Speaker 1: This story you're about to hear was sent to my
Speaker 1: email address in the last couple of weeks. The man
Speaker 1: who wrote it. His name is Greg Balin b A
Speaker 1: L l a n. Is an author. He has several
Speaker 1: books published, and he was good enough to write a
Speaker 1: couple of short stories for you all to enjoy on
Speaker 1: this podcast. In the comment section, if you tell Greg
Speaker 1: Ballin thank you, or if you like the story, tell
Speaker 1: him give him your opinion on it. I thought, I
Speaker 1: think these are two really good stories. I'm going to
Speaker 1: share one with you today and I'll get to the
Speaker 1: other one in the next I don't know, three or
Speaker 1: four weeks. This is a fun story. I think you
Speaker 1: guys will enjoy it. So oh. Also, his author page
Speaker 1: will be linked in the description if you want to
Speaker 1: look through his books. He's a really good writer. He's
Speaker 1: got a good imagination. This is good story, so I
Speaker 1: hope you enjoy it. All. Right, here we go The
Speaker 1: Haunted Forest by Gregory Ballin. My daughter had talked about
Speaker 1: the Haunted Forest and Fall River for weeks, telling me
Speaker 1: how much she wanted to investigate the area. Why didn't
Speaker 1: pay her much heed? She was at that age when
Speaker 1: being in a cemetery was creepy fun, and playing with
Speaker 1: the Ouiji board seemed harmless. Party entertainment. Halloween was about
Speaker 1: scaring the crap out of herself, and the paranormal was
Speaker 1: something that needed to be explored with wildfeckless abandon regardless
Speaker 1: of any potential danger. After weeks of discussion, she informed
Speaker 1: me she was going there by herself the following weekend. Well,
Speaker 1: curiosity got the best of me and I did a
Speaker 1: little Internet research. Being her father, I wanted to see
Speaker 1: how deep was the water my fearless daughter was waded.
Speaker 1: After half an hour of research, I learned about UFO sidings, witchcraft,
Speaker 1: human sacrifice, poltergeist, and supernatural creatures called pugwodgies. The area
Speaker 1: was five thousand acres of literal haunted forest, a part
Speaker 1: of the Massachusetts Dark Bridgewater Triangle. Part of me chuckled
Speaker 1: and snorted over the Internet at height, but the paternal
Speaker 1: instinct inside said I needed to be there with my
Speaker 1: daughter just in case. That weekend, Armed with the map
Speaker 1: quest directions and a false sense of security, we began
Speaker 1: our journey. We parked in the large parking lot, the
Speaker 1: only car there. I read an inscription on the large
Speaker 1: statue that details some of the more colorful events of
Speaker 1: the forests rich dark history. We both had cameras, and
Speaker 1: my daughter hoping to catch a paranormal specter, me hoping
Speaker 1: to catch some decent wildlife pictures. Before we headed into
Speaker 1: the main trail by a large yellow gate, I sat
Speaker 1: my cell phone, compass and GPS navigator. My daughter had
Speaker 1: already headed toward the trailhead, forcing me to jog to
Speaker 1: catch up. I slipped the phone in my jeans pocket
Speaker 1: as we proceeded down a large, clear trail. This doesn't
Speaker 1: seem so scary, my daughter snorted, clearly not impressed. Don't
Speaker 1: believe all the hype, I replied, feeling slightly uneasy. The
Speaker 1: trail took a hard turn and stopped, and the wall
Speaker 1: of woodlands lay before us. To our ride, A thin
Speaker 1: path led into a thick pine grove. This way, I
Speaker 1: motioned to my daughter, taking the lead. I paused for
Speaker 1: a moment, deciding to set a GPS marker on my phone.
Speaker 1: I slipped the phone out and discovered there was no
Speaker 1: signal here. GPS and my compass app were useless. My
Speaker 1: daughter checked her cell phone with the same uncomfortable observation.
Speaker 1: Stick to the main trails. My daughter nodded as we
Speaker 1: moved with a bit less carefree abandon The thin trail
Speaker 1: spilled into a path a foot and a half wide,
Speaker 1: covered with half buried stones and pine roots. I walked
Speaker 1: over to a dead fall and dragged it fifteen feet
Speaker 1: or so, laying it halfway on the path so we
Speaker 1: wouldn't miss the connection on our way back. I dragged
Speaker 1: the heel of my boot and created a fifteen foot
Speaker 1: arrow on the trail leading to the tree fall. There
Speaker 1: was no way we could miss either marker. My daughter
Speaker 1: marked my paranoia as we headed down the path deeper
Speaker 1: into the forest. We talked in quiet whispers for several minutes.
