Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 3+ Hours of Scary Stories For Sleep and Relaxing | Best Scary Stories of March 2023

Episode Date: March 30, 2023

Close Your Eyes & Relax. These are 3+ Hours of Scary Stories For Sleep and Relaxing | Best Scary Stories of March 2023. Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits:►Anonomous►https://www.reddit.com/user/Theeaglestrikes/►https://www.reddit.com/user/Equivalent_Ad_3482/►https://www.reddit.com/user/TheEndDragon/►https://www.reddit.com/user/xoogavin/►https://www.reddit.com/user/Zackbare/►https://www.reddit.com/user/lexapromorningstar/►https://www.reddit.com/user/Theeaglestrikes/►https://www.reddit.com/user/Su_Blime_/►https://www.reddit.com/user/flowers4boys/►https://www.reddit.com/user/JLGoodwin1990/►https://www.reddit.com/user/SzyMeX335/►https://www.reddit.com/user/rainmaker_183/►https://www.reddit.com/user/hddynarider18/ Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #scary #relax 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

My name is John, and I'd always dreamed of taking my son, Danny, on a hunting trip. It had been years since we'd gone out into the wilderness together, and I was excited to spend some quality time with my son. So, when Danny's school schedule cleared up for a week, I knew it was the perfect opportunity. We packed up our gear and set out early in the morning, eager to make the most of our time in the woods. But as soon as we stepped foot into the forest, something felt off.

The animals were eerily silent and the forest seemed too still. It was as if we were being watched. Danny didn't seem to notice, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being followed. We trudged on, trying to ignore the creepy sense of unease that was growing with each step. As the day went on, our unease only grew. The forest was too quiet and we couldn't help the feeling that we were being followed. We set up camp for the night and started a fire. hoping to ward off the chill in the air and the growing sense of fear that was creeping into our minds.

As we sat around the campfire, we started to hear the crunching of leaves and twigs breaking all around us. It was as if something was moving through the forest, closing in on us. But just as suddenly as the noise started, they stopped. Danny and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with fear. I grabbed my weapon, ready to defend us if whatever was out there, decided to attack. But after searching the surrounding area, we found nothing. Exhausted and on edge, we retreated to our tent for the night.

But as soon as we stepped inside, we found a note and a Polaroid picture of us walking through the woods earlier that day. The note read, I am watching you. Danny and I were now terrified. We knew that we were not alone in the woods, and someone or something was following us. We didn't sleep that night, and we knew that the next day would be even more dangerous than the first. The next morning, we were too scared to talk much during breakfast. We just boiled some water for our instant oatmeal and ate in silence.

Both of us lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, we decided to call off the hunting trip and head back home. We knew we wouldn't be able to enjoy ourselves with the constant fear of something following us. We quickly packed up our tent and put out the fire, our eyes constantly scanning the surrounding area for any sign of danger. But the forest around us was eerily quiet, and we couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Once everything was packed up,

we filled up our water bottles from a nearby stream. As we were doing so, clouds started to form, and it began to rain. This was strange because John had checked the weather before we left on the trip, and it had said there would be clear skies and sun. We quickly put on our rain jackets and sought shelter under a nearby tree, but the rain didn't appear to be stopping any time soon. It was coming down harder and harder, turning the trail we had taken before into a muddy mess.

We knew we couldn't risk getting injured in the forest with no cell service, so we decided to head to higher ground and wait out the storm. The storm continued for the entire day, and we kept hearing the occasional twigs snap throughout the day, but we couldn't tell what or who was making them. By the time the rain stopped, it was completely dark outside. We decided to set up camp again, but this time the ground was too wet for a fire. We tried our best to enjoy a cold mountain house meal of chicken and rice in silence.

As we drifted off to sleep, we started to hear some shuffling outside our tent. I grabbed my weapon in case we needed to defend ourselves. Whatever was outside the tent began whispering things in a language we couldn't understand. This continued for about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Then suddenly there was a howl far off in the distance. The thing outside the tent went completely silent, not making a move. After a few howls off in the distance, the thing outside the tent ran off into the forest. We stayed in the tent in complete terror until sunrise, too scared to move.

The next morning I opened the tent in complete shock. Outside the tent was footprints surrounding us. The footprints did not look normal. Whatever made them was definitely barefoot. It looks similar to human tracks, but it only had three toes. We looked around the area and found two more Polaroids nailed to a tree near us. One was of us near the stream and the other. was of us sleeping in our tent. We were shaken to our core and knew we had to get out of this

forest as soon as possible. We grabbed our stuff and ran as fast as we could on the muddy trail. The forest around us was still eerily quiet. While we were running, I could hear the whispering from the night before, playing over and over in my head. I still could not understand the language or even begin to describe the sounds that I heard. It took us a few hours to get back to my truck. we felt like collapsing once we arrived. To our shock, there were muddy three-toed footprints all over the truck. The driver-side window was broken and inside the seat was a note that read, Don't come back.

We threw our stuff into the back and got in. We backed up and sped out of there, tires peeling on the gravel road. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw something that will forever haunt me. Two humanoid creatures stood where my truck was parked. Guessing from the trees next to it, they were about eight feet tall, slender, and a grayish-green color. They had dark black circles for eyes that peered into my soul. We made it home after a few hours. The whole trip we drove in silence, not knowing what to make of the whole thing.

We haven't told anyone else we know about our terrifying trip. I doubt anyone would even believe us. It's now been a few days, and every time I lay down at night, I still hear the whispering in my mind. I haven't slept much recently, and I don't know what to do. I did find one of the Polaroids in my jacket. The rest must have fallen out when we were running. It's a little water damaged from the rain, but I'll do my best to attach it. One thing is for sure, I will never forget those things staring back at us in the rearview mirror.

I have no idea what they were or why they wanted us to leave. I am just glad we got out of there with our lives. I am never going into the woods again. During my years as a park ranger, I encountered things that would terrify the most tenacious trekker. However, nothing on God's earth has ever given me as much cause for existential dread as the under tunnels of the Grand Canyon. Those treacherous tunnels were not carved by human hands,

and they certainly were not intended for human eyes. I have heard so many tales of uncovered underground passages in the Grand Canyon. It's not a new concept, but there's a difference between a hidden passage and the under tunnels. I probably should have left this place long ago, but I think I'm too afraid. Like Pandora's Box, once certain things have been learned, they cannot be unlearned. I feel I have an obligation to stay here until my dying day. Besides, no matter how far I might be able to run, it would never be far enough. There might be under tunnels beneath all places.

I don't actually work as a ranger anymore, but I like to say that I still perform a service to the park because I frequent the bars and other hospitality attractions of the area. I keep an eye and an ear on things. I still hear awful tales. That's how I know I'm not alone. I know there are others who have seen what I saw several years. ago. Look, I'm not trying to deter you from coming here. I'm simply saying that you shouldn't ever seek the terrors that hide in the hobbles of the Grand Canyon. That only applies to those

of you who explore the gorge itself. If you simply want to admire the vibrant vistas atop the edges of the canyon, then go for it. Book a tour, it's well worth the experience, but I would strongly advise against exploring what lies in its depths. Most people never stumble upon in entrance to the under tunnels, but why would you take the chance? I hope you will respect my privacy, and that's why I'm going to refer to myself by the nickname that my youngest daughter, Eliza, bestowed upon me, Mr. Danger, the park ranger, and he goes on adventures with his sidekick, Miss Sunshine, the porcupine. Eliza loves her porcupine costume. I have always marveled at my daughter's boundless creativity.

my wife, Riley, on the other hand, prefers us to stick to jollier topics. Why do you fill her head with the idea that you once had such a terrifying job? Riley asked. Because life as a financial advisor is so dull in comparison, I replied. Boo, boring, Eliza groaned, making a farting noise. Exactly what I want to say to my boss every day, I said. Before any of you start panicking that I'd been traumatizing my 10-year-old, daughter with detailed accounts of horrifying things that happened to me. I only tell ghost stories, never anything real, stories of trolls in the rocks and alien visitors.

Perhaps it helps me deal with my trauma to create fictional horror stories. Can I tell a spooky story next? Eliza asked. I grinned and said, go for it, Miss Sunshine. It's the story of a witch who once, Eliza began. No witches, I firmly stated. And after that conversation, earlier this evening, I was forced to relive the most haunting night of my entire life. The night I spent in the belly of the Grand Canyon, tirelessly hunting for two teenagers who had gone missing.

I hoped and prayed for an easy search and rescue job. I feared I would find two injured hikers in some hard-to-reach crevice. That was my worst-case scenario. I had no concept of the real worst-case scenario. traversing the rocky terrain of the colossal chasm that spans the Grand Canyon National Park, I found myself looking up at the wondrous walls that rose like earthly skyscrapers above me. At first, I felt soothed and comforted by their presence. However, as the sun began to set and my torch became my new guide,

those canyon walls shape shifted into something far more insidious. They no longer felt like warm blankets. They felt like walls of my coffin. My harrowing thoughts were interrupted by the fluttering wings of a crow that circled above me. I ignored the creature, pressing onwards, but I could feel its black eyes, staring onto the crown of my head. It was watching me as I walked. When I was a park ranger, I liked to think of myself as a man who had a strong affinity with all the animals, but that calling crow evoked a frightful feeling in my heart, even as a whippersnapper on the job,

and one who, at this point in my life, hadn't personally experienced anything terrible. My animal instinct was well honed. Come on, Mr. Danger, I told myself, you're not about to be bested by a crow. Are you? What would Miss Sunshine say if she could see you now? I clenched my torch tightly in my right hand and started weaving it around in a manic, frantic motion, attempting to shoe the bird away. At that moment, I was starting to get frightened.

I was startled by the sudden sound of footsteps from the darkness ahead of me. With lightning fast reflexes, I shone the torch of light in the direction of the sound. Somebody emerged from the side of a rock, and their flashlight came into view. Steady, it's me, Jack cried. I thought you might want some help with the search. Any luck? I found something quite promising. Jack, as I've named him for the purpose of this story, was a fellow park ranger.

He was a wizened old fellow, and I always viewed him as a second father figure. He was a little old, and his jokes often elicited eye rolls, but I've never been so relieved to see his goofy grin. Hands still trembling, my light erratically danced and darted across the rocks between us. No sign of him. You scared the absolute crap out of me, Jack. I sighed. It's a good thing I wore my brown trousers.

Jack laughed and beckoned for me to follow him. him. So, what's your promising find, I asked. Well, let's just say we should be home and putting our feet up on no time at all. I think I found a cave system that the two girls must have explored, he explained, leading the way. It's not one that I recognize, truth be told, but I suppose I might be getting forgetful in my old age. Anyway, I'm almost certain they entered it. There was a campfire by the entrance, recently burned out, must be them. Crap, I groaned. Last thing I wanted to do at nine o'clock on a Saturday evening is to fish some dumb,

unprepared, injured people out of a cave. Better than fishing some dumb, unprepared, passed away bodies out of the cave, eh? Jack pointed out, let's hope your version of the events ends up being the true one. I solemnly nodded my head, thinking of the countless lives that had been lost in the canyon. Whenever I had caused to moan or groan, I reminded myself of the people I was trying to protect. It was on nights like those that a ranger had to prove their worth. I prayed that we would find two live hikers. Huh? Jack said.

What? I asked. As we rounded a tall stack of rocks, my friend scratched his chin thoughtfully, casting his light onto the smoldering pile of sticks. I was looking at the burnt-out campfire, as promised. but there was no sign of the mysterious cave entrance, just a solid canyon wall, as there had always been in that spot. As far as I could recall, I was certain that Jack, who was 30 years my senior, had started to lose his marbles, but none of the park rangers had the heart to tell him to hang up the hat. It was what he loved. The park was the thing that kept him alive.

I know you're going to laugh, Jack sighed. But I'm telling you, there was a cave entrance right in that very space. I mean, I was right about the campfire, wasn't I? I wasn't going to accuse you of lying, Jack, I replied. It's dark, and neither of us can see anything out here. Even with these flashlights, the human mind is a fickle thing. It loves to play tricks. You should know that.

But let's not despair. We must be on the right track. You're right about that. The campfire is a good sign. Yeah, I suppose you're... Oh, Jack's dog. looking to the side of my head. What? I asked.

He chuckled. Got a little something on your shoulder, partner. I swiveled my head to the left and screamed. There, staring back at me with hollow eyes, was the black crow that had been stalking me. It was silently perching on my shoulder. I hadn't felt it was there. It hadn't so much as made a sound or moved into my field of vision.

It was a gaunt, ghastly statue, posing with such stillness that it might as well have been a taxidermy bird. Jack cackled until he weezed and sputtered. He continued to be of no use whatsoever, whilst I flailed around in a mad panic, striving to release the creature from my shoulder. Eventually, thankfully, it flew away. To my park ranger friend, it was an amusing incident.

To me, it was something much worse. I didn't like the eerie situation, the disappearing cave entrance, The eerily serene bird, none of it, not one bit. As I said, I have good instincts, and I don't fear animals. For the record, I never have. I care deeply, even for nature's most ominous and overlooked creatures. Crows had never bothered me before that fateful night,

but that crow was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I didn't know what was wrong with it, but I knew the mere sight of it filled me with immense horror. It was dangerous, and I'm not talking about fun, and mischief that Mr. Danger and Miss Sunshine love. This was real danger, danger that I had forgotten all about until Eliza reminded me of something that had been hiding in the darkened recesses of my fractured, forlorn mind. Wait, Jack said, it moved. Suddenly, my park ranger friend was sprinting past me, so I turned to see what had stirred him. And then I saw it. On the canyon wall opposite

to the one that we had been facing, there was a cave entrance. It was one I was certain I'd never seen in that area before, and that made me truly start to question everything. Maybe Jack hadn't lost his marbles. That could only mean something more unsettling was happening. Either we were both incompetent park rangers, or something unnatural happened. Jack, I started.

Let's talk about this for a moment. Jack had already reached the mouth of the cave, and he was jubilantly dancing in the entrance, before I even had the chance to talk about the horrible feeling, feeling in the center of my chest. I spotted something that snapped me out of my feverish stupor. Jack, I warned. Wolf! Jack immediately stopped dancing in the entrance and cast his torch light onto a large, gray wolf that was slinking toward him. It did not growl. It did not make a sound, in fact. It simply took long, purposeful strides toward my frozen friend. Easy buddy, Jack calmly said.

I don't have any treats for you. and I'm not as tasty as I look, I promise. Now, ordinarily, I'd scare you off with rubber bullets, but I'm a little unprepared this evening, I have to admit. So, I'm warning you not to get too close, otherwise you'll get the back of this torch. Jack, I said, speaking with the same air of calmness, Keep your cool.

I've been doing this a lot longer than you, kid. Don't worry about... The wolf moved abnormally quick, pouncing towards Jack, who slammed his torments. torch into the animal's face. The creature, along with Jack's torch, when flying to the ground, it did not whimper or even falter more than a second. It was calm, too calm. The wolf simply got back to its feet and eyeballed the now torchless Jack. I shone my light onto the cave entrance, illuminating my defenseless friend, and the wolf that had started to prowl towards him once more.

Jack, just let me, I started. I have to head into the cave. Jack cried. In a flash, my reckless ranger companion had sprinted into the cave. The darkness swallowed him and the wolf that was hot on his tail. I ran after the pair of them, lighting the way with my shaky torch. Entering the passage through the canyon wall, I tried to focus all of my attention on Jack and the wolf, who were already out of sight in the labyrinth of tunnels. But I couldn't help fixating on the particular noises that engulfed me. Rocks were shifting as if the canyon were continuously reshuffling and restructuring itself. Jack! I screeched. I tumbled through a hole and cut my elbow on a rocky slope I slid down to a sprawling, cavernous opening. I stumbled to my feet quickly and picked up my torch, fearing what I might see in the center of the underground space. In the center of the cave, I expected to see the wolf tearing up my friend.

What I actually saw was far worse because it couldn't be explained. Jack was there, but he was not facing a wolf. He was facing something indescribably horrible. A gangly creature towered over him, skin decaying and limbs twice as long as those of an ordinary human. It was a monstrously magnified version of a person. No, not a person. A skinwalker, as the Native Americans would no doubt call it,

the stuff of legends, a monster that I had only ever seen in frightening fables, not something real. And yet, my eyes were telling me a different truth. I could see the thing with my own eyes, the thing that goes by so many different names in so many different places. Still, no matter what name it's given,

everybody agrees that it is an unholy thing, an abomination not meant for our world, death incarnate. Jack, I near soundlessly gasped. My friend began to levitate, his ascension orchestrated by the gnarled, brittle fingers of the inhuman thing before it. The witch, a silent and serene puppeteer, continued to raise her hand. Utilizing some unseen evil force, she moved my friend higher and

higher into the air. Watching his illuminated form in my torchlight, I could see the creature was as still and unwavering as the crow and wolf. And that was when I pieced the parts of the puzzle together. I remember that feeling of being stalked by the crow, those creepy black eyes. A sudden snapping sound broke me from my disturbing daydream. Instead, putting me into a much more deeply disturbing state of reality, Jack released a scream that ricocheted off the walls of the enclosed space as his legs bent the wrong way. They broke, one by one. His jaw started to drop, and I realized that he was moments away from losing consciousness. As morbid as it sounds, I prayed that he would faint. I prayed that he would not be conscious during this. As the witch began to pop his arms inward and

contoured him into a box shape. Looking at his compressed form, I realized that he wasn't unconscious. He was gone. At that moment, the rocks on the walls crumbled away, revealing a stack of boxes and, surprisingly, a red wooden door. As the witch opened one of the boxes and began to put my friend into it, I crept around the back of her. She busied herself with the act of packing her latest victim into a wooden, golden-line treasure box, and she did not seem to notice the torchlight that was moving around her, as I inch closer and closer to the red door on the far wall. Stealthily, I made it across the cave and placed my hand on the door handle. The creature screeched. In a blind panic, I swung the door open and closed it behind me. To my utter surprise, I was facing a long,

dark tunnel. A tunnel constructed of red bricks on the walls, floor, and the floor. ceiling, the real under tunnels. This was more than just a cave system. It was, I realized, the witch's layer. There was no way I could survive by going backwards, so I had to push forwards. Lighting the way with my torch, I ran blindly through the red brick tunnel, not knowing what I might find around every bend. Suddenly, there were multiple forking passageways. I had no idea which way to go. I just knew that I had heard the red door open behind me, and I heard a slow, steady, still serene, patting footsteps of the thing that had taken Jack. Help!

The voice cried from the tunnel to my left, so I immediately followed the sound. Cowering in the end of the fork of the tunnel was a girl. She must have been 18 or 19, fully knitted out in hiking gear, and coated head to toe in a crimson liquid. Oh, thank God, she whispered. We have to get out of here. That thing is coming for us. Where's your friend?

