Nobody built it. Nobody owns it.
But every full moon, the light comes on.
Deep in the woods at the edge of the grounds, the cabin has always been there — rotting, waiting, breathing.
Those who walk past hear it. Music. Laughter. The smell of something burning.
They say the ones who go inside don't come out the same.
They say some don't come out at all.
Tonight the moon is full. The door is open.
And it's watching you walk closer.