 It's the sort of way that most of these kind of tales begin. Estranged grandfather passes away and leaves me his cabin in 80 acres of land in the woods. My grandfather had saved his entire life as an electric alignment in order to retire in a two-story cabin with a workshop, basement, and Eugene organ. With my grandmother, he'd built the place himself a little at a time over the course of nearly every weekend in that 35-year span. To say the place was charming would be an understatement. Grandpa had taken painstaking details in constructing the place. The stairway was constructed of rough-cut pine with ornate carvings of Roosevelt Elk, Blacktail Deer, and Black Bear. The entire cabin was pretty well constructed, with rough sawn lumber of some type or another that grandpa had milled himself from the property. The cedar ceilings and walls added the extra flair to the five-bedroom, three-bathroom cabin that had become my grandmother's dream home. I'd spent many a summer with grandfather learning how to woodwork, track wildlife, and most importantly to grandpa, hunt. To be honest, I never struggled with taking a wild animal's life, but I think a lot of it had to do with the level of respect for the animals that grandpa exhibited. He didn't just shoot a nice buck with a large rack and drive around for days to show it off to his beer-drinking buddies. Instead, my grandfather immediately went to work after a kill, ensuring that no meat, hide, sinew, or even bone went to waste. In fact, most of his cabinets and door handles were constructed of deer or elk antler. Most importantly, he could cook an elk tenderloin to taste as great as any $100 steakhouse ribeye. Grandpa had a lot of pride in how he preserved his game. He always taught me that the preservation of any animal was a sign of respect for a life taken, not merely a trophy. He taught me to tan hides, process sinew, and in my final summer at his place, he'd begun learning the art of taxidermy, and taught me what he knew at the time down in the finished-out basement with a walk-in cooler. Unfortunately, my mother divorced my father, grandpa's son, due to the alcoholism that would eventually win his life, and the fallout was that my mother didn't want me around my grandparents anymore and their barbaric lifestyle. I never saw or heard from them again. From age 11 on, I'd been told about my grandmother's passing with a quick text from my aunt while I was in college. I had finals that week and simply allowed the idea of attending her funeral to slip my mind entirely. I'm a monster, I know. The idea struck me once I graduated that I was, after all, a grown man with my own will. So then, having a relationship with my grandfather would now be my choice and there wasn't a thing my mother could do about it anymore. As is often the case with these things, though, I soon after received another text from my aunt, informing me that grandfather had also passed. This time, though, she added an address and time, saying that I really needed to make it to the reading of my grandparents' will. In short, that reading led to a very irate family discussion after the lawyer informed the rest of my grandparents' children and grandchildren that I would be inheriting the entire cabin estate, along with a stipend for upkeep of the place that would last 30 years. Don't worry, the others received a hefty cash windfall, but I, by far, received the largest gift. I believe they also felt quite shited by the fact that grandfather had arranged his own funeral and insisted upon a closed casket, despite the fact that he'd passed from a simple heart attack. The closed casket had also been insisted of grandmother's funeral as well, I was told. It was a very strange thing to say the least. The title to the cabin was handed to me in a crisp new envelope with my grandfather's handwriting on the front. It simply said, read immediately after you enter the cabin. I shrugged it off as a dying man's final attempt at parental authority and threw the envelope into the backseat of my Subaru. The road trip to the old place was much longer than my childhood memories recalled. It involved three different mountain switchbacks and over 50 miles of driving on crude dirt roads. Once I arrived, though, I was shocked at just how big the place really was. As kids, we tend to exaggerate everything in our thoughts and memories, but this place was truly more than I thought I'd be able to upkeep with my work schedule. When I stepped up to the familiar welcome home mat at the door, the unsettling sight of a dead raccoon that had been ripped to shreds by some kind of predator met me there. It was fairly fresh, so I simply grabbed it by the tail and tossed it into the west patch of woods. Once I opened the door, the familiar scent of cedar filled my senses and a true sense of real home overtook my emotions. I'd give anything to have seen them as an adult, but my grandparents would always hold a special place in my soul. I slowly ascended the stairs toward the bedrooms on the second level and caught myself chuckling as I came to the conclusion that, although they were gone now, my grandparents' bedroom was still theirs and I'd rather sleep in my own room. So I threw my luggage and the letter from grandfather on the bed lazily and headed back downstairs to check out the open living and kitchen area. The sensory overload I experienced when I switched on the light that late afternoon was overwhelming. It seems grandpa had been quite busy with his taxidermy skills and as I began to inspect these animals, I noticed that both grandfather had gotten increasingly better over the years and that he had started mounting almost all of the specimens as full-sized instead of the usual shoulder sticking out of the wall. I really did admire his work, but the most unusual part of it all was when I noticed nameplates under each mount that read names like you'd label a pet with. I decided that today had been enough of an adventure to worry about it anymore though and made my way over to the freezer