I asked. The girl's lip trembled. Alicia? She's gone. Alicia. So you're Daniela, right? I asked. She nodded.

I'm sorry about your friend, Daniela. I lost someone too. But we're going to make it out of here. I promised. I think we should go back to the red door, Daniela said. We know the way back from here. here. I shook my head helping Daniela to her feet and pointed a finger to my ear, indicating her to listen.

I was trying to show the girl that it wasn't safe to go back the way we came, but I could hear the witch's padding footsteps. I suddenly realized that not hearing her was far worse. Where was she? What? Danella asked. I don't hear her. That doesn't mean she's not there. Come on, I said. I led a begrudging Daniela farther into the depths of the tunnels, shaking as we rounded every corner. Every time I saw the coast was clear, it was both a relief and a fright. Not knowing where she might be hiding was a scare like no other. And then, from the depths of the brick tunnels, we heard a sound, crying. It's a trick, Daniela protested.

Don't go towards it. It sounds like a girl, I said. Maybe Alicia is still alive. I followed the sound of crying, thankful for the fact that the tunnel no longer seemed to be forming off into different directions. I was relatively certain that it was more of an interconnected circuit of tunnels rather than a maze. All routes would have led to the same place, eventually. A wooden, colorless door, and there was crying on the other side. Daniela sobbed and said, don't go in there.

I ignored her, motivated by a sense of duty and perhaps a smidge of stupidity. I burst through the door and found myself in a cavern much larger than the last one, and, thankfully, there was a cave entrance at the far side. I could see the outside world. It was a horribly dark night, but it looked like a glowing beacon of hope. Anything was lighter than the hellish undertunnels of the witch. Casting the light around the cave, I eventually found Alicia, pinned down by rocks, tauntingly close to freedom.

She was staring blankly ahead and bawling her eyes out, When she saw my flashlight, she screamed. Help! Alicia wailed. I'm trapped. It definitely felt like a trap, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hadn't tried. Moreover, yet again,

my instinct was telling me that I was looking at Alicia. It wasn't the witch. I could just feel it in my bones. I darted over to the girl and heaved the rocks off of her arms. There were cuts and bruises along her limbs, so I hoisted Alicia to her feet. She screeched when she saw Daniela. Get her away from me, Alicia cried.

Alicia, it's me. Daniela replied. Alicia shook her head and gently nodded at the far wall of the cave. I turned my head to see what the girl had been eyeballing. When I first entered the cavernous room, I was horrified to see someone on the ground, lifeless and an unimaginable shape. Not just anyone.

Daniela, there were two of them. As I turned my torchlight back to Daniela, who had just followed me from the undertunnels. She nonchalantly threw a smile our way, and yet, as calm as she may have been, it was the most unhinged and malicious smile I had ever seen. Alicia and I slowly back towards the cave exit, watching as the fake Daniela started to grow in height,

her limbs started to elongate and her hair fell out. Within seconds, I was staring at the horrific creature that had got my friend, Jack. Run, I screamed. As we sprinted for the exit, it began to close. The rock shifted around it, slowly shrinking the spot that was our only path to freedom. Within seconds despair, Alicia dived through the opening, and I followed, turning to face the closing spot. I caught one final glimpse of the inhuman creature before it was entombed in the wall of the Grand Canyon.

I had never told anyone that tale, and I was a park ranger for many years after that. If anything, understanding that such things existed was my reason. for continuing. There are other reasons that I eventually abandoned that line of service, but my duty has never really went away. And when Eliza reminded me of witches, I realized it was finally time to tell my story. You may or may not choose to believe me. None of that matters, but please, I beg you, do not enter the undertunnels of the Grand Canyon. As I took my first steps through the entrance of the Nature Trail, I was confident that this was exactly the escape I needed to decompress. The damp soil sunk beneath my boots. Flowers bloomed, the leaves on the

tree shook and hummed gently in the summer breeze, and birds sang. I felt like I'd walked into the Garden of Eden. Lost in thought and devouring the beauty radiating itself through all my senses, I never heard the footsteps approaching behind me. Hey there, a woman's chipper voice plucked me out of paradise. Happy trailing. I asked politely, despite my annoyance at the disruption. Definitely, I come here a lot when I need a break. How about you? The girl lingered slightly behind, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. First timer, but I brought reinforcements, I said, gesturing to the map in my hand. There are better areas from when they were first building the trails. They're not as well maintained, but they're easy enough to follow. They won't be on your

map. I'm taking one up to the river. Some people say it's dirty, but I like to dip my feet in anyway. We were walking side by side now, our boots smacking the dirt trail and rhythm. I looked at her closely for the first time. We looked close enough to the same age, maybe her being a year or too younger. We were sporting identical hiking boots. In another life, we might have been friends. As if sensing my thoughts, the girl looked towards me and smiled. I'm Claudia, by the way. Do you care for a walking buddy? The forest is beautiful. but sometimes it feels lonely. I can show you the river.

I hesitated and nearly declined. I had come out here to escape, not to be social, but she seemed nice and a river view sounded amazing. I'm Avery, and I'm in. Lead the way. After a few minutes, Claudia gestured to a thin trail barely visible through the overgrown vegetation. I stood at the small opening,

thinking about the critters living there, wondering if they bit. So much for easy to follow. As the trail widened a few yards in, my worries fell. It was beautiful. The sun glistened as it danced through the leaves. Flottia put her arm out for me to stop and pointed. In the distance a fawn lingered near its mother. In this moment, I was so glad to have met her. As we trekked on, the foliage became more dense and only small streams of light flicked through. A light and pleasant odor smelled in the breeze.

It seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Mold growing on stagnant water was my best guess. A gentle mist twirled in the rays of light between the leaves. As I followed Claudia in silence, I wondered just how well she knew the trails. She hadn't hesitated, but the mist was flirting with fog by the minute. Claudia kept moving forward, as if pulled by an invisible string. Out of the corner of my eye, something moved on the edges of the fog to my left. My heart picking up speed, I closed the gap that had gradually formed between us. I think there's something out there, I whispered.

Claudia didn't slow down, but she turned back towards me and giggled. Of course there's something out there. There's a lot of somethings. We're in a forest. Claudia must have seen the fear on my face, and as an afterthought asked, was it big? I'm not sure, I admitted nervously, I only saw it for a second.

It disappeared behind a tree. It was pretty far out, but I think it's moving in the same direction we are. Flodia kept her pace, but she agreed she'd keep an eye out. For the last 20 minutes, she'd kept her eyes firmly on the trail, so somehow I doubted that.

I looked up over her shoulder and finally realized what she'd been so fixated on. There was something large up ahead peeking out through the fog. It's a cabin. Oh man, this is amazing. Claudia exclaimed. My dad told me about these. During tourist season, the park rangers stay out here. I watched the fog drop into the hole in the roof of the cabin.

It doesn't look like anyone's lived here in a long time, I remarked. I'd only known Claudia from the trail, and yet I knew she was going to suggest we go in and explore. She was the adventure to my play at safe. On second thought, maybe we wouldn't have been friends in another life. Claudia started to speak, but I couldn't hear her over the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. Closer than before, the thing from earlier stood still ahead of the cabin. It was watching us. The fog obscured my vision, but I could see it was wearing something dark that fluttered in the wind.

Let's go inside. I interrupted her. Her eyes opened wide as I stormed past her. The door groaned its protest as I threw it open. and flew inside. That thing from earlier followed us here, Claudia. It was watching us. We need to figure out a way to get out of here.

It's ahead of the cabin. I think we can go back the way we came. Can you see the trail well enough to run? Claudia stood staring at me, cheeks flushing. I've never been to this cabin before. I lost the trail a little ways back. I figured we could group here and make a plan. Are you sure there's something out there?

For a moment, I was dumbstruck. She had lost the trail. We were screwed. Finally, I choked out. I'm positive. It was some freak in a dark flowing gown or something. How did you lose the trail? I thought you said you came here all the time.

I hissed. Fear slithered its way from my stomach. I mean, sure, but not in the fog. I was hoping we'd beat it and be able to watch it float across the river. It's gorgeous. Floddya looked uncomfortable. I know she didn't lead us off trail intentionally, but it didn't feel that way, especially with some freak following us, slowly.

moving closer. Let's look around and see if there's anything here we can use to defend ourselves. Then we need to try to get out of here. I could hear the frustration and my tone. I never should have followed a stranger into the forest. How could I be so stupid? I went left towards the kitchen as Claudia made her way towards the back rooms. I opened several drawers and cabinets to find nothing but spiders and dust. Defeated, I headed to meet up with Claudia, hoping she'd had more luck. As I entered, the first thing to hit me was a putrid smell. Fladia was bent over the bed in the corner of the room softly crying. On top of a bare, stained mattress was a decomposing body. Blonde hair clumped around the partially exposed skull. As the body had turned to liquid,

the red and white plaid shirt had turned a nasty brownish along the torso. It would have been completely unidentifiable if not for the clothing. Fladia was staring down at her own red and white plaid shirt, pulling on it, willing it to not be true. Both Claudia and the body on the bed both adorned the same denim shorts, a small rip along the right hem. The arms of the body were cuffed to the bed. Both feet were bound. I slowly stepped back as Claudia whispered over and over. No, it cannot be. As I reached for her, Claudia finally looked up. I yelped and jerked my hand back. Flodia's face now mirrored the body on the bed. The blonde hair she pushed behind her ear earlier are now dirty, clumped, and missing in patches.

Her eyes long since disintegrated leaked a gelatinous substance from the empty sockets. The few patches of skin left on her face hum like dry snake skin. I'm sorry, Avery, I just can't handle this. She garbled with her stump tongue and a mouth with no lips left to help enunciate. She ran out of the cabin door and back into the forest. Shock paralyzed me, and insanity threatened to leave me in the fetal position in the corner, waiting for someone to rescue me. But deep down I knew no one would come.

That's why Claudia's body was still lying here left to be. I couldn't stay here, but leaving meant facing the follower. The thing lingering in the woods, it was possible that the person who got Claudia and the follower were one and the same, but somehow, I didn't think so. I did the only thing I could do. I peeked my head out of the front door to make sure no one was waiting for me outside, and I headed back out into the forest. I had two options.

continue on in the direction Claudia had been leading me or attempt to find the thin trail in the fog Claudia had somehow managed to lose and head back to the main trail. Upon inspecting, the trail seemed easier to follow heading in the direction we had originally been moving. So onward it was. The further on I went, the denser the fog. The foul smell from earlier slid down my nostrils and made my lungs ache.

Through the corner of my eyes, the follower inched closer. I kept my eyes forward to keep my sanity. I stopped briefly to catch my breath. I'd been nearly running for close to 10 minutes. I was terrified to stop, but the built-up lactic acid in my muscles begged to differ. As my breath quieted, I heard running water. The river, just like Claudia had said,

I had to be close to the original trails. I pulled out my map to try to make a guess at where I could possibly be and how to get the hell out of here. While I couldn't be sure as to my exact location, I could see where the main trail met up with the river. I could be anywhere from a few feet to a few miles. The fog was so dense I couldn't see more than two feet from my nose. My hope was by the time I was near the trail, I'd be able to see it.

I inched forward slowly, carefully. Up ahead, something dark moved from higher up in a tree, and floated down on the breeze. It fluttered like a down, large bird. But as it neared I realized in horror what was coming. I tried to scurry back, tripping over a rock on the trail. My tailbone screamed painfully as it hit the hard, ground below. I scooted frantically away but made no real progress. The follower continued its descent. It hovered just above the ground, and although its face was shrouded in the same black

fabric, I could feel its eyes bore through me. My body shook as it looked down at me, waiting. Slowly, it extended its arm towards me. The sleeve pushed back to reveal what I believed to be a woman's hand. The nails were long and the skin carried the grayish hue of rot. As the hand uncurled itself. I struggled to tear my eyes from the golden sigils that started just under the fingernail continuing up past the sleeve. It took me a moment to realize it was offering to help me up. I started to extend my own hand before hearing Claudia whisper. She'll help you up, but she'll take you. We can stay in the forest together. We can be friends. Any part of me that questioned my sanity was squashed by Claudia's breath leaving condensation against my neck. I've been so

lonely out here, Avery. I've been so lonely for so long. Suddenly, I recognized the smell carried by the fog. Once when I was young, a mouse died behind one of the walls in the kitchen. In the summer, the smell became unbearable. My mother begged my father to cut the wall open, to pull the mouse from its poorly sealed coffin. But my father refused. We ate dinner outside to avoid ruining our appetites. Eventually the smell faded and things returned to normal, but I'd never completely forgotten

the smell. The fog in my childhood home both smelled of death. The follower was still waiting with her hand extended for my response. I crawled backwards slowly. The follower remained still. I sprang to my feet and ran back the way I had went. I tripped twice, skinning my knee, but I didn't stop. After a few minutes, I ventured to look behind me.

The follower wasn't there. I slowed to a walk, desperately looking for the trail. The fog was slowly pulling back. After nearly ten minutes of panic, I had found the small trail Claudia and I had started on. both my relief and dismay, I didn't pass the cabin again. Just as panic threatened to take hold, the fog cleared enough to reveal the main trail just up ahead. I broke out in a sprint. As soon as I hit the trail entrance, I called the police. I knew if I told them the whole story about Claudia, they'd never believe me, but there was plenty I could tell. A park ranger who

introduced himself as Park Ranger Thompson arrived first. I told him I'd begun on the main trail, but noticed a small side trail and decided to take it. He frowned at this but continued to listen. I told him about how at some point I'd lost the trail, but continued on. I told him about the rundown cabin and the body chained to the bed. He stopped me there. You're telling me that in those woods, there's a cabin with a girl's body chained up and you didn't call the police then.

I left my phone in the car. I came out here for a break from the real world, not to bring it with me. Well, ma'am, we haven't had a hiker go missing here in at least three years. years, and we've been all through here searching. I've never come across a run-down cabin. He responded flatly. She had blonde hair. I had started to cry for everything that had happened and the loss of someone who could have been a friend. She was wearing a white undershirt and a red and white plaid flannel. We had matching boots. My voice trailed off. My throat burned with the effort of containing sobs. The park ranger tensed. If this is some kind of joke, you need to leave

right now, anger wavering his voice. Why would I joke about this? What's wrong with you? She needs help. I felt insane. How could he understand? None of this made sense. My daughter went missing in these woods three years ago. She was last seen in a white undershirt, red and white plaid flannel, and brown hiking boots. His voice cracked. You said she's in a cabin. I stopped myself quickly, realizing my mistake. I heard park rangers stay in them during tourist season, but no one had lived there for a long time. There's no way. I tried my best to lead Ranger Thompson, back to the side trail, back to his daughter. But without Claudia leading me, I couldn't find the trail. I swore it was there, and the hope for closure that flashed behind his eyes let me know he

believed me. I'll pull the map for the original trails. Maybe one of them will have the cabin on it. If you want to leave your number, I'll call you if I find it. On the drive home, I had too much time to think. I don't think Claudia knew she was gone when she first walked up beside me. I don't think she knew she was leading me to her body either. I think she herself was pulled by whatever it is that allows our souls to call a body a home. And I don't think the follower was a monster anymore. I think she was death, offering me an easier way out. I wonder if Ranger Thompson will call me after he finds Claudia,

or if the follower will be waiting for him in the cabin, offering him an easier way. I wonder if Claudia will whisper in his ear about how lonely she's been. I wonder if her breath against the back of his neck will convince him to stay. Regardless, I'm staying off the trails. A few years ago, I bought her. I bought a small house in southwest Maine. It's one story around 1,000 square feet.

A few months after I bought the house, I got lonely and decided to buy a dog, whose name is Ace. There's a forest outside my home. I never bothered to do any of the normal things people do when there's a forest near them, like camp. However, Ace never liked the forest. He would bark or whine any time I took him on a walk where the tree line was visible. I started realizing what was happening last winter.

Every tree began to wilt and die simultaneously. If one leaf fell off a tree, that leaf fell off of every tree. When it became spring, all the leaves grew back at the same time and place as well. It's as if the forest grew as one. Two months ago, Ace picked up the habit of scratching my door any time I had locked him out of my room. He always makes a mess when I let him in, though, so I have to keep the door closed. Two weeks ago, I heard it yelp.

It was not Ace, though. It came from somewhere around the back of my house. that sound, I heard Ace running and whining, and he started scratching my door. It wasn't normal, though. It was frantic. I let him in my room, and I swear I already saw the thing in my yard. I saw that thing staring at my door. I looked closer and all there was out there was the tree line. But I saw that thing out there, I know it. I couldn't sleep, nor could Ace. I stayed up and just scrolled through social media. I don't know what time it was, but I heard it yelp again, and after that, a long, disgusting groan.

I couldn't open my door, I couldn't. I didn't want to see those eyes turn into trees. All I did was sit there, thinking of what to do if there was something out there. The next morning, I don't know why, but I bought a pistol. Something told me to, a gut feeling. That night, it happened again. The yelping, groaning, scratching, and the staring. This time, though, I went outside, the pistol at my side.

Either that thing was going to end up with a hole in its head, or I was going to be offed, and I would be damned if I let the ladder happen. I was sitting there and the 20-degree weather, just waiting. But nothing happened. I waited and waited, but there was nothing, until Ace was scratching on my door. I looked around and saw it coming out of the tree line, the long pale limbs, the four different eyes,

and I heard the groan. But it wasn't a groan. It was a scream, the loudest scream I had ever heard. The thing ran at me, and I drew my weapon. I was still firing when it was down. I moved to grab my phone to call the place. police and the second I turned around, it was gone. I called the police in shambles, not knowing what to do. I got a fine for prank calling 911, but I know what I saw. I have to move away. I can't look at

that forest ever again. I don't know what is wrong with that forest, but it's not normal. Maybe it's cursed, haunted, or maybe this world has more secrets like this, waiting to emerge from the tree line. The United States has a diverse land of many different forms of life. From the fierce grizzly bears in the mountains of Alaska to the stealthy alligators in the swamps of Florida. Wherever you may be, there is always something unique about your state. That is until you get to Oklahoma. You see, Oklahoma is without a doubt one of the most boring places, maybe ever. Having lived here for 18 years, I'll be the first person to tell you that.

