dead Pacifica?"

"Come on. You can admit how awesome it is that we're in front row seat to one of the notorious murder sprees in American History right now. Dead Pacifica is dope."

"Dope to nope," Molly said. "It's a nope for me, cotton. Honestly, it's disgusting to put all those victims into a microscope and then pry at their lives like that. Dylan Griffin should be ashamed for profiting from this tragedy. And you being a true-crime tourist, is not helping by going up there because you are curious to see the crime scenes, am I right?"

"Come on, baby. It's not like that. I do enjoy the hikes. Having some exciting scenery would be nice."

There was that flush of heat at the nape of her neck. Usually she only felt that when something nagged at her. Like Melanie Hodge and Jenna Batten. Like when Justin Hodge entered a room and thought he could wipe out everyone with just his piercing eyes. "Oh, Daniel. You don't mean…"

"What?" Daniel asked, confused.

"You, Glenn, and Brian are really not thinking of going up there just to visit the crime scene, are you?"

"That's not exactly what we're planning."

"But you are planning it! That's trespassing, you know."

"It's not trespassing!"

Molly hit his shoulder playfully, stifling a chuckle. "Just admit it. Glenn and Brian put you up to this, didn't they?"

Daniel shrugged. "I just…want to know what the fuss was all about? Call it my morbid curiosity. Satisfied? There's that abandoned asylum there, too."

"Oh, someone already moved in and renovated it. Haven't you heard?"

"Oh, that's a shame. Welp, I have an early shift tomorrow. Good night, my love."

It was at the tip of her tongue but Molly just couldn't remember it. She scratched her head, hoping that it would relieve the blockage in her brain, and–oh! Now, she got it. "The cabin that was mentioned in the article, that's far from the trail to the falls, right? The police probably cordoned the area."

"We can take a detour. Glenn says it's only going to add a couple of hours to our hike. You mentioned how you want to add more to your step count, right? I remember you used to sneak out into all the wrong places when we were in college."

"Oh, don't put this on me. We are going to get arrested."

"Only if we get caught."

"And who's running if we do? You?" Molly poked Daniel's side, the spot where she knew he was ticklish.

"Hey! I'm only thirty-one years old. Should I remind you that I played track in college, and I was very good at it?"

Molly laughed. "Oh, yes, I remember." But they are no longer nineteen or twenty. Their bones creaked at odd times. She got more winded. Their muscles didn't stretch as far as they used to. Not a lot, but one that Molly sometimes noticed, and Daniel had scheduled a colonoscopy in three months since he had family history with colorectal cancer. They were growing old.

"Well, if you're going, then I'm going," Molly said.

"Are you serious?" Daniel asked excitedly. "You're not mad?"

"Why not? You boys can't have all the fun. Someone's gotta watch your clumsy butt before you get arrested."

"It's been almost four months, and the cops already bagged any evidence they could find in that place. Glenn has friends at the precinct and told him all about it. He'll let us know if and how many cops patrol the area this weekend. We're not going to disturb the crime scene, okay? That's stupid. Just to take a glimpse of the cabin, and maybe the lake, too. Take some pictures here and there. Then, we'll camp for the night and go home. Easy peasy."

"Just the cabin?" Molly asked, unsure.

"Yeah, baby. Just the cabin. Then, we'll head to the falls."

Molly didn't get Daniel's fascination about the murders in the woods and with the podcast. She understood how it's the talk of the town in the most scandalous gossipy way, but maybe, he and Glenn were taking it a bit too far. But she was going to make sure she was there to keep them on a tight leash and not do anything stupid. With Glenn and Brian, that's all guaranteed.

They went to sleep, not noticing that her phone by the end table was listening to everything they had said.

Two days before they were due for the hike, Molly Redding got sick. Covid. Even though May 2023 was the official end of the pandemic in the country, Covid was still around, although getting weaker by each variant. Two patients from Ward B got it at the memory care facility, and unfortunately, she got freaking exposed. It wasn't the first time she had it (this would be her second). She was triple vaxxed already, so this round wasn't the worst like last time. It still left her bed-ridden with a high fever, migraines, and loss of taste and smell. The doctor recommended that she quarantine for the next seventy-two hours after she broke the fever, but at least she got some paid leave for the trouble. She hoped she wouldn't turn into one of those long haulers she read about online.

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Which meant she had to skip the hike. Daniel offered to stay, but Molly told him it was probably for the best if he was outside the house. She didn't want him to get sick, either. Daniel was probably going to be disappointed if he didn't get to go with Glenn and Brian to check out the murder forest now that Tiktok, Facebook, and Youtube made it popular like a forbidden fruit. She blamed Dead Pacifica for that. Don't try this at home! Said the tags in one of the videos.

