My fiancé Grace and I went to my family’s cabin at the lake for a long weekend. Built by my grandfather, it had been the sight of countless cookouts, birthdays, campfires, and holidays. Just walking in the front door brought countless memories rushing back. I’d lived in countless houses over the years, but the cabin had always truly felt like home. Probably because it wasn’t like numerous people had moved in and out of the area over the years. There were over a dozen houses within a 5-mile area, and as far as I could tell, they’d all been owned by the same families for decades. Just like mine had. We may have taken the odd vacation when I was younger, but most of the time we came out here. And that was always just fine with me.
It was an average, two-story cabin, but the minute you walked in, you felt instantly comfortable. The numerous windows in the back facing the lake all featured a beautiful view, and there was a cozy screened in porch in front in addition to a glass enclosed patio that held a table and chairs. Past that was a fire ring we had with some outdoor furniture, and a walkway that led to the lake itself. It was a sight that never failed to be invigorating. Today was no exception, with the gentle breeze that accompanied the waves of the lake as they continually splashed against the shoreline. We got settled in, then we had some pasta and garlic bread for dinner, and soon after that we built a fire outside that we ate some fresh baked cookies around. It was beyond peaceful and a perfect evening.
But when we got up the following day, there was a report that a storm was heading our way. That wasn’t a problem. In fact, watching a storm forming over the lake had always been an amazing sight. You can literally feel it in the air when the pressure changes, and it’s an experience like no other. So Grace and I sat comfortably in the deck chairs while the storm winds rolled in later that evening. As the winds whipped through the air and the temperature immediately dropped about 15 degrees, we watched contently as the waves on the lake splashed against the beach and the break walls surrounding the area. Once the rain started to come down in thick waves, we went inside and sat in the patio and watched the storm hit while we had some coffee.
It was an impressive sight. The waves continually slammed against the shore and the rain pounded against the glass in a strong but relaxing rhythm. Eventually, the storm slowly faded, and all was calm, but everything was soaking wet. This was around the time we went to bed.
The next morning, everything was sunny again. When I went out with my morning coffee to look at the sun looming over the lake, I noticed something laying in the sand near the water’s edge. When I went for a closer look, I saw it was either gold or made to look like gold and was shaped like a medallion and had a small gold chain attached to it. I picked it up, and immediately noticed it was heavier than it looked, and it was inscribed with symbols on both sides that I didn’t recognize.
There’d been no shortage of interesting things that had washed up on the beach in all the time I’d spent here. I had no doubt the storm had either stirred something up that had been stuck underwater, or it had fallen off some boat because of the intense winds.
But there was something different about this. Something unique. This wasn’t some souvenir from one of the many shops that lined the route from here to the city. So I took it inside, put it on the patio table, and had cereal for breakfast.
When Grace came downstairs, she saw me sitting at the patio table and smiled. Then she saw the medallion sitting nearby and glanced at it.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. It washed up on the beach.”
“From the storm.”
“Right.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Looks mysterious. Like something out of an antiques collection or a museum.”
“I thought the same thing. I’ll see what I can find out when we get back to the city.”
“Good idea.”
After that we took a hike around the local park and came home for lunch. Then we went to the local movie theater and a nearby restaurant for dinner. A place that served some of the best seafood I’ve ever had. Then we went to the ice cream place next door.
By the time we got home, it was getting dark, and fireflies dotted the air along with the other bugs. As usual, the water and the seagulls could be heard in the background as we unlocked the front door and went inside. The two of us got comfortable on the couch, turned on the TV, and settled in for the evening.
At some point about an hour later, I heard a noise. It was small. So small, I wasn’t sure I’d heard it at first. But then I heard another one, and my heart rate slowly picked up. Then I heard voices outside by the garage. Whispering to each other.
That was when fear truly hit me. Voices whispering outside your house at night are never a good sign. Especially when you hear voices followed by the sounds of them breaking into your garage. I could hear the garage door open and close before the footsteps slowly crept closer to where we were in the sitting room.
Grace and I looked at each other for a moment before we ran as quietly as we could to the dining room. Because underneath the dining room table was a trapdoor that led to a storm shelter that doubled as a secret passageway. I’d spent a ton of time down here when I was younger, but I never seriously thought I’d ever hide down here for real. But that’s usually how it goes. Most people think of hide and seek as just a game to play with your friends. But when you’re an adult, the concept can quickly turn into a matter of life or death.
I crawled under the table, carefully pulled at the small rug that hid the trapdoor and tugged it open. I helped Grace climb down into the storm shelter before I joined her. The rug that hid the trapdoor was positioned in a way so that it didn’t move when the trapdoor was opened, so it always hid the entrance to the passage. I had just barely closed it all the way and moved further down into the passage when I heard the door to the garage open. The quiet creaking was somehow more frightening than if it had been kicked open.
Then all was silent for a moment until the smallest sounds of movement followed. Everything seemed eerily quiet. You could hear them moving around upstairs, just a few feet above our heads. I frantically hoped that the hidden storm shelter stayed hidden, and we both tried to keep as quiet as possible.
It was all so surreal. Sitting there in the dark, while strangers were above us and looking for whatever they were here for, almost felt like a dream. The whole situation seemed like it was unfolding around us, and we were simply there watching whatever was going on. How could this be happening? Why could this be happening? Were they looking for us specifically? Or just for whatever valuables they could find? I got a knot in my throat as I thought of the possibility there could be no reason for this at all. All we could do was hide and not draw attention to ourselves.