Speaker 1: My daughter constantly looked through her camera lens, testing the
Speaker 1: light for pictures. Something was wrong. I couldn't put the
Speaker 1: feeling into words. The back of my head tingled as
Speaker 1: the realization struck me. Where were the birds? It was
Speaker 1: a warm, early autumn day, the trees should be full
Speaker 1: of activity. Where were the squirrels and the chipmunks. The
Speaker 1: woods were rich with white oaks, the sound of calling
Speaker 1: chipmunks prevalent, and every forest was missing. The birds were missing,
Speaker 1: and the annoying buds of horseflies and gnats didn't exist here.
Speaker 1: I walked off the path and turned over a large rock.
Speaker 1: There was nothing. No worms, centipedes, or any other type
Speaker 1: of insects scurried away. This forest was barren save of
Speaker 1: the vegetation, and we stood alarmed in the eerie silence.
Speaker 1: What do we do? There was a slight warble of
Speaker 1: my daughter's voice that first hint of panic. But we
Speaker 1: can turn around, I suggested, Well, we've barely been here
Speaker 1: half an hour, as she walked forward, heading deeper into
Speaker 1: the woods, looking back to make sure that I followed.
Speaker 1: I followed in silence for fifteen more minutes. The pathway
Speaker 1: emptied into a thirty foot opening with large rock formations.
Speaker 1: To continue, we'd need to do a bit of climbing
Speaker 1: over the large obstacles. The climb wasn't too bad, and
Speaker 1: the narrow path continued. We walked in silence through the
Speaker 1: swamp area littered with dead trees, and I stopped and
Speaker 1: my eyes locked on the pond with the lily pads.
Speaker 1: I heard my daughter's footsteps as she came up beside me.
Speaker 1: What Her voice had a larger hint of fear than
Speaker 1: before I pointed at the water. No pine skates on
Speaker 1: the surface, no dragonflies chasing mosquitoes. There's nothing, not even
Speaker 1: a frog or a freaking turtle. This whole place is dead.
Speaker 1: It's not natural, and it makes no sense. My voice
Speaker 1: was more frustrated than fearful. I was not going to
Speaker 1: show fear in front of her. Have you seen anything
Speaker 1: alive out here in the past forty five minutes? Her
Speaker 1: head shook No. I pulled out my cell phone. Still
Speaker 1: there were no bars. We're not in a landl My
Speaker 1: hands swung to the open blue skies. We're wide open.
Speaker 1: There's no magnetic interference in these woods. We should be
Speaker 1: getting a cell signal. My daughter checked her phone. Hers
Speaker 1: was as useless as spine. The map I read at
Speaker 1: home said this trail circles around the pond and comes back.
Speaker 1: Let's just follow it and get out of here. My
Speaker 1: daughter looked up at me. I could see the fear
Speaker 1: in those almond hazel eyes. We walked side by side
Speaker 1: along the path for ten more minutes, and we cleared
Speaker 1: the pond. But I didn't get the sense of us
Speaker 1: circling back. The position of the sun hadn't changed, and
Speaker 1: it was still behind my right shoulder. We were still
Speaker 1: going in a relatively straight line deeper into the forest.
Speaker 1: I was reluctant to vocalize my observation, and my daughter
Speaker 1: was already concerned. I wasn't going to add to that.
Speaker 1: A sense of dread crawled up my spine, exploding in
Speaker 1: a mad tingle at the base of my skull. Something
Speaker 1: was behind us. I turned slowly, preparing to see a
Speaker 1: stranger or an animal, but it wasn't a person or
Speaker 1: any kind of animal. The air above the path twenty
Speaker 1: feet behind us flickered, flowing like waves of ambient heat
Speaker 1: over desert sand. Something inside the waves of heat moved now.
Speaker 1: I put my hand on my daughter's shoulder and pushed
Speaker 1: her forward, Come on, let's go. Her head turned back,
Speaker 1: and I waited for a scream or some kind of
Speaker 1: panicked outburst, but there was nothing. What's wrong, dad, I
Speaker 1: felt my head shake and forced the battle ready tenseness
Speaker 1: from my body. Nothing. Let's just keep going. Maybe the
Speaker 1: trail circles back further ahead. I dared to look back,
Speaker 1: and the anomaly was there, blocking our retreat, but my
Speaker 1: daughter didn't see it, and we moved quickly, following the path,
Speaker 1: pushing deep into a section of forests thick with oaks, maple,
Speaker 1: and other hardwood trees. The colorful canopy of the autumn
Speaker 1: leaves covered the trail, effectively choking out the afternoon sunlight.
