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Speaker 1: This story you're about to hear was sent to my

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email address in the last couple of weeks. The man

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who wrote it. His name is Greg Balin b A

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L l a n. Is an author. He has several

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books published, and he was good enough to write a

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couple of short stories for you all to enjoy on

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this podcast. In the comment section, if you tell Greg

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Ballin thank you, or if you like the story, tell

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him give him your opinion on it. I thought, I

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think these are two really good stories. I'm going to

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share one with you today and I'll get to the

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other one in the next I don't know, three or

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four weeks. This is a fun story. I think you

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guys will enjoy it. So oh. Also, his author page

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will be linked in the description if you want to

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look through his books. He's a really good writer. He's

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got a good imagination. This is good story, so I

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hope you enjoy it. All. Right, here we go The

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Haunted Forest by Gregory Ballin. My daughter had talked about

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the Haunted Forest and Fall River for weeks, telling me

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how much she wanted to investigate the area. Why didn't

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pay her much heed? She was at that age when

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being in a cemetery was creepy fun, and playing with

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the Ouiji board seemed harmless. Party entertainment. Halloween was about

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scaring the crap out of herself, and the paranormal was

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something that needed to be explored with wildfeckless abandon regardless

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of any potential danger. After weeks of discussion, she informed

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me she was going there by herself the following weekend. Well,

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curiosity got the best of me and I did a

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little Internet research. Being her father, I wanted to see

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how deep was the water my fearless daughter was waded.

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After half an hour of research, I learned about UFO sidings, witchcraft,

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human sacrifice, poltergeist, and supernatural creatures called pugwodgies. The area

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was five thousand acres of literal haunted forest, a part

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of the Massachusetts Dark Bridgewater Triangle. Part of me chuckled

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and snorted over the Internet at height, but the paternal

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instinct inside said I needed to be there with my

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daughter just in case. That weekend, Armed with the map

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quest directions and a false sense of security, we began

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our journey. We parked in the large parking lot, the

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only car there. I read an inscription on the large

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statue that details some of the more colorful events of

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the forests rich dark history. We both had cameras, and

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my daughter hoping to catch a paranormal specter, me hoping

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to catch some decent wildlife pictures. Before we headed into

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the main trail by a large yellow gate, I sat

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my cell phone, compass and GPS navigator. My daughter had

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already headed toward the trailhead, forcing me to jog to

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catch up. I slipped the phone in my jeans pocket

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as we proceeded down a large, clear trail. This doesn't

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seem so scary, my daughter snorted, clearly not impressed. Don't

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believe all the hype, I replied, feeling slightly uneasy. The

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trail took a hard turn and stopped, and the wall

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of woodlands lay before us. To our ride, A thin

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path led into a thick pine grove. This way, I

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motioned to my daughter, taking the lead. I paused for

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a moment, deciding to set a GPS marker on my phone.

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I slipped the phone out and discovered there was no

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signal here. GPS and my compass app were useless. My

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daughter checked her cell phone with the same uncomfortable observation.

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Stick to the main trails. My daughter nodded as we

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moved with a bit less carefree abandon The thin trail

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spilled into a path a foot and a half wide,

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covered with half buried stones and pine roots. I walked

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over to a dead fall and dragged it fifteen feet

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or so, laying it halfway on the path so we

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wouldn't miss the connection on our way back. I dragged

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the heel of my boot and created a fifteen foot

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arrow on the trail leading to the tree fall. There

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was no way we could miss either marker. My daughter

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marked my paranoia as we headed down the path deeper

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into the forest. We talked in quiet whispers for several minutes.

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My daughter constantly looked through her camera lens, testing the

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light for pictures. Something was wrong. I couldn't put the

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feeling into words. The back of my head tingled as

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the realization struck me. Where were the birds? It was

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a warm, early autumn day, the trees should be full

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of activity. Where were the squirrels and the chipmunks. The

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woods were rich with white oaks, the sound of calling

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chipmunks prevalent, and every forest was missing. The birds were missing,

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and the annoying buds of horseflies and gnats didn't exist here.

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I walked off the path and turned over a large rock.

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There was nothing. No worms, centipedes, or any other type

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of insects scurried away. This forest was barren save of

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the vegetation, and we stood alarmed in the eerie silence.

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What do we do? There was a slight warble of

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my daughter's voice that first hint of panic. But we

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can turn around, I suggested, Well, we've barely been here

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half an hour, as she walked forward, heading deeper into

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the woods, looking back to make sure that I followed.

