Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Dark & Disturbing Scary Stories For Sleep | Cryptid Encounters, Forest, Deep Woods, Skinwalker

Episode Date: March 23, 2023

These are 2 Dark & Disturbing Scary Stories For Sleep | Cryptid Encounters, Forest, Deep Woods, Skinwalker Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/lexapromorningstar/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Theeaglestrikes/ Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #justcreepy #cryptids 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

When I was growing up, I was... What they did to your family, you're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. These men are going to come after me. Taking them out is my only chance. Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs.

Execution stopped killing. It's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them. MIA. Streaming now.

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You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save? Enough to get lost. Or you could book a stay with Hilton. Welcome to your ocean front room. Just steps from the water. The Hilton sale is on now.

Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprise. It matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. Never afraid of the dark. I never fear 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. When 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, Darrell, 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 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 bird saying, 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 sun,

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. 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 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. Her normally dismissive expression turned almost fearful when I began to speak. Cassie, 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 Ketka, 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 and 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 had stung 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. I 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 our 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, 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 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. 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 some of her. 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. I 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 four of Boland. My name's Thomas, and I grew up in Barley, which is a small English village in the borough of Pendle. 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 and 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. Reckon 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 which. Get off me, I demanded. My grandpa grumbled and released me. I complained to my parents. We didn't spend weekends at his second. house after that. Of course, we do live in the same village. My mom pointed out. You can't avoid him

forever. 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. own. 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. Oh, not this again, Jack groaned. What? Gareth asked.

Don't encourage him, Jack sighed. I'm not sure you've 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, propped on his elbows. Jack scrolled through his phone. I wrapped myself up in my sleeping bag, 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, Dimwit? No. I said witch. Now, shut up and listen. In 1612, 12, 12 innocent women were convicted of ten 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 barked. 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 in light. 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 incite 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 a lot. 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. tail. 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 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 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 sleeping 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. Gareth and Jack fell silent, but Michael and I were still sitting up in our bags. He was staring at me with the most pet peeves.

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. 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 treehouse. He slept through some weird stuff last night, dude. Gareth 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 ruckold. 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 had softened his coarseness, and he'd returned to being a full-blown jerk when she went missing. But maybe this wasn't just about finding her. Maybe, as it 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 slept 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 a 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 going to feed you idiots to the witch. That sounds much better

than hanging out with you. Rick, don't be rude. They're just kids, Stacy 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 should be on some kind of register, Jack added. We're just going on a hike, Michael explained, coldly as he stared vacantly 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, 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, Wick 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 believed 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 was a

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 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 left. 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 2 in the afternoon, and we'll get back to the camp at 3. 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, actually. 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 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 Jack 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 pass 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 plan 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 sighed, 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 Stacey, 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 was

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. Gareth'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. I think we need to phone our 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, Stacey, 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. 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 while 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 to pidity, 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. God. Daryth 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 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. 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 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 Stacy 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, Tom. 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 Rick did, I replied. That doesn't explain what Stacy 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 my 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 witch. 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 watchingly three boys exchanged 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, Stacy 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.

But 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. Gareth, 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.

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 door, 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. Ian 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 Stacy 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. 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. Their 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 over. What we saw next is something that 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 Jack 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 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 weasy 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. Claw marks ran down his face. He was pointing at something in the corner of the room. I found her, Michael groaned. The witch-maid 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 eyeballed the open door. 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 cold. It was cold like no coldness I'd ever felt and 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 Stacy

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 Stacey 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.