This eerie tale comes from Toasterlad and the far north of Norway. It sounds similar to the Third Man Factor in which everyone believes there is an extra person among them. Yet the TMF occurs when people are under great stress. These folks were playing games and drinking beer. Maybe it was in the beer. A good story nonetheless.
Thanks to Jim Banholzer for alerting us.
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About two years ago, a colleague of mine invited me and some of her friends on a two day trip in a cabin for the weekend. The plan was to drink beer, eat food and play board games and Guitar Hero. A nice weekend, indeed.
We get there in the early afternoon, around 16:00, and start settling inn. Some are outside bringing in wood and tending to the fireplace, some are making the beds ready and some are cleaning the living-room or shoveling snow on the porch. In other words, we weren’t all in the same room at the same time for the first hour or two.
At around 19:00, we settle down for dinner. There was taco on the menu, so it was a collective effort to make it ready with people cutting up vegetables, cooking the meat and setting the table. Because we all had a few beers during the time at the cabin, people were constantly going to the outhouse. This meant that the first time we’re all together in the same room for a good period of time was during dinner.
When we ate, the mood was good and we were all chatty. Talking about what we were going to play afterwards and just generally getting to know each other. Because we were so many, we had to use some chairs from the kitchen area and eat in the living room. There was a couch with room for three people, one with room for two, a chair plus two chairs from the kitchen. The seating arrangements made it possible for seven people to sit comfortably, without anyone having to use the middle seat in the three-seater.
After the feast of cheese, meat and salsa we were all sitting around the table chatting and playing a board game. Suddenly, my colleague asked “Hey, where is…uh… Who sat there?” pointing at the empty living room chair. “Oh, that was….uh… I’m not sure.” one of the guys said. “It was that guy from… uh.” My colleague answered.
We all swore that there were seven of us on the trip, but we couldn’t remember who the last person was. There wasn’t a dinner plate for that seating, and it didn’t look like anyone had been there. We started to count who came here in what car, and the number we came up with added up to six. At the same time, we had brought in the two chairs from the kitchen because there wasn’t room enough in the living room, and we had said no to some people wanting to go on the trip because the cabin only had seven beds.
We were quite sure that there were seven of us, but there was no evidence of us being more than six people. There was no seventh plate, seventh backpack or anything. Still, we had bought enough food for seven people, had made seven beds and were damn sure that someone had been sitting in the empty seat. We had no recollection of this person, but all agreed it was a man, not a woman.
This happened during spring in the far north of Norway, and if it wasn’t for the longer hours of daylight and how close the cabin was to our city, we would have been totally freaked out.
I still have no idea of who the seventh person should be, but I still find it odd that all of us were sure of there being a seventh person – a man – on this trip. I guess he went out of the matrix, and the matrix adjusted itself.
Six people was staying in a cabin, but we swore we were seven when we came.