Sure there are large cities, just like any other civilization, however, they are spread out over tens, even hundreds of miles apart. What you are left within between those cities is what some refer to. to as the sticks are the boondocks, or the country whatever you choose to call it, and that is where I'm from. In the sticks it consists of four main elements, lots of trees, lots of crops, lots of wildlife, and the occasional Walmart or Dollar General. Since there is not a lot to do out here, that is where most Oklahoma residents take up the past time of hunting, and that is where my story begins. It was a cold November night, right in the heart of deer season. I was laying in bed enjoying a

video game I was playing when there was a knock on my bedroom door. It opened and my dad walked in. Hey kid, he said, yes, dad, you haven't been hunting this season yet. Why don't you take my bow and I'll get you set up and in the morning you can head out there and go get us something. He's really putting me on the spot here. I thought to myself, yeah, sure, why not? I said to him. He told me to dress warm and to meet him outside by the front door in 10 minutes so we could walk out to the spot. So I would know where to go when it was time to leave to me. tomorrow. We began our walk into the woods. With every step we took, I began to get a little bit more annoyed. Where are we going? I thought to myself. I thought we were just going to go behind the

house. I didn't know we were going to have to hike to the hunting spot. Dang, what was I thinking? I should have just said no. When we finally arrived at the hunting spot, we were more than a mile out into the wilderness behind my house. He finally stopped by a huge oak tree and pointed his flashlight at some cedar trees that were off to the side. See it. He said, No, I don't. I replied. He walked closer and shined his flashlight into the trees to reveal a tiny chair that was hidden under some tree branches and sticks. That is where you're going to set up in the morning. Got that. I nodded my head as he tossed out some dried corn to attract the deer in the morning for when I came back. What time do I need to head out here? I asked my dad, expecting him to say six to seven in the morning. He then muttered you need to be up and ready to head out by four in the morning. My heart sank, it was going to be pitch black outside. There's no way I was going to be able to make it all the way out here in the pitch black. We finally made it back to the house by 11.30, and I headed up to my room to get as much sleep as possible before this hunting trip.

I woke to the painful sound of my alarm blaring into my dark room. I looked at my phone and it was 3.40. I sighed and sat up. I put on the warmest clothes I could find and made my way out into the living room. There on the couch sat my dad's bow, two arrows. and a small but sharp hunting knife. I grabbed the gear plus a flashlight and made my way out the front door.

Navigating the woods at night was an extremely frightening experience that took much longer than what I would have wished. I left my house at four and I did not arrive at the hunting location until 4.37. I was impressed with just how many trees I managed to walk into and how many times I almost tripped over large logs, even with the help of my flashlight.

Once I arrived, I sat down in the little uncomfortable plastic chair and began waiting. My dad wanted me out here so early because it makes it a lot easier for the hunter to sneak into his spot, and the deer not being able to watch him. I'll never forget the paranoia I experienced in those woods in the pitch black. That feeling of not wanting to breathe too loud because something or someone might hear you is like no other. After roughly 15 minutes of sitting in the quiet darkness, I heard it, sticks snapping and leaves crunching. It was a deer walking to my spot. My heart began to pound as I listened closer, The leaves continued to crunch with each footstep, but that's when I picked up on something strange. Is this thing walking on two legs? I thought to myself, it sounded just like a pair of human legs

walking through the leaves. Is it my dad? I thought, maybe I forgot something at the house. Surely it has to be him. But no, it couldn't have been him. The footsteps were coming from the woods, not the trail we walked. The footsteps emerged from the woods and stopped. After a short pause, it took one step towards me. A moment later it took one more step. in my direction, I began to get nervous. Dear shouldn't be acting this way. What the hell is this thing? I raised my flashlight up from my lap and in a moment of pure bravery.

And stupidity I clicked my flashlight on. What I saw in front of me still haunts me to this very day. In front of me stood a creature no shorter than ten feet tall. It stood on two legs. It was covered in black fur. The face was human, I believe. The face looked to be of a man's face. The eyes were closed and the mouth was contorted into a sin.

It had two great big antlers that seemed to come off of an elk or a moose. It had hooves for feet and its arms were long and skinny, but it had what appeared to be claws on the end of its hands. As soon as I saw this thing, I clicked off my flashlight, praying it didn't see me. Too late. I almost started gagging from fear when I heard this thing sprinting at me. As fast as I could, I loaded an arrow and drew back the bow. Without hesitation, I fired the bow into the darkness, hoping I could hit the creature, but I missed. I heard the arrow whistle off into the woods before striking a tree.

Crap! Stupid idea. I thought. I immediately stood up and began sprinting down the trail. The creature was in close pursuit. I ran faster than I knew I could down this trail. When I was almost halfway home, I began to naturally run slower because of fatigue, and that's when it swiped at me.

It hit me directly in my right calf. I stumbled and fell off the trail and into a nearby ditch. Once I fell and I could immediately feel the crimson begin to start gushing out of my leg. I quickly tore off my hoodie and wrapped it around my leg as a temporary tourniquet. However, my bleeding leg was the least of my worries. The creature jumped down into the ditch with great force and began swiping at the ground, hoping to hit me. Luckily the thing landed about 20 feet away from me, so I had some time to spare.

I hurriedly pulled out my flashlight and threw it behind the creature. Upon hearing the flashlight hit the leaves, it turned around and began swiping at the ground once again. As quickly and quietly as possible, I crawled out of the ditch, On my way out, I heard the creature begin to make a clicking noise from its mouth. Now I can't confirm it, but I assume that noise was the creature using echolocation to find me. If this thing is blind, how did it see my flashlight back at the hunting spot? I thought. Then I realized I had to click my flashlight on, and the creature probably heard that.

Despite now knowing it was using audio to track me, I still ran to the best of my ability out of the woods. The thing didn't follow me out. I made it home and crashed through my front door, bleeding all over the same. the place. My parents took me to the emergency room to get stitched up. They asked me what happened and I told them what happened, but of course they didn't believe me. They assumed I fell while walking through the woods and tore open my leg somehow. And after a while I began to think the same thing. Maybe I was sleepwalking and fell. Maybe I was hallucinating, who knows, is what I used to tell myself. I almost forgot about my experience until today. My dad went out hunting and was supposed to be back

three hours ago, me and my mother began to get worried. I walked out my front door. I planned on going to look for my dad and that's when I heard it, screaming. I don't know if it was my dad's or if it was just a wild animal, but we called the police anyway. And as I type this, I can hear a faint clicking out by the woods. And if I look hard enough, I think I can make out a human face looking up at my window. Please, if you are ever in the forests of Oklahoma, be extra quiet. You never know what is going to hear you. I used to be a forest officer and a European nation. My job was to protect and preserve the forests, as well as to ensure the safety of those who entered them. However, as I soon discovered, the forests held many secrets and dangers that I never could have imagined. One of my

first encounters with the unknown occurred while I was on a routine patrol deep in the heart of the forest. I had been walking for hours and was getting ready to turn back when I heard a strange noise. At first, I thought it was just an animal, but as I got closer, I realized that it was something else entirely. The sound was like nothing I had ever heard before, a low, guttural growling that seemed to be coming from the very earth itself. I was terrified, but I knew I had to investigate. I followed the sound until I came upon a clearing, and there, in the center of the clearing, stood a creature unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was huge, with shaggy black fur and glowing yellow eyes. It had a long snout and razor-sharp. And, it had a long snout and razor-sharp,

teeth and it was clearly agitated. I froze, unsure of what to do. The creature seemed to sense my presence and turned its gaze towards me. For a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. And then, without warning, it lunged at me. I managed to dodge out of the way just in time, and the creature crashed into the trees behind me. I took off running, not daring to look back. I ran for miles, not stopping until I was sure that I was safe. I reported the encounter to my superiors, but they didn't believe me. They thought I had imagined it or that it was some kind of wild animal. But I knew what I had seen, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something sinister lurking in the forest. Over the next few months, I started to notice other strange

occurrences. I would hear strange noises at night, and I would find strange symbols carved into the trees. I would come across abandoned campsites with no sign of the occupants. I knew that something was not right, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I didn't. I decided to talk to my fellow forest officers to see if they had had any similar experiences. To my surprise, many of them had. They had seen strange creatures, heard strange noises, and found strange symbols in the forest. We all knew that there was something dark and sinister lurking in the forest, and we were determined to find out what it was.

We started to investigate and do research on the legends and folklore of the forest. We found out that the forest had a long history of strange and terrifying occurrences. Some ancient curses to mysterious creatures, the forest seemed to be alive with danger. One night, I decided to go back to the clearing where I had seen the creature. I was determined to find out what it was, and I was armed with a flashlight and a camera. I arrived at the clearing and started to take photos of the area. As I was taking a photo, I heard a loud growling noise. I quickly turned around and saw the creature from before staring at me with its glowing yellow

eyes. I was terrified, but I knew I had to get a good shot of the creature. I quickly snapped a photo and the creature lunged at me. I managed to dodge out of the way and ran as fast as I could. I didn't stop running until I was back at my station. The next day, I showed the photo to my colleagues, and we were all shocked. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. The creature in the photo was like nothing we had ever seen before.

It looked like some kind of wild animal, but it was much larger and more aggressive than any animal we had ever encountered. We knew that we had to find out more about this creature, so we started to invite to investigate further. We contacted local experts in wildlife and biology, but none of them had ever seen or heard of anything like this before. We also reached out to local indigenous communities to see if they had any knowledge of this creature, but they too had never seen or heard of anything like it before. We were at a loss as to what this creature could be. We knew that it was dangerous, and we knew that we had to do something to protect the people who entered the forest. We decided

to set up cameras and traps in the area to try and capture the creature. We also increased our patrols in the area and warned hikers and campers to be extra cautious. Despite our efforts, we never saw the creature again, but the strange occurrences in the forest continued. We found more abandoned campsites and heard more strange noises at night. We knew that the creature was still out there, and we knew that we had to be vigilant. As a forest officer, it was my duty to protect the forest and the people who entered it. But I also knew that the forest held many secrets and dangers that I never could have imagined. I knew that there was something dark and sinister lurking in the forest, and I knew that we had to be prepared for anything. To this day, the forest still holds many

secrets and strange occurrences still happen. As a forest officer, I have learned to be vigilant and cautious, always ready for the unexpected, and I will always remember the terrifying encounter with the unknown creature deep in the heart of the forest. When I was growing up, I was never afraid of the dark. I never feared the dark spaces under my bed, the gloom in the closet, the one corner of the basement that the light never seemed to reach. I didn't get scared of the knocks on the walls, the groaning of our old house settling, or the odd scraping noises outside my room at night.

Even a slight flutter or tapping on my window wasn't spooky to me, and I could sleep comfortably through the night. That all comes from spending your whole childhood in a haunted house. my room would be rearranged by an unseen force, I'd just clean it up. When cups flew across the room, I'd catch them. Eventually, I started responding to the actions, even giving my friends names. It wasn't uncommon in my early teen years for my mom to hear. Don't even think about it, Daryl, as a cup would start to slide across the table, so I'd never been afraid of the supernatural. I believe in monsters, but I never used to be afraid of them. They all had to just be misunderstood

and lonely, like me, you think. My favorite place on our property was the knoll, a little bump of a hill at the edge of the cornfield where the woods came closest to the house. It was a good 500 feet from the barnyard, but still far enough that I could get some space and some quiet. The trees in this part of the woods were tall, far taller than the trees that covered the rest of our woodlot.

Their canopies blocked out some of the sun, and their needles made the ground soft, perfect for sitting and relaxing with a thermos of coffee, and a book on an early fall afternoon, before the snow hit. It was always easy to find a place to lean, as these ancient trees had long ago lost their lower limbs, and the forest here felt like a Gothic cathedral. High, vaulted pillars, the partial twilight even during the day,

with small bursts of light breaking through the canopy. Even the singing of the birds or the rustling of mice was like a symphony of its own. I may have lived in the house, but I lived for the house. woods, especially my little part of it. My parents always taught me to come back before sunset, not to whistle, and to never follow if anyone was calling my name. I never questioned these rules. I grew up with them, after all. Mom and dad never cared if I went to the knoll, but they wanted to make sure that I was safe. I was always happy to oblige, knowing full well that if I broke these rules, I'd be grounded and stuck inside. Even when the birds sang, I never whistled back when I was in the

forest, no matter what. By now, I'm assuming you've gathered that I grew up in Appalachia, isolated, surrounded by the supernatural, raised in it, so it was second nature. I guess I can thank my deeply superstitious grandmother for that. After all, it kept me alive. I can't say the same for everyone else. By the time I was in early high school, my parents were getting tired of the commute. After all, it was about an hour's drive to the nearest town, there was no cable, and the power to the house was always dicey because squirrels would short out the transformer on the power pole about once a week. They were considering moving, and I was looking forward to not waking up at five in the morning for school. They'd bought a new house in town, and we were preparing to move. We packed anything that

wasn't necessary, and had already moved it into the new house, but mom and dad decided to have one last house party before we threw the beds and suitcases we've been living out of into the moving truck and finally finished the move. They invited friends, co-workers, and their kids. Many of these families were from out of town. They didn't know the rules and certainly thought we were all superstitious people. I wish I could say that we were just superstitious. The party started in the early afternoon, on the last beautiful day in late August. The sun was shining bright, there was just enough wind to keep the bugs at bay, and everyone was basking in this truly gorgeous day. The younger kids were playing with my brothers. The older kids were with me, watching a movie inside and generally

being anti-social teenagers. Eventually, the heat in the house drove us out into the late afternoon son, and I began to give the tour of the property I begrudgingly agreed to do hours prior. The older kids were generally polite as I showed them around, except for Cassie. Cassie wasn't from around here, and she liked to remind everyone about that. Cassie's family moved out to the middle of nowhere because her father was offered a really good job, and in a town with a low cost of living and a decent salary, they decided to move. Cassie had made it clear from the start that she hated everything about this new town, including everyone in it. The most interesting thing about Cassie was probably that she'd never gone in the woods around here, and she was

desperate to go for a hike in the woods. In retrospect, I never should have taken her. I should have accepted being grounded for refusing to be hospitable. But hindsight, is 2020, I guess. After the cajoling, pleading, threatening, and eventual blackmail from Cassie, I backed down and offered to show her the knoll. I told her that a hike was out of the question after dark because the sun would be setting soon, and we shouldn't be in the woods after dark. Despite her sneering at the superstitious backwoods idiot, I refused to give in. I knew for a fact that the woods weren't safe at night. Once the sun sets, the shadows change, you can lose your way in the dark and nocturnal predators like bobcats can hunt you silently through the brush.

I was not willing to risk it. I told my mother where I was taking the group of older kids. She looked me in the eyes and told me very firmly to make sure they all follow the rules, especially the whistling. Under no circumstance should any of us whistle in the trees. I promised to go over the rules before we left. When I was returning to the group, Cassie began mocking me for having to check with my mommy before we went out. out for a walk. I just ignored her and turned to the group. Okay guys, there are a couple of rules before we head out. Pretty sure most of you know them, but I just need to make sure we're all on the same page. First, stick together. Second, we will be back in the barnyard by sunset.

This is not up for debate. Third, under no circumstances are you allowed to whistle once we leave the yard? And lastly, if you hear anyone calling your name, we're all leaving the woods as soon as possible. Understood. All the locals nodded, understandingly. Cassie rolled her eyes. I turned and started walking towards the knoll, followed by the older kids, including Cassie.

She ran up to me and started to ask me the questions I had been dreading. The others won't tell me why the rules exist. They're pretty stupid if they don't have a reason. I mean, are the woods really that different at night? I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. Our normally dismissive expression turned almost fearful when I began to speak.

Tassie, the woods are different at night. It changes, and the other rules are there to make sure you don't get lost in a strange place or attract some type of predator. There are coyotes, bobcats, and God knows what else in the woods. For once in your life, shut up and listen, please. The color drained from Cassie's face, and she nodded. I turned back to the knoll and kept walking. I hope that maybe, just maybe, she would listen for once.

The knoll was just ahead, a calm sanctuary after the craziness of the party that day. When we stepped into the shade of the ancient trees, the temperature was noticeably cooler, and the slight wind made the great giants sway gently and produced a sound like creaking timber and a faraway whisper as it ran through the needles above us. The others looked up into the canopy, then found a place to sit and relax. I was starting to chill, my back against my favorite tree, when Cassie came up to me. Hey, um, is the whispering in the trees normal.

It sounds like my name. Cassie, it's just the wind. Seriously, you need to relax. You were the one who wanted to come out here, remember. I answered, trying to sound relaxed. But on the inside, I started to get a bit nervous. Cassie was silent for a few moments after that, and I could see her starting to relax out of the corner of my eye.

I started to allow myself to calm slightly, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees. Just as I was starting to think everything was going to be okay, Cassie turned to look deeper into the woods. She was staring intently into the gloomy trees as if she was hearing something from the woods. Suddenly, I had an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked over at the others,

who had also noticed the difference in Cassie's behavior and it was beginning to make them uneasy too. We all stood up, walking over to where Cassie was sitting. It was like she was hypnotized, or paralyzed, staring off into the shadowy trees. There was no sound other than the wind. No birds, none of the usual forest sounds. Out of nowhere, Cassie let out a loud whistle.

I grabbed her by the arm, snapping her out of her trance. Realizing what she'd done and seeing the fear in my eyes, she went to run. No, don't run. If we're being hunted, we walk quickly, but we never run. That will trigger the prey drive of whatever is out there, and that's the last thing we want. Let's go. I said in a low whisper to her and the other kids, barely audible over the now much stronger wind. We made for the safety of the house, battling against the wind that had picked up since we entered the trees.

It was gusting and felt like it was trying to drive us back into the woods. The dust from the barnyard stunned our faces as we made our way across the field, moving slowly despite our efforts. I refused to look back at the woods, instead focusing on the adults who were suddenly rushing to get everything inside. A tablecloth blew off one of the picnic tables and flew right by us, looking every bit like a ghost as it whipped past us towards the woods. I followed it with my eyes as it flew towards the knoll. I froze in my tracks. The woods looked different, somehow changed, as if the place I had known all my childhood

was darker, stranger, almost evil. I knew it was impossible, but I thought I heard a growl come from behind me as I stared. The impossible noise snapped me out of my stupor. turned and began to sprint the last 100 yards towards the house. Run, I screamed as I caught up to the group. We all broke into a sprint. My mother was in the barnyard when we all came flying through the gate. She tried to stop us, but we wouldn't stop all off flight

until we'd gotten through the main door of the house. As the rest of our group was catching their breath, my mom took me aside. I told her everything that happened, and she immediately looked afraid. Her expression darkened when rain began to patter against the window. The local kids and their parents left, leaving only my family and Cassie's in the house. My parents had previously offered for them to stay the night as they lived the farthest from our house, about an hour drive one way.