Speaker 1: When whistled through the trees angrily, rustling the leaves around us,
Speaker 1: and the breeze was ice cold, sending a deep chill
Speaker 1: down my spine. My daughter was visibly trembling. That wind
Speaker 1: is freezing, she shuddered, rubbing her arms briskly. I ignored
Speaker 1: the chill and guided her forward along the path. The
Speaker 1: trail led to another opening. My stomach turned and my
Speaker 1: daughter gasped and shot. The opening was identical to the
Speaker 1: area we were at thirty minutes ago. The rocks were identical.
Speaker 1: The overgrown weeds and brush were a perfect match to
Speaker 1: the rocks we'd climb before. How did we get back here?
Speaker 1: Her question followed a blistering string of curses. It can't
Speaker 1: be the same outcropping. I did my best to stay calm.
Speaker 1: We haven't turned around. We've been walking so out by
Speaker 1: southwest with some small deviations. This can't be the same place.
Speaker 1: I approached the two larger rocks, even the hand and
Speaker 1: foot holes seemed identical. Stay here, I'm gonna climb up
Speaker 1: and see if the path is similar. Two quick pulls
Speaker 1: and I was over the rock, staring into another distortion.
Speaker 1: Only this one was larger, easily a dozen feet wide,
Speaker 1: covering a large portion of the clearing and blocking the path.
Speaker 1: Beyond the air shimmered like heat waves rising off hot
Speaker 1: sands or summer pavement. I was close enough to feel
Speaker 1: any radiant heat, but there was none. Fear naked, primal,
Speaker 1: and unfiltered savaged my body. I stood eyes locked on
Speaker 1: the hypnotic distortion, straining my eyes to unsee the illusion
Speaker 1: nature placed before me with the ripples. Something moved and
Speaker 1: my hand clenched, feet spread apart, ready for a fight
Speaker 1: or fled light response. I spotted a baseball sized rock,
Speaker 1: picked it up, testing its weight, tossing the object between
Speaker 1: both hands. The shimmer moved closer, inching forward, a tiger
Speaker 1: creeping up slowly on the unsuspecting Gazella and Paula, waiting
Speaker 1: for the chance to pounce. Panic I hurled the stone
Speaker 1: missile with every fiber of my strength that I could muster,
Speaker 1: and the rock passed through the barrier with no effect.
Speaker 1: I listened. The stone never struck the trees behind it.
Speaker 1: I turned and leapt the seven feet or so, rolling
Speaker 1: to absorb some of the impact. As my legs hit
Speaker 1: the ground, my daughter scream of surprise echoed, shattering the
Speaker 1: silent woods. I stood, brushing myself off, forcing her behind me.
Speaker 1: My eyes locked on the large boulders, hands raised, my breath,
Speaker 1: hissing through clenched teeth. My daughter screamed, demanding to know
Speaker 1: what was going on. Her eyes fell upon the boulders,
Speaker 1: face pale as her jaw dropped. The rippling portal stopped
Speaker 1: at the rock's edge, and we gazed, dumbfounded at the anomaly.
Speaker 1: Before I could say or do anything, the ribbons of
Speaker 1: distortion vanished, and my daughter's eyes were locked on the
Speaker 1: area the distortion occupied just seconds ago. I could see
Speaker 1: the trembling in her arms and shoulders. What the hell
Speaker 1: was that? Her panicked whisper accompanied a river of tears
Speaker 1: flowing down her pale cheek. I don't know. I put
Speaker 1: my hand on her trembling shoulder. We need to go
Speaker 1: back the way we came. We'll backtrack and get the
Speaker 1: hell out of here. She nodded, and I silently prayed.
Speaker 1: Whatever this thing was, it just wanted us out of
Speaker 1: the area. If this thing wanted us gone, I'd gladly oblige.
Speaker 1: We passed by the pond without incident, making our way
Speaker 1: at a feverish pace, stumbling along the path, and my
Speaker 1: daughter held a sigh of relief. As the path emptied
Speaker 1: into the first rock clearing. We climbed down the large
Speaker 1: boulders and continued on, both feeling a bit better having
Speaker 1: seen a familiar landmark. We walked in silence another half
Speaker 1: an hour before I noticed the trees were wrong. We
Speaker 1: should be in the pine thickets by now walking a
Speaker 1: ruddy root littered path dotted with stones. We were walking
Speaker 1: toward the sun, the right general direction, but the path
Speaker 1: was wider and smooth, made of compacted dirt. I stopped.
Speaker 1: My daughter nearly plowed into me. Now what she asked,
Speaker 1: rarely the trees are wrong. We were walking in an
Speaker 1: evergreen forest full of pines and cedars and other cypress.