"I'll be back before you know it," Daniel said. "I'll take some pictures of the lake, too."

"Be careful up there, okay?"

"It's just the woods, hon. The bad stuff already happened. I'll be okay," Daniel reassured her.

It's only the weekend. What did she have to worry about? It was nice to have the house to herself. Maybe she could finally catch up on the last season of Manifest. All of the episodes were on Netflix. Everything's connected, she liked to quote in the most melodramatic voice. Daniel and the other boys went up the mountains for the weekend, and Molly Redding was alone with a remote, the TV, a cozy heated blanket, and the book she meant to finish last weekend. It would be a relaxing stay-cation.

But by Sunday, at nine-thirty in the morning, Daniel Redding didn't come home.

His last texts were from two PM on Saturday was that he would be home by Sunday morning. They were on their way to make that detour to North Cedar Lake. The last words she received was "I love you. Feel better soon." Molly thought nothing of it at first, and did her grocery shopping and cut her hair now that she could get out of the house after quarantining for almost four days.

By three in the afternoon, Molly called Glenn's mother, Valerie, who lived across town, asking if Daniel was probably staying at Glenn's place. It was Sunday night football and she reckoned Daniel stayed over to watch the game. She had called Glenn's residence minutes before, but no one picked up the phone. Valerie promised to check.

A couple of hours later, Valerie called her back and told her Glenn was not home. Neither was Brian's, and she confirmed it from Brian's brother, who lived with him.

That should worry her, but she chucked it that Daniel and the others were probably still coming down from the mountain, and maybe they've decided to camp for another night. They did take that detour toward North Cedar Lake. It still made her uneasy, like a beating drum at the back of her head reminding her that there was something she should do immediately, but she ignored it. She was going to wait, and maybe by dinner time, Daniel would be home and hungry after all that hiking. Molly remembered how famished she felt just being in the woods for a couple of days. So, she cooked some soy-glazed salmon and garlic steamed green beans, and saved a slice of peach cobbler she got from Albertson's for him.

By eleven-thirty in the evening, Molly Redding felt something was very, very wrong.

Three days later, on a Wednesday morning, Daniel Redding's missing poster was plastered all over Point Hope, including the posters of Glenn Hopkins and Brian Sheck. At the bottom it read: last seen wearing a Patagonia puff jacket, black jeans, orange beanie, and a green REI backpack. If you saw him, please call…(503)...

By Thursday afternoon, two fingers of Glenn Hopkins were found in McLaren Forest by two truffle hunters. Just the pinky and the thumb. No other blood. No viscera or a body. It wasn't identified as Glenn Hopkins until Saturday morning through DNA testing, confirming that Glenn Hopkins was probably injured, or more than likely, dead.

Four months after the massacre, another tragedy had struck Point Hope.

Brian Scheck, Glenn Hopkins, and Daniel Redding were still missing.

And they remained missing.

Searching…

Searching…

Found.

Detective Troy Gregory hated this part of the job—the not knowing part.

It was worse when he was stuck in the rut for four months. Something just felt off to him. The pictures of all the people involved, most of them anyway (since you gotta leave room to add to the party), were pinned all over the corkboard. He and his team had to use at least three boards to fit everyone, accompanied by colored post-it notes, police reports, first responders and witness statements, drivers' licenses, anything really that left a paper trail to tell who these people were.

A spider web of truth, he thought as he sat at his desk for what felt like hours now, just staring at the board. A morbid, grotesque story straight out of True Detective.

Troy was an early bird ever since he was a child. He never got used to sleeping past seven in the morning, always eyes wide open by five AM even when he had barely slept the night before. It was not in his nature and he wondered where he got it from. Certainly not his father, who worked nights all his life at the steel mill, nor his absent mother, long gone before he could learn how to walk or talk. Not dead but left the roost. Out of the door because she couldn't handle domestic homogeneity. Said there was a future for her and only her.

Well, fuck her, he thought.

The night shift already left the station, but he liked to arrive at least thirty or so minutes before his shift started, just to get his thoughts in order. Like this board. But something was still off about the case, and it annoyed him. Grated him. It should be obvious, but what? What was he missing?

In the middle of the board were Justin and Melanie Hodge. The seven other photos that surrounded theirs were their accomplices, the other worshippers of their satanic cult. Connected by red yarns were their victims. The coroner's report already identified fifteen victims through DNA testing. Troy looked at Deputy Rebecca Torres' photo in the collage, smiling at the camera, taken on the first week she started working for the Point Hope PD. She looked at least four, maybe five years younger in the photo. They used to get beers after work with the other guys at Locke's, and she seemed like a decent enough woman. Pretty. It took a while for the precinct to accept that one of theirs was the killer, even for Detective Bellisario. He mentored that woman for half of her time with the PHPD.

