Horror story back up

  This is a horror story

   Yes I am crazy, no one could be sane after everything I've seen and experienced. But I am no liar; I know what I saw, I know what is up there in those woods hidden in that mountain. It took my daughter, my wife, my sister, and even my son. I know you all think I did something to them; I've been interviewed, I've been arrested, I even had to sit in jail for two years waiting a trial; and here I am now talking to you. You want to go into those woods yourselves, you think I'm lying and want to film some bullshit show where you shake some trees, have a crew member toss rocks just out of shot, and just laugh at the crazy old man. But no, I'm telling you, you go into those woods you better be prepared, I'll warn you now, the scariest thing you can hear in those woods isn't a growl, or some yowling or barking thing you city types always think is some hellbeast; its not even silence. At least with silence you know its a predatory or a person putting the animals on high alert. No, this thing doesn't scare the animals, it sings with them. The scariest thing you'll hear in those woods is the sound of a woman singing, a sound like a chorus of birds and flutes all in a single voice. I don't know what it really is, I've looked stuff up, and I'll be damned if that thing's a nymph or a ghost. Its a demon, some monster from the shadows, it took my family, and I've been trying everything, and I mean everything to try and stop it.

  -video recording of conversation shows a camera pan to a fence line made of wooden boards with crosses nailed to it, iron poles, horse shoes, and countless symbols from various religions and magical practices before returning to the old grey bearded and disheveled man sitting across a table in a neutral room-

  *would you like to tell us what happened? What you saw with each member of your family?

  No, no I fucking wouldn't, why the fuck would I want to relive that? I've talked about this shit over and over again, with you fucking ghost hunting bastards, with the police, with therapists. You want to know what took my wife? What took my sister, my daughter, and my son? My whole fucking family? You can do your fucking homework.

  *We did do our home work, Mr. Fredricks, however why do you think we're ghost hunters? Sir, you are in a cell talking to a two way mirror over a speaker. Just you, all alone, in that room. Sir we're not a ghost hunting show. We know what you saw is real, we've encountered their kind before. However you claime to know where they are and how to find them, how?

  -the old man scratches his beard and glares at the window.

  I know where the door is, I know where they come from. But they're smart, they avoid being seen by cameras, they can hide the door if they see you coming. It took me months, my son and I to find that door; but then...they took him. Everytime I thought I was near the door again, it was just not there. But then when you least expect it, they're dancing in the fields, walking through the corn, coming up to people's houses to peek in the windows. Too many, too many new houses. Our little homestead, it was so peaceful and isolated, why my wife and I moved out to the country, but now...too many houses. Too many, everyone keeps pressuring me to sell, to move. But my house, its too close, too close the door. I can't, not till I get them.

  ******

  The old man, Fredricks, wakes up in his dusty old bed in his dusty old house, vaguely remembering that weird dream. He looks around, looks at the time on his phone and the date. Its "tomorrow", he could have sworn he had left the house the day before to get more scrap iron only to be cut off by vans and...

 "Only in a fucking dream," he mutters as he steps through clanking empty bottles around his bed, "and that explains it. Fucking gettin them stupid fucking ghost hunters mixed up with the feds. Stupid fucking dream."

  He stares at his withered frame, wrinkled eyes, grey as a mule hair and ratty beard looking like the very steriotype of a crazy old mountain man telling drunken stories of sasquatch in dem der woods, "I wouldn't believe me either," he mumbles as he walks outside, his yard over grown, fence of wooden plants, iron poles, he sees a few things missing; knowing some years back when the city began to encroach further out this way that kids were making it a dare to steal things off his fence. Even though the nearest neighbor is hundreds of feet away across the street, a ditch, and a large corn field, beyond a thin stretch of trees. But even then as flat as the land is he can see a new large white house just down the road from him, about a three minute drive but clearly visible. Just driving around one could mistake it for more crowded, by foot however they might as well live in different counties. Although there are the occassional cluster of houses close together on one street or another; his own is off the road by a two hundred foot driveway and yard

  He checks his old pick up, iron scrap still in the back. He rubs his temples trying to remember what happened after but its just that stupid dream. He begins the back breaking task of pulling the iron out of the truck onto the ground and dragging it to the barn with all his metal cutting tools, hooks, and other rather nasty looking impliments that no doubt would make him look like a prime suspect in any serial killer case in the area. His mind drifts back to his son telling him nearly twenty years sooner that the things could be "fairies" and showing him pictures of hideous monsters from Ireland, and that iron hurts them. They had started this fence, made arrow heads, put poles around the house. But still, his rage builds and mind blurs seeing the now faint image of his sister, she had been in her mid-thirties at the time, his younger sister, his kid sister he had always looked out for; even beat the shit out a guy who struck her when she was 16; but this memory, no she didn't believe him and his son about the monster. He had been in the barn working, his son had come to fetch him, he hadn't heard it over the grinding and cutting of metal; the singing. He had just had time to see it, the tall slender faintly glowing thing vaguely resembling a woman in a wide dress, its long thin arms outstretched, each finger as long as his arm and pointed like a needle; its large oval head lacking any features other than two large oval black eyes. His sister was in a trance following the thing into the woods. He ran, but...somehow they vanished, right behind a tree. He and his son had screamed and hunted those woods. They tried to cover it up at first, the police hadn't believed them about his wife after all; three months it took of hiding, watching, before they noticed the strange door deep in the woods and...

  Fredricks shakes his head, a brief flash of seeing his son screaming as something drags him into the darkness appearing in his mind before he focuses on his work. He had spent nearly a year in jail over their dissapperances, his property searched, no one believed him. All other family cut him off, everyone convinced he did it; but just didn't have enough proof; let alone bodies to prove it. He'd heard stories of people mysteriously vanishing in the woods, bodies turning up later deep in the forest, or found neatly left behind where they'd searched before. He was certain some of those had to be these things. The thing that took his sister was different from what he saw take his wife, alot less..human. But he'd seen the pictures, and in the many years since reading up on forest monsters and folklore, knew they came in all sorts of hideous shapes.