Cassie's family, not used to driving such long distances, would have been nervous and even perfect weather, let alone the thunderstorm that had blown in suddenly. My parents did everything they could to keep us all distracted from what was going on outside, and it was working for everyone except for Cassie. She kept staring out into the darkness in the direction of the knoll every time the wind would whistle past the window. It was almost like she kept hearing her name every time the wind blew. I tried my best to relax and calm Cassie down. Eventually, by bedtime, she'd relaxed enough to lie down on the air mattress we had set up in our guest room. Knowing that she was safe in the house with her parents allowed me to finally fall asleep. At about 1 a.m., I woke up to the sound of the guest room door opening, which was unusual, seeing a lot of the house.

seeing as I was used to things going bump in the night. I got up immediately, putting on my slippers and stepping out into the hallway, just as the top of Cassie's head disappeared down the stairs. She was muttering that she could hear something calling her, and she had to go. I woke my parents up and then ran down the stairs as I heard the front door creak open. My father followed me down the stairs while my mother woke her parents. As Dad and I ran out the open door into the storm, we saw Cassie walking, entranced, towards the gate out of the barnyard. We shouted and tried to follow, but the wind seemed to whip our voices away.

Cassie's mother and father spilled out into the yard, shouting for their daughter to snap out of it. If she heard them, she didn't respond. The gate, which had been changed shut, flew wide open, allowing her out of the relative safety of the barnyard and into the open field beyond. A bolt of lightning split the sky, and we saw the silhouette of a figure right in front of Cassie. It was pitch black, easily standing ten feet tall, with impossibly long arms and legs. Its hands were narrow, fingers long, and spider-like. Dad and I froze as we watched a pitch black hand wrap around Cassie. She didn't wiggle, didn't protest as it lifted her into the air.

I heard Cassie's mother scream her name, and suddenly Cassie was gone. It was like, in the blink of an eye, whatever held Cassie had vanished back into whatever realm she'd summoned it from and taken her with it. We called the police and they came in the morning after the storm. They said that the storm must have washed away her tracks and that she must have been sleepwalking. We moved out of the house the same day. While Cassie's disappearance made local news, it never became a national story. I haven't even seen her disappearance being discussed on internet forums or true crime podcasts. Cassie's parents were never the same. They moved away after the case went cold.

Think about what happened to Cassie almost every night when the formerly comforting dark descends on me like a wet blanket. I no longer think that monsters are just misunderstood. I'm afraid of the dark, and I haven't set foot in the woods since. There's a story that you won't read in history books. It's a truth that you only hear in my village. The Pendle witches were innocent, but there is a real witch in the forest of Boland. My name's Thomas, and I grew up in Barley, which is a small English village in the borough of Pendham. Most of you won't know that place.

You might have never heard of the Pendle hangings. Even if you do know about the famous witch trials that took place during the 17th century, you probably don't believe in superstitious nonsense. You probably think the hangings were the mark of an uncivilized era. You wouldn't be wholly wrong. It's ghastly that, throughout history, so many innocent women were taken based on unfounded accusations of witchcraft. That doesn't mean, however, that witches aren't real. And if you'd ever stumbled across a certain house in Boland Forest, you would know that.

Watch out, Sammy. The pendle witches might turn you into one. I giggled, as my four-year-old sister nearly tripped over a toad by our local pond. I was six years old at the time, and I'll never forget the way my grandpa looked at me. His eyes were filled with a mixture of dread and fury. He grabbed my wrist in his gnarled, decaying fingers, and left a mark that didn't fade for days. Don't you ever joke about that, he snarled. Grandpa, you're hurting me. I whined. My sister, Samantha, had stopped playing.

We both quivered in the shadow of the old man who loomed above us. I, am I hurting you? Good. Reckoned that'll help you remember this lesson. There's only one which have pendle. She was never tried, and she never died. I don't ever want to hear you kids mention her again. Understood.

My little sister was sobbing at this point, but I tried my best to put on a brave face and protect her. I always hated my grandpa. He was cruel. Still, the old jerk was certainly not creative enough to tell tall tales. And he was no liar. I didn't realize that as a young child, at the time, he seemed far worse than any witch. Get off me, I demanded. My grandpa grumbled and released me. I complained to my parents. We didn't spend weekends at his house after that. Of course, we do live in the same village. My mom pointed out, you can't avoid him for us. Just watch me. I remember thinking that. My dad pulled me aside when my mom left the room. Listen, I hate my father-in-law as much as you. He's always been a jerk. Don't let your mom know I said that.

He whispered. I snorted. Then my dad's expression changed. I'd never seen him look so stern. He was always soft. He was a clown. He didn't do serious. However, I will say that I don't want you to talk about the witch again. Some things are best left alone. And I did. I left her alone for eight years. Of course, I grew up in Pendle, so it was hard to avoid general talk of witches, especially at Halloween. That being said, I did start to notice that adults in Barley would clam up when that dreaded W word appeared in conversation. I could never understand why other towns and villages in the county of Lancashire seemed to derive great pleasure from telling scary stories about the witches of Pendle Hill, whilst people in Barley shunned the topic. I didn't hear of the real witch again until I went to a sleepover with my four closest friends.

I suppose we were still young and foolish enough to find the myth fascinating. And, at the age of 14, we were fueled by testosterone. We relished in discussing something forbidden. I cannot, as hard as I try, forget that weekend in December. The year was 2009. It was the coldest winter and decades. Why we chose to sleep in a treehouse on such a brutal evening, I'll never know. I suppose it was another way of proving to ourselves that we were strong.

We weren't children. We sat in a circle and told each other ghost stories by torchlight. I think it might have actually been a lot of fun at first, but it's hard to remember. Everything afterwards was so horrible. The weekend's steady decline began when Michael told his story. There is a force. He began. Though not this again, Jack groaned.

What? Gareth asked. Don't encourage him, Jack sighed. I'm not sure you. got the stomach for this one. Gareth, Michael laughed, menacingly. Bradley was snoring away at this point, and I still envy him for that. I wonder how different my life might look if I'd had the privilege of missing Michael's story. Would I have had the courage to do things differently? What about you, Tommy? Do you want to hear my story? Michael asked. I shrugged. Whatever we say, we're going to hear

it, so just get on with it. Jack nodded, agreeing with my point. Gareth lay on his front, on his elbows. Jack scrolled through his phone. I wrapped myself up in my sleeping back, focusing on the icy breeze that was seeping through the cracks of the flimsy boards that formed Michael's rickety treehouse. Somehow, I knew the story he was going to tell. Here once was a witch who lived in Pendle. Che. Michael started. What? Gareth interjected. We all know about the Pendle witches. Michael glared at him. Did I say witches, Demwit? No. I saw. I saw. I said witch. Now, shut up and listen. In 1612, 12 innocent women were convicted of 10 murders and tried for witchcraft. Not a single one of them ever harmed a soul. In the modern age,

we all know that, don't we? Because witches aren't real, you jerk. Jack muttered, looking down at his phone and typing away. Michael laughed maniacly. No, that's not why they were innocent. The people simply hanged the wrong women. There was only ever one real Pendle Witch. and she's still out there. She lives in the forest of Boland. Hold up. Gareth said, sitting up. 1612.

She's like 396 years old. Older than that, Michael answered. Is that it? Is that the story? Gareth asked. Jack nodded, still not looking up from his phone. Yep, that's the entire story. My grandpa told me about her.

I finally said, once I'd rid my throat of the stubborn lump that was blocking it. Why have I never heard of this? Gareth laughed. That's way cooler than the original story about the Pendle Witches. The original isn't a story, jerk. It's history. People were hanged.

Show some respect, I said. Ooh, Jack mocked, giggling. Yeah, Gareth. Show some respect, dude. Seriously, why haven't I heard it before? Gareth asked. You never heard it because you didn't grow up in barley, Gareth, Jack explained,

still absorbed in his phone and utterly disinterested in the topic of conversation. That's what Michael always reminds me. I moved here from Clitherow, and outsiders just don't get it. What do you mean? Gareth asked. Every Barley grown-up tells their kid that dumb story, I explained, shrugging. It's a rite of passage or something. I can't wait to traumatize my kids with it. Yeah, you guys are weird. Gareth laughed. This village has a real hot-fuzz vibe. Move back to Chorley, then, jerk, Michael Barclay. And did I say I'd finish the story? Yes, Jack replied.

No, Michael said. There's a part of the story that you haven't heard. Jack. Oh, well, please do enlighten us. Jack sighed, rolling his eyes. Michael grinned. I know where she lives. Silence.

Gareth sat there, slack-jawed, staring at his idol in eager anticipation. I don't know why I instantly believed him, but I did. It was some sort of intuition. I froze and tried to force back the wave of nausea that threatened to inside a round of projectile vomiting. Jack's reaction was the most surprising. He put his phone down. Bull crap, Jack said, you're really going to give us an opportunity to call you out on one of your lies.

You're going to give us a location that we could visit to prove that you're full of crap. It's not a lie, Michael assured us. She lives in a house right at the heart of the Boland Forest. I know how to find it. And how do you know that? Jack asked. It's a long-kept barley secret, Michael explained. That's why it's only people from our village who wet their pants at the mention of Pendle witches.

Only we know that she exists. Yes, okay, but how do you know where in the forest to find her? I asked. You know Mr. Henderson, our old history teacher, Michael asked. The three of us nodded. I saw him in the pub last Wednesday. He was sitting in the corner, crying. Just himself.

Mrs. Henderson was at home. He's in the pub most days, Larry said. Michael explained. He's not been the same since Millie went missing. Whoa, Jack interjected. Stop. We put up with a lot of your crap, but I'm not going to let you bring a real life story

into this little ghost tale. That's messed up. We all knew Millie. She was a buddy. Michael slammed his fist on the hardwood floor of the tree house. For a second, it felt as if the whole structure might crumble. But it didn't. It quieted.

Jack, though. It's not a story. Michael growled. Let me finish, okay. This is why I invited all of you here tonight. You see, I learned something. I talked to Mr. Henderson. Rick dared me. Rick was Michael's older brother. He was a jerk. You can probably imagine what we called him behind Michael's back. And what did Mr. Henderson say? Gareth asked, now anxiously biting his nails. I asked him whether he was okay, Michael continued. I said, I said I missed Millie. I wasn't a knob, all right. I only went over to shut Rick up. I was nice to Mr. Henderson. I didn't expect him to open up. And he opened up. He really opened up. Just say it, Jack sighed. He told me that he and Millie went on a Boland hiking weekend, but they weren't really hiking. They were looking for something, the Pendle Witch. See, Mr. Henderson comes from a long line of Henderson's, one of the oldest families in Barley, and they've been passing on a warning for generations. Ever since the 1600s, his family has been telling the villagers of Barley to stay away from the Boland Forest. William Henderson was the only person to ever see the witch,

and survived to tell the tale. He wanted everyone in Barley to know about her. He wanted everyone to stay away, and they listened. Folk from other towns ignored him and said the Pendle witches had already been tried and hanged, but William was respected in our village. People trusted him and heeded his warning. Ah, some new lore. Fantastic, Jack mocked. Michael ignored him. When Mr. Henderson, our Mr. Henderson, heard that story from his father, he became obsessed.

You see, William Henderson told his son something that he didn't tell the rest of the villagers in Barley. It's a secret that's been kept in his family for hundreds of years. He told his son something he was too scared. to tell his friends and neighbors in case they might feel brave enough to do something about it. He told his son where the witch lived. So, when Mr. Henderson learned this family secret 400 years later, he wanted to prove that the witch was still out there. Then Millie found his facts. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to see whether the legend was true. Like her dad, she wanted to prove that a witch really exists. And Mr. Henderson just let her come with him.

I asked, choking on my own words. He was excited, he said. He wanted to share the adventure with his daughter. He didn't heed his own father's warning. He didn't encounter any danger. Or maybe, he admitted to me, he didn't really believe the witch was real at all. He was just excited to share something with Millie, Michael said. Is that all he told you?

Gareth asked, tentatively. Michael shook his head. He looked me dead in the eye and told me that they found it. They found a house in the house. heart of the Boland Forest. They found the witch. Mr. Henderson did not say that, Jack scoffed, but even his steady voice seemed to be waning. He did, Michael assured Jack, and she took Millie. Just just took her. Gareth gulped. I tried to ask him what happened, Michael replied. He wouldn't tell me. He told me to go away, told me some questions weren't worth answering.

That, he said, was what he had finally learned. Jesus, Jack sighed, collapsing on his sleepy, bag. Okay, I take it all back. Maybe you could work on the ending, but that was a good horror story. Yeah, Gareth whimpered, crawling into his own bag. I think I'm ready to call it a night before I wet my sleeping bag. Garth and Jack fell silent, but Michael and I were still sitting up in our bags. He was staring at me with the most petrified eyes. It was a look I'd seen in the eyes of both my grandpa and my dad. Real terror. It's not a story, Michael whispered. before lying down and turning off the lamp beside him. I sat there for a while longer.

At this point, I wouldn't blame anyone for thinking the tale to be make-believe. But it's not about the words. It's about the feeling. Maybe it's something only barley folk can understand. Like Michael, I'd caught the fever. I'd seen the witch. Not physically, but in my mind. In my dreams, she felt real to me.

I didn't need to go to the heart of Boland Forest to find out whether she was real. I already believed. The next morning I woke to the sensation of something heavy landing on my chest. It was my rucksack. What is this? We going on a hike. Bradley asked, throwing his bag off himself. Michael was dressed in full hiking gear and standing by the open trapdoor to the tree house.

He slept through some weird stuff last night, dude. Dareth laughed, sitting up in his sleeping bag and rubbing his eyes. The Pendle Witch, Jack clarified. Oh, right. bit old for ghost stories, aren't we lads? Bradley chuckled. You'll grow up eventually. Don't worry.

You're the same age as us, Bradley, Jack pointed out. Anyway, Michael's updated the legend. He added a pretty freaky story at the end, actually. Gave it a spooky update. I was impressed. It's real, Michael explained. And we're going to find her. Who?

Bradley asked, snorting with laughter. Millie, Michael answered. Everybody fell silent. Jack scolded him. Michael, don't be an idiot, man. You're pushing it too far now. The girl's gone. Mr. Henderson told me everything that I told you last night.

Believe it or don't. I couldn't give a crap. I know Tom believes me, Michael said. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. I looked down at the rucksack on my lap. I do believe you, I said. Well, I believe that something bad happened to milly out in that forest. So, why would we go out there?

Yeah, which or no which, I think I'm going to pass on that one, Bradley said. I don't want to find some body. I thought you were saying we all needed to grow up. Michael pointed out, and you said it yourself. Nobody ever found her body. She's still out there. She might still be alive. She wasn't.

Even then, I knew that. But I also knew that Michael loved her. He had always loved her. She'd softened his coarseness, and he'd returned to being. being a full-blown jerk when she went missing. But maybe this wasn't just about finding her. Maybe, as I've been the case with Mr. Henderson, Michael had the obsession. He had to find the witch.

And then I had a horrible thought, a thought that sickened me to the very core of my being. Maybe that was what the witch wanted. Maybe that was how she found her prey. She got into their heads and lured them to her lair. I'd love to give you an answer, but I don't know even after what happened. A group of teenagers searching for a past body in the forest, Gareth said. Sounds like stand by me. Everything's a reference with this guy.

Bradley laughed. Forget it, lads. I'm going home. I'll tell the villagers of Barley about your brave sacrifice. Safe travels, my friends. And then he disappeared through the trapdoor. Whatever. That lazy idiot would only slow us down, Michael said.

His words were pure vitriol at this point. His eyes were red. It looked as if he hadn't sliddle. all night. I know I hadn't. I'd barely managed more than a couple of hours. There was no way I was going on a hike in this sleep-deprived state. Anyway, I had the excuse that any 14-year-old would have. My parents won't let me, I said, oh, shut up, Michael moaned. I got your precious permission slips. My folks rang your parents last night. How would we even get to Boland Forest, dude? Jack pointed out, it's a bit far on foot. Ready, idiots. Came of

voice from the bottom of the ladder. We all gathered around the trapdoor and looked down to see Rick standing at the foot of the tree with a set of car keys dangling from his fingers. My heart sank. It was at that moment I realized I had no escape. Michael wasn't going to take no for an answer. In the ten years we had been friends. He had never taken no for an answer, and yet, naively, I had hoped this would be the exception. As everyone started climbing down the ladder, I remember looking at Michael with tears in my eyes. I tried my best to hold them back. I'd accepted the inevitable, but we shared a look. I think, for a moment, his expression was apologetic. It was as if he were under the witch's spell. He probably would have let Gareth or Jack walk away if they'd really

wanted to do so, but he wouldn't let me. I was his rock. So, we all piled into Rick's battered old camper van, bringing rucksacks filled with supplies that Michael had gathered before we even woke up and said goodbye to our parents who were standing and waving in the front yard of Michael's house. Everything was arranged and our parents were happy for us to go camping as long as Rick and Stacy, his girlfriend, looked after us on the trip and brought us back before 6 o'clock on Sunday night. I watched Pendle Hill from the car window and thought about how beautiful it looked in the early morning sun. I wished, more than anything, that we were going on a pleasant stroll up the hill to find the witch. Anywhere but the forest. Haven't you got anything better to do than hang out with a

bunch of teenagers, Rick? Jack teased, making Gareth snort. Yeah, of course, Rick replied, I'm gonna feed you idiots to the witch. That sounds much better than hanging out with you. Rick, don't be rude. They're just kids, Stacey protested. Aren't you guys only like 18? Gareth asked. 19. Wick corrected. Sorry, Mr. 19 year old. Gareth responded, making Jack laugh. You two make a cute couple, Rick retorted, which silenced Gareth and Jack for a while. So, why do you boys really want to go to Boland? Stacey asked, shouldn't you be busy playing Call of Duty?

They're going to sit around the campfire to listen to each other's ghost stories, Rick answered. Gross. Gareth groaned. You should be on some kind of register, Jack added. We're just going on a hike, Michael explained, coldly, as he stared vacancies. out of the passenger window. I don't believe you, Rick replied, shaking his head. You're a bad liar, little brother.

How about you shut up and mind your own business? Michael asked. Dude, how about you remember who's driving you to your new little sleepover spot? Rick pointed out. Silence. Anyway, I know you're looking for the witch. Bradley told me, Rick said.

Michael didn't say anything. He just continued to watch the scenery flood past the window. I don't really give a crap, Stacy and I won't be going on your little hike, though. We'll be staying behind and having some, alone time, Rick said. What, but mom said, Michael began. Yeah, I know, Rick interrupted. We'll set up camp and make some food whilst you go on your little adventure. So, don't walk too far, okay.

I don't want to have to go looking for you in that creepy forest. Michael sighed. Fine. Just don't eat everything whilst we're gone. you greedy idiot. Screw you. Rick laughed. I listened to music on my iPod

for the rest of the trip. I tried to convince myself it wasn't happening. I tried to convince myself that the witch wasn't real, which I'm sure you're already doing. But you just don't get it. Michael's right.

