Scary Stories (To Be Told At Night)

The Hanging Tree.

When I was little, I used to live in the middle of a forest. The sights were beautiful, the woodland was anything a young child could ever want on their doorstep, and I loved the house we lived in. My childhood was amazing, when I lived at the old house; I was home-schooled, so I spent more time outside than inside, and I loved every second of it.

But that was in the day time.

When night fell, well, that was another story.

You see, our house had a large brick wall surrounding it, so that no curious animals could get inside the house. Our garden had some of the trees that belonged to the forest inside, but that was really a good thing because it was easier to make tree swings.

However, there was this one tree, that I wasn't allowed to go near, for some odd reason. It was a fairly small one, compared to the others; it was thin and the branches never seemed to grow leaves, and there were markings all over it.

I never believed in ghosts. I used to think that they were figments of people's imaginations. But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong. I should've listened to my parents; I shouldn't have let my curiosity get the best of me.

It's only now, that I realise what I did was the worst possible thing someone like me could've done. I should've stayed in the house when I heard screams; I should've gone back to bed, pulled up the covers and tried to block out the horrific cries for help; I shouldn't have gone outside to investigate, because that only angered them more.

I made the stupid decision to answer to the whispers in the night, the shadows in the darkness, and the ghosts of the innocent people who were hung on that tree.