Troy sighed. He wasn't getting anywhere, and the lead detective, Ruben Bellisario, has already given a formal statement to the press about what went down at North Cedar Lake and at Green Hill. Instead of one or two killers, they believed there were nine culprits involved, murdering over fifteen people. Nineteen if they added the victims in the diary that they retrieved from Justin Hodge's house.

Justin Hodge's diary—or diaries since there were six of them—were twelve hundred pages of ramblings from a madman that should have been institutionalized years ago. It wasn't a cakewalk reading through all those creepy pages, but it was very informative. Especially the part when Justin claimed to kill four others before they sacrificed Mark Castle, which snowballed into their three-day killing spree. It was all there on the page—the coveted confession of a dead man. However, they found no evidence of who those people were if they even exist, so officially, they were still searching for them. It's possible it's a lie, the fucked-up imaginations from a couple of psychopaths, and the Castle boy was their first true victim.

To say the media became a circus after the press conference was putting it mildly. Such big-city crimes never happened in small towns like this. Point Hope barely caught its breath at the whirlwind of attention—and the blame—that most of the country placed on its shoulders. After more than four months of extensive investigation and sleepless nights with the FBI, who came all the way down from Portland and Seattle since the case involved multiple kidnappings, the case was declared closed.

Tied into a neat red bow, Troy said. Too neat. Too many explanations. Too fucking sanitized.

Maybe that was what he was missing. The case was solved, but it still left him questioning why? Why did they do all of this? It couldn't be because they were just plain fucking weird and crazy. Even weird and crazy people had motives. Why?

Maybe he was just imagining it. Troy had lived thirty years of his life in Point Hope. Grown and bred. Nothing really happened here, and the town hadn't encountered a homicide case anywhere close to this magnitude in over twenty years. It was not the sort of thing that the PHPD handled. Theft cases, domestic disputes, the occasional jilted lover and murder attempts, sure. The last murder case that involved more than three people was eighteen years ago. But not a massacre that left only two survivors and bodies scattered across the woods straight out of a slasher movie.

Fifty thousand people crammed on this side of the Cascades and Mount Selene, isolated from the cities with only two exits out of town, you tend to know everyone. Or at least recognized and understood where they came from. A case like this affected everyone in town.

"You haven't taken them down yet?" Detective Sarah McCoy asked behind him. She was seven years his senior and had been at this job far longer than Troy.

"Hmm? Oh, I was about to." Troy got up from the chair and walked toward the corkboard. He unpinned Mark Castle's photo and discarded it on the pile on his desk. The case was closed, and they had no use of this board anymore. Three out of four FBI agents and their analysts already left two days ago.

The last FBI agent was probably somewhere sleeping in the nearby motel. On why Agent Marcus stayed? Well, Troy didn't have an answer.

Poor boy, he thought as he stared at Mark Castle's junior yearbook picture. He didn't deserve what happened to him. His mother's wail was not something Troy would ever forget. A singular moment of pure anguish in that scream of hers when he and Bellisario told her what the Hodges had done to their only child. Troy had no children of his own, but he could only imagine what that pain must have felt like. To bury your own child before you…he shook the thoughts away and unpinned Tessa Burton's photo next, then placed it on the pile.

Sarah McCoy sat on her desk with a sigh. It was clear to Troy she hadn't had enough sleep. He poured her a cup of fresh coffee that he had just brewed fifteen minutes ago and placed the cup on her desk. "Sounds like a lot."

"Tell me about it," Sarah said. "The terrible twos. Never have kids, Gregory. They're fucking selfish and they are ungrateful monsters most of the time. Half of the day they either commit attempted murder or suicide. The lack of depth perception is horrible! Don't believe the internet when they say they are a blessing."

"Well, um, Emma's two."

Sarah chuckled. "Oh, my poor husband…" Sarah mused. "By the way, the Redding woman is asking for you again. She called in yesterday while you were off, wanting an update about her husband."

Troy paused. "She thinks her husband and the other two men he was with were part of the case. Murdered by the Hodges and his cult," he said.

Sarah nodded. "I told her they went missing four months after the massacre, and the Hodges are already dead a long time ago. But she insisted on that white van, and that another cultist was still at large and is living in the woods. I didn't want to say she was delusional to her face because we're still looking for that guy."

Ah, the white van. Troy stared at the image from a security camera from the hospital. They already put out an APB for the vehicle and found it on an impound lot in Beaverton, a hundred miles away. Whoever was driving that van was long gone. They let the FBI handle that part of the investigation because the culprit probably fled across state lines. PHPD didn't have the resources to afford a wild goose chase across the country.

