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.

Cassie wasn’t from around here, and she liked to remind EVERYONE about that. Cassie’s family moved out to the “middle of nowhere” because her father was offered a really good job, and in a town with a low cost of living and a decent salary, they decided to relocate. Cassie had made it clear from the start that she hated everything about this new town, including everybody in it. The most interesting thing about Cassie was probably that she’d never gone in the woods around here, and she was DESPERATE to go for a “hike” in the woods. In retrospect, I never should have taken her. I should have accepted being grounded for refusing to be hospitable. But hindsight is 20/20, I guess.

After the cajoling, pleading, threatening, and eventual blackmail from Cassie, I backed down and offered to show her the Knoll. I told her that a hike was out of the question after dark because the sun would be setting soon, and we shouldn’t be in the woods after dark. Despite her sneering at the “superstitious backwoods idiot,” I refused to give in. I knew for a FACT that the woods weren’t safe at night. Once the sun sets, the shadows change, you can lose your way in the dark, and nocturnal predators like bobcats can hunt you silently through the brush. I was NOT willing to risk it.

I told my mother where I was taking the group of older kids. She looked me in the eyes and told me very firmly to make sure they all follow the rules. Especially the whistling. Under NO circumstance should ANY of us whistle in the trees. I promised to go over the rules before we left. When I was returning to the group, Cassie began mocking me for having to “check with my mommy” before we went out for a walk. I just ignored her and turned to the group.

“Ok guys, there are a couple of rules before we head out. Pretty sure most of you know them, but I just need to make sure we’re all on the same page. First, stick together. Second, we will be back in the barnyard by sunset. This is not negotiable. Third, under NO circumstances are you allowed to whistle once we leave the yard. And lastly, if you hear ANYONE calling your name, we’re all leaving the woods. IMMEDIATELY. Understood?”

All the locals nodded understandingly. Cassie rolled her eyes. I turned and started walking towards the Knoll, followed by the older kids, including Cassie. She ran up to me and started to ask me the questions I had been dreading.

“The others won’t tell me why the rules exist. They’re pretty stupid if they don’t have a reason. I mean, are the woods really that different at night.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. Her normally dismissive expression turned almost fearful when I began to speak.

“Cassie. The woods are different at night. They completely change. And the other rules are there to make sure you don’t get lost in a strange place or attract some type of predator. There are coyotes, bobcats, and God knows what else in the woods. For once in your life, shut up and listen. Please.”

The blood drained from Cassie’s face, and she nodded. I turned back to the Knoll and kept walking. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, she would listen for once. The Knoll was just ahead, a calm sanctuary after the craziness of the party that day. When we stepped into the shade of the ancient trees, the temperature was noticeably cooler, and the slight wind made the great giants sway gently, and produced a sound like creaking timber and a faraway whisper as it ran through the needles above us. The others looked up into the canopy, then found a place to sit and relax. I was starting to relax, my back against my favorite tree, when Cassie came up to me.

“Hey, um, is the whispering in the trees normal? It sounds like my name.”

“Cassie, it’s just the wind. Seriously, you need to relax. YOU were the one who wanted to come out here, remember?” I answered, trying to sound relaxed, but on the inside, I started to get a bit nervous.

Cassie was silent for a few moments after that, and I could see her starting to relax out of the corner of my eye. I started to allow myself to calm slightly, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees. Just as I was starting to think everything was going to be ok, Cassie turned to look deeper into the woods. She was staring intently into the gloomy trees, as if she was hearing something come from the woods. Suddenly, I had an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked over at the others, who had also noticed the difference in Cassie’s behaviour, and it was beginning to make them uneasy too. We all stood up, walking over to where Cassie was sitting. It was like she was hypnotized, or paralyzed, staring off into the shadowy trees. There was no sound other than the wind. No birds, none of the usual forest sounds. Out of nowhere, Cassie let out a loud whistle. I grabbed her hard by the arm, snapping her out of her trance. Realizing what she’d done, and seeing the fear in my eyes, she made to run.

