The Grinning Thing

The cabin in the woods was supposed to be a retreat—a place to disconnect from the chaos of city life. For Mia, it felt like the perfect getaway, tucked deep in the forest where no one could bother her.

By her second night, though, the peace began to feel suffocating. The silence pressed against her ears, broken only by the creak of the old wooden floorboards and the occasional rustle of leaves outside.

It was just past midnight when she first heard it: a faint tap on the window.

Mia froze, her book slipping from her hands. The sound came again, soft but deliberate.

She stood, her heart pounding, and edged toward the window. Outside, the forest was pitch black, the moonlight barely penetrating the dense canopy. She flicked on the porch light, but it revealed nothing except the swaying branches of the trees.

“Just the wind,” she murmured to herself, closing the curtains.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

This time, it was louder, more insistent.

“Hello?” Mia called, her voice wavering.

Silence.

Gripping a flashlight, she stepped outside, the chilly air biting her skin. The porch was empty, the ground undisturbed. But as she turned to go back inside, her light caught something in the distance—a figure, standing just at the edge of the tree line.

It wasn’t moving.

“Hey! Who’s there?” she called, trying to sound braver than she felt.

The figure didn’t respond. It was too far away to make out details, but there was something wrong about its posture—unnatural, like it wasn’t meant to stand upright.

Mia backed into the cabin and locked the door.

She didn’t sleep that night.

The next day passed uneventfully, but the feeling of being watched never left her. As night fell again, the tapping returned.

Mia ignored it at first, clutching her blanket on the couch. But then it started moving—tap, tap, tap—circling the cabin, from one window to the next.

“Go away!” she yelled, but the tapping didn’t stop.

Summoning her courage, she crept to the largest window and peeked through a gap in the curtains.

The figure was closer now, standing just outside.

Mia’s breath caught in her throat. The thing was grinning. Its mouth stretched impossibly wide, filled with too many teeth. Its skin was pale and stretched tight, like a mannequin left too long in the sun.

And its eyes… they didn’t blink.

She stumbled back, her phone slipping from her hand. The thing’s grin widened, its head tilting as if amused by her fear.

Then it pressed a hand against the glass.

The glass cracked.

Mia ran, locking herself in the bedroom. She pressed her back against the door, her heart hammering.

From the other side of the house came a low, raspy whisper.

“I see you.”

The lights flickered.

And then, the bedroom window shattered.