Cottage #6

Rick's life unravels in the sticky heat of central Florida, where his eight shabby cottages at the edge of Lake Istokpoga barely keep him afloat. The oppressive combination of financial worry, isolation, and the mysterious woods behind his property proves to be the perfect breeding ground for paranoia - or so he believes.

When guests start behaving strangely and bloodless animal carcasses appear near the cottages, Rick's mind latches onto an improbable explanation: vampires. His research into local folklore and missing persons cases only deepens his conviction that something supernatural lurks in the dense woodland surrounding his property. Night after night, he watches the tree line, seeing shapes move between the shadows and hearing noises that might be more than just the natural sounds of the Florida wilderness.

The arrival of a particularly pale and gaunt guest in Cottage Six pushes Rick over the edge. Armed with a rusty machete and fueled by sleep deprivation and terror, he confronts the man in broad daylight, certain he's found the leader of a vampire nest. The humiliating aftermath leaves Rick questioning his sanity - until an evening apology reveals the horrifying truth. "Because I can't very well get your blood if you're locked up in jail now, can I?" The chilling revelation confirms Rick's worst fears weren't paranoia after all, but a deadly accurate perception of the danger hiding in plain sight. Listen now to discover how thin the line between madness and reality truly is when darkness falls at the Cypress Knee Cottages.

Terrorbytes Intro

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Chapters

• 0:00 Rick's Declining Cypress Knee Cottages
• 3:57 Strange Night Noises Begin
• 7:01 Rick's Growing Paranoia
• 10:54 The Gaunt Guest in Cottage Six
• 14:58 Daylight Confrontation Goes Wrong
• 19:01 The Chilling Truth Revealed

Transcript

Exxa: 0:45

The heat in central Florida doesn't just press down. It clings like damp gauze thick, with the buzz of insects and the smell of simmering algae from the lake. Rick knew this heat. He'd owned the Cypress Knee Cottages for 15 years. Eight little wooden boxes perched uncertainly on the edge of Lake Istokpoga, baking in the relentless sun. Behind them, the woods began, a dense, tangled wall of cypress oak and strangler fig that seemed to swallow the light whole.

Exxa: 1:21

Lately Rick had started hating the woods. It hadn't always been this way. The cottages were his escape. His small kingdom carved out of the humid wilderness, but business was slow. The paint was peeling and the quiet stretches between reluctant tourists were getting longer, deeper. But today all his cottages were all occupied, but for one. This was the first time in a long time and it happened in a short period of time.

Exxa: 1:55

Lately Rick spent too much time alone. He had a couple of old friends from his time in the Air Force staying there for a while, but they moved on. Rick now spent his nights listening, listening to the cicadas drone, the plop of unseen things in the lake and the rustle and click from the tree line. After dusk it started subtly. A guest in Cottage 7, the one closest to the woods complained about strange noises at night, scratching, maybe Hard to tell, over the air conditioner's rattle. Rick blamed raccoons, patched up a loose board, forgot about it. Then came the couple in cottage. Eight Pale folks kept to themselves. Mostly came out after sunset. Rick saw the man once near dawn retreating from the wood's edge back to the cottage, moving with a quick, furtive silence that snagged Rick's attention. Rick found a dead possum near their porch later, oddly bloodless. Probably coyotes, he told himself. But the thought felt thin. Pap, sleep became a luxury.

Exxa: 3:08

Rick would sit on the porch of his own small house, set back from the rentals, nursing his bourbon eyes fixed on the black wall of the woods. He'd see things, or think he did. Pale shapes flitting between trees where the moonlight struggled to reach, eyes reflecting back light. That wasn't his flashlight beam, or were they just phosphorescent fungi? The constant drone of insects seemed to modulate, taking on whispering tones just below hearing.

Exxa: 3:43

Paranoia took root, like the invasive vines choking the Cyprus knees. He started researching online late at night, the laptop screen casting a sickly glow on his now haggard face. Local folklore, missing persons reports from decades ago, always hikers near remote lakes, lakes fringe theories about blood-drinking cults, then inevitably vampires. It sounded crazy even to him at first. Vampires In Florida, not the suave counts of Europe, but something feral, adapted to the heat and shadow of the swampy woods. He began to watch his guests with suspicion. The family in Cottage 3 seemed normal, but didn't the father flinch when Rick mentioned going fishing at sunrise? The young woman in Cottage 5, always wearing long sleeves despite the oppressive heat, hiding bite marks? He started leaving the porch lights on all night, burning through electricity. He couldn't afford lining his own windowsills with pungent strings of garlic bought from the nearest town, feeling ridiculous and terrified all at once.

