A hunter is out in the woods alone. He is an experienced hunter and has been hunting these parts as long as he can remember. But accidents happens. On this particular hunting-trip he falls and twists his ankle, having to cut his hunt short. But the way to his car is too far to walk on his wounded leg, he will never reach it before dark.
So he decides the best option is to stagger on his one good foot, further into the woods. He knows of this old hut that’s been standing empty for as long as he remembers. In these old parts, there were plenty of abandoned settlements and long forgotten hunters lodgings.
When dark falls upon the forest, making the path difficult to see, he finally reaches the hut. It is old and overgrown, the painting is scaling off. But it is dry inside, and furnished, even though a heavy layer of dust covers everything.
Tired and delirious from his wounded foot, the hunter lies down, hoping to fall asleep fast and wake up to find his foot better. As he falls asleep he notices all of the portraits hanging around in the hut, all of them of faces, as they are staring at him when he falls into an uneasy sleep.
When he wakes up, his foot is sore, but better. In daylight he can see the hut better now. It isn’t as dusty as he had imagined. It’s even food and water on the table. He wakes up. Fresh food. As he looks around the hut, he can find no portraits hanging on the walls. There is only windows.
A lot of them.
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