Speaker 1: Before the first clearing, we passed the first boulders. We
Speaker 1: climbed a good while ago. I pointed up at the
Speaker 1: tree canopy. These are oaks, maples and other leaf bearing trees.
Speaker 1: Are you saying we're lost. Her voice was near the
Speaker 1: breaking point of full on panic. Well, how can we
Speaker 1: be lost? I don't know. We're going in the right direction,
Speaker 1: but these aren't the woods we walked through earlier. Just
Speaker 1: stay close to me, Dad, How can that be? We
Speaker 1: never left the path, we just followed it back. I
Speaker 1: didn't see a second pathway, did you? I shook my head.
Speaker 1: I wished I had an answer for my daughter. I
Speaker 1: was just as confused and turned around as a newbie
Speaker 1: cup scout on his first nature height thirty plus years
Speaker 1: in the woods, and I was beside myself. I didn't
Speaker 1: have any answers that, above all else scared me. I
Speaker 1: couldn't show fear in front of her. She was looking
Speaker 1: for me for strength and calm. I didn't have the
Speaker 1: luxury of falling apart or appearing less than in control.
Speaker 1: I pointed further down the path. Let's go for another
Speaker 1: ten minutes on this path. If we don't see anything familiar,
Speaker 1: we'll try something else, because just walking has worked so
Speaker 1: well so far. She grumbled and walked ahead of me.
Speaker 1: I couldn't think. My mind rased trying to find some
Speaker 1: rational explanation for what we both saw. And why the
Speaker 1: forest seemed to change at random. My daughter was far
Speaker 1: ahead of me, moving at a fast cliff. Wait, I
Speaker 1: called out, but she kept going forward. The path ahead
Speaker 1: changed direction, twisting ninety degrees left and back into the forest.
Speaker 1: I ran, screaming her name, telling her to stop. Barely
Speaker 1: twenty feet in front of my daughter, the distortion materialized
Speaker 1: from nothingness. Something was inside the ripples. A misshapen hand
Speaker 1: motioned my daughter forward, and she kept walking toward oblivion.
Speaker 1: I screamed her name again, desperately grabbing her shoulder. Barely
Speaker 1: six feet from the phenomenon, I made a cockle of frustrations,
Speaker 1: shattering the woodland silence. Anice cold wind slammed in to
Speaker 1: me like a freight train, numbing my arms and chest.
Speaker 1: She's mine, she's mine, Give her to me, An angry
Speaker 1: voice shrieked. As I yanked my daughter away and off
Speaker 1: the trail. Some force slammed into my back, pushing me forward,
Speaker 1: forcing the breath out of my lungs. I fell on
Speaker 1: top of my daughter, shielding her with my body. She
Speaker 1: was shivering and weeping. The frozen gale continued to slam
Speaker 1: against me, pushing me harder into the earth. My arms
Speaker 1: strained against what seemed like hundreds of pounds, threatening to
Speaker 1: crush me in an oppose of force, twigs and force.
Speaker 1: Debris flew overhead as that band, she wail of anger
Speaker 1: and longing cried out, She's mine. I wrapped myself tighter
Speaker 1: around my daughter, shielding her as best as I could.
Speaker 1: We lay motionless for several seconds, and during the frozen wind,
Speaker 1: crushing force, and the shower of forest debris, I focused
Speaker 1: my thoughts and prayed silently, and then shouted at the
Speaker 1: top of my lungs, no one single word, infused with
Speaker 1: all the love, protection, and mortal rage I could muster.
Speaker 1: The icy gale subsided. I took a few seconds to
Speaker 1: gather my wits. My daughter was shaking, engulfed by abject terror.
Speaker 1: It's okay, I've got you. I repeated that mantra at
Speaker 1: least a dozen times, more to convince myself than her.
Speaker 1: I stood in my back, aching an arms scraped from
Speaker 1: the flying debris. My daughter got to her feet, and
Speaker 1: she stumbled once and fell into me, and she was crying.
Speaker 1: I kept repeating my mantra, holding on to her, offering
Speaker 1: what little protection my arms could provide against something clearly
Speaker 1: not of the natural plane. A low, thrumbing hum echoed
Speaker 1: through the woods. I dared to look back. The distortion
Speaker 1: was still there. I strained through the ripples to see
Speaker 1: what figure hid behind the curtain. I could only see
Speaker 1: a vague outline. I turned toward it again, my eyes
Speaker 1: narrowed and paternal well focused. Anger replaced fear. No, I shouted,
Speaker 1: like I was addressing a misbehaved puppy. I got in
Speaker 1: my daughter back on the path, away from the distortion,
Speaker 1: peering back every few steps to assure it wasn't following
Speaker 1: us and stalking me like it had before. Realization hit me.
