🪙 The Gold Coin Chronicles: The Call in Cabin Nine

📖 The Storyteller’s Library  

The library was cold tonight—cold in a way that reminded me of old ski lodges and mountain winds sneaking under wooden eaves.  

When I opened the next book on the desk, a sprinkle of frost fell from its pages.  

And in the center crease… a familiar glint.  

A single gold coin.  

I brushed a thumb across its face, and the coin’s memory became the story—back to the early 1990s, back to a cabin halfway up a jagged mountain.  

Back to a man named Evan Lorne, who should’ve stayed home that winter.  

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❄️ The Story

In January of 1992, Evan Lorne went skiing with three friends near Snowfall Ridge, a mountain so steep the locals called it the Widowmaker.  

Evan wasn’t a great skier. His friends teased him, he overcorrected on a downhill turn, and—snap—he shattered his ankle halfway down the slope.  

The lodge medic drove him to the small, understaffed regional hospital.  

The walls looked older than the town itself.  

At check-in, while the nurse filled out paperwork, Evan noticed something odd:  

A gold coin wedged between floor tiles.  

Old. Heavy. Minted with symbols he didn’t recognize.  

He pocketed it without thinking—just a weird little souvenir from a trip already going badly.  

The nurse, kind and attentive, helped him through the process. She offered him water, adjusted his crutches, and reassured him with a smile.  

“Cabin Nine’s a drafty old place,” she said softly. “Keep the blankets close.”  

The staff patched him up, gave him a pair of aluminum crutches, and released him.  

His friends helped him back to their rented cabin—Cabin Nine, a rickety two-story building that looked like it had survived the overthrow of several governments.  

“Stay put,” Matt said. “We’ll grab food. Back in twenty.”  

They left. Evan went upstairs, tossed the gold coin onto the dresser, and tried to relax.  

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🌑 When the Lights Went Out

The first noise came five minutes later.  

A soft tap… tap… tap from the hallway.  

At first he assumed it was the heater, or the cabin settling. He held his breath, listening. The cabin stayed silent.  

But then came another sound—closer.  

Footsteps. Heavy. Uneven.  

He listened.  

The lights flickered.  

Then died entirely.  

The entire cabin plunged into darkness.  

Evan reached for the landline on the nightstand.  

He pressed the receiver to his ear.  

Dead.  

Not even static.  

Something creaked at the end of the hallway.  

Then a figure appeared in the doorway.  

Tall. Winter coat. A featureless white mask gleamed blankly in the cold, steaming faintly with the attacker’s heavy breath.  

The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and rot.  

They moved fast.  

They lunged.  

Evan swung one of his crutches, a full desperate arc—  

CRACK!  

The figure reeled back, then slashed wildly with a long kitchen knife.  

Pain tore across Evan’s arm.  

He backed up, swinging again.  

The masked attacker moved with frantic, clumsy force—like rage without aim, every step sounding like bones grinding together.  

In the struggle, Evan’s crutch hit the dresser.  

The gold coin rolled… then tumbled… then fell through the railing to the first floor.  

Clink.  

Then—  

CLICK.  

It struck the old wall switch at the base of the stairs.  

Every light in the cabin flickered on.  

The masked attacker froze.  

The phone on the nightstand rang.  

Not a ring. A scream. Each chime sharp as breaking glass.  

The sound startled the intruder.  

They stumbled, slipped, and fell down the staircase, hitting the floor below with a bone-jolting thud.  

The phone continued screaming.  

Evan answered with a trembling hand.  

“Hello?”  

A calm voice replied:  

“911 dispatch. We received a call from this address. What is your emergency?”  

“I—I didn’t call you,” Evan said.  

“We traced the line. It came from Cabin Nine.”  

Sirens echoed down the mountain road within minutes.  

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🚓 The Truth Behind the Mask

The police inspected the unconscious attacker.  

The mask came off.  

Evan didn’t recognize the face.  

Not the nurse. Not anyone from the hospital.  

A stranger.  

The officers traded looks.  

“This isn’t the first time,” one whispered.  

They explained quietly: over the past two winters, several travelers had vanished after visiting the same small hospital.  

The staff blamed the storms.  

Avalanches.  

Exposure.  

But the police suspected otherwise.  

As the officers stepped outside to radio in backup, they discovered something chilling:  

The power line was cut.  

Cleanly.  

So were the phone wires.  

Someone had severed them long before the struggle began.  

And then—  

As they stood outside under the dim porch light—  

The cabin went dark again.  

All power lost.  

The officers rushed back inside.  

But the masked stranger was gone.  

Vanished.  

Leaving only a trail of melted snow and the faint scent of antiseptic.  

One officer bent toward the coin at the bottom of the stairs, then hesitated.  

His radio crackled with static the moment his hand neared it.  

He stepped back, refusing to touch it.  

Evan picked it up instead.  

Warm to the touch.  

Almost humming.  

As if it had chosen him.  

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🪙 Back in the Storyteller’s Library

The book thudded shut in front of me.  

The coin lay where the story left it, glimmering faintly, as if still remembering Cabin Nine.  

I slid it into the growing pile.  

Another piece collected.  

Another warning, perhaps.  

The lights in the library flickered once.  

Frost spread across the desk, thin as veins.  

And beneath the silence, I swore I heard the coin hum.  

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We’re just getting started—and the coins are listening.  

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