When I was twelve, I spent the summer with my uncle in the woods of Western Pennsylvania. My mother was worried about me, that I got on poorly with the other children and always had my nose in a book. She thought some time spent in the great outdoors would divert my attention. She was right.
Late at night I heard them. Guttural voices, chanting in some inhuman language. Once, in the moonlight, I saw someone. Or something. I left, and have never returned.
