The House in the Woods

Frank purchased the aged farmhouse over the phone, sight unseen. It was inexpensive, and nobody asked questions. He drove for hours out to the middle of nowhere, finding a well-maintained farmhouse with a barn, tractor, and what seemed like thousands of acres of horrifying woods.

His situation demanded him to lie low for a while, and this was the perfect place to stay. "Well, not perfect," thought Frank.

The nights were silent, almost too quiet, starkly contrasting to the city noises, where he had garroted that man for a small fortune. He had to wait it out here.

He lay in bed when he heard an inhuman scream from the forest. He was warned about foxes' banshee screams, but this was different. His bravado wouldn't let him be scared of anything. He wandered out the door towards the dark woods, gun and flashlight in hand. A screech pierced the darkness, making his skin crawl.

The woods were screaming and telling him not to come.

"Fuck this," said Frank in a low growl.

He forced himself to walk into the ghastly woods. He stopped when he saw a small, rustic shack. A small fire burned inside, flickering through the windows. He jumped out of his skin as he saw dozens of silhouettes of people inside and outside the small cabin.

"You don't belong here!" he screamed. He walked up to the closest one and grabbed their shoulder. It was hard as a rock. He flashed the light on the statue's face and saw how magnificent it was.

A small whisper came from behind him as his body tensed up.

"Don't look now," came the raspy whisper.

He twisted abruptly around for the last time.

"You looked," groaned a shadow that slithered back into its home, pleased at the new acquisition.