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I followed in silence for fifteen more minutes. The pathway

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emptied into a thirty foot opening with large rock formations.

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To continue, we'd need to do a bit of climbing

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over the large obstacles. The climb wasn't too bad, and

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the narrow path continued. We walked in silence through the

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swamp area littered with dead trees, and I stopped and

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my eyes locked on the pond with the lily pads.

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I heard my daughter's footsteps as she came up beside me.

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What Her voice had a larger hint of fear than

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before I pointed at the water. No pine skates on

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the surface, no dragonflies chasing mosquitoes. There's nothing, not even

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a frog or a freaking turtle. This whole place is dead.

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It's not natural, and it makes no sense. My voice

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was more frustrated than fearful. I was not going to

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show fear in front of her. Have you seen anything

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alive out here in the past forty five minutes? Her

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head shook No. I pulled out my cell phone. Still

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there were no bars. We're not in a landl My

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hands swung to the open blue skies. We're wide open.

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There's no magnetic interference in these woods. We should be

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getting a cell signal. My daughter checked her phone. Hers

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was as useless as spine. The map I read at

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home said this trail circles around the pond and comes back.

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Let's just follow it and get out of here. My

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daughter looked up at me. I could see the fear

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in those almond hazel eyes. We walked side by side

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along the path for ten more minutes, and we cleared

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the pond. But I didn't get the sense of us

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circling back. The position of the sun hadn't changed, and

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it was still behind my right shoulder. We were still

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going in a relatively straight line deeper into the forest.

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I was reluctant to vocalize my observation, and my daughter

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was already concerned. I wasn't going to add to that.

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A sense of dread crawled up my spine, exploding in

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a mad tingle at the base of my skull. Something

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was behind us. I turned slowly, preparing to see a

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stranger or an animal, but it wasn't a person or

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any kind of animal. The air above the path twenty

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feet behind us flickered, flowing like waves of ambient heat

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over desert sand. Something inside the waves of heat moved now.

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I put my hand on my daughter's shoulder and pushed

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her forward, Come on, let's go. Her head turned back,

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and I waited for a scream or some kind of

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panicked outburst, but there was nothing. What's wrong, dad, I

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felt my head shake and forced the battle ready tenseness

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from my body. Nothing. Let's just keep going. Maybe the

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trail circles back further ahead. I dared to look back,

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and the anomaly was there, blocking our retreat, but my

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daughter didn't see it, and we moved quickly, following the path,

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pushing deep into a section of forests thick with oaks, maple,

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and other hardwood trees. The colorful canopy of the autumn

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leaves covered the trail, effectively choking out the afternoon sunlight.

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When whistled through the trees angrily, rustling the leaves around us,

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and the breeze was ice cold, sending a deep chill

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down my spine. My daughter was visibly trembling. That wind

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is freezing, she shuddered, rubbing her arms briskly. I ignored

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the chill and guided her forward along the path. The

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trail led to another opening. My stomach turned and my

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daughter gasped and shot. The opening was identical to the

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area we were at thirty minutes ago. The rocks were identical.

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The overgrown weeds and brush were a perfect match to

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the rocks we'd climb before. How did we get back here?

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Her question followed a blistering string of curses. It can't

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be the same outcropping. I did my best to stay calm.

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We haven't turned around. We've been walking so out by

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southwest with some small deviations. This can't be the same place.

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I approached the two larger rocks, even the hand and

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foot holes seemed identical. Stay here, I'm gonna climb up

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and see if the path is similar. Two quick pulls

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and I was over the rock, staring into another distortion.

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Only this one was larger, easily a dozen feet wide,

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covering a large portion of the clearing and blocking the path.

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Beyond the air shimmered like heat waves rising off hot

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sands or summer pavement. I was close enough to feel

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any radiant heat, but there was none. Fear naked, primal,

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and unfiltered savaged my body. I stood eyes locked on

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the hypnotic distortion, straining my eyes to unsee the illusion

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nature placed before me with the ripples. Something moved and

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my hand clenched, feet spread apart, ready for a fight

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or fled light response. I spotted a baseball sized rock,

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picked it up, testing its weight, tossing the object between

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both hands. The shimmer moved closer, inching forward, a tiger

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creeping up slowly on the unsuspecting Gazella and Paula, waiting

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for the chance to pounce. Panic I hurled the stone

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missile with every fiber of my strength that I could muster,

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and the rock passed through the barrier with no effect.