to thaw out some of those famous elk tenderloins that I knew grandfather would still have in stock. After dinner, I went to bed around 11 that night and literally passed out within seconds of plopping myself into the bed. Around 1207, I heard a loud bang downstairs. The house is old, so I quickly dismissed it and shut my eyes. But then I heard several loud bangs and what sounded like people walking up the stairs. When I opened the bedroom door, I was confronted by a 400 pound black bear that was immediately sniffing my face. Once he finished smelling me over, he turned his head to me in a manner that conveyed he wanted to be pet. At this point, I was certain that I was still asleep in bed, so I obliged the friendly bear, but soon realized that this was not a dream. This wasn't just any bear, this was the bear with the nameplate that said Toby downstairs. More noises ensued, so I quite hesitantly tiptoed past Toby and began my slow descent downstairs. At this point, I was terribly surprised to see that every game mount was fully animated and walking around the house besides the few shoulder-mounted deer and elk that looked quite downtrodden by their lack of mobility as they simply maneuvered their necks around as they hung on the wall. I began taking stock of the raccoons, bears, deer, elk, and squirrels running around when a dreadful thought overtook me. There was the mountain lion with the name of Butthead. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind when I heard a low resonating growl from behind the kitchen island that my back was turned towards. I barely managed to sidestep the big cat's lunge, but he still managed to catch the corner of my shoulder with a pointed and razor-sharp claw. I let out a yelp and I booked it upstairs. The big feline managed to bite into my shoulder before I forced the bedroom door shut and slid the deadbolt. I also took obvious note of the overbuilt door that was now installed as the cat relentlessly clawed and rammed into it. It was then that I remembered the note. As I ripped the envelope open, I noticed a side A and side B labeled on the paper. Side B said, if you didn't read this when I told you to, so I quickly turned the page over to it. Dear grandson, I had an afterthought once I wrote side A that you, being young and busy-minded, likely wouldn't read the letter in time. I surmise that Butthead is now clawing at the door as you read this. At least I'm hoping you made it upstairs or else my plans have failed. Anyhow, there's a digital alarm system by your bedroom door. It possesses a control for opening the front door to the house remotely. Please hit it at your earliest convenience so that Butthead can do his night hunting in the yard. It'll be calm when you let him into the house at 4am. Once you've let him out, turn to side A. I immediately slammed the button to the front door and breathed the sigh of panicked relief as the great cat responded to the digital notification downstairs that the door was opening and quickly scattered down the stairs. Once I got my breathing back under control, I remembered side A of the letter and began reading. Dear Miles, I first of all want to let you know just how much your grandmother and I have missed having you in our lives. We know it wasn't your choice, but it still broke our hearts not watching you grow up in person. By now you've received the title to the house and stipend. I have to be honest with you, the whole thing wasn't necessarily meant for you. You see, when I dug the foundation to the house 35 years ago, I discovered a motley assortment of animal bones that had been buried with strange emblems tied to them that were made out of stone and other bones. I thought it extremely odd, but also counted my lucky stars. There weren't any actual Native American bones in there and commenced with a build. It wasn't until that summer that you turned 11 when I'd taken up taxidermy that we discovered what was so special about the house. I should say your grandmother discovered the elk in our living room at midnight when I was out working a power outage. When I came home that night, I was convinced she'd lost her marbles the way she came screaming at me as soon as I opened the door. But the elk coming from the living room convinced me otherwise. You see, I'd done three other shoulder mounts before that bull elk and had never been in the living room that late at night to notice that the deer too had been coming back to life. As you can imagine, I was quite guilt stricken over what I'd done to these poor animals, condemning them to being stuck every night for eternity. I decided then and there that I would never mount another animal. That was until I found Toby on the side of the road having been killed by a truck and decided right then and there that if I did a full body mount, the animals would be given a second chance at life. Don't get me wrong. It took a while to tame Toby, but you'll soon discover that now he's a literal teddy bear. From then on, I made it my aim to give roadkill animals that I found a second chance at life. I did honestly still hunt, but it was far less often and even one of my taken game are also given the opportunity to live at night, provided they stay within 300 feet of the house I found. You also might have noticed that the square footage of the house has increased since you were a kid. Now you know why? Now, as to the primary reason you were given the title to the house, I need you to carry on with me in this work. I think it's something quite spectacular and worth investing a lifetime into. I've amassed thousands of notes and books on the subject, so you'll take to it in no time. I can't force you into doing this, but if you should decide to carry on this strange business we found ourselves in, feel free to talk to Grandma about it down the hall. She's waiting in our room for your decision and hopefully you'll be able to get started right away on your first project. I'm currently being held in the cold storage locker in the basement. Love, Grampa.