I always went into the woods as a child. It was around evening, about 7 o’clock, and it was cold outside, normal for late Fall. I was just standing on my porch, looking at the woods. My family had moved here a few years back. The house was brick, had two floors and five bedrooms. My bedroom was upstairs, and my parents live downstairs.

This area is not that far from civilization; it was only a few blocks away from a city. I actually love the nature around these woods. I found it very calm and relaxing.

I always liked these woods for their serene wilderness and vast amount of trees. The trees spanned at least one mile. I looked around and saw an abandoned lumberjack camp. No one was there, only machines. The machines stood in around one single object; a chainsaw. The camp felt so desolate and old. The wood seemed to have rotten over time and the machines rusted a bit. It’s probably been years since this place was last used.

I kept my distance, however, and hugged a nearby tree. I surely didn’t know what to expect. If I took one more step, I surely would have fallen down the hill and broken one of my legs.

I looked around at the entire camp; three cabins, machines around a chainsaw, a tractor and wooden logs with axes on them, all behind the cabins for shipment. It was starting to get dark, so I went back to my house, which was nearby. I decided to search it the next day, probably to see what happened.

I had told my mother what was down there, and she told me, “Honey, whatever you do, don’t touch anything down there, and don’t go down there without supervision. Your father will show you around tomorrow.” I replied, “Okay, mommy.” After dinner, I went up to my bedroom and put on my pajamas, and went to sleep.

The next day, me and my dad went down to the camp area in the woods. We found our way down and took a look around; still, no one was there. My dad and I looked around the cabins, looked at the old, rotting wood, the rusted axes and the tractor. The last thing that we saw was the circle of machinery around the chainsaw. My dad remarked, “Huh, whoever these guys were, they surely left this place in a hurry.”

That’s when it caught my eyes; a broken piece of machinery, a wood chipper to be exact, that was rusted more than the others. In fact, I would say it had been basically torn apart and disassembled in a quick fashion. It stood out resiliently, and it seemed to tell a story that the other machines just couldn’t. Right next to it was a buzz saw that didn’t have its blade.

Eventually, my dad and I went up the hill, and he told me, “Honey, stay near the house and be safe. I don’t want you to go down there without an adult, okay?” I replied, “Yes, daddy.”

As my father went back to our house, I decided to go back to a stump of a cut tree and sat down. I closed my eyes, breathing the fresh air, listening to the trees waving and the birds chirping. The birds sang such a lovely song, and the trees sounded like a symphony to fit with the chorus of birds.

Suddenly, the chirping ceased, and I opened my eyes quickly. I must have fallen asleep, as it was getting dark outside, very dark. The moon was rising, and the stars were about to come out, so I decided to go to my house.

I went to my left, where my house was. The lights were off. “Weird,” I thought to myself, “Mommy and daddy usually leave the lights on.” I ran quickly to my house, the door was opened. I grabbed the emergency flashlight, turned it on and walked into the house. The older wooden boards were creaking, so I had to go to the newer wooden floors.

I looked around the house, not seeing my parents. I then heard a clang come from the kitchen. I ran in the opposite direction in fright, knowing someone might be in our house. I started hearing revving. One…two…three. On the fourth, I knew what was revving up; it was a chainsaw. I hid into my closet, hoping whoever was in my house wouldn’t find me.

The sound of the chainsaw started to get closer, as I heard the stair boards creak and the sound of footsteps come closer. I looked at the door. That’s the first thing that was opened. A silhouette was coming into the room. It was a tall, built man holding a chainsaw. His hair seemed to go around at random, so he must have had bandages or something on his head. Finally, I saw his eyes; his bloodshot eyes. They glowed in the dark room, and seemed to stare at me.

He just walked calmly in my room, looking around, the floor creaking. He seemed to be holding something in his left hand. It was…my mother! I started to freak out, but for some reason, I couldn’t scream. I was tearing up at the sight of it. I backed into the closet, but it must have caught his attention.

Soon, the man found me and laughed as he was about to swing his chainsaw down at me.

I woke up in a flash, screaming. I was still on the stump, so I must’ve fallen asleep into a nightmare. It was evening now, and I ran to my house. I ran inside, slammed the door and ran upstairs. My mom asked, “What’s wrong, honey?” I didn’t reply.

Day to day, I stayed in my house and never went into the woods. I knew that someone or something was out there, just waiting for me to slip up once in the woods. I avoided it whenever I could, and most of the time, I would rather be in the city, with civilization, with police. Over time, however, I started to forget what my nightmare was, and what was scary about the woods. Eventually, I coped with the realization that no one was in those woods.

Around two years later, when I was now 13, my dad asked, “Want to go to the lumber camp again?” I said, “Yes, I’d like to see it.” We grabbed our jackets and went into the woods once more. It was a very cold December afternoon, so we decided to make the trip quick. It was about 10 minutes until we finally got to the camp. It seemed to get warmer, every step we took.

It was in ruins now. The cabins were crushed by the trees, and the machinery was toppled over. All of the machines and buildings corroded over time, and thus they looked terrible. However, there was one thing missing, and it was the chainsaw. I told my dad that we had to go, and he agreed, telling me, “You must not like this place, then.”

Hours after we got home, I closed my eyes, opened the window and listened to the trees again. When I opened them, though, it was completely dark. I could barely see a thing. This time, I made sure I wasn’t dreaming, so I hit myself; nothing. Now I knew I wasn’t in a dream, so I made sure to grab the flashlight on my dresser and turned it on. I asked for my parents, “Mom…Dad…are you here?” No response.