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I listened. The stone never struck the trees behind it.

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I turned and leapt the seven feet or so, rolling

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to absorb some of the impact. As my legs hit

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the ground, my daughter scream of surprise echoed, shattering the

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silent woods. I stood, brushing myself off, forcing her behind me.

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My eyes locked on the large boulders, hands raised, my breath,

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hissing through clenched teeth. My daughter screamed, demanding to know

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what was going on. Her eyes fell upon the boulders,

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face pale as her jaw dropped. The rippling portal stopped

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at the rock's edge, and we gazed, dumbfounded at the anomaly.

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Before I could say or do anything, the ribbons of

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distortion vanished, and my daughter's eyes were locked on the

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area the distortion occupied just seconds ago. I could see

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the trembling in her arms and shoulders. What the hell

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was that? Her panicked whisper accompanied a river of tears

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flowing down her pale cheek. I don't know. I put

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my hand on her trembling shoulder. We need to go

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back the way we came. We'll backtrack and get the

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hell out of here. She nodded, and I silently prayed.

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Whatever this thing was, it just wanted us out of

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the area. If this thing wanted us gone, I'd gladly oblige.

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We passed by the pond without incident, making our way

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at a feverish pace, stumbling along the path, and my

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daughter held a sigh of relief. As the path emptied

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into the first rock clearing. We climbed down the large

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boulders and continued on, both feeling a bit better having

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seen a familiar landmark. We walked in silence another half

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an hour before I noticed the trees were wrong. We

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should be in the pine thickets by now walking a

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ruddy root littered path dotted with stones. We were walking

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toward the sun, the right general direction, but the path

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was wider and smooth, made of compacted dirt. I stopped.

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My daughter nearly plowed into me. Now what she asked,

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rarely the trees are wrong. We were walking in an

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evergreen forest full of pines and cedars and other cypress.

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Before the first clearing, we passed the first boulders. We

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climbed a good while ago. I pointed up at the

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tree canopy. These are oaks, maples and other leaf bearing trees.

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Are you saying we're lost. Her voice was near the

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breaking point of full on panic. Well, how can we

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be lost? I don't know. We're going in the right direction,

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but these aren't the woods we walked through earlier. Just

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stay close to me, Dad, How can that be? We

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never left the path, we just followed it back. I

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didn't see a second pathway, did you? I shook my head.

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I wished I had an answer for my daughter. I

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was just as confused and turned around as a newbie

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cup scout on his first nature height thirty plus years

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in the woods, and I was beside myself. I didn't

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have any answers that, above all else scared me. I

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couldn't show fear in front of her. She was looking

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for me for strength and calm. I didn't have the

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luxury of falling apart or appearing less than in control.

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I pointed further down the path. Let's go for another

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ten minutes on this path. If we don't see anything familiar,

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we'll try something else, because just walking has worked so

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well so far. She grumbled and walked ahead of me.

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I couldn't think. My mind rased trying to find some

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rational explanation for what we both saw. And why the

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forest seemed to change at random. My daughter was far

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ahead of me, moving at a fast cliff. Wait, I

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called out, but she kept going forward. The path ahead

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changed direction, twisting ninety degrees left and back into the forest.

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I ran, screaming her name, telling her to stop. Barely

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twenty feet in front of my daughter, the distortion materialized

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from nothingness. Something was inside the ripples. A misshapen hand

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motioned my daughter forward, and she kept walking toward oblivion.

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I screamed her name again, desperately grabbing her shoulder. Barely

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six feet from the phenomenon, I made a cockle of frustrations,

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shattering the woodland silence. Anice cold wind slammed in to

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me like a freight train, numbing my arms and chest.

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She's mine, she's mine, Give her to me, An angry

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voice shrieked. As I yanked my daughter away and off

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the trail. Some force slammed into my back, pushing me forward,

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forcing the breath out of my lungs. I fell on

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top of my daughter, shielding her with my body. She

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was shivering and weeping. The frozen gale continued to slam

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against me, pushing me harder into the earth. My arms

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strained against what seemed like hundreds of pounds, threatening to

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crush me in an oppose of force, twigs and force.

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Debris flew overhead as that band, she wail of anger

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and longing cried out, She's mine. I wrapped myself tighter

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around my daughter, shielding her as best as I could.

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We lay motionless for several seconds, and during the frozen wind,

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crushing force, and the shower of forest debris, I focused

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my thoughts and prayed silently, and then shouted at the

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top of my lungs, no one single word, infused with

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all the love, protection, and mortal rage I could muster.