Speaker 1: The trees surrounding us were evergreen. We were in the
Speaker 1: pine forest. The path was littered with stones and exposed
Speaker 1: pine roots. How the hell did that happen? Just minutes
Speaker 1: ago we were under a thick oak canopy. This was impossible,
Speaker 1: a welcome development, but still impossible. And as we walked back,
Speaker 1: I scanned the ground for my heel marks and the
Speaker 1: dead tree fall I dragged onto the path. It was
Speaker 1: as if the forest erased my trail markers, and I
Speaker 1: kept walking straight into the woods, following the sunlight filtered
Speaker 1: through the pine needles, and I kept my eyes forward,
Speaker 1: forcing myself to look straight ahead and not be distracted.
Speaker 1: Follow the sun. I kept whispering in my head, that's
Speaker 1: the way out of here. My daughter held my hand
Speaker 1: tightly as we forced our way through several thickets of saplings,
Speaker 1: and we made our way out of the woods and
Speaker 1: were back on the large, wide path, looking over to
Speaker 1: see the bright yellow gate to the forest parking lot.
Speaker 1: I pointed it out to my daughter and she sighed
Speaker 1: in relief. We practically ran the fifty yards. Once we
Speaker 1: crossed the gates threshold, my cell phone began to buzz
Speaker 1: and beat. One hundred pounds of dread fell off my shoulders.
Speaker 1: A chipmunk scurried across the parking lot, and a large
Speaker 1: crow flew overhead. This was the first while life I'd
Speaker 1: seen all day. We were out of it and safe,
Speaker 1: but safe from what My mind struggled to rationalize the experience,
Speaker 1: and my mind falled miserably. Daddy, my daughter whispered, pointing
Speaker 1: down toward the wide path. An old woman stood on
Speaker 1: the edge of the woods, arms crossed. I could feel
Speaker 1: the weight of her stare. She's lonely. My daughter's voice
Speaker 1: was tinged with sadness and a strange longing. She's so lonely, dad,
Speaker 1: how do you know that? I demanded. I can hear
Speaker 1: her talking, can't you? My skin crawled. We weren't beyond
Speaker 1: this thing's influence. At least my daughter wasn't. No, I'm sorry,
Speaker 1: she's lonely, but she wanted to take you. Didn't you
Speaker 1: hear me yelling at you back there? She shook her head. No,
Speaker 1: I just felt the urge to keep walking. I didn't
Speaker 1: see the ripples until you grabbed me. Her face pale.
Speaker 1: I would have walked right through it if you hadn't
Speaker 1: a pat at her shoulder. Don't think about that. We
Speaker 1: both looked back at the old woman, and my daughter shouted,
Speaker 1: I'm sorry you're lonely, but I can't go with you.
Speaker 1: I hope you'll be okay. Only my daughter could switch
Speaker 1: from fear to compassion and empathy within a heartbeat. Maybe
Speaker 1: that was what drew this thing to her, that rare
Speaker 1: gift of youthful compassion, unburdened by this sour pessimism of adulthood.
Speaker 1: The old woman raised a wrinkled hand and waved. My
Speaker 1: daughter waved back, and the woman turned walking into the
Speaker 1: rippled anomaly and vanished the distortion winked out of existence.
Speaker 1: I hugged her one more time, Let's go home. I
Speaker 1: sat in the living room later that evening listening to
Speaker 1: my daughter recount the tale to her mother and brother
Speaker 1: for at least the fifteenth time. My wife stared at
Speaker 1: me in disbelief, and I simply nod at once. My
Speaker 1: son just kept saying how he wished he was there,
Speaker 1: and I laughed a bit inside. He'd of wet himself.
Speaker 1: My son asked me later what I thought we'dn't counter,
Speaker 1: and I wasted an entire evening of mental energy trying
Speaker 1: to figure that out. Son. As near as I can figure,
Speaker 1: it was some kind of a portal to where he wondered.
Speaker 1: I scratched my cheek to whatever eternal round that old
Speaker 1: woman has been condemned to spend eternity. That was the
Speaker 1: best my twenty first century sophisticated mind could come up with.
Speaker 1: She wanted to take your sister there for an eternal visit.
Speaker 1: Near as I can figure, my son snickered that old
Speaker 1: lady would toss her ass back here after a week
Speaker 1: of her bitching and moaning. I didn't mean to laugh,
Speaker 1: but my daughter could probably drive a ghost crazy. At
Speaker 1: least I ended the day on a lighter note, tak