Sunday, June 12, 2011
I was twenty-one years old and living on the West Virginia-Ohio border. I lived alone, in a (very) small house back in the sticks, a good way from society. I was sitting out on the patio at about 3:00 AM, smoking a Capa #1 Churchill Natural, when this weird, yet surprisingly beautiful noise came out of nowhere.
It sounded like a church choir singing. It was angelic and intoxicating, and I couldn't figure out where it was coming from at first. The sound seemed to surround me. I wanted to go look for the source, but I could scarcely move. After listening for what seemed like hours, the singing started to fade -- "The source is moving away," I thought to myself.
I went into the house, and grabbed my truck keys and a small handgun I kept around (for insurance.) Then I headed toward the woods.
As soon as I crossed the tree-line, the singing changed. It went from an angelic, beautiful Latin melody to something deeper, darker and far more sinister-sounding. I couldn't even tell what language it was, but it wasn't Latin anymore.
I froze. The singing started to get closer again. My hands were shaking so fiercely that I could barely hold the handgun, let alone shoot it.
After swallowing a lump of fear the size of my fist I turned and ran. I didn't even go in to my house, or to lock the front door. I jumped in my truck and sped off, away from the woods.
I arrived at a friend's apartment later that morning. He lived in town and I figured it would be a bit safer there. When I told him what had happened he just said, "I hear stories like that all the time. It's just the wind blowing through the mountains." It wasn't wind, though. I know what I heard and I wanted to argue, but he had this smug sense of superiority because he had lived there his whole life and I had just moved there. I let the subject drop.
It was well over a week before I put my thoughts in order and decided to head home. My friend decided to join me, to make sure everything was okay. We took separate vehicles, obviously, and I arrived first. Everything felt... weird, and eerie. I noticed it as soon as I got out of my truck. I told myself it was just left-over anxiety from my earlier experience, but I couldn't shake the feeling.
I went in to my house to wait for my friend to arrive. Luckily, no one bothered anything while I was gone -- not that I specifically cared. I didn't have anything of express value. It was another five minutes before my friend arrived. He had to stop for refueling.
When he exited his car he looked around, and said, "It feels weird here. Empty. It's too quiet. The woods are usually full of noise."
He was right. It was quiet. Maybe that's why everything felt out of place. My friend started walking the tree-line around my property, looking for any signs that it was someone playing a terrible prank. What he found was slightly more worrisome.
There was dead wildlife everywhere. Birds laying lifeless beneath the trees, squirrels and even a few rabbits just laying about, stiff and cold. If that wasn't odd enough, there were about ten rows of baseball-sized scorch marks in different areas around my house.
We couldn't explain any of it. I, personally, don't think there is a logical explanation for any of it. That day, I loaded my truck with as many things as I could, and stayed with my friend until I found a new place. I never went back, and I'm never going to.