It's a warm, dark night. I'm walking down a secluded, muddy dirt road. Thickets of trees on either side. I look up, you can see almost all the stars, civilization is 5 or more miles away. The only thing out here are deer, my cousins and the legend of the skinwalker. But I was alone, my cousins were way ahead in our friends truck. Despite the darkness, the trees cast meanacing shadows. Branches like dead arms reaching out to grab me.

After a while I find an old farmhouse. Wooden and run down, the windows all broken and blood stained. The skinwalker legend creeps back into my mind. Only a year ago the man that lived in this house was shooting at my cousins and I. The man's old gun lay in the yard I picked it up, it was heavy. Loaded. I was cautius as I walked up to the house. The door had been ripped off its hinges. The porch creaked as I stepped. The old, white paint was chipping, bullet holes decorated the celing of the coverd porch. I dropped the gun, turned and ran.

After a bit of running, I came across a tree, newly fallen, lay in the road blocking my way. Claw marks all over the trunk, old and new. Again, with that thought, the legend of the skinwalkers crept back into my mind. What happened? Who or what did this? What or who made the slices in the tree? An animal or a legend?

I shook all the questions from my head and used the gashes in the tree as hand and footholds to climb over the fallen tree. Once I was standing on the top of the fallen tree I jumped off, into the mud, the ground squishes below my feet.

I keep walking. Soon I see a tall human figure a bit away. As they get closer I can tell they're a tall, young man about 18 years old. He has long, blonde hair, a blue hat, a blue t-shirt, baggy jeans and muddy stake shoes. He got closer, soon I recognized him, my older cousin Marcus. When we met up he hugged me, he was shaking. He said our friend Ian had seen something that wasn't human or deer. He grabbed my hand and started running. I ran too. The legend, it seemed wasn't a legend, but reality.