The crone in the woods–– a horror short story about an evil in the woods.
Jackson takes aim. The deer’s heart between his rifle’s reticles. His finger starting to squeeze the trigger. Just as Jackson reaches the point of firing a shriek erupts from the west. He loses his aim and fires blindly, the bullet whizzes past the deer inches above its torso. Both the deer and Jackson are spooked. The deer runs to the north in order to escape its failed predation, and whatever screamed from the west. Jackson is unsure on what to do. Should he continue the hunt? Or should he investigate whatever the source of that noise was.
Evidently, the deer is smarter than Jackson; he investigates the noise rather than search for his lost prey. The hunter picks up his rifle and accoutrement. He turns to the direction of the noise and moves westward like the pilgrims.
He walks through the brush, it is early morning, the sun is in its infancy. The orangeness of the early morning sun on the horizon paints the trees, grass, and ground. It had heavily rained the night before, but the skies were starting to clear. There was wetness all around him. Everything damp and holding the water from last night’s shower. Each step he took emitted a mushy sound. The ground was muddy; It was difficult for him to walk without slipping in certain parts.
He kept walking the trail until it abruptly ended. He thought it was odd that right as the trail concluded, a wall of flora blocked the path forward. It was natures “do not enter” sign, but he was too stubborn, stupid, or brave to know it. He pushed through the flimsy barrier. A smell of horrendousness smacked him in the face. He was repulsed and immediately covered his nose. He became even more intrigued by what could possibly emit such a horrible stench. He had been in the dingiest of places and used the vilest of bathrooms, yet this smell had caused him to gag almost immediately. He pulled out some scented wet wipes from his rucksack and shoved a heap of them straight up both nostrils. Whilst breathing from his mouth he could still sense the air was heavy and disgusting, yet he persisted.
As he proceeded, the forest became oppressive. Tall trees, and dense plants blocking most of the sunlight, the ground littered with fallen leaves and fallen branches. The leaves, and the branches making it difficult for Jackson to walk let alone run if he needed to. After around ten minutes of walking, Jackson decided it was best to leave this area. He thought that the noise was most probably just some animal. He stopped to get some rest and sat upon an old rotten log covered in moss.
A structure behind some trees to the left of him caught his eyes. He could not perceive what exactly it was but thought he saw some movement outside the structure. He decided to go towards it which was around a walk of a hundred meters. The closer he got the more he could see naturally. When about 20 meters away, he realized it was a large wooden cabin with dark rotted wood.
He finally exited the dreadful forest and came into the clearing. The cabin instilled a fear and anxiety in him. he felt that this place was sinister. As soon as he saw this place, he realized that he had been lured here. Those old legends of wendigos and skinwalkers popped up in his thoughts. He started to turn back but was unable to move himself. His mind screamed at his body to run but his body was compelled to stay there by some unknown entity. He finally took a step but in the wrong direction. He kept moving closer and closer to the cabin. He could not speak, or scream. He was in shock. He was two and a half meters away from the entrance when the rotted black door crept open with a deafening creaking sound. The cabins innards were dark and depressing. Jackson’s eyes start twitching because of how electrifying the fear in him is. He knows doom awaits him. One meter away an ear shattering scream emits from inside. He is still not able to see anything inside other than vague shapes and a lone silhouette of a small hunched over figure.
He is dragged inside. the door slowly creaks to a close behind him. His hope and only source of light vanishing. The door closed softly. He finally is able to start crying from the paralyzing fear. The figure that stands beside him kneels. Jackson hears heavy breathing, and spittle dripping from his captor’s mouth. A hand with icy flesh and bumps and warts and talons starts touching the doomed hunters face. His beard follows the direction the hand goes. He closes his eyes when the fingers move towards the top of his face. Jackson smells the hand, and immediately gags. Jackson feels acidic vomit rise in his esophagus. He throws up on himself, but has the hand forcefully cover his mouth. Vomit starts dripping from his nose. The figures face comes inches above his face; it’s long greasy hair dangles and slaps his face. The spit drips on his face. The putrid breath from the creature makes his eyes roll into his skull. The creature finally speaks in a coarse feminine voice, “you’ll do nicely”. When she takes her hand off from his mouth, he wails loudly.
A mile away an old man and his teenage grandson walk on the same trail Jackson walked on. The grandson hears Jackson’s petrified wailing, and starts running towards the cry for help. His grandfather chastises him to stop. The old man waddles towards him and says, “boy never ever go towards a sound like that in these woods. The old witch screams like this to lure people to her.” The young boy listens to his grandfather but thinks he is just a crazed old man believing in fairytales.