If you’re into DIY cabin build videos you’ve probably seen me on YouTube. I’m a guy who likes to build things, in the middle of nowhere, from scratch.
The land I bought for my third cabin was incredibly cheap, about $15,000 for three acres in the Minnesotan wilderness.
But man was it a son-of-a-bitch to get to. Accessed by old un-serviced logging roads many, many, miles from civilization. That’s parts of what drew me to to it I guess.
It took me the best part of two days and three round trips with the pickup and trailer to haul all the materials up there. The plan was to camp on site for a month during the build, without having to do any more return trips.
The site was beautiful, a clearing in the woods, with a gently flowing river passing through the back of the property. I could wash, drink and fish that river.
As with any build I started with the foundation. Clearing shrubs, marking out the footprint with string and then digging 3ft holes for the corner posts.
As I was filming all this it was slow work and I was already eight days into the project when I finally had the foundation completed.
That’s when the man came. I was in the river washing my hair. I had plunged my head into the cold water to rinse off the soap. As I emerged he was standing right there at the river’s edge.
A heavily bearded man that looked like he’d been out in the bush a little too long. I know it’s a cliche but he had a slightly crazed look in his eyes.
A rush of emotions passed over me, a bit of shock a bit of fear. Being so remote it’s very unexpected to be stumbled upon by another human. On top of that I was naked. I still managed a greeting and he nodded in return.
He asked me if I was building a cabin and I said I was. I asked what brought him there and he said that’s what he came to talk to me about. I suggested I get dressed and I could make us some coffee. He tipped his hat but did not look away as I timidly exited the lake in all my naked glory.
As the coffee brewed he stood staring at my work on the foundation.
‘We used to own this land’ he said. ‘me and my wife, but we had to sell it’ ‘We still visit once a year on our child’s birthday’ ‘Are your wife and child with you now?’ I asked. ‘My wife is camped down the road, cooking dinner… is it your truck broken down back there?’ It was, I had bent the axle going too fast over a ditch and have since been unable to move it. I nodded. He took a moment before carrying on. ‘My child is right here, buried in the centre of your foundation’. I tipped the coffee I was pouring onto my jeans. ‘I’m so sorry’ I muttered The man cleared some grass in the centre of my foundation and sure enough a sun faded wooden cross lay there.
After the man had gone I had a lot of thinking to do. I lay in my tent mindlessly reviewing my camera footage from the last few days of construction. The generator was humming softly outside while powering my laptop.
The man had asked me to move my cabin. But doing so would put me way behind schedule and I had to be back at work in a month. Also, that was the only flat and treeless part of land on my plot. I hadn’t brought the tools for felling large trees. As I lay there scrubbing through the footage I realised the camera must have been left on while I was bathing.
It has been aimed at a log I had been sawing before taking a break to wash. And the man had passed right through the frame. The fucked up thing was he wasn’t alone. A woman was with him.
Why would he lie? Did they see that I was bathing so his wife headed back to their camp?
I scrubbed back through the shot, I didn’t see him or the woman pass through frame again. I was interrupted then by some scuffling outside my tent. At first I was alarmed but then realised it was probably Tufty, the fox I had befriended through feeding him my leftovers. I unzipped the window and sure enough Tufty was licking my plate clean.
I didn’t sleep well that night. My mind reeling about the grave and nightmares of the man and his wife, watching me bathe in the river.
The next day I decided to continue with the build. This was my land now. If the man returned I would let him move the grave. So I continued working 12 hours day to stay on schedule. Only taking a break to eat and occasionally cool down in the river.
And five days later he returned. The sun was setting as I sat outside my tent, I was filming an outdoor cooking segment for the channel. Beans, sausage and wild mushrooms on the camp stove.
He was not so friendly this time. Eyeing my cabin he could see I had not moved my foundation and I had now laid the floor joists and decking.
He didn’t even say hello. He stood there glaring at me for a minute and then made a show of spitting at the ground beside me, before storming back down the trail. A hatchet tucked in the back of his belt.
By this point I felt a little relieved. He was understandably upset, but hopefully I had seen the last of him and could continue with my project in peace. My mood improved greatly when Tufty later turned up and shared some of my sausages.
The days ticked by with little to note. Raising the first wall of a cabin is always a big moment, doing it alone is tough but through practice you work out methods of lifting and holding the heavy wall sections into place. I raised two walls that day and was feeling pretty good about it.