“No. Do NOT run. If we’re being hunted, we walk quickly, but we never run. That will trigger the prey drive of WHATEVER is out there, and that’s the last thing we want. Let’s go.” I said in a low whisper to her and the other kids, barely audible over the now much stronger wind.

We made for the safety of the house, battling against the wind that had picked up since we entered the trees. It was gusting and felt like it was trying to drive us back into the woods. The dust from the barnyard stung our faces as we made our way across the field, moving slowly despite our efforts. I refused to look back at the woods, instead focusing on the adults, who were suddenly rushing to get everything inside. A tablecloth blew off one of the picnic tables and flew right by us, looking every bit like a ghost as it whipped past us towards the woods. I followed it with my eyes as it flew towards the Knoll. I froze in my tracks. The woods looked different. Somehow changed. As if the place I had known all my childhood was darker, stranger, almost evil. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I thought I heard a growl come from behind me as I stared. The impossible noise snapped me out of my stupor. I turned and began to sprint the last 100 yards towards the house.

“RUN!” I screamed as I caught up to the group. We all broke into a dead sprint.

My mother was in the barnyard when we all came flying through the gate. She tried to stop us, but we wouldn’t stop out all-out flight until we’d gotten through the main door of the house. As the rest of our group was catching their breath, my mum took me aside. I told her everything that happened, and she immediately looked afraid. Her expression darkened when rain began to patter against the window.

The local kids and their parents left, leaving only my family and Cassie’s in the house. My parents had previously offered for them to stay the night, as they lived the farthest from our house, about an hour and a half drive one way. Cassie’s family, not used to driving such long distances, would have been nervous in even perfect weather, let alone the thunderstorm that had blown in suddenly. My parents did everything they could to keep us all distracted from what was going on outside, and it was working for everyone except for Cassie. She kept staring out into the darkness in the direction of the Knoll every time the wind would whistle past the window. It was almost like she kept hearing her name every time the wind blew. I tried my best to relax and calm Cassie down. Eventually, by bedtime, she’d relaxed enough to lie down on the air mattress we had set up in our guest room. Knowing that she was safe in the house with her parents allowed me to finally fall asleep.

At about 1 am, I woke up to the sound of the guest room door opening, which was unusual, seeing as I was used to things going “bump” in the night. I got up immediately, putting on my slippers and stepping out into the hallway, just as the top of Cassie’s head disappeared down the stairs. She was muttering that she could hear something calling her, and she had to go. I woke my parents up, and then ran down the stairs as I heard the front door creak open. My father followed me down the stairs while my mother woke her parents. As Dad and I ran out the open door into the storm, we saw Cassie walking, entranced, towards the gate out of the barnyard. We shouted and tried to follow, but the wind seemed to whip our voices away. Cassie’s mother and father spilled out into the yard, shouting for their daughter to snap out of it. If she heard them, she didn’t respond. The gate, which had been chained shut blew wide, allowing her out of the relative safety of the barnyard and into the open field beyond. A bolt of lightning split the sky, and we saw the silhouette of a figure right in front of Cassie. It was pitch black, easily standing 10 feet tall, with impossibly long arms and legs. Its hands were narrow, fingers long and spider-like. Dad and I froze as we watched a pitch-black hand wrap around Cassie. She didn’t wriggle, didn’t protest as it lifted her into the air. I heard Cassie’s mother scream her name, and suddenly, Cassie was gone. It was like, in the blink of an eye, whatever held Cassie had vanished back into whatever realm she’d summoned it from and taken her with it.

We called the police, and they came in the morning after the storm. They said that the storm must have washed away her tracks, and that she must have been sleepwalking. We moved out of the house the same day. While Cassie’s disappearance made local news, it never became a national story. I haven’t even seen her disappearance being discussed on internet forums or true crime podcasts. Cassie’s parents were never the same. They moved away after the case went cold. I think about what happened to Cassie almost every night, when the formerly comforting dark descends on me like a wet blanket. I no longer think that monsters are just misunderstood. I’m afraid of the dark, and I haven’t set foot in the woods since.