My Son-In-Law Wanted To Move His Parents Into My New House In The Woods, So I Prepared A “Surprise”…

I took careful notes in my field notebook. Wind direction, pack territories, seasonal behavior patterns. I thanked him warmly, mentioned again that I was from Denver and still learning about mountain life.

Every word calibrated to sound naive, concerned, exactly what he’d expect from a nervous newcomer. Back in Cody, I found an outdoor supply store, the kind with taxidermy on the walls and racks of camouflage gear. The camera section sat between hunting equipment and security systems.

Looking for wildlife cameras, I told the clerk. Want to monitor bear activity near my property. He showed me two models with motion activation, night vision, cellular connectivity.

These’ll do you right. We get lots of folks wanting to keep an eye on their land. $340, I paid cash.

At the cabin Wednesday afternoon, I installed them methodically. One covering the driveway approach, one angled toward the front porch. I tested the motion sensors, checked signal strength, adjusted positions until the coverage was perfect.

The engineering part of my brain, 40 years of solving structural problems, found satisfaction in the precision. Hide the cameras enough to be unobtrusive. Position them for optimal capture.

Test, adjust, verify. Both cameras connected to my phone with one bar of cellular service. Weak, but functional.

Thursday morning, I drove back to Cody. The butcher shop sat on a side street, the kind of place that served ranchers and local restaurants. Need 20 pounds of beef scraps, I said.

Organ meat, fat trimmings, for dogs. The butcher didn’t blink. You got it.

$45 for meat wrapped in white paper, loaded into coolers I’d brought. The smell was immediate and powerful. Blood, fat, raw flesh.

Thursday afternoon, I stood in the clearing behind my cabin with the coolers open. The wind came from the west. I checked it the old way, wetting my finger and holding it up.

I walked 30 yards from the structure, upwind. Then I placed the meat in three piles, spreading it to maximize scent dispersion. Not random.

Calculated. Close enough to draw predators to the area. Far enough that they’d focus on the piles, not the building.

I wasn’t trying to endanger anyone. I was trying to educate them. Back inside the cabin, I moved through each room.

Locked windows. Turned off unnecessary power. Set the thermostat to minimal heat, protecting my investment while setting my trap.

I paused at the door, took one last look at the space I’d inhabited for less than three days, and left without hesitation. The drive to Denver took five hours. I arrived at my old house just before midnight.

The suburban place I hadn’t yet sold, still partially furnished but hollow. I unloaded my truck, set up my laptop in the living room, propped my phone where I could watch the camera feeds. Then I waited.

Friday morning at 10 o’clock, a sedan appeared on my phone screen. Leonard and Grace emerged, looking around with expressions I recognized even on the small display. Displeasure.

Judgment. The camera microphone picked up their voices. This is where he’s living now? Grace wrinkled her nose.

It smells like pine and dirt. At least it’s free. Leonard walked toward the cabin.

We’ll stay a few months. Let Cornelius figure out the next step. I don’t see why we had to come all the way out.

Grace stopped. Froze. Leonard! Wolves! Three shapes emerged from the northwest tree line.

Gray and brown, moving with cautious purpose toward the meat piles. Not aggressive. Not interested in humans.

Just hungry. Leonard saw them, turned white. Get in the car! Get in the car now! They ran.

Grace stumbled, recovered. Car door slammed. The engine started and gravel sprayed as they reversed wildly, then accelerated down the driveway.

The wolves, unbothered, continued toward the meat. I closed the laptop and picked up my coffee. Took a slow sip.

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. What did you do? Cornelius’s voice had lost its business-like edge. Now it was just fury.

My parents nearly got attacked. I didn’t do anything, I said calmly. I warned you this property is in the wilderness.

You set this up. You baited those animals. Cornelius, I live in wolf country.

Wolves live here. This is their home. Maybe you should have asked before assuming you could use mine.

You’re insane. I’m gonna- You’re going to what? Sue me because wildlife exists on my property? Good luck with that. This isn’t over.

No, I said. It’s just beginning. I pressed end call, set the phone down deliberately, returned to my laptop and opened the footage again, watching the wolves finish the meat and disappear back into the forest.

Outside my Denver window, the mountains rose in the distance. Somewhere up there, my cabin waited. I’d been planning defense.