It was another hot June day and I went to collect some cool drinking water from the river. As I approached the water’s edge I could smell something pretty bad, if you’ve ever smelled death before you’ll know it’s instantly recognisable. The flies led me to it and soon tears were streaming down my face. It was Tufty’s body, rotting in the reeds, his head separated clean from his neck.
I almost threw up in the river but could only dry heave. Then quickly I looked around, wondering when the man had been here. I searched for clues in the mud but found none.
I was both scared and angry. Part of me wanted to go find the man’s camp and knock him down for what he’d done. I no longer felt safe here but my truck was broke and I had not yet come up with a plan to get out.
I slept that night with my axe in my tent. I had also rigged the camera outside the tent facing towards the cabin and the trail beyond it. I could monitor the recording from my laptop inside my tent, a makeshift security camera that had pretty good night vision. What little sleep I got was plagued with visions of Tufty’s death and a young child’s laughter.
The next day I packed up at 5am. I carried only the essentials in a rucksack. Everything else I battened down under a tarp, the generator and all my tools etc… I didn’t know when I’d be back.
I took my camera with me, a rough plan forming in my head as I headed down the trail to the logging road.
When I got to my truck I saw the tires had been slashed. It didn’t matter anyways as the axle was broke, but I filmed the tyres as evidence. I continued down the road looking for fresh tyre tracks in the mud.
It wasn’t long until I found them. They turned off into the backcountry and I followed them for fifteen minutes until the man’s camp was in sight through the trees. White smoke raising up from a fire.
His old truck was there, parked about 100 yards outside his camp. I looked in the window, the keys were left there in the ignition, a common practice of rural living.
I crept closer to his camp keeping myself hidden, camera in hand. About fifty yards out I saw him, cooking breakfast over the fire. I needed to get closer, having a fixed lens I could not zoom in and I wanted more evidence to take to the police.
I got so close I could a smell him, he was due a wash. A tree with a mossy base allowed me to settle and hold my camera steady without making a noise. I barely took a breath due to the fear that gripped me now, an icy cold feeling passing over my whole body.
The man was crying, talking to himself as he cried, I could hear every word and he was clearly alone, no wife to be seen. After a couple minutes I panned the camera around his camp and saw a stump where he had done it. A hatchet lay there bloody, Tufty’s fur and blood.
I had seen enough and crept back towards his truck. I hopped in and turned the key in the ignition. It turned over but didn’t start. I looked behind. The man had heard and jumped up from his seat. I turned the key again - no joy. The man was running towards me now. His speed incredibly fast and efficient through the bush. I had one last chance at this and jammed my foot into the gas as I turned the key again. She coughed to life and I slammed her in drive almost breaking the lever. The man was just feet away but the tyres caught traction and I floored it through the bush. I believe he got close enough to touch the truck but as I finally swerved back onto the logging I had created a safe gap between us.
I drove two hours to the nearest town. I was starved so I pulled into the only cafe to get some breakfast. After ordering the pancakes with bacon I asked the owner where the police station was. He said it didn’t open for another hour on Sunday’s. It’s funny how when you’re living out in the woods you stop keeping track which day of the week it is.
While I ate I prepared my video evidence to show the police. I needed a clear image of the man and remembered on his second visit he stood in front of my camera while I was cooking.
It took awhile to find the clip but when I did I almost choked on my hot cakes. As the man spat at me his wife stood next to him clear as day. She Was pale, long black hair and wore a lobotomized expression as she stared off-camera towards my cabin. Then she crouched down and a small pale child ran into her arms. As the man turned to leave they left with him.
I then got the idea to look at the night footage from when I set up the camera for security. I fast forwarded through hours of darkness and then the little girl suddenly appeared again, skipping around my campsite in a white dress.
I was now shaking with fear but still I managed to load up the footage from today at the man’s camp. And there they were again, mother and child right there by the fire. I could hear them now as well. I turned up the volume on my laptop, the voices just audible over the crackling of the fire…
‘Daddy? How did I die?’ The child asked ‘Your mother…. She did it’ he said ‘Why’? ‘I don’t know….. I guess she was hungry’ he said through his tears. The child turned her head towards her mother revealing half of her face had been chewed away. ‘How did mom die?’ ‘I killed her’ said the man ‘for what she did to you.’