If you ever end up in the mountains after sundown, be careful, be respectful, and most

importantly, don't touch the skulls.

The first time someone told me that, I thought there was strange superstitious folk.

I just moved to a little town nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, looking for a new

start away from the busy cities I lived in for all my life.

The house was a forest for a backyard, and neighbours a mile or so away sounded perfect

at the time.

It's what led me to buying the property in the first place.

Now, I think I regret that decision.

Don't get me wrong, the house is nice.

It has a few problems like a creaking porch, and the kitchen is a bit too small for my liking.

But it's cute.

Quaint is what the realtor kept saying when she showed me the rooms, and I agreed with

her.

Even if it is a little small, the real selling point was the acres of forest that would

be considered mine.

I remember my first trip to the town at the base of the mountain, a small place where

everyone knows each other.

Naturally, someone weren't sure about me, but most were actually nice.

Asking where I grew up, what I did for work, no more questions until the owner of the

only grocery store in town, Mr. Faraday asked me if I planned on hiking in the forest.

Oh yeah, of course.

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