Exxa: 5:01

One muggy afternoon, driven by a gnawing dread, rick ventured into the woods behind Cottage 8, armed with a rusty machete he barely used. The air grew heavy, still sunlight filtered down in sickly green shafts. He found a sort of clearing, trampled earth, more bones, small animals, birds picked clean, unnaturally clean, and in the soft mud near a cypress root, a footprint long, narrow. Definitely not animal, not quite human either, or so it seemed to his increasingly frantic mind. He scrambled back out, heart hammering, convinced he'd heard soft laughter echoing just behind him, he stopped interacting with guests unless absolutely necessary. He stayed inside his house after dark, peering through the blinds, jumping at every Creek of settling wood. Every night birds cry. He imagined them watching him waiting. Why Were the cottages just convenient feeding grounds? Or did they know he knew? Did they know he was watching?

Exxa: 6:17

One evening a new guest checked into Cottage 6. A tall, gaunt man with dark, deep-set eyes and skin like bleached parchment. He arrived just as the sun bled into the horizon, paid cash and retreated inside without a word. Rick watched him from his window, breath held tight in his chest. This was one of them. He knew it. The way he moved, the way he didn't seem to sweat the utter silence from the cottage. He was the leader, he's the leader, of the vampire nest. That's how they do it. The followers come in first, scope out the place and make sure it's safe for their father, the one that birthed them into their evil and vile existence. That night was worse than ever. Every rustle outside was them testing his defenses. Every shadow held a waiting predator.

Exxa: 7:15

Rick sat in his armchair, shotgun across his lap, usually unloaded, but not tonight. He didn't care much for guns, but it felt necessary. The air conditioner wheezed. He didn't care much for guns, but it felt necessary. The air conditioner wheezed. No-transcript.

Exxa: 7:33

Around 3 am, a tapping started at his back door. Soft, rhythmic and insistent Tap, tap, tap. Rick froze. His blood turned to ice water. It wasn't the wind, it wasn't a branch, it was deliberate. They were here, they knew he was alone.

Exxa: 7:56

The paranoia had blossomed into full-blown terror, a suffocating certainty. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the sound. Tap, tap, tap. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing sharp teeth, red eyes, the bloodless faces from his nightmares. Teeth, red eyes, the bloodless faces from his nightmares. He saw the woods creeping closer, swallowing the cottages, swallowing him. The tapping was inside his head now, echoing the frantic pulse in his ears. Rick started to question his sanity. Was any of this real? He never checked the door. He stayed frozen in the chair until dawn, painted the sky in hues of bruised purple and feverish orange. The tapping had stopped hours ago.

Exxa: 8:47

Exhausted, trembling, rick finally forced himself to look outside. There was nothing there, no footprints in the dew-kissed grass. On his doorstep sat a small dead frog, probably dropped by an owl, or maybe not. Rick stared at it. Then, at the dark line of the woods. Were they testing him, playing with him? Or was it all just the heat, the isolation, the slow creep of his own mind unraveling in the humid Florida silence. He didn't know. And that he realized as the sun climbed higher, promising another day of suffocating heat and gnawing uncertainty, was the most terrifying thing of all. The woods remained silent, watching, holding secrets. He could only guess at, secrets that might only exist in the crumbling cottages of his own mind. The dead frog on the doorstep wasn't a tipping point. It was the final push over the edge.

Exxa: 9:54

Rick had been teetering on for weeks. The ambiguity, owl or omen, was worse than certainty. Certainty, even of horror, was something solid. This miasma of doubt, heat and creeping dread was intolerable. His sleep-starved mind, marinating in fear, latched onto a single warped piece of vampire lore Sunlight. They were weaker in the sun, weren't they Vulnerable? He read on one of those websites that if you take out the main vampire, the rest will die.

Exxa: 10:33

The Florida sun, currently blazing with the intensity of a furnace eye, felt like his only ally. He had to act Now, before dusk fell again, before the shadows in the woods deepened and his courage dissolved completely. He didn't grab the shotgun. The weight felt wrong, too final. Instead, his trembling hand closed around the cold pitted handle of the rusty machete. It felt clumsy, absurd, but it was heavy. It was something.

Exxa: 11:07

Sweat dripped into his eyes as he stumbled out into the blinding noon light. The air was thick enough to swim through. Each of the eight cottages seemed to waver in the heat haze, deserted islands in a sea of shimmering asphalt and parched grass. His focus narrowed on Cottage Six. He lurched across the patchy lawn, the machete held awkwardly at his side, reaching the door. He didn't knock. He pounded his fist, hitting the cheap wood with frantic force. Get out, he yelled, his voice cracking. I know what you are. Get the hell out of here. Silence. Then the out of here Silence. Then the sound of a lock clicking.