The space itself went a long way to give me something resembling hope and peace of mind. The space was deep, well insulated, and carefully hidden. We stood there, amongst the storage boxes and cobwebs, trying to be quiet while frantically paying attention to what was going on around us. I listened to every little sound, trying to discern anything that may tell us something about what was going on. My heart was pounding so loud I thought I could hear it, but I forced myself to calm down to focus on what was going on. They didn’t know we were down here, or where we were, but we knew where they were. And that gave us an advantage. So I listened very carefully. And I noticed several things.
The first was that there were three of them. Or at least, that there were three intruders inside our house. There could’ve been more outside, but I suspected there weren’t. Because that would raise the risk that someone would notice them. So three intruders seemed like the best conclusion. But the second thing I noticed was far more frightening.
The longer we were down there, the more I realized something even more chilling than the fact that we had intruders in the house. These intruders seemed to know the cabin. They walked around with a familiarity that was shocking. There were no sounds that suggested frantic searching or hasty movements. There was nothing but controlled, steady, calculated footsteps throughout the house as the intruders moved logically from one room to another, looking for whatever it was they were after. I frantically wracked my brain to figure out how that was possible, ignoring the fear that was creeping through my body the same way the intruders were creeping through the house.
“If they heard us coming, they couldn’t have gotten far. Their car is still out front.” One of the intruders said once they had finished searching the cabin. I knew from listening that there were two of them nearby, and they were standing far too close to the passage entrance for comfort.
“Right. Or they may be at a friend’s house or something. Either way, they’re not here.”
My stomach sank when I heard the voice of the second person standing nearby. I knew that voice. It was James. My colleague from work. The sense of fear that I had tried to ignore exploded with a fury in my gut, making me feel sickened and angry. I had told him about the cabin, and he’d seen pictures of the place from my time here over the years, so he knew the general layout. Fortunately, I’d never told him about the storm shelter. I was never more grateful that I had never shared the secret passage with anyone.
“Hey, what’s this?” I heard the third intruder ask. From what I could tell, both from the sound of his voice and where his footsteps went, he was in the patio.
“I don’t know,” James said. “Looks like some old necklace. Looks valuable too.”
They had found the medallion that had washed up on the beach that morning.
“Right,” the other one said. “We should definitely take it. Worth money no doubt.”
There was a pause and I listened as intently as I’d ever listened in my life.
“Any sign of where they are?” James asked after what felt like an eternity.
“None.” The third intruder answered. “They’re gone. No sign of them anywhere.”
“Alright. Well we got this necklace. I can tell there’s definitely some money to be had here. That’s enough for tonight, I guess. Let’s go.”
Three pairs of footprints thudded on the floor above our heads. I listened as they walked through the house and went back through the garage door. Then, a moment later, a car started and pulled away.
Grace and I sat there in stunned silence. We didn’t dare speak for a moment. Then I took a deep breath, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and called the local police and told them what happened. They agreed to come out immediately and told us to stay put. Not that we needed to be told. I didn’t remotely want to leave the storm shelter until it was all clear. So Grace and I waited in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity.
When the cops arrived, we came out of the storm shelter, and they asked us to check the state of the cabin. Everything was just as we’d left it. The cops asked if anything was taken, and I said no and explained that the only thing they took was something that washed up on the lake shore that morning, so it wasn’t like we’d suffered a loss.
They nodded solemnly and went about doing their job. The upside to getting your house broken into and finding out it’s your coworker without them knowing is that if you manage to escape, the police know exactly who to look for. And it wasn’t hard for me to point them to the people with access to James’s address and other contact information.
But when the police went to his address, he wasn’t there. And from what they said, it seemed like he hadn’t been there in several days. So they filed a report and kept an eye out for any leads. It was a hiker who eventually provided the location for James, and it turns out, for his two associates.
About a week after the break in at the cabin, the hiker was walking along a trail near a cliff, and when he looked down, he saw the wreckage of a car there. The hiker called for help, and it didn’t take long for them to discover the car belonged to James, who was found in the driver’s seat along with his two associates in the back. Doctors found nothing to suggest James had been intoxicated or anything, so the authorities concluded the most likely cause was that something had caused them to swerve off the road and go over the cliff, where they quickly succumbed to their injuries.
Once they found James, they were able to piece together his final days, and in doing that, found out the full scale of his burglary operation. A storage unit with hundreds of thousands of dollars in stolen goods was found in his name near his house, and over time, all the contents that could be returned to their owners were.
And there was one other thing they found in the wrecked car. The medallion that turned up on the beach that morning was found in the glove compartment, and the cops found out that James had been on his way to a meeting with an antiques expert to have it assessed when the accident happened. The authorities had the medallion assessed as well, and what they were told was amazing.
Apparently it was worth a lot of money, as it was made of real gold, but the markings on it translated to a warning that misfortune could befall whoever possessed it. The authorities offered me the medallion back, claiming it had been technically taken from me, but I declined. Too much had happened, and besides, we had been lucky enough as it was. I was more than happy to let them do what they wanted with it.
We eventually got an alarm system for the cabin and things eventually returned to normal. But I can’t help but wonder if stolen goods had been the only thing James was involved in. It’s just a suspicion, but something about his attitude and the way he and the others had casually walked around and wondered how far we had gone makes me think. Especially since they didn’t take anything else from the cabin.