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The icy gale subsided. I took a few seconds to

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gather my wits. My daughter was shaking, engulfed by abject terror.

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It's okay, I've got you. I repeated that mantra at

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least a dozen times, more to convince myself than her.

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I stood in my back, aching an arms scraped from

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the flying debris. My daughter got to her feet, and

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she stumbled once and fell into me, and she was crying.

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I kept repeating my mantra, holding on to her, offering

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what little protection my arms could provide against something clearly

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not of the natural plane. A low, thrumbing hum echoed

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through the woods. I dared to look back. The distortion

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was still there. I strained through the ripples to see

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what figure hid behind the curtain. I could only see

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a vague outline. I turned toward it again, my eyes

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narrowed and paternal well focused. Anger replaced fear. No, I shouted,

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like I was addressing a misbehaved puppy. I got in

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my daughter back on the path, away from the distortion,

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peering back every few steps to assure it wasn't following

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us and stalking me like it had before. Realization hit me.

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The trees surrounding us were evergreen. We were in the

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pine forest. The path was littered with stones and exposed

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pine roots. How the hell did that happen? Just minutes

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ago we were under a thick oak canopy. This was impossible,

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a welcome development, but still impossible. And as we walked back,

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I scanned the ground for my heel marks and the

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dead tree fall I dragged onto the path. It was

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as if the forest erased my trail markers, and I

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kept walking straight into the woods, following the sunlight filtered

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through the pine needles, and I kept my eyes forward,

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forcing myself to look straight ahead and not be distracted.

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Follow the sun. I kept whispering in my head, that's

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the way out of here. My daughter held my hand

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tightly as we forced our way through several thickets of saplings,

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and we made our way out of the woods and

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were back on the large, wide path, looking over to

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see the bright yellow gate to the forest parking lot.

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I pointed it out to my daughter and she sighed

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in relief. We practically ran the fifty yards. Once we

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crossed the gates threshold, my cell phone began to buzz

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and beat. One hundred pounds of dread fell off my shoulders.

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A chipmunk scurried across the parking lot, and a large

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crow flew overhead. This was the first while life I'd

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seen all day. We were out of it and safe,

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but safe from what My mind struggled to rationalize the experience,

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and my mind falled miserably. Daddy, my daughter whispered, pointing

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down toward the wide path. An old woman stood on

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the edge of the woods, arms crossed. I could feel

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the weight of her stare. She's lonely. My daughter's voice

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was tinged with sadness and a strange longing. She's so lonely, dad,

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how do you know that? I demanded. I can hear

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her talking, can't you? My skin crawled. We weren't beyond

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this thing's influence. At least my daughter wasn't. No, I'm sorry,

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she's lonely, but she wanted to take you. Didn't you

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hear me yelling at you back there? She shook her head. No,

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I just felt the urge to keep walking. I didn't

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see the ripples until you grabbed me. Her face pale.

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I would have walked right through it if you hadn't

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a pat at her shoulder. Don't think about that. We

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both looked back at the old woman, and my daughter shouted,

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I'm sorry you're lonely, but I can't go with you.

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I hope you'll be okay. Only my daughter could switch

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from fear to compassion and empathy within a heartbeat. Maybe

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that was what drew this thing to her, that rare

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gift of youthful compassion, unburdened by this sour pessimism of adulthood.

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The old woman raised a wrinkled hand and waved. My

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daughter waved back, and the woman turned walking into the

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rippled anomaly and vanished the distortion winked out of existence.

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I hugged her one more time, Let's go home. I

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sat in the living room later that evening listening to

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my daughter recount the tale to her mother and brother

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for at least the fifteenth time. My wife stared at

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me in disbelief, and I simply nod at once. My

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son just kept saying how he wished he was there,

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and I laughed a bit inside. He'd of wet himself.

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My son asked me later what I thought we'dn't counter,

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and I wasted an entire evening of mental energy trying

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to figure that out. Son. As near as I can figure,

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it was some kind of a portal to where he wondered.

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I scratched my cheek to whatever eternal round that old

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woman has been condemned to spend eternity. That was the

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best my twenty first century sophisticated mind could come up with.

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She wanted to take your sister there for an eternal visit.

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Near as I can figure, my son snickered that old

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lady would toss her ass back here after a week

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of her bitching and moaning. I didn't mean to laugh,

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but my daughter could probably drive a ghost crazy. At

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least I ended the day on a lighter note, tak