People from Barley are different. The witch has some sort of hold over us. I always believe my grandpa, deep down. I just didn't want to admit it. I won't tell you where we camped. I don't want some ignorant person to stumble across this story and decide they want to go looking for the witch. Don't do it. Rick was most certainly a jerk, but he looked after us.

I can't really fault him. On this trip, he was kinder than usual. The teasing started to fade as we drove closer to the forest. He became like Michael and me. He grew quiet, fearful. He was a barley lad, after all. He might not know Mr. Henderson's story, but everybody in the village feels something about the witch. Like I said, I can't really explain it. You've got two hours, Rick said, as he and

Stacey started to put up the tents. That's not enough time, Michael protested, clicking together the rucksack straps across his chest. Two hours, Rick repeated fiercely. We didn't question him. Everyone was on edge. Even Jack and Gareth seemed to sense that something was wrong with the Barley kids. They seemed a little nervous. We'd infected them with our superstitious fear. So, we'd just blindly walk through trees. Jack asked. Henderson told me where to go. Michael explained.

You don't have a map or something. Gareth asked. No, Gareth. I don't have a map, Michael sighed. Let me guess, Jack said. It's a barley thing. Michael didn't respond. Gareth turned to face me.

I was walking at the back of the line as we weave between tall trees. What's the time? He asked me. My phone's dead. Already. Jack laughed. You wouldn't last two seconds on your own. Shut up.

I would have charged it before we left. But somebody didn't even tell us we were going on a camping trip this weekend. Gareth shouted. Nobody forced you, Michael said. You always force Tom. He feels sorry for you. We all do, so we go along with what you say, Jack said. Or maybe on just the alpha of the group and you'd all be lost without me, Michael suggested, laughing.

Bull crap. Jack retorted, You throw a hissy fit when you don't get your way. We were just avoiding a scene. Keep telling yourself that, Michael replied. I'm here from Millie. You only want to find the witch, and maybe you feel guilty about that.

It's okay. I looked at my phone and finally answered Gareth's original question. 1257. Okay, Gareth said. So, we turn around and head back to camp at 2 o'clock. We turn around when we have found Millie, Michael answered, marching forwards. Michael, we're not going to find Millie, Jack said, his tone becoming aggressive.

We're not going to find anything. We're turning around at two in the afternoon, and we'll get back to the camp at three. Yeah, I'll be hungry by then. I haven't even had lunch, Gareth said. I packed everything we need, Michael explained. There are crisps in your bag. Eat up and shut up. Other than the sound of Gareth munching, we were silent for a little while. A long while, After about an hour, I looked at my phone screen. Crap, it's 207, I said. Come on, Michael. Let's turn around.

The sun will have almost set by the time we get back. We're nearly there, Michael insisted. We can't turn back now. Well, I'm turning around, Gareth said, spinning on his heel and stomping past me. Screw this. Fine. Go, you wimp. Michael spat.

We're all going. Jack said, firmly. You're trying to be the first. the leader. Michael asked, turning around and squaring up to Jack. You haven't got the guts. We don't have a leader. Jack replied, standing his ground. Stop being an idiot and come back with us. No, I'll just do it on my own. Michael mumbled, continuing on his way without us. We should go after him. I sighed. Screw him. Jack said, I'm not going to get lost in the middle of this forest in the dark, and neither are you. Come back with us. He'll turn around.

He can't do anything without you, Tom. I begrudgingly followed Gareth and Jacked back to camp. I hope they were right. I hoped Michael would get cold feet and follow us. He didn't. We were all starting to feel the chill of Boland Forest as the sky turned a mesmerizing shade of orange and eased into darkness.

A hour long walked back to camp past quickly. When we arrived, however, the site was deserted. There were three fully pitched tents and a smoldering pile of logs. In the dirt there was an open packet of marshmallows. Some were lost in the mud. There were six camp chairs. Two of them were also lying in the mud. Thanks for ruining the marshmallows, jerk.

Dareth yelled at no one. Are they here? Jack asked, walking over to the camper van. They're not in here. Then we heard a haunting sound, a razor-sharp scream that pierced the air, and caused the three of us to immediately throw our hands to our ears. What the hell?

Gareth cried, shaking. That sounded like a woman. It must have been Stacy, I said. Oh, Jack said, lowering his hands from his ears. I get it. What, I asked. They're messing with us. Michael, Rick, and Stacy.

They planned this whole trip to scare us, Jack said, before starting to bellow. Nice prank, guys. You can come out now. Nothing. I guess they're really committing to the bit, Gareth suggested, gulping. Jack pointed to the forest. Only a few hundred yards from the field we'd chosen for our campsite. They're hiding behind some trees and giggling.

Jack explained, To heck with them, I say, let's eat some grub and wait for them to get bored. I'm freezing my hands off out here, and they must be cold, too. We'll restart the campfire to draw them to us. Gareth and I followed Jack's lead, sitting in two of the still-standing camp chairs and proceeding to roast some marshmallows. Half an hour passed.

Then an hour. Then another. And another. 6.30 p.m. It's pitch black and freezing cold out there. Why would they still be pranking us? Gareth asked. I don't know, and I don't really care.

Those brothers are jerks, Jack's eyed. Picking up the portable stove and throwing it at me. Feel like cooking us some proper food, champ. I looked up from my lap. I'd been sitting there, silently, contemplating everything Michael had told us. There was a cutting breeze in the air, something unnatural. The campfire had warmed us up, but I felt a different kind of coldness. Something I can't explain. Everything felt wrong.

I pushed it aside. I did as Jack said. I wasn't being a pushover. I just preferred his plan of staying away from the forest. I was scared. I was a coward. And I know I was a coward because I knew that scream had been real. I knew something had happened to Stacy, Rick, and possibly even Michael.

He'd been gone for hours. I cooked some sausages and clumsily shoved them in buns, passing them shakily to Gareth and Jack. We ate in silence. My friends weren't their usual chatty selves, and I know they wouldn't ever have admitted it, but they were scared. They were starting to have their doubts

about the whole thing being a prank. It wasn't until 8 o'clock that any of us said anything, and it wasn't who you'd expect to speak up. Something's wrong, Gareth said, leaping out of his chair. We have to go and find them. I pulled my earphones out, and Jack put his phone down. It's cold, and it's dark, Jack replied.

You really want to go out there. They're not pranking us, Gareth whispered, quivering. We've been here for five hours. They're not pranking us. I think we should all just go to bed and wait until morning, Jack said. It'll be light, and we can figure out what's happening. Plus, they'll probably have caved and crawled back into their tents. Or maybe they're camping out there on their own.

They don't have any supplies, I pointed out. They left everything here. The place was a mess. There was that scream. Garrett's right. Something's wrong. No, Tom. Well, what do you want to do?

Jack questioned. The two of them looked at me. I didn't want to march into the forest and save anyone. I wanted to go home. I think we need to phone our parents and tell them something's wrong, I said. Jack and Gareth groaned. Great idea. That's a sure way for us.

to never be allowed to do anything like this again, Gareth sighed. Something might have happened to them, I insisted. We have to be sensible, guys. I'm all for avoiding the forest, Tom. But we're not snitching to our parents. No to that, Jack said, shaking his head. Two options. We go to sleep or we search for them.

I vote we search for them, Gareth said. I vote we go to bed, Jack said, turning to me. Deciding vote, Tom. Michael's not here now. This is finally a democracy. I looked down at the campfire, wishing for Rick, Stacy, and Michael to come running out of the trees with smiles on their faces. But they didn't, and I had to make a decision. I wanted to phone my parents.

I wanted to run back to Barley, if necessary. I could have followed the dirt path back to the main road. Five hours, I reckoned. Five hours to walk home. I wish I'd done that, but peer pressure is a supernatural force of its own. Foolishly, I voted to search for our missing friends. I might have been a coward, but I couldn't live with the prospect of cozying up in a tent whilst something unholy was happening in the heart of that dreadful forest.

So, guided by the torches that Michael had packed for us, we delved into the forest. Jack and I had gone to scouts together, but we were not equipped for this. We had no idea how to navigate the forest of Boland at night. We had no idea how to track missing people. Instead, we were guided by adrenaline, boyish stupidity, and perhaps a smidge of bravery. Stacey, are you okay? I called, Rick, Michael, Gareth shouted. Not a sound, not even the rustling of tree leaves.

Such an icy night, and yet the air was still. So, why could I still feel wisps of wind, like winter's breath, washing over my skin? I can forgive Gareth and Jack for ignorantly running into the witch's forest, but I should have known better. Everyone from Barley knows better. This is hopeless, Gareth cried. We should go. No. Jack interrupted, lifting his boot out of something that made a squelching noise.

What is this? Dareth and I slowly walk towards our crouching friend, casting our torchlights onto what he held in his hands. Dudd. Dareth shuddered before turning and vomiting behind him. Jack immediately dropped the squishy object, trembling as he returned to reality, and finally realized what he'd pay.

picked up with his bare hands. It's a sight that haunts me to this day. A heart, a human heart. I'm no biologist, but I knew it was human. No, Jack cried. We have to find them, I said, calmly. I was stunned by my balance composure. Perhaps I wasn't a coward, after all.

Or perhaps I was in shock. I'd probably know if I were ever to see a therapist, but I'm sure they'd have me committed if I were ever to tell them the rest of the story that I'm about to tell you. You see, I'd love to say that Gareth and Jack didn't listen to me, I'd love to say that they decided we should go back to the tents. But we were boys, and boys follow leaders.

In the absence of Michael, I seemed to have assumed that role, perhaps that would have always been my role in the friendship group if I'd ever fought for it. Perhaps I could have challenged Michael in the treehouse, and prevented any of this from happening. What if? As we marched onwards, I felt a renewed sense of confidence, something I hadn't possessed since the age of six before my grandpa and dad had traumatized me into being a sheltered little lamb. I wish I'd stayed a frightened lamb rather than the dumb person who decided to delve deeper into the woods.

What was that? Gareth whimpered. What was what? I asked as we continued to walk through the blackened forest. I heard something behind me, Gareth whispered. I stopped walking and turned around, casting the torchlight onto my two friends. The color left my face, and any ounce of courage swiftly vacated my body. I screamed.

I screamed louder than I knew I could scream. There was a figure behind Jack. A pale woman was strolling between the trees. I thought it was the witch. Help, she said, weakly. It wasn't the witch. It was Stacy. The three of us rushed over to her,

and Gareth dived to cushion her fall as her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. What happened? Jack questioned, kneeling beside her. her. I was relieved to see that she didn't seem to have a cavernous hole in her chest, but whose heart was it? That was all we wanted to know. Anyway, that didn't mean Stacey looked physically well. She didn't. Her face was gray. Wick, she cried, pressing her face into Gareth's shirt. He just, he disappeared. What do you mean? I asked, where did he go? We were at the camp,

Stacey sniffled. He said he heard something. I thought he was playing a cruel joke. on me. He said she was calling to him. He said he had to find her. Who? Gareth asked. Millie, Stacey whispered. How did you end up out here? Did you follow him? Jack questioned. Stacey nodded. I saw something. I can't. I don't know. Please. We have to go. We have to find Rick and Michael, I pleaded. She shook her head. No, they're gone. We found you so we can find them, I insisted. Gareth and Jack were in a state of uncontrollable panic. We were children.

It's hard to understand that when you're young, but I saw it for a brief, fleeting moment. Then I snapped back into my leadership role. I don't know why. I think I wanted to prove something to myself. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to be a hero. Rick, Stacey whined.

He tore out his. The four of us fell silent. Gareth turned paler than Stacy, pulling himself away from her so he could empty his guts into a little. a nearby bush. She didn't need to finish her sentence. We knew what he tore out. We didn't, however, expect her to say what she said next. And after he, after he did that, after he tore it out, he just carried on walking. She sobbed. What, Jack questioned. Where's his body, Stacy?

Listen to me, she pleaded, assuming a fetal position on the ground. He didn't die. He walked away. We still need to find Michael, I stated, firmly. Stacey sat upright and screamed at me. You don't know what I saw. It sounds horrible, but... I started. Not that, she interrupted. That was only the start.

I told you, I, I saw something. I want to go home, Gareth cried, and Jack hugged him. So does Michael, I said. Whatever Stacey saw, he's still out there. We have to save him. Jack stopped hugging Gareth, and he walked slowly towards me. There was such a disgusted look on his face. Rick's dead.

And Michael isn't here. For all we know, that little psycho is the one who did this. He's the reason we're all here, isn't he? There's always been something wrong with him. Something wrong with his mind. So, no, I'm not going to risk my life for him. Nobody else is dying tonight. That doesn't explain what Rick did, I replied.

That doesn't explain what Stacey saw. We have to go, Stacey cried, stumbling to her feet and tugging at Gareth's sleeve. Jack whispered to me, Stacey's got PTSD or something. I don't know. Wake up, Tom. Wick didn't rip his heart out and walk away.

No. Something else did it to him, I muttered, trying to repress the fear that was clawing at the surface of my mind. Jack suddenly shoved me to the ground. It knocked the wind right out of me. I looked up at him in confusion, pulling myself to my feet. Dyes. Gareth protested.

Shut up, Gareth. Jack shouted, Are you really trying to say what I think you're, trying to say, Tommy. I held up my hands. I know you don't believe. There is no which. Has everybody lost their minds? Jack belted at the top of his lungs. Then there was the faint sound of humming. We all stopped and listened. Stacey looked bewildered, wiping the tears from her face and watching we three boys exchange horrified looks at one another. Millie, Gareth whispered, sobbing. That's her favorite song, I cried, fervently clinging to my last strand of sanity.

She'd be told off for humming it in class. What are you saying? Stacey cried. I don't hear any humming. Please, this is all in your heads. Don't leave me, not like Rick. Michael, Jack said. It has to be Michael.

He's toying with us. It isn't Michael, Stacy screeched. We have to leave this place. I agree, Jack replied. Let's go. Screw you, Michael. You guys get Stacy back to camp. I have to keep going, I said.

What was propelling me forwards? The farther we walked, the sicker I felt in the pit of my stomach. And yet, as we vanished into the heart of the forest, the more compelled I felt to find whatever I was trying to find. It wasn't Michael. I knew that much. Stacey wailed. No, please, I can't leave you on your own. Please, don't make me come with you. We need to go back to the camp. Come on, Tom, Jack said. Putting a hand on my shoulder and speaking more gently, you've done enough for him. you don't have to keep going. You're not under his spell anymore.

With tears in my eyes, I smiled at my dear friend and said something that I wouldn't understand until later. I'm sorry. I kept walking. I knew that Gareth, Stacey, and Jack would follow. They did not protest,

but Stacey continued to cry. The boys followed the siren call of Millie's hum as I did. Then we saw it, something none of us had really expected to see. A small house, little more than a derelict shed, Really. Situated in the midst of this dense tree cluster was a tiny little house.

What is this? Gareth asked. What is this house doing out here? I don't like it, Jack whispered. The voice is coming from there. I said, It's a trap, Stacey said. She's not really in there, and you know it. You know it, Tom. Please stop this. I have to go inside. Millie and Michael are in there, I said. I cannot describe how I felt. I was not possessed. I did not hear the cackling voice of some sinister witch in my head. There were no demons telling me to off my friends. I felt entirely in control of my limbs and my mind.

Nonetheless, I was not myself. I was filled with an urge, an urge to go into that haunted hellhole. I started to walk towards the front door, but Stacey barged past me, still sobbing her heart out. I suddenly realized she had Gareth's torch in her hand. Blood me, I remember her crying, as she sprinted towards the door. She thought she was protecting us.

She thought she was the grown-up. And we all thought that at the time. But she was 19. She was a child, just like us. Stacey grabbed the door handle, shaking as she did so, and called out. Millie, Michael, are you in there? I'm going to come in.

Darith, Jack, and I stood a few yards behind her. We waited with bated breath, wondering what could possibly lie inside. It was too dark for us to see. See. Stacey opened the door, revealing nothing but darkness. She slowly lifted her torch, and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was just a house. She stood in a narrow hallway with doors lining either side, and there was a painting on the wall at the end. I couldn't quite make out the picture from that distance, but it looked familiar. Stacey stepped

inside, shining her light onto each of the doors and calling out for Millie and Michael again. Faster than any gust of wind could have carried it, the front door slammed behind her. She screamed. Stacey. Gareth yelled, lunging at the door. He and Jack started ramming their shoulders into it, whilst I simply clasped both of my hands onto my head, dropping my torch to the ground. What had I done? Where had I led us?

I still wanted to believe it wasn't real. This was just a house. Rick, Michael, and Stacey were pranking us. That heart was fake. It wasn't real. Tommy, Jack shouted, slamming into the door that wouldn't budge. Help us. I snapped out of it and joined my friends. Eventually, the latch snapped and the door flew open. My bravery seemed to have abandoned me, so I let Jack take charge. He led the way with his torch. And I followed, too mentally broken to remember to pick up my fallen torch. We stepped into the house. I don't know why. I think we all knew that they were gone. We just couldn't accept it. Or maybe that same. force the same thing that hummed at us was drawing us inside. Stacey. Jack shouted, which door, Stacy? The house was a bungalow, and it only had one hallway with six doors. There were six rooms that could be holding our friends. One at a time, Jack said, opening the first door on

his left. Gareth and I cowered behind him, watching as he illuminated the first room. There was nothing in there but a pile of rucksacks. They're rucksacks. They're here, Gareth whispered. They have to be here. Jack quietly closed the door, and we shuffled across the hallway to the first door on the right. A bedroom. There were scribblings on the walls in some language we couldn't understand. Four more rooms. With each door we opened, my throat seemed to close a little more tightly.

The second door on the left offered nothing but a book on the floor. Jack cast his torch on it. The Pied Piper of Barley was the title on the front. Where are you? Gareth screamed into the empty space. Jack clasped a hand to our friend's mouth, and, with this torch-holding hand, he raised a finger to his lips. Gareth nodded, and we shuffled silently across the hallway. It was the second door on the right that gave Jack a reason to hesitate.

He placed his hand on the door handle. Stand back, Jack said. Something about this room. Do you hear that? Hear what? I asked, feebly. Of its own accord, the door to the fourth room flew open. What we saw next is something that I could.

I cannot explain. There stood Stacy with her face contorted in a way that defied all laws of natures. All I can tell you is that her eyes were gone. Her sockets were two black chasins. Stacey was gone. She looked as if she had stared into the face of fear itself. The worst part was that she was still alive. She lifted a shaky arm and stretched her bony fingers towards us.