But he brought Tessa Burton and Danny Bird to the hospital. If the cultist wanted them dead, they would have left them in the woods, bleeding to death.

The logical conclusion was that it was another victim, another survivor. But why evade the police? Unless he has something to hide. The FBI mentioned that four of the victims were connected to a crime boss in Portland, but they didn't elaborate any further. They claimed he might not be part of it, though Troy suspected they didn't want to blow their cover on an ongoing case. But the case is closed. You don't have to worry about it anymore.

"I'll give her an update before noon," he said.

And tell her what exactly? It's been the same for the past two weeks since they found two fingers that belonged to Glenn Hopkins. Wild animals probably got them. Mountain Lions and Grizzly bears still existed on this side of the mountains. Since 2003, a small pack of gray wolves roamed the area since their reintroduction, courtesy of the Wildlife & Fisheries. Last he heard, their population was booming. There could be two or three large packs up there by now. They started notifying hikers and mountain climbers about wolves ten years ago when they became numerous. Fortunately, no one was attacked yet. As for Glenn Hopkins and the others? He's most likely meat–fucking–chow by now, digesting in whatever animal ate him. He paused. And most likely along with his friends.

But they would have left more than two fingers, you stupid idiot. And there was no blood, not even entrails. Predators leave evidence. Well, yes, that's freaking weird. But two weeks and an extensive search combing the woods, which cost the town almost four hundred thousand dollars, turned up no bodies. As if they just disappeared into thin air. Not even tracks or their camping gear. This was after Brian Greely, a park ranger, was found mauled to death by a wild animal four month ago, too. The likely scenario was that Daniel Redding and his friends were probably also eaten by the same animal. But no animal tracks were found on the scene.

No.

Animal.

Tracks.

Troy was certainly not going to suggest to Detective Bellisario, much less the mayor, to continue the search for another week and costing the city thousands more. If they were any richer and the economy was not in the gutter, heck, they probably would continue.

For now, the parks department closed off McLaren Forest and North Cedar Lake until the wild animal was dealt with, and also to dissuade the teenagers or other idiots trying to sneak into the Fairlie property because of some popular podcast hosted by more idiots.

The Sawyers must be elated, at least. No tourists on their lands, he thought. And there was that rich prick who bought the abandoned asylum by the mountains and turned it into a ritzy mansion. Or was it a hotel? Maybe I should go check on him and see how he's doing. He recently moved in.

"You better call Molly before she blows up again," Sarah said. "I know she's distraught. Who wouldn't be when your significant other is missing or dead? But that woman practically screamed at me yesterday—worse than my child, mind you. Anyway, she claimed that she hired a private investigator from Salem if we don't do our job right. She said to expect a call from them."

Troy groaned. "Alright. Thanks for the heads up." Just what he needed. More snoopers. He hated PI's. He never had a good experience with them.

He unpinned the photo of McLaren Forest and the Fairlie cabin right at the center. Troy paused uncomfortably. Every time he stared at this picture, it would leave a dark pit in his stomach. A void that grew bigger and bigger until he had to look away. He couldn't look at it for too long. It was an innocent picture. No bodies were on the scene. A couple of the forensics team were on the shot, but only at the periphery. The back of an ambulance peeking at the right border. But the cabin's windows looked like wide angry eyes glaring at him. Can a house have emotions? It was a dumb thought.

But that cabin…

Troy was not a superstitious man, nor did he believe in ghosts or the supernatural. His parents were both atheists and probably half of this religious-cuckoo town believed they'd go to Hell at some point once the Grim Reaper came knocking. Like everyone who lived under the shadow of Mount Selene, he had hiked across those woods all his life. Half of his childhood memories were spent in those woods, particularly Cedar Pine Summer Camp, before the Gradys closed it down a few years ago when they went bankrupt. Those were cherished memories.

But when he looked at this particular photo, heaped by what he felt when he walked through those woods searching for more bodies from the massacre…the forest changed, somehow. In the photo, a mass of twisted trees stretched endlessly into some shadowed oblivion hovering in the pitch black, starless sky. The way the trees leaned at unnatural angles, all voyeurs in the carnage that occurred inside the cabin. It made the hairs at the nape of his neck bristled. The forest was watching him from the picture, waiting for him to come closer, to lean in and see a shadow fleet behind one of the windows. He blinked. A trick of the light? For a brief moment, he could almost hear the snap of twigs underfoot. A phantom twig echoing just behind him.

He felt unwelcomed. An outsider. A trespasser.

A plump, juicy, and salivated prey.

Troy shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. It was just a picture. A damn creepy picture. But even so, as he pulled his gaze from it, the cabin still lingered at the back of his mind.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.