Exxa: 11:55

The door opened a few inches, revealing the pale gaunt man from the night before. He squinted against the sudden brightness, his dark eyes adjusting. He looked tired, annoyed, slightly confused. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. To Rick, however, fueled by adrenaline and terror, the man's pallor was unnatural his calm demeanor, the icy control of a predator. The confusion in his eyes looked like cunning calculation. What the hell do you want, the man asked his voice raspy. I know about you, rick hissed, gripping the machete tighter. I know what you do in the woods at night the animals I know. The man sighed, rubbing his temples. Look, I don't know what you're talking about. It's too damn hot for this. Go sleep it off. He started to close the door.

Exxa: 12:58

That dismissal, the casual wave off, snapped something in Rick. He shoved the door open, stumbling into the cool, dim interior of the cottage. Blackout curtains covered the windows, plunging the room into near darkness. The air smelled stale, conditioned. I know you're the leader of the others. Rick demanded, swinging the machete vaguely Now I'm ending this he lunged towards the window, tearing at the heavy curtain. Sunlight flooded the room. The pale man recoiled, shielding his eyes, letting out a startled cry hey, what are you doing? Get out of my room.

Exxa: 13:45

In that instant Rick saw it or believed he saw it. Instant Rick saw it, or believed he saw it, the man's skin seemed almost translucent in the direct light. His eyes flared with something red. Or was it just blood vessels reacting to the sudden brightness? And Rick could swear he saw for a split second his teeth look unnaturally sharp, vampire.

Exxa: 14:09

Rick screamed, raising the machete. The man yelped, scrambling backward, tripping over a suitcase. He threw his hands up defensively Are you fucking crazy? Get the fuck away from me. Rick lunged. The pale man yelped, scrambling backward and kicking out defensively, his foot connected with Rick's knee, sending him sprawling the machete skittering away across the floor. Rick landed hard, knocking the wind out of himself, the cheap particle-board nightstand digging into his ribs. He lay there gasping, the red haze of panic slowly receding, replaced by a throbbing ache and the cold, sharp stab of humiliation. The pale man, arthur Penzler, scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. He looked down at Rick, not with predatory menace, but with a strange mix of fear and annoyance. Shouts erupted outside as other guests, drawn by the commotion, peered nervously towards the cottage. Just get out, arthur, said his voice shaky. Get the fuck out before I call the cops.

Exxa: 15:27

Rick, aching and utterly spent, dragged himself up. He didn't look at Arthur, he couldn't. He stumbled out of the cool darkness of Cottage Six and back into the oppressive glare of the afternoon sun, the concerned or curious faces of his other guests blurring past him. He retreated into his own small house, collapsing into his armchair the rusty machete forgotten on Arthur's floor. He sat there for hours as the sun dipped lower, the certainty of his terror dissolving into a swamp of shame. Had he imagined it all? Was he losing his mind when twilight finally painted the sky in soft, bruised colors, bathing the lake and cottages in a deceptive calm.

Exxa: 16:18

Rick couldn't stand it anymore. He had to apologize. He splashed water on his face, combed his hair with trembling fingers and walked slowly, hesitantly, back to cottage six. He knocked softly this time. The door opened and Arthur stood there looking wary.

Exxa: 16:41

Look, rick began his voice thick with embarrassment. I I am so incredibly sorry about earlier the heat. I haven't been sleeping. It's no excuse, but I wasn't. I wasn't myself. I understand. If you called the police or if you want to leave, I'll refund you. Of course Arthur regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then, surprisingly, he offered a small, tired smile Forget it. Rough day for both of us. I guess no cops called you want a beer? I know I could use one. Stunned, rick nodded.

Exxa: 17:26

They ended up sitting on the small, slightly rickety porch of Cottage Six watching the fireflies begin to blink over the darkening lawn. The air was still thick and humid, but the shared silence felt less tense now, almost companionable after the earlier chaos. After a few sips of cold beer, rick couldn't hold back the question any longer. A few sips of cold beer. Rick couldn't hold back the question any longer. Why? He asked, looking at Arthur, why didn't you press charges? I mean, I forced my way in, I had that, that thing. I was shouting crazy stuff. You had every right.

Exxa: 18:05

Arthur took a slow drink from his bottle. Arthur took a slow drink from his bottle, gazing out towards the black silhouette of the woods. He turned back to Rick, a peculiar quiet smile touching his lips. It was different from the tired smile earlier. Well, rick, arthur said, his gaze locking onto Rick's with a friendly yet chillingly smile, his voice dropping to a soft, almost intimate murmur. Then his smile widened slightly. Because I can't very well get your blood if you're locked up in jail now, can I? A cold shock seized Rick. He stared at Arthur's smiling face. The friendly mask suddenly terrifyingly thin. The paranoia he'd felt earlier surged back, but this time it wasn't a frantic delusion. He hadn't been entirely wrong after all. He just picked the wrong time and the wrong way to confront the truth, hiding patiently in plain sight. Or was this a joke? Was Arthur messing with him? That's when Arthur lunged.