I think she wanted help. I think she wanted the end. Stacey, Gareth cried, squeezing between Jackson. and me. He knocked Jack's arm as he ran into the room and the torch went flying out of his hand. Gareth, wait. Jack screamed. The door slammed behind him. Without the last torch, we had been plunged into complete darkness. I was too afraid to walk back outside and find mine. Jack fiddled with the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. Neither of us had the energy left to fight it. I think we realized we couldn't fight it. I realized I had my phone, so I slid it from my pocket.

I used the flashlight to find Jack, who was leaning with his back against the now-closed fourth door. He had his hands on his me's. They're not making a sound in there, he said. Nobody leaves this house, do they? I don't think so, I replied, solemnly, casting the light on the third right-hand door. Two more rooms. Tom, Millie is gone.

Rick is gone. Stacey is gone. And now, Gareth. Jack stopped, stifling his tears. Michael is gone, too. You know that. I just... I paused.

I think Michael's here. Maybe, Jack nodded. And maybe he's messed up like everyone else. Look, I've seen some stuff I can't explain, okay. I believe. I believe in the witch. You and I can still make it out of here. I ignored Jack and walked over to the third door on the right.

We'd reach the end of the hallway, and I remembered something. The painting. I slowly lifted my phone light to get a better look at it. It was a picture of a pond with three figures standing beside it, a boy, a girl, and an old man. That's when I realized it was my grandpa, Sammy, and I. It was a painting of that day. In the picture, my grandpa was clutching my wrist. The brush strokes captured that horrifying expression he'd worn on his face as he told me of the real Pendle Witch.

It's me. That's me in the painting, I whispered. What are you saying? Jack cried from behind me. Let's go whilst we still can, Tom. But I couldn't. I reached for the door handle to the third room on the right, and lightly pushed it open.

Inside, there was a boy standing up and a boy lying at his feet. Rick and Michael. Rick, I gently whispered. I had my light firmly fixated on his looming figure. He shuffled around to look at us. There was a bloody hole in the center of his jumper, and he revealed a face even gaslier than the one we had just seen on Stacy. Unlike her, Rick did not look at him.

as if he had seen the face of fear. He did not look scared at all, in fact. Beneath the black, empty holes where his eyes used to be. He wore a toothy grin that stretched from ear to ear. It haunts me. I still see Rick's face. I still see him raising a finger to his lips and making a shushing sound. I remember his wheezy laugh.

I remember him pointing at the floor behind him. Unable to utter a peep, I shakily moved my phone light to the floor. There lay the remains of Michael. He was missing an arm, two of his legs, and both of his eyes. But they weren't black holes like the ones that Stacey and Rick had. They were red wounds. Clawmarks ran down his face. He was pointing at something in the corner of the room.

I found her, Michael groaned. The witch-mate Henderson do it. I leaned around the doorframe and cast my light into the corner. There it was. A pile of bones wearing hiking clothes. Millie. I finally started to cry. and when I turned around to find Jack, he was gone.

It was just me, Michael, and what used to be Rick. Jack, I screamed, nothing. The fifth door slammed in my face. The brothers were gone. Jack was gone. I found myself standing alone in the hallway. I could feel a weight lifting from my mind. As if I had been in a trance and now I could see,

I wondered why I was still in that house. I turned on my heel and eyeball the open doorway that led back out into the forest. but something still had my body. I couldn't move. And that was when the sixth and final door creaked open. The third door on the left, I found my feet carrying me towards it.

I remember glancing at the painting at the end of the hallway before I entered the room. The three figures were gone. There was a silhouette between the painted trees. It moved out of sight. I found myself standing in the last room and the door closed behind me.

It was cold like no coldness I'd ever felt in dark like no darkness. I'd ever seen. I felt my arm moving. I couldn't stop it. My phone light was moving across the walls, slowly making its way towards something at the back of the room. No, I cried, trying desperately to stop myself. I didn't want to see what was at the back of the room. I could hear breathing. I couldn't move my limbs, but I could move my lips. Wait, I pleaded. Why did you let William Henderson go? My arm stopped. My whole body stopped. The breathing stopped.

Whilst I had control of my lens, I let the phone drop to the floor. It landed face up, so the flashlight was pressed against the floor. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't want to be forced to see what Stacey, and Rick had seen. Made a deal. A voice whispered. It wasn't the voice of a woman. It wasn't the voice of a man.

I always say it was the devil, but I do that to help myself sleep at night. truthfully, whatever was in that room scared me more than the devil. What deal? I whimpered. I'll never forget seeing her blackened silhouette as she moved in front of the one window in the room. Dim moonlight wasn't dim enough to completely hide her. Seven foot tall, gangly limbs and a head far bigger than that of any human. I see her in my dreams. I see her in my waking hours.

I'm lucky I dropped the phone. Would I be like Stacy or Rick if I'd seen her in the light? Must eat. That was all she said before I passed out, but I knew what she wanted. She had already told me what I needed to do. The book on the floor. The Pied Piper of Barley. She would let me stay alive, but I had to continue what William Henderson had started.

The tales he told the villagers of Barley had been leading victims to the witch for years. Maybe he hadn't given exact directions, but all it takes is a spark. An idea. Of course, everyone in Barley knows the story, but not everyone in Barley. feels the pull. Maybe it only works on the broken. Mr. Henderson ignited that spark in Michael. He planted the idea of the witch, and Michael did the rest. I like to think our dear old history teacher did not willingly lead his daughter to the slaughter, just as Michael did not willingly lead our friends to that house. Mr. Henderson was just a fool who learned the hard way what his

ancestor had really done to make it out of the Boland house alive. And, like the Henderson's, I knew what needed to be done. When I woke in the morning I was back at the campsite. I rang my parents and told them that everyone had gone missing in the woods. I told them they tried to find Millie, but I stayed in the tent. I'm 27. It's been 13 years, and the families of my friends still hunt for their missing children. But they don't know where to look. I could have told them where to go, but the witch would not have taken kindly to an angry mob. I misdirected the police, and her house was never found. Not everyone in barley is prey. Some of us are just storytellers. The witch's Pied Pipers. Speaking of which,

I still see Mr. Henderson in the village from time to time. I think he knows what I am. I think he knows what I've done. He shames me with a glare, but no more than he shames himself. Heed my warning. The Pendle Witch is real. She's something far older than you or me. And she's hungry. Very hungry. I think you know why I have told you this story. I think you finally understand. I am sorry. It's an idea and I have to plant it. If you feel something pulling you deep into the forest of Boland, please forgive me. This is Euphoria Calvin Klein, the new elixir collection, featuring three perfume intense scents, inspired by a unique orchid accord, paired with vanilla, each with its own distinct attitude, each with its own universe, bold elixir, sensual, woody, addictive, magnetic

elixir, sweet and romantic like a lingering touch, solar elixir, or radio, be an expression of joy. Ultra concentrated for amplified impact and lasting power. Find your euphoria. Discover the euphoria elixir collection by Calvin Klein. Every time I glanced at my leg, I'm haunted by memories. The pain was gone, as was most of the injury, but the scar was still there. It looked like something tried to bite my leg clean off, and that's usually the story I tell people when they ask. Fighting off an animal is a lot more believable than what actually happened. The other boys in my cabin had decided to skip out on the campfire one night and investigate the forest. Much to my surprise, they invited me.

Blinded by the idea of having friends, I didn't think twice about joining them. I've come to regret that day ever since. Once the campfire started and we told the cabin counselor that we were going to sleep, we set out to the forest. The leader of the group, a kid named Braden, took the lead and led us deeper and deeper into the woods. Camp Nightingale had a rumor that there was a monster lurking within its woods. Of course, no one believed it. Or, at least, I thought they didn't. As I looked to my left, I noticed that Daniel, a kid with a body type more similar to mine,

was wielding a slingshot. Any good that would do, I thought. We're not actually going to find anything. You guys know that, right? I asked, looking around the group of laughing and joking boys who were all sporting various amounts of weapons. They just laughed. Probably not, but it would be awesome if we did. The kid said, aiming his slingshot at me and preparing to launch whatever he was aiming at.

I flinched, instantly stopping my walk as the group chuckled. Still the butt of the joke, I thought. That's when I heard it. It was so synced with my footsteps that I almost missed it, but the moment I stopped, something behind me took another step before pausing. I froze, tilting my head around to see what it was. Unfortunately, without Braden's flashlight, I had no luck in finding what it was. Yo, can you shine your light on something behind me?

I stammered. Braden was confused but did so. I studied his expression, which turned into irritation. Aside from the hundreds of trees, there was nothing behind me. Stop being such a wimp. Like you said, we're not actually going to find anything. I rolled my eyes, jogging to catch up with them. Duh, I just thought it might be a bit.

bear. That caused an uproar and laughter. A bear, out here. Man, you're dumb. The third kid Thomas spoke. For the next ten minutes, things went smoothly and nothing happened. We had only been traveling in one direction, which Braden thought was good enough to act as our way back. Also, I have this. He shook the smartphone in the air proudly, the Google Maps app open. It didn't make me feel all that much relieved, but I dropped it. Once we reached the edge of the forest, I started getting the feeling that we were being watched yet again, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Then something wrestled in the bushes.

This time, I wasn't the only one who heard it. Braden pointed at the bush. Daniel aimed his slingshot and Thomas pulled out a pocket knife I never knew he had. With nothing in my possession to fight back, I picked up a stick I found beneath me, pointing it at whatever was behind the bush. I expected that after a tense moment, a rabbit would pop out as the cartoons would show.

But that moment of silence never came. Something emerged from the shadows, lanky and covered in fur. Its shape was unlike any other animal I'd ever seen. In fact, I wasn't even sure it was an animal. Its body was long, limbs gripping onto a tree, scurrying away the moment the light hit its face. But those few seconds gave me all the time I needed to make out the beast's features. It had a snout like a deer, yet it walked upright.

Though fur-coated its skin, I could tell that it was almost decaying with black spots on its flesh. Its face was hideous with black gums lining yellow teeth. Instantly, all of us let out a shriek and dashed in the opposite direction. I was able to keep up with them for the first 30 yards, but they were all much more athletically built, and I soon fell behind. As I tried to shout, my lungs burned, muffling my voice. I felt like I was coughing up fluid. Soon, the light projected by the flashlight diminished behind the ever-growing sea of trees. I took in the air, trying to call out for one last time.

But before I got the chance, I collided with a tree and I lost consciousness. The first hint of daylight crept through the treetops, and the birds welcomed the dawn with their songs. My bones ached from having slept on the uneven ground, but, despite it all, my eyes had finally opened. Memories of the encounter drove me to jump to my feet, no matter how done. dizzy that made me. I looked around searching the surrounding area for both anyone from the camp and the thing I saw earlier. But there was no sign of either. However, there remained another

problem. I didn't know how I was going to get back. After being unconscious for quite some time, I forgot which way I was running to. I swallowed back fear, realizing that the monster I saw could still be lurking in the forest. With nothing else to do, I began walking, my legs feeling like lead. That was when I took a step, landing on what felt like hard metal. I barely had the opportunity to look down before the jaws of a bear trap clamped down, coming close to severing my right foot. Cartoonishly triangular blades dug into my skin, one completely piercing through my bone. It took everything I had to not pass out right there.

I tried to let out a scream, but my throat choked up and all I could manage was a dry rasp. As I fell to the ground, the bear trap flipped with me. My first thought was to open it. However, it wasn't like what I'd seen in the movies. It was bolted shut, with several parts and components that I couldn't dream of ever figuring out. Once I realized I wasn't going to open it, my heart rate spiked and I began yelling. My frail voice barely left my throat, sobs overtaking the words. A deafening silence surrounded me.

I kept calling out for help with no response, and I must have lost a lot of liquid because I got lightheaded. I tried to keep moving, but I could barely lift my arms, forcing me to stop. I know that it was probably my paranoia getting to me, but it seemed that there was always something in my peripherals, only making an effort to move when I wasn't looking. It got so bad that after a few hours, I considered ripping my leg off. Of course, when I so much as touched it, an excruciating pain shot through my entire body.

After letting go, I lay on the hard ground, just beginning to drift to sleep, hoping that someone would come back for me. That's when I heard branches cracking. My eyes immediately shot open, the idea of sleeping suddenly becoming foreign to me. My body jumped to life, frantically searching my surroundings

to see where the noise came from. Noticing the rock beside me, I picked it up before immediately looking back up. How I wish I hadn't. There was something there. Two large white orbs floated in the air about eight or nine feet away. They were far too big to belong to a

a small critter and it was positioned at least seven feet tall, giving them considerable size. The creature's body was long, with thin legs supporting a frail torso, that looked like it was made of sticks. Its body was covered in matted fur, except for its head. Its jaw was unhinged, open, and revealing rows of teeth. However, what was interesting was that the teeth weren't all that sharp. In fact, it didn't seem like any part of the creature could be of any trouble. body was way too skinny for it to actually attack. It was more like a sickly animal, with no

strength to speak of. As I waited to see what it was going to do, wondering if it was trying to hurt me, I began to realize something. It wasn't trying to attack me. Instead, it simply watched, wide unblinking eyes not taking the slightest interest in anything around me. I glared back as if it was the only thing I could do. Though the sun began to shine, it remained motionless. At night the creature looked terrifying, but in the sunlight where I could make out every detail, even more so. Fletching the rock, I throw it as hard as I can. It hit the creature and the shoulder, but aside from awkwardly shuffling back, it didn't seem to notice it.

Dehydration had begun to set in, and I was feeling dizzy. As the creature watched, it reminded me of something. The way it watched its prey to the end before I could only assume it eats me, reminded me of vultures. It's funny, as I was asking myself if dehydration or hunger would get me first, the creature was thinking the same exact question. As my vision slowly began to blur, I noticed that it was slowly getting closer. When my eyes would close for a moment, I'd open them and its head would only be an inch away from mine, causing me to jump.

The creature would do the same, bolting behind the safety of a tree. But as this act of hours repeated for several times, the creature would be less afraid each time, until, eventually, it would no longer move. I waved my arms violently, but still no response. My stamina was running low, and there was no sign of anyone else coming for me. The more exhausted I got, the more I wanted to give in to the idea of passing. The pain in my right leg was becoming unbearable, and, at this point, death was a preferable outcome to continuing. In the very bottom of the pit of despair, I lay there, limp and completely spent, not moving another muscle. Despite the fact the creature was glaring down in me, I couldn't care anymore.

My eyelids began to grow heavy, my consciousness growing cloudier by the second. But just before I could be taken away, a voice rang out. Oh my God. It was loud, startling me awake. I looked toward the source of the noise and found that it was Brayden and his friends, along with the camp staff. They all rushed in. The creature, jolting its head up to face them, scurried off before everyone else could even get to me.

The next couple of minutes passed by in a blur. The camp staff managed to free my leg from the bear trap. I was sent to the infirmary for treatment, then released with instructions to remain on crutches for the rest of the month. When I asked them about the creature, they said they thought it was just a bear, but couldn't tell for sure.

Maybe I was just imagining the whole thing. All that mattered was that I survived. However, lingers of the despair I felt from that day never left. For some reason, I can't shake the memory of that creature from my mind, and the fear it induced within me. All right, I spent my entire slow day at work yesterday reading through this sub, so now I want to share my little story.

My childhood best friend, Marie and I, were around 11 or 12 years old at the time. Marie's family had their own campsite in a provincial park about two hours from our hometown, and would spend the entire summer each year living in their camper out there. This particular summer, I was able to go and stay with them for a week, and we were excited to spend our time adventuring around the forest. On the last night that I was there, we decided we wanted to hurry down to the ice cream shop by the lake before it closed. It was early evening at this point, still pretty bright out but beginning to lose light. The path we took was down a short slope right next to the main road with maybe 10 feet of thick brush and trees in between. On the other side was the forest with more tall, thick brush.

So we were walking along, not seeing a single other person on the path in front or behind us. We hear a sudden rustling and snapping of branches similar to the sound of maybe a deer moving through the woods. I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but then the sound of running footsteps follows. Marie glances back and suddenly grabs my arm, urging me under her breath not to look back. At the same time, the running stops. I don't know why I didn't ignore her and get a look myself. I guess I could sense the very real fear in her voice and chose to listen. We both start to panic, getting that feeling like when you're running up the stairs after turning the basement light off.

We pick up speed as much as we can without breaking into a sprint, knowing the ice cream shop is only about a minute walk away at this point. The path soon breaks and we are in the parking lot. Suddenly Marie steers me hard to the left, heading towards the lake and the boat, rental instead of continuing straight to the ice cream shop, and I go along with it silently, understanding ice cream is no longer in interest right now. Marie is clearly panicking at this point. We are both looking around, but it seems whatever scared her is nowhere in sight at this point. Marie walks up to the boat rental and gets us a kayak, and we climb in and begin to paddle

out into the middle of the lake. As we paddle, she tells me that there was a man behind us and that the man had stopped running at us very abruptly upon making eye contact with her. He had been wearing a long black coat with the hood up despite it being the middle of July. He had a terrible smirk on his face, and she swore that as he stopped running, she saw him put something shiny away into his coat. He appeared to have just emerged out of the bushes after we walked past, given the sounds we heard right before he came running onto the path. We reached the center of the lake and stopped paddling. I pull out my Nokia brick phone that my parents had, thank God, given me just in case. I hand it to Marie and tell

her to call her parents to come pick us up. As the phone rings, I see her look out past me to the shore and go pale, lifting a hand to point to what she's seeing. I turn, and there was the man, stalking his way around the path that circled the edge of the lake, staring out at us. We sat in the middle of the lake and watched him do two full laps, never looking away from us, before finally disappearing. It took a few. tries to get a hold of her family, we were freaking out so bad the whole time, as the sun got lower and lower. We did manage to have someone come with the truck, but by the time we reached the shore it was pretty dark outside. I don't know what we would have done if we hadn't been

able to call for a ride. Looking back, I don't know why we didn't just go up to the ice cream shop, inform an adult there, and ask her parents to come get us then. But it worked out, we got back safe, and we thankfully never saw the man again. who loves to take long walks on the beach in the early mornings when very little to nobody else is there. The sea spray on my face and the salt air and my nostrils always help make the eight-hour shifts I spend behind a desk somewhat tolerable, and the sight of the sun rising out on the misty waves has always filled me with a sense of calm. However, that changed yesterday when I was out from my walk. It was a slightly rougher day, the waves were crashing on shore a bit harder than

normal, and the wind was whipping something fierce. As I strode across the beach, I noticed something out of place being pummeled around in the surf like it was a pinball. When I drew closer, I saw it was a plastic bag which had been sealed with duct tape at the top. Inside was what looked like a book of some sort, and driven by curiosity, I waded into the waves up to my ankles to retrieve it. When I got back to my car, I managed to open the bag and found that the book was actually somebody's journal, as stated by the inscription on the inside of the cover. It declared it belonged to a man named Anthony Hodgson as part of an ocean crossing sailing trip from almost 20 years ago.

