I still was sure he was fucking with me, but it was an interesting story. They think that without evil to balance out the good, the world will be destroyed.” They believe that in order for the world to keep on existing, there has to be some evil in it. “The Doorway Seekers, or just plain Seekers, are a kind of satanic cult, dude.” “They, like, worship Satan?” Scott looked at me with an expression that was part victory and part anticipation. The Doorway Seekers? That sounded like something he pulled out of his ass. “It’s important to the Doorway Seekers.” He had to be messing with me. We had just watched The Shining earlier that week, and Indian burial grounds were fresh in my mind. “Anyways,” my friend continued, “this place is a sacred place, like very important to a certain group of people.” The light outside was slowly disappearing as I took my seat. Like, desire it so bad that you don’t care what else happens.” Though I had no idea what Scott meant by this, my spine tingled. “What did you mean when you said ‘even then you may not find it?’” “I mean,” Scott said, opening his soda, “that you have to want to find it. “Hey Scott,” I asked, tossing him his soda. I went into my kitchen through the sliding glass doors on the deck and grabbed two fresh Pepsis. I shook my half-finished can at him, and he nodded. You’ll only find it if you’re looking for it, and even then, you may not find it.” He reached down for his Pepsi but jerked his hand back, remembering it was empty. “There’s a place in the woods,” he began, “a very specific place. He straightened like he was ready to deliver a speech. Scott slurped the last drops of cola out of the lip of his can and set it on the wooden floor of the deck.
I wasn’t sure if I should’ve felt embarrassed at this admission. I believe we were both eleven at the time. We were both facing the forest, watching as the sun started to approach the tops of the trees in the purple-orange sky. Scott sat cross-legged on a bench made of dark brown wood nearby. I was in my favorite chair, a white recliner with soft floral print cushions. “You know the real reason your parents won’t let you in those woods, right?” he asked one day when we were sitting on my back patio sipping cans of Pepsi. What did frighten me was a tale my friend Scott told me. “There are wolves and coyotes and possibly even bears.” “You never know what kind of animals are out there, son,” my father was fond of saying.
“Once you get a certain distance in, you won’t be able to tell which way is north or south.” “You could get lost out there,” was a typical warning from my mother. To me, those loose panels were an invitation to a world begging to be explored. Though there was a high fence enclosing our property, getting into the forest was as simple as moving aside two panels that had been knocked loose by my dad’s lawnmower. These woods were thick, effectively blocking out what lay beyond my backyard. My parents encouraged this isolating activity, as it kept me out of trouble, out of the road, and out of the woods behind my house.
The fox in the forest creepypasta free#
I never had any siblings, so my free time was spent with an open book clutched in my hands. A gravel path wound around hedges and between a waist-high wooden fence. It was set back from the street about one hundred feet behind a row of tall slippery elms that lined the road. Modest-sized houses on large lots dotted the landscape, innumerable trees providing privacy and anonymity. Long, winding single-lane roads with speed limits that topped out at seventy miles per hour were common.
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