𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. | ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs

𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬.

I Never Used to be Afraid of the Woods

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, I guess. 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, Darryl" 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, right?

Right?

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 cocoa 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 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. Rural, lonely, 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 5 am for school. They'd bought a new house in town, and we were preparing to move. We'd 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'd been living out of into the moving truck and finally finished the move. They invited friends, coworkers, 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 hicks. 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 movies 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 hours prior. The older kids were generally polite as I showed them around. Except for Cassie.