As I was late for work, I didn't read any more of it and instead tucked it into my briefcase for safekeeping. I figured I could find out more information later on that night and try and return it to its rightful owner. When I got home that night, I immediately took the journal out and began reading excitedly. However, as I got further and further towards the last entry, my intrigue and excitement crumbled to dust, and it was replaced by some of the strongest dread and horror that I have ever felt.

I wasn't sure what to do with it once I finished reading. There's not much I can do. I can't send it to anyone, and if I turned it over to any newspaper or TV station, I'm sure it'd be dismissed as a hoax. Finally, I decided that the only place I could come to share it would be here, as I know many others come to share what they've seen and found. Let me know what your thoughts are on this. But, for me personally, what I've read has given me some of the worst nightmares I've had since I was a child and will probably keep me out of the ocean. Forever. Here are the entries. July 15th,

2004, 3.34 p.m. Well, here we are, Journal. Today is the day I've been dreaming about for most of my life. Ever since I was a little child, spending time at my aunt and uncle's house in Maine, reading their old sailing magazines, I've always had the desire to make an oceanic crossing, using nothing more than my skills, knowledge, and determination to get me to the other side. After almost 30 years of waiting, it's now finally my turn. And thanks in no small part to the group of friends I've forged in this journey called life, all in total, there are six of us who will be making this trip. Myself, Darrell, Zander, Winston, Holly, and Anastasia.

It was Zander's idea for us to begin saving and pulling together our money to purchase a sailboat over 12 years ago, and now I sit in my cabin on what took what seems like an eternity to attain. Her name is the Lunging Lion, a 52-foot sparkman in Stevens Y'all from 1950, and God, is she one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. And for something almost 55 years old, she looks as good as the day she's, first entered the water. We're currently docked at a pier in Boston, and I can hear the others loading the final crates of supplies and barrels of diesel fuel on board. Tomorrow, we will sail at the crack of dawn from here, with our bow squarely aimed for none other than jolly old England.

I've done the calculations, and if we can average between 10 to 15 knots with the wind, it should be no more than a week and change to make it there. Almost 3,000 nautical miles of the Atlantic lie between us and the end of a journey that we will remember for the rest of our lives. I would love to keep writing, maybe even wax a bit poetic about this undertaking, but I can hear the others calling to me to help them, so this is where I have to end this entry. For a first one, and as someone who's never written in one of these things, I don't think it was that bad. I'll write later. July 16, 2004, 11.17 a.m. Good morning, journal. We are officially on our way. We woke up at just a little after six in the morning, and after a last few consultations of

our charts and farewells with the harbor master, we cast off our lines and used the diesel engine to motor out of Boston Harbor. Once we were clear of the last marker buoy, we floored it and opened up the sails. Unhappy to report that the second they did, the wind blowing from the west caught them, and we shot off like a bullet. Currently, according to the readout, we're sailing along at a pleasant nine knots. Not what we were hoping for, but still adequate. I do have to say, though, there is an extreme, almost sense of peace already. Boston and all the rest of land is slowly, but steadily turning into just a thin line behind us, and with the lunging lion under only sail power. The only sounds that can be heard are the creaking of the boat's wooden hull

as she slices through the water, the sails and the rigging as they are slapped by the wind, and the cries of the seabirds as they follow us out to sea. And, of course, course, the shouts and laughs of my friends. Everyone's spirits are at a crescendo as the object of many late-night conversations turns from the stuff of drunken speculation to reality. I should point out that everyone on board has a job to do. Daryl and Winston are the two with the most practical knowledge on sailing, as they've actually sailed from Washington State down to Baja four or five years ago as part of a competition. They'll serve as the captain and the navigator for our trip. Thank God for them or we'd be in way over our heads here. Zander and myself have some knowledge, but only from

small trips, usually from Portsmouth up to Bar Harbor in Maine, so we are to help with piloting. While Holly and Anastasia will be working the rigging, raising, and lowering the sails as needed, with our help, of course. Additionally, Anastasia will be serving as our cook for the duration of our trip. And considering some of the meals she's made, I am all for that. I just took a look at the depth finder mounted just beside the main hatch in the cockpit. According to it, the bottom is already over 3,000 feet below us. I know many other people might find such a revelation scary, but as someone who's loved the sea as long as I can remember, it's thrilling. I can only imagine what strange and wonderful creatures swim and float beneath us in the dark and cold waters,

listening to the sounds of our hull creaking, reverberating from miles away as sound travels farther in water than air. Daryl just asked me to take over the helm for a while, so I'll end this entry here. Right again soon. July 18, 2004, 137 p.m. Well, I can't exactly say good afternoon, as things aren't as smooth sailing as I would have liked. You see, we've come across a rather large fog bank, which almost seems to have risen up from the waves and ensnared all in its reach, ourselves included. You can't even see 20 feet in any direction. and whenever a sound is made, it tends to bounce off the fog back to you in a rather sharp echo. We've had to pull some sails down and reduce our speed to six knots to be safe.

To tell you the truth, journal, it's really rather eerie. It almost feels like the entire world has been swallowed up and disappeared, and we're all that's left. Thankfully, though, Winston told me that he's seen fog like this before, and that it won't last longer than a few hours. I'm grateful for that, honestly, if it lasted longer, I feel it might pull on my sanity a little. The magazine articles and photos never showed or spoke about this, and I wish they would.

It wouldn't have changed my mind on this trip, but it would have prepared me for what to expect. Something loud just splashed out in the gloom. None of us could see what caused it, but everyone topside heard it. It was only a single splash, one which echoed like the crack of a gunshot in the fog. When I asked Darrell what it could have been, he shrugged his shoulders. It could be anything, Tony, he said. Lots of things splash around in deep water. Could be a whale breaching, could be a shark going after a school of fish.

Hell, it could even be a piece of flotsam getting tossed about by a particularly tall white cap. The explanation brought me more comfort. Instead of a sense of unease about the unknown, my mind is now filled with natural explanations. According to the radar, we are about 400 miles off the coast of the U.S. and the depth sounder shows the bottom has dropped away to 6,000 feet. We all need to keep a sharp eye out, so I'll stop writing for now to help the others. Write again soon. July 19, 2004, 117 a.

What the actual hell just happened. Not even four hours ago, myself, Zander, and Holly laid down to get some sleep, as we've worked out a schedule where we sleep three at a time, changing out during the night to allow the other team to rest. I just managed to drift off when I flew out of my bunk onto the floor. It literally felt as if the boat had slammed into another vessel. For a moment, that was my biggest fear, and after checking on the other two down below with me, who both had slight bruises from their own unexpected flights, I dashed topside to the sounds of chaos.

Winston and Daryl were shouting back and forth to each other in confusion, and I could hear Anastasia moaning somewhere closer to the bow. When I asked what had happened, they told me they'd. didn't know. It was like we sailed straight into a damn block of concrete." Winston exclaimed to me, When I went to check on Anastasia, I found her lying on her back on the deck. She had cracked her head on the mainmast, giving her rather nasty bump on her left temple and received a cut on her cheek. The three of us carried her down below and laid her down in the forward berth,

where Holly is looking after her. She says she'll be okay, but she needs to rest for the rest of the night. I, for the life of me, can't understand what we hit. It could have been a whale or a large piece of wood, but nobody saw anything, and it was a perfectly clear night, something that Daryl tells me will end the night after tomorrow, as a storm is coming our way. And I'm fairly certain that the two most experienced of our crew wouldn't jeopardize us so carelessly. If they say they didn't see anything, then I believe them. I've gone back down below to try and catch at least an hours more rest before I helped take over the late night to early morning shift at the helm. According to the charts and radar, we're now about 850 miles off the coast, though I didn't

look at the depth sounder this time. One additional thing to note, that may not have any meaning, but I'm still going to write down. There was one strange thing I noticed when I went topside, and went to help Anastasia. There was a rather putrid scent in the air, something I couldn't place. If I didn't know any better, I would have said it was ammonia, but we have none aboard which could have spilled, so I don't know what to make of it. Probably nothing, but still noting. Anyways, good night. Hopefully no more surprises. July 20, 2004, 437 p.m. Good morning, journal. Things happily seem to be more on track today than they have been the last two. I'm currently sitting behind the helm, using my foot to keep it straight as I write.

Most of the others have gone below to have dinner, which I'll have myself when they're finished. Someone needs to steer, after all, I'm happy to report that Anastasia is back up and, aside from the bump on her head, seems to be in good spirits. She's currently making clam chowder a favorite of all of ours. We've picked speed back up to about 11 to 12 knots with a strong tailwind, although earlier it quit, causing us to have to tack back and forth before, regrettably, having to fire up the engine to carry us a bit farther. The sound of it was almost heresy out here in the silence, only broken by the wind and the waves.

It was worth it, though, as I saw a truly amazing sight about half an hour ago. A whale, it breached out of the water not more than a half a mile away from us. Seeing that gigantic black leviathan leaping from the waves is a sight that filled me with joy to tell you, it did so a few more times, seeming to move around in a circle, before disappearing below the waves. I've honestly never heard of a whale doing multiple breaches in such a short succession,

but there's a first time for everything, I guess. Anyways, I look ahead now, and in the distance, I can see the storm clouds on the horizon, lightning occasionally flashing in the dark gray fluff. According to the report we got from a tanker on the ship's radio, it will be a bad one, meaning our initial plan to make it to England in just over a week is going to be extended to just about two weeks.

Fine by me as despite our setbacks and problems, I still am thoroughly enjoying this journey. Good Lord, did that just startle me? I heard a loud splashing sound off our stern behind me and swoon around. There was nothing there, but it was so close I swear I could feel the water droplets hitting me on the back of the neck. Anyways, Zander's coming up to take over helm duties,

so it's time for me to head below to eat. According to the radar, we're now over 1,300 miles out to sea, close to the halfway mark of our trip. The depth sounder says 12,000 feet of water lie between us and the seafloor. Right later. July 21st, 2004, 7.18 a.m. I don't even know where to begin with this entry. I'm honestly lost for words, both in my shock and my grief. I suppose there's no other way to put it other than bluntly.

Polly's gone. Last night, we sailed into the storm at just a little after eight. The waves and wind became something fierce, something that I only read when reading novels like the perfect storm and the old man and the sea. The waves crashed down on the deck with all the ferocity of a freight train, and the howling of the wind sounded like a banshee screaming into our ears. All of us, save for Anastasia, who was cleaning up dinner dishes and the galley were topside to keep the lunging lion straight,

and true. But the storm battered about our sailboat like it was a child's plaything in the bath. I don't know how big the swells became, but we would ride up one and almost drop in a 75 or 80-degree angle down into the trough before the next set. The lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the hell we'd sailed into like it was the middle of daytime, and the thunder boomed and rattled my eardrums. Darrell and I were at the helm, fighting to keep the rudder straight while the others were working the rigging and the sails. Holly was working the rigging underneath the mainsail when it happened. A sudden change of wind slammed into us from the port side, shifting the boat sideways.

It also caused the boom to change direction suddenly, swinging across the deck like a charging bowl. Sander and Winston managed to duck under it, but Holly didn't. A huge wood and fiberglass projectile caught my friend on the side of the head and shoulders in its arc, and before anyone knew what was happening, she was gone, knocked over the railing and into the churning waves. For a moment as we panicked and looked around us, I thought I saw her in a flash of lightning, about 15 yards behind the boat, waving her arms and her mouth open in a scream as she bobbed in the waves, kept afloat by her life jacket. But when the next flash came, not even four seconds later, I saw nothing. We couldn't turn around in the storm, not unless we wanted to swamp ourselves and see,

We could do nothing but helplessly sail away from our friend. Zander hasn't been able to stop crying. Holly and he were an item, and losing his life partner has destroyed him in a way I can only imagine. The waves have lessened some sense, but our boat has taken major damage. Both the radio and radar have been damaged in the storm, making any kind of call for help impossible, as well as knowing our exact location. To make matters worse, there seems to be something wrong with the propeller for the deep. the propeller for the diesel engine, as when we discovered some tears in the mainsail,

we lowered them to repair and continue under engine power. But though the engine roared, we didn't move at all. Darrell says he'll check it out once the storm lets up a little more. For now, all happiness of this trip has flooded out of all of us. Now it's marked by the loss of one of us. I just honestly want to get to England at this point. We'll write later. July 21st, 2004, The storm finally abated enough for Darrell to check on the prop. As the waves petered out, and we seemed to move into the eye of the storm, he donned a pair of flippers and a mask, and jumped overboard to inspect it. When he popped his head above the waves, his face bore a look of confusion and worry, treading water beside the boat. He told us that the prop had been sheared half off

by something. The one remaining blade had been bent so that it couldn't turn anymore, but the rest was just gone. I remember his exact words. I've sailed for 15 years, and I've never seen something like that happen in open water. You usually have to run aground to do damage like that. Unnerved myself, I asked him to come back aboard. As he swam back to the swim ladder on the stern, I swear I saw something below the waves. A shape darker than the rest of the ocean, one that seemed to move on its own power, slowly rising up towards us. Whatever it was, it looked big. I fully admit, when I saw that dark shape, I couldn't help but reach over the transom and grab Darrell by the arm, almost wrenching him out of the water.

It's beyond ridiculous, I know, but... Thivenar recent events, I feel on edge. Hell, we all do. Now, I sit behind the helm in the cockpit as I watch Anastasia, and Xander try and sew up the torn sails. I hope they'll do good progress soon. I want to be out of this area before nightfall, and more unnerving is the fact that that ammonia like smell is back. This time, Winston smelled it as well, holding his nose and complaining

about that god-awful stench. We looked around, but saw nothing. I'm beginning to regret being the one who thought this trip of ours up over a decade ago. Right later. July 21st, 2004, 6.13 p.m. Daryl's gone. What the actual hell is going on. Just before dusk fell, he came back topside, in one arm holding a waterproof flashlight, in the other, a brand new propeller. He told us that he'd brought a spare along in case of any emergency, and we felt a wave of relief wash over us that we'd be able to get moving. The storm wall was fast approaching, and Zander and Anastasia hadn't finished mending the sails yet.

He also had a yellow pony bottle, which he pushed the regulator into his mouth, and after picking up a wrench, put on his flippers and mask, and slipped back overboard. We all saw his light click on, and he slipped out of sight underneath the boat. Every couple of seconds, we saw a burst of bubbles break the surface as he breathed out, and a quick flash of his flashlight swing around. For a few minutes, we felt the tension ease up, and despite the grim mood from Holly's death, Winston told us a joke about sharks and a razor-lined surfboard which made us laugh a bit. But then, that jovial mood deflated as quickly as a bully popping a kid's party balloon.

Hey, what's going on? We all heard Anastasia cry, and we looked over the railing down into the water. Daryl's light was dancing about as if he was turning rapidly around from one side to the other, the air bubbles coming in faster streams. Then two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that the beam from his light disappeared. It was as if he just snapped it off, one second it was there, whipping around, the next it was gone. And the second was that a huge stream of bubbles came to the sun.

surface at once. It was only for a second and then, nothing. We waited and waited, the seconds drawing into minutes, but our friend and one of our two leaders never resurfaced. It was as if he'd never even been there. We debated for a few minutes about having someone else go into the water and after many refusals, I finally relented and grabbed a mask. I wouldn't be going in all the way, though, I would just drop down the swim ladder enough to see under the boat, and that was it. As I stepped down and felt the freezing water touch my feet, I felt goose bumps rise all over my arms and legs. I couldn't understand why, but I felt my primal flight or fight instincts kicking in as I stuck my head in the water and pointed another flashlight around. I saw no sign of him.

The water under the boat was completely empty of life. No fish, no sharks, nothing. And no darrell. I swung my head around, looking off into the gathering gloom, but still still. saw nothing. As I turned and looked down into the depths, however, I swear I saw a flash of changing color. It could have been a trick of the ocean, but I swear I saw one patch turn from dark blue, almost black, to a very dark maroon. That was enough to make me yank my head out of the water and climb back up from the swim platform. He's not there, I said to the others. He has just

disappeared. We all agreed then that nobody else would enter the water. We take our chances being battered around by the storm. Currently we've started the bilge pumps before it reaches us. I can hear them roaring away in the recesses of the hull as I sit at the galley table and write this, and I can't help but feel a creeping sense of dread as I close my eyes and recall. That dark shape I thought I saw, plus the changing color I swear I saw in the deep, but I can't let myself lose my cool. We all need to keep a level head if we hope to get back to dry land. I'll write again soon. I hope to God it's with better news. July 23, 2004, 2.30 in the morning.

If you gaze too long into the abyss, you'll find the abyss also gazes back at you. That may not be the exact quote, but who gives a dam? Not when you've looked into the eye of a monster. Still, I should tell you what happened. The storm reached us that night, and all throughout it and much of the next day we were battered by it.

I thought so many times that the wooden hull would break apart, dropping us all into the monstrous waves and stinging rain. But, somehow, she stayed afloat. It's true what they say, they don't make them like this anymore. As daylight broke, though, the storm increased in its ferocity, and we were forced to venture topside to steer the boat into the waves to keep from capsizing. Myself, Zander, and Winston went up after dawning life jackets. We told Anastasia to stay below for her own safety.

When we emerged, it was like stepping directly into hell. The rain tore at our faces and the wind almost completely drowned out the sound of our voices. Lightning pierced the dark and we worked with our remaining flashlights to raise what little sails we had left whole and then began to try and steer towards what our compass and charts indicated was England. We had no idea how far we were from it or how blown off course the storm had shoved us, but we had to try. For three hours, we were battered and beaten, but we seemed to make headway.

That was when a familiar sense. struck our boat. The same concrete slamming sensation as before, making it feel as if we'd come to a dead stop in the waves, which began to wash hard down into the cockpit. Thankfully, the main hatch was closed, so no water got down below. What the hell did we hit? I heard Winston shout to be heard over the howling wind. Hell if I know. Sander called back to him, and I saw his flashlight beam shine down into the water. I don't see anything. His voice cut off. You don't see what? Winston yelled back, but there was no answer from him.

Feeling a piercing fear sees me, I pointed my own flashlight beam up to where he'd been, near the bow. It illuminated him, still kneeling and clutching at the railing, staring down into the sea. Zander, what the hell's the matter with you? I screamed as loud as I could. Slowly, he turned to look up and back at me. What I saw made me feel like ice.