But sitting there, watching the recording one more time, I realized something had shifted. This wasn’t about defense anymore. Two weeks passed before Cornelius made his next move.

I spent those days settling into the routine I’d imagined. Coffee on the porch at dawn, watching elk drift through the clearing, reading books I’d postponed for decades. But the peace felt conditional now, like standing on ice that might crack.

I checked my phone more than I wanted to, kept the camera feeds open on my laptop, listened for vehicles on the dirt road. Mid-April brought warmer afternoons and the first serious wildflowers. I was splitting firewood when my phone rang.

Beulah. Dad, please! Her voice broke on the second word. She was crying.

Cornelius showed me the footage of the wolves. That could have been so much worse. I set down the axe and walked to the porch.

Beulah, honey! Wolves live in these mountains. I didn’t create that situation. I warned Cornelius this wasn’t appropriate housing for his parents.

But you knew they were coming. You could have done something to make it safer. The script was obvious.

Every phrase sounded rehearsed, coached. My daughter turned into his messenger. I bought this property for solitude, I said, keeping my voice level.

No one asked if I was willing to host guests. But I’m willing to meet with Leonard and Grace to discuss options. You are? Hope flooded her tone.

Really? I’ll meet them in town. Neutral ground. We’ll talk.

After we hung up, I stood watching clouds move across the mountains. She genuinely believed she was helping. That made it worse.

Two days later, I drove to Cody for the meeting. I’d spent both evenings preparing, researching comparable rental prices for rural Wyoming properties, printing three copies of a short-term rental agreement, reviewing property law basics. I practiced my presentation in the truck mirror that morning, testing different phrasings until I found the right balance.

Firm, but not hostile. Clear, but not cold. The grizzly peak calf sat on Main Street, small and local.

Wooden tables. Landscape photographs on the walls. Large windows facing the morning foot traffic.

I arrived 15 minutes early and chose my position carefully. Table near the window, back to the wall. Clear view of the entrance.

Within range of the security camera I’d spotted above the register. I ordered black coffee and waited. Leonard and Grace arrived exactly on time.

Cornelius must have driven them, probably parked nearby, coaching them on what to say. They walked in without ordering anything, sat down across from me like I’d summoned them to court. Hello, Leonard.

Grace, would you like coffee? Leonard ignored the question. Ray, this has gone on long enough. We need those keys.

Today. We’re not here for coffee, Grace added. We’re here because family is supposed to help family.

I pulled the rental agreement from my folder and slid it across the table. The paper made a soft sound against the wood. I aligned it perfectly with the table edge and tapped it once with my index finger.

I agree, which is why I prepared a proposal. Leonard glanced down, then back up, his face reddening. A rental agreement? You’re charging us rent? Market rate for a furnished property in this area? 1,200 monthly.

Six-month lease. Standard terms. You want money from your own family? His voice climbed.

Other patrons glanced over. From people who have nowhere to go? Grace leaned forward, her expression wounded. I never thought you were this kind of person, Ray.

Greedy. Just plain greedy. I stood, collected my folder, and picked up my coffee cup to bus it.

Habit. Courtesy. The kind of gesture that separated me from people who expected to be served.

Then I guess we don’t have an agreement. You’ll need to find alternative housing. You can’t just… Where are we supposed to… Leonard half rose from his chair.

That’s not my problem to solve. Good afternoon. I nodded to the barista on my way out.

In the truck, I sat for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel, breathing steadily, letting the adrenaline settle. Then I started the engine and drove home. That evening, my phone became a weapon aimed at me from multiple directions.

First call came around six. Cousin Linda. Someone I hadn’t spoken to in three years.

Ray, it’s Linda. I heard you’ve been having some difficulties. Difficulties? From whom? Cornelius called me.

He’s worried about you. Said you’re isolated in the mountains, acting strangely. The strategy revealed itself completely.

He was building a narrative, planting seeds with every family member he could reach. Linda, I’m fine. I retired to Wyoming.

That’s not strange. That’s a plan I’ve had for years. He said there was an incident with wild animals, and you refused to help his parents.

That’s an interesting version of events. Thanks for checking on me, Linda. I’m doing well.

I ended the call and stared at the phone. Twenty minutes later, a former colleague from Denver. Same script, different voice.

Cornelius had reached out, expressing concern about Ray’s mental state. The third call came at 8.30. Beulah again. You embarrassed them.