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Every town has its legends and superstitions. The further out into the countryside you go,

the deep others myths seem to be embedded in the mind to the people who live there.

Old-timers who tell stories with a wistful look in their eye,

trying to convince you that what they're accounting is gods on his truth, as they tell you,

about the friend of a friend's second cousin twice removed, who actually saw the beast or

specter or being, dang near, took him off this earth if he hadn't winded it in the winchester.

Well, I ain't no old-timer, and I ain't nobody's second cousin twice removed.

I know for a fact the thing that the kids my town tell campfire stories about, is real.

Not gonna tell you it's flesh and blood, to tell you the truth, I don't know what it really is,

all I know is that my brother's gone, and he isn't coming back.

I grew up in this town, it's not bad so I decided why leave. City life doesn't appeal to me,

too much concrete, too few trees. Even the trees they do have out in the city don't feel real,

they feel like they were placed there to look real, give people the feeling of real, but they ain't.

The only way you can see real trees is going out to the forest. Old growth, those trees give

you a sense of magic as you walk amongst them, like they know this secret of a world, the kinds of

secrets you can't tell, the kind you just have to feel. Walking through the trees around my house

fills me with the same sense of wonder now as when I was a kid. In the forest here, you can walk

...