There’s an old farmhouse that sits approximately forty miles from the nearest town, and twenty miles from the next property. It’s surrounded by forests on three sides except one, which is a large, vast plain that dead ends into a distant mountain. The legends that surround it are grim, but not completely encased in darkness. Some tell of all the people who have lived in that house, how they eventually vanished over time, leaving behind ashes in the fireplace and a muted aura in the halls. Others tell of a beast in the woods, one that comes in the night and steals away unsuspecting people. The residents of the area laugh about the latter story, but every night they lock their doors just before twilight and stay inside until dawn.
It’s as though no one knows what is truth and what is fiction in these stories of old passed down through generations. Like the fable was so captivating it changed over the course of time, or the truth was so heavy that the legend was made to cope. Or maybe, the stories met the fears and became a reality, fed off of the words spoken in hushed tones around the fires.
Either way, people are dead, or missing, trapped in some sort of limbo, and no story can hide or change that.
- Part 3 of 🌎