It was the sun’s delight to shine through the trees, the morning mists’ to glow when his bright beams struck, and the trees’ to stand tall and hold their darkness within. The branches and bramble crunched pleasantly underfoot, and the early birds twittered above my head. My breath came out in puffs of white fog, and I could hear the sound of my panting as I hiked up the trail.
A moment stopping, I found a large fir to lean against, its rough bark digging into me through my windbreaker. The air was too cold to breathe, and it came into my lungs like sharp shards of ice.
I could not see too far ahead due to the fog, but I thought, as I stood there against the tree, that two forms, shadows, were coming my way. Also, their discourse; I could not make out the words, but I thought I heard their voices distantly.
I know I heard her scream. I had not really been paying much attention to their chatter, but upon hearing her dreadful shriek, I rose from my spot and came racing up the hill to find . . . nothing.
The sheriff came. I told him what I had seen, what I had heard. The fog had cleared up by then, and we looked all around for any hints of what had occurred. We never found anything, and her horrible cry seems ever to haunt me to this day.
Tale Told 