I looked around my house. Nothing was in shambles, so I, slowly, went down to look for the lights. I switched the lights, but they wouldn’t come on. Now the only source of light is now my flashlight. Slowly, I walked down the stairs to make sure no one was inside; the door was shut, and in fact, locked. No one must have gotten inside by now. It was impossible.

I went to my parent’s room, but they weren’t there at all. I asked again, “Mom? Dad? Please answer me.” Soon, I heard my mom’s voice, “Anna…” It was outside, in the woods.

The voice repeated, “Anna…please honey, come back to me.”

My head told me not to go, but my body lead itself out of the door. I made sure to grab the hatchet, should anything try to get me. My eyes saw as the woods, covered in thin fog, came ever so closer to me; or as I came closer to the woods.

I kept going towards the voice of my mom, hoping that I’d see her. I looked around the woods until I bumped into something. My flashlight had went out at that time, so I felt the object. It was somewhat gooey and bumpy, so I went left. It felt cold; I hit my flashlight to turn it on. I looked at the object and it was…

My mother! She was standing in front of me like a statue, completely void of a soul. Her eyes were nothing but white, and blood had frozen as it trickled down her legs. Her head was pointing towards the right, so, reluctantly, I went to my right. As I looked around the woods, I finally found my father with the same eyes and stance. His body was pointing to the camp. I decided to face whatever is there head-on, and went down to the camp slowly.

I looked around the camp. The desolate area was warmer than usual, but still void of life. The trees seemed to surround me at this point, and the sky seemed to turn red, which was unusual for a new moon. I couldn’t find anything, and asked myself, “Did my dad lead me to nothing significant?” I turned around and ran to my house as a maniacal laughter broke the silence. Fear went throughout my entire body at this point, so I sprinted to my house.

As I stopped to catch my breath, I heard a voice behind me. “Anna…” it said, in a cold, raspy voice. A sudden burst of fear came into me as I started to run once more. As I was running, I heard trees snapping down and falling; I didn’t even know where my father was, but I dared not to look back. I even skipped my mother as I ran back to the house.

I was tearing up as I ran back in, shutting the door, locking it, closing the shutters on the windows and locking the windows. I walked back slowly as I hoped that nothing would get me. It was silent, no noise, nothing. I then heard a rev again, the same one from my dream. One…two…three…four…

Soon, I heard the door bump. Then it was bashed and smashed. I ran up the stairs and into my room, in my closet. I heard a chainsaw completely saw through something, most likely the door. My fear was heightened. I was seemingly defenseless against a chainsaw even with the hatchet, so I turned off my flashlight.

The person was walking up the stairs. I heard my mom’s voice, “Anna…” then my dad’s, “Anna…” I heard the voices of many people I have met in my life. But how could someone imitate those voices? It’s almost impossible.

I was shaking as the man slowly opened my door. The chainsaw pointed in first, then arms, then the rest of the body. The man didn’t look like he was in my dreams. No, he was worse. His chest had a large gash, and his arms had 3 cuts on each side, mirroring each other. His pants were ragged, blue with what appeared like blood spatters. His bloodshot eyes, however, were the same, soul piercing eyes I saw two years ago in my nightmare.

I did my best not to scream as he came near the closet, his bloodshot eyes looking into it with such content. He left out of my room, as if he didn’t see me. He dropped something out of his pocket, but left as if he didn’t mind. After 15 minutes, all went silent as I started to cry once again, and after 30 more minutes, the lights came back on. I looked around to see if the man was still at my house, cautiously and slowly. He wasn’t anywhere near my house.

I breathed a sigh of relief; the man was gone.

Suddenly, I remembered what he had dropped and picked it up. It was a picture of many guys from the same camp. There was also a name, “Jonathan Mcleod,” and an arrow pointing to the third person from the right. He held a chainsaw, the same one that bloodshot man held.

I managed to get on the family computer and search up Jonathan Mcleod. What came up was a news article stating there was an accident that critically injured a man, Jonathan Mcleod. It was reported that a malfunction with one of the machinery, specifically, the saws, caused acidic content splashed into his face, causing him to flail around and scream violently. The machinery had then exploded, causing one of the blades to cut into his face, slitting his wide-open mouth.

How he managed to survive, though, was because of his hands; they caught the blade before it could cut through his head. He was then rushed to the hospital and was treated in the emergency room. Within a couple of hours, his vital signs ceased, and he was deemed deceased. It kept like that for 2 hours. Life, death, life, death. It was after the 16th time, he finally succumbed to his injuries and passed away.

“But what would he be doing? He shouldn’t be in my house. He’s dead!” I said.

I called the police, who investigated the whereabouts of my parents and the man. They came back with only my mother, who was an empty shell of her former self. It seemed that she ceased to be conscious. My father, however, was nowhere to be found, and neither was the man.

About 10 years later, I had moved into my new house with my daughter, Margaret. I made sure that we had moved far, far away from those woods and that man. My house was nowhere near dense amounts of trees. It was a brick house, this time, with one floor for a family. My mother was brought into the hospital for the time meaning.

Sometimes, however, I still hear a rev of a chainsaw, my mother’s unconscious voice or the man’s raspy, chilling voice, and sometimes I still see the man in my dreams; his bloodshot eyes are the last I see in them all of the time. My daughter runs into my room at times, telling me that there’s a scary man in her dreams.

Today, now, I went to sleep. The dream was distorted, moving left and right, up and down in a slithering motion. As a white fog appeared, and slowly, the man comes closer and closer. I didn’t move, I couldn’t, and as he came to my face, he told me one phrase: “Do not be afraid…”

I woke up at 7 o’clock once again, next to my sleeping daughter. A note sat in her hand, with the name, “Bloodshot” on it:

“I’m still here…”

Source

Conclusion