The woods were off in the broken part of town. When the big cities started to pop up closer to the river, people all but scattered over. We stayed. Nature was our home. Besides, we liked the peace and quiet. It’s not like we couldn’t just drive to the city when we needed.
After the houses became abandoned and the paths overgrown, the woods became off limits. The stories were usually enough to scare kids away from the wonder, but I was always curious. They were just stories after all.
Along with the cooler weather came crunchy leaves. They covered, undisturbed, the ground between the trees. It was beautiful. I almost didn’t want to walk through.
A narrow path twisted through the woods. I had to push aside just about every branch that had grown over. It wasn’t a bother—only lasting five, maybe ten minutes. Time was hard to keep track of in the silence. There was a peace out here were there was no one to hear and no one to listen.
I got to the first house, well, treehouse. A jagged boulder sat the bottom of a rotten ladder. On top, perched in a layer of fresh moss, was a broken figurine of a man with a wolf head. The forearms were snapped off. It sent baby shivers down my spine. Fear or excitement? I wasn’t sure, so I kept looking.
My shoulder scratched against a heap of rope hanging from the treehouse. It was knotted, intertwined with pine needles and grass. A reddish tint glinted in the sun. Red rope?
A branch cracked and I snapped my head to the right.
A line of men, no shirt, wolf mask.
It wasn’t red rope.
It’s blood!! Did you get it! The rope is stained in blood!
I like to think if I ever wrote a horror story, it would start like this, shirtless men included.
Anyway, I found two pictures a year or two ago and decided to write an intro! I’m really good at starting stories I never finish, so I figured I’d start to post them. 🙂