Getting to the college field station—an old cabin then—required a vehicle with some clearance, a key to the gate at the highway, a mile-long drive back a single-lane dirt road. From the station, it was a five-minute wooded walk to the lake. The middle of nowhere. Dark dark nights. Owls hooting on the regular. Whip-poor-wills calling and gorging on moths.
One night (inside), we heard strange sounds (outside), strange enough to get spooked. Laughed nervously. Picked up the phone’s receiver. No dial tone. Dead. Stopped laughing. Then heard the chains dragging against the cabin wall.
[100/horror/gorge/making a phone call]
There is no better setting for horror than a remote cabin. And no thing more terrifying than a dead phone line. (Except, perhaps, a dead phone line AND chains dragging against the remote cabin's walls.)
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you for the link to that gorge-ous poem.
ReplyDeleteThat was creepy! So many of the horror tropes!
ReplyDeleteHorrific!!!
ReplyDelete