I have never seen Zander even a tiny bit afraid before. We always said he was the most correct. out of our group. But now his face had turned a shade of pale I thought only corpses could hold, and his eyes were about as wide as they could get. His hand holding his flashlight trembled. As I looked, I smelled that putrid stench once more. This time, though, it was overpowering. That was when I heard Winston's scream. I swung my beam back portside, and the beam. Oh, good God Almighty, the beam landed on a scene that, however much longer am I alive. I'll see whenever I close my eyes. Winston was still there, but so was something else, something which had come from the

sea itself. My hand trembles as I write this next part. It was a tentacle, an honest to God tentacle looking like something out of the old 20,000 leagues under the sea movie from the 50s. But unlike that, this was very much alive. I saw every detail in slow motion. The giant club of the tentacle, big enough to wrap around the mast and filled with dozens of huge, wild. white suckers. The arm of the tentacle, as thick as two men standing next to each other, it all was a dark maroon color. And then I saw Winston. Oh, God, no. The tentacle had wrapped around my friend with the strength of seven boa constrictors, squeezing him so tightly I saw his face turn red, even in the biting wind and rain. He feebly pressed his hands to it,

trying in vain to push it away. And then, as quick as one of the bolts of lightning flashing overhead, he was gone. It was so quick I only saw it as a blur, hearing a gigantic splash as he was yanked below the waves. I forgot all about steering the boat and scrambled for the side in some misguided and foolish attempt to save him. I pointed the lights beam down into the dark waters, and me running, do I wish I hadn't, because it pointed directly into an eye, an inhuman eye the size of a wall clock, one which looked back at me with a cold and predatory gaze. The pupil contracted in the light and it shot back underneath the boat. To the other side, Zander, I turned to scream for my other friend to get away from the railing, but he was already gone.

I hadn't even heard him get taken over the wind and the rain. His flashlight rolled around on the deck near where he'd been kneeling, but he was gone. That's when I saw another tentacle rise above the railing a few feet in front of me. It felled around on the deck, seeming to move by a sense of touch as it searched for its next meal. From me, all courage left me, and I abandoned anything topside, and dashed below. I slammed the hatch close behind me and locked it, knowing full well if it really wanted to, the tentacles could easily rip it off its track. Anastasia was shaking when I ducked down below, and saw her.

She'd been looking through the side windows and seen what had happened to the other two. To Winston, her husband, as much as I was terrified, I went to her. I held her in my arms to console her, and we sat there, sitting on the hardwood floor, listening to the sickening sounds of the tentacles moving underneath us over the hole and breaching the waves to search the deck. After a while, it stopped. The storm lessened a little, the waves ceasing their merciless battering of our boat. Anastasia finally drifted off to sleep in my arms, and I carried her to the forward berth.

She needs sleep. So do I, but I can't bring myself to fall asleep. I know I'll be haunted by nightmares of that tentacle and I, and I know it's still there. I can still smell that ammonia scent even through the closed windows and hatch. For now, though, I'll just curl up on the galley seats. I don't know what else to do. There's nothing else I can do. Who gives a crap about the date?

This will be my final entry in this journal. I don't even know how many days we've drifted aimlessly on the waves anymore. The storm finally passed, and the waves. have remained relatively calm ever since. If it weren't for knowing what lies beneath them, I might almost call it peaceful. It's anything but though. Our food and fresh water is almost completely used up.

All our remaining sails tore in the storm, and Anastasias in no shape to sew them up. And, unfortunately, I never learned how. It wouldn't matter anyways. Our rudder is gone. I know, because when I opened the main hatch and stuck my head out, I saw it, floating on its side about a half mile away from us.

No doubt torn off by that creature, leaving us completely dead in the water. I know what it is now. I was too terrified and confused to put together the pieces in my mind, but now, all the marine biology knowledge in my brain has allowed me to identify it. Architeuth is ducks, a giant squid, one far larger than has been seen by scientists,

before, at least 60 or 70 feet long, judging by the size of the sea, eye I saw. A creature that has for centuries terrorized sailors giving rise to the legend of the crackin, pulling ships below the waves and preying upon the floating sailors. So many marine biologists and historians said that the stories of ships being pulled down to their doom were conjecture, wise tales. I can confidently say that they're absolutely full of crap. The stories were right on the money. The lunging lion is slowly sinking. The pumps gave out yesterday, both Anastasia and I heard them quit.

When I went topside to check on them, looking around as if I were an owl to make sure I wouldn't be grabbed and lifted the hatch to the engine compartment, I saw water in it. For a while, we tried bailing it out, but soon gave up. What's the point, anyways? We can't call for help, we can't escape and the dinghy lashed to the deck,

as we be set upon by the beast. That damn smell is always here now, one that signals its presence, along with the scrapes of its tentacles along the hole, or screwed any way we look at it. And this morning, Anastasia stepped overboard. I don't think she could take the waiting anymore. I awoke just in time to see it.

She'd become closed off since the day before, barely saying a word. I couldn't make out what she was thinking. But I awoke and saw the hatch to the cockpit was open. Feeling a new sense of dread course through my veins, I ran to the open hatch, just in time to see her step off the stern railing. I heard the splash of her dropping into the water. The sound of the tentacles rubbing on the hull stopped.

And then nothing. Silence. I'm alone now. Well, not completely alone. That thing is still there. The rubbing and scraping has started again. As I write this, the boat has sunk lower into the water. The entire transom is almost underwater,

and as it bobs up and down in the waves, I can see it, below the surface behind the boat and waiting patiently, staring at me with that cold, unblinking eye. It knows as well as I do that I don't have lung, which is why I'm going to place this journal into a bag after I'm finished writing this. I'll seal it with a roll of duct tape which floats around near my feet, and then I'll throw it overboard, as far away as I can. Maybe, with some luck, it'll wash ashore somewhere, so someone can know what happened to us. The transom is lower in the water now, and the tentacles are beginning to reach over into the cockpit.

I'm going to stuff myself into the forward berth as far as I can and shut the cabin door. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll drown before it can reach me. I don't want to be torn apart by that monster's beak, like the others were. Please, whatever you do. Beware the open ocean. Monsters, real ones, dwell out here. They buy. I could hear the twigs cracking beneath my eyes.

feet as I walked through the forest. The trees loomed ominously above me, their foliage blocking out the moonlight and casting a veil of darkness around me. I tried to keep calm, but my heart was racing with anticipation as I nervously surveyed the area. Suddenly, I spotted something in the corner of my eye, a shadow moving quickly between two trees in the distance. I froze in fear as I watched it slowly slink away into the darkness and vanish from sight. That was when I started to notice them, figures in the shadows, standing still like statues and watching me from all directions with piercing eyes. Sweat was running down my face as I slowly backed away, trying to keep an eye on them at all times without drawing attention to myself. Then, without warning, they started to move

towards me, slowly at first and then faster and faster until they were sprinting across the ground towards me with alarming speed. Panic said and as I nervously turned around and started running for my life, their footsteps echoing behind me in unison like an eerie chorus of death. As I ran, flashes of black figures made their way through my mind, tall and slender humanoids with pale skin that seemed almost translucent in the moonlight. It was like a vision from some forgotten nightmare. It felt like hours before I finally reached safety, but by then my legs were trembling so badly that I could hardly stand up straight.

Then suddenly it hit me. Those black figures weren't following me. they had been chasing something else, something that had been lurking in the shadows just like them. A chill ran down my spine as I realized what it was. A pack of wild creatures, black as night and completely silent in the darkness. I quickly made my way back home, never wanting to set foot in that place again. I still remember those black figures in the forest, their eyes filled with an eerie hunger that will haunt me forever. I had heard rumors of mysterious creatures living in the depths of the woods, but nothing had prepared me for this.

In the days and weeks that followed, I could still feel their presence lingering in the air around me, like an invisible cloak of fear that refused to leave my side. I started to avoid that part of the forest at all costs, making sure to keep a safe distance between myself, and those dark figures. But deep down, I knew that this was only the beginning, if I ever wanted to find out what really lurked in those shadows,

I would have to go back and face my fears head on. So one night I mustered up enough courage to venture out once more into the darkness, hoping against all odds that I would make it out alive. As I slowly approached the edge of the forest, I started to feel a strange presence in the air around me, a presence that seemed to be emanating from those same black figures I had seen before. I could feel my heart pounding as they slowly emerged from the shadows, their pale skin glowing in the moonlight,

and their eyes staring directly at me with a menacing hunger. They seemed to be waiting for something. almost as if they wanted me to join them in their hunt for whatever lurk beyond the trees. I was so scared that I could hardly speak, but eventually I managed to muster up enough courage to take a few tentative steps forward, somehow drawn towards them like a moth to a flame. And that was when it happened, all at once, like some sort of silent command, all of them started running into the darkness and disappeared from sight. They seemed to be leading me somewhere, but with each step I took, my fear grew stronger and

stronger and my courage began to waver. Eventually we reached our destination, an old abandoned cabin deep in the woods, and without warning they stopped dead in their tracks and began to circle around it silently, like predators stalking their prey. Suddenly one of them stepped forward towards me and pointed towards the cabin door. It was almost as if he were asking me permission to enter. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it might burst out of my chest. But before I could move or even think about what was happening, they all vanished into thin air. Left alone in total darkness, I tentatively stepped forward and opened up the door, only to find myself face to face with what appeared to be an ancient ritual chamber filled with dozens of black figures wearing hooded

cloaks. Tanick said as they all turned round to face me at once, my legs felt like jelly as they slowly advanced closer towards me. Were they going to hurt me? Were they going to off me? Before I knew it, one of them had grabbed hold of my arm. He had a firm grip on it, but his touch felt strangely warm and comforting, almost as if he wanted nothing more than for me to understand something important. Suddenly he pulled back his hood revealing his face. He was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and an air of wisdom about him, and immediately my fear began to subside.

He spoke in a gentle voice that seemed strangely familiar. You are not safe here, child, he said. These are dark forces at work here. Forces you do not understand. So please go home now. Then he let go of my arm, almost as if he knew that his words had been understood. Before turning back around and rejoining his companions

who then quickly vanished into thin air, without another word, I stood there for what felt like hours until finally gathering enough strength within myself to stumble home, shaken yet somehow reassured by this mysterious encounter. When morning came, it was as if nothing happened. Everything looked perfectly normal again, yet deep down inside something had changed forever from then on whenever night came calling, no matter how scared or tired, I become I can't help

but feel drawn back into those woods again. Hoping against hope that I will find answers hidden amongst those ever-present black figures. So every night I set off once more into the darkness hoping this time I'll make it out alive. Little by little I start understanding more about those mysterious beings, how they move together in unison like an army protecting something hidden behind those trees. Yet every time even after getting close enough, I still can't figure out what it's as these cloak protectors are so desperately trying to keep away from prying eyes. But then one night after months searching something happens, one figure separates himself from the others. As though beckoning me closer, he starts walking away from them. A few moments later we stop before an ancient tree surrounded by thick fog.

He pulls aside its heavy branches revealing what looks like an entrance. Without thinking twice, I enter. Inside is an underground chamber filled with statues depicting many strange creatures. Suddenly everything becomes clear. These creatures have been guarding something hidden from us humans for centuries. Just when I turn around ready to leave, the figure stops me. His gaze remains fixed on my mind. for what feels like eternity until finally speaking.

This place is not meant for your kind. He said, it is best you leave now. I tried going in, but he strongly pushed me out, and the entrance closed. I tried as hard as I could, but it wasn't possible. I had to go back to my house, but I will find them again. This happened around either May or June of 2010. I was spending the day with my future wife and her family on Mount Lemon, which is north of Tucson, Arizona.

There's a road leading up to a town that's about 25 miles long and has a fairly steep grade. Along the way the land changes from desert to pine forest. It's absolutely beautiful and one of the most challenging cycling routes in the world. Our day, however, was to go geocatching using a small GPS that only told direction and distance to the cache. After several hours of stopping along the road, hiking a bit and finding several, several of these geocaches, we made it to the small town at the end of the road.

We had a late lunch and we were planning to go back down, but my wife pointed out there was still time to find one more cache before it got dark. All of us agreed and saw there was one fairly close, less than two miles away. Her family had a small sedan at the time and when we saw it was down the dirt road on the backside of the mountain, we parked and started walking there. It was only a little over half a mile at this point so we didn't think any of the road. of it. This road goes along a fairly steep section, so there are lots of switchbacks.

After what was probably an hour the GPS said we still had just under a quarter mile to go. My wife, her father, and I were having no trouble, but her sister, who was 13 or 14 at the time and her mom were not as fast so the pace was quite slow. Finally we got within 20 feet of the cache, a dense patch of forest with lots of fallen trees and underbrush. The sun was really low now, maybe even already setting. It was getting dark, fast, and we still hadn't found this cache. I looked at my wife, pointing out we didn't have any flashlights, and that we really needed to head back. She nodded and told her parents with her mom quickly agreeing that we all needed to head back. Somewhat dejected the five of us started back

up the road. It was even slower going than when we were going down and soon the dark closed around us. Luckily there was enough moonlight to let us see a few dozen feet in front of us, but not much else. I kept trying to push the pace even though my wife's mom and sister were struggling, telling them it's just a bit further. My wife came beside me, holding my arm and pressing against me. Please be nice, my sister is really scared. I told her okay and apologized to her sister, saying that I'd walk more slowly for them. At this point I was leading us, my wife still holding my arm and her sister's hand, with her mom and dad right behind us. A weird sensation started running through me then. I told my wife to stay right behind me because I needed my hands to be free. My gate lowered

and widened. Every noise from the dark caught my attention. I didn't move my head, only my eyes. It didn't matter. Everything was dark except the faintest outline of trees, and the occasional boulder. I couldn't see much of anything, but I had to look. I need a knife. My wife made a sound which I took to be a question to my statement. I need a knife, almost grunting the words out, a big knife. Why do you need that? Her mom asked just above a whisper.

I shook my head, barely moving it at all. I just do. Every hair on my body stood on end. That primal, animal instinct that takes hold with either fight or flight, I was ready to fight. The forest was quiet now, not even the sound of wind through the pines. I remembered hearing somewhere that when a predator moves, nothing else makes a sound. All I heard was the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet, not even breathing.

I'm not religious at all, in fact I'm a borderline atheist, but at that moment I was praying to the spirit of the forest, the mountain, sky, anything that would listen that I was that predator. After a few hours we finally reached the main road, and we relaxed. got into the car and drove down the mountain in silence. The next day we went back to her parents' house to visit. Nothing exciting. I was watching an NFL game and having to explain everything to my wife's mom,

which was fun, especially the yellow line that she didn't know was superimposed on the broadcast, and not actually on the field for the players to see. At one point it was just my wife, her father, and I sitting alone in the living room, and I started talking about how weird I felt while we were walking back to the car last. night, telling him everything. Yeah, he looked at the two of us, speaking in his deadpan manner, I really wanted a big gun, but I didn't want to scare your mother and sister. Why's that? He looked at both of us, there was something following us, some sort of predator. This wasn't deadpan. He was serious. I looked back a few times and saw eyes, big ones. That primal feeling

took hold of me again, even inside a house during the day. It was big too, his gaze went into the distance as his mind replayed whatever it was he had seen the first time it was on the ground, maybe 50 feet away, then it was up in the trees, and I mean up in the trees. My body shook with every beat of my heart. The last time I saw it, it jumped from the ground into the treetops and was keeping pace with us there, hunting us from above. I kissed my wife the first time I had ever done so in front of either of her parents and told her I loved her more than anything. None of us ever spoke of it again. I still go hiking even more so since my wife passed, but now I have two rules. I only hike during the day. I always carry a big knife. This story happened to me back when I still

lived at my parents' house. I was commuting to college at the time, and had three siblings that also lived at home, my brother and two sisters. For some context, we lived on five acres in rural Ohio, surrounded on both sides by woods and farm fields. Additionally, during the week, my dad normally left for work at 2am, so I had always felt like it my job to be the man of the house because he was gone during the times when you would imagine something sketchy happening. However, on this night, because it was the weekend, my dad was home. I woke up to the sound of my brother's voice trying to get my attention.

We had separate rooms upstairs and coming out of our rooms you could look down over the banister, and to see our front door. When I woke up, it took a few moments to get out of the haze and realize what was going on. I looked at the clock and it was around 2.30 a.m., and my brother told me there were two men at our front door. Now this really woke me up. We quietly walk out of my room and peek over to look down at the front door.

When we looked, there was no one at the door, but I noticed my parents off to the side, out of view of the glass on the front door. I whispered down to my dad, and he told me there were two guys who had been talking to each other and knocking on the door. Hearing my dad say this freaked me out even more. I went back into my room and grabbed my pistol, quickly shuffling down the stairs after looking to make sure they weren't at the door. If they had been, they would have easily seen me coming down the stairs as it is in direct view of the door. My brother is right behind me as we head over to where my parents are, whispering to try and find out what is going on.

My parents had awoken to the sound of our dog barking, and had come out to find these two men knocking loudly at the door. At this point, the men return, and begin knocking again, despite the fact that no one had come to the door and our dog was still actively barking. The fact that they were there at this time, in a location where houses are spread out hundreds of yards, and still knocking with a dog barking, made the situation even more terrifying. After a couple of minutes the men walked away, and we all shuffle across the kitchen into the family room to peek out the windows into our driveway, which is lit up by our outside light. There was a black Cadillac sitting there, but no one was inside from what we could see. Immediately the question was, where did these guys go? They weren't in their car and they were no longer at the front door.

Unfortunately, we figured out the answer when the handles on our back French doors started jiggling. They were actively trying to enter the back of our house which enters into the kitchen. At this point, I just remember my mom frantically saying David, to my dad, as pure terror overwhelmed her. Then two things happened, adrenaline filled my body as I prepared my handgun, horrified at the very real possibility that I might have to shoot these men. Secondly, my dad finally grabbed the phone, called the police, and calmly told them what was happening. Thankfully, after a minute of jiggling, they stopped at the back door and disappeared again, only to return to their knocking at the front. However, at this point, several minutes had gone

by and suddenly we saw the local police fly up in multiple cruisers with their lights on. As they whipped into our driveway and front yard, the two men bolted away, attempting to run the long way around the house across the driveway. One of them disappeared out of our view, but the other one was intercepted by an officer yelling for him to get on the ground. He didn't, and he was immediately tased, and fell on the ground. Some of the officers went around the house after the other guy, and one of them came to talk to my dad, and I, as we came out the front, they ended up finding the other man hiding in my sister's little playhouse in the backyard.

It appears both of them were drunk and are high, as the one who hid had cocaine on him. While they were both arrested that night, we never did find out what they were charged with her what happened to them. Needless to say, the whole experience was not fun. So, random men at our door in the middle of the night. Let's not meet again.