A small towns tale

It calls to me, to us, the woods that is. Like the pied piper the wind blows through the trees sending such a soft and sweet melody through our ears calling, enticing us to find the source. Oh what a beautiful sound it is, I do wish you could hear it. My grandmother told me story's of how she would sit in her mothers lap and they would crack open the window and listen to the beautiful gentle song of the trees. Night after night they fell more in love with the sounds as they swept through the entire town. However, not all appreciated the gifts the trees had given us and they did what humans do best, tried to turn a profit.

Unfortunately people not born in our little town could not hear the beautiful song of the trees. "If you will not sing for the outsiders then you need not sing at all." They spat in a blind rage once they realized the trees would not line their pockets with wealth. So they called in many a lumberjack and bulldozers so that they may line their pockets in a different way. The lumberjack raised his axe up high and with a mighty swing cut into the bark of the first tree, and out came a screech so gut wrenching and ear splitting it was heard all the way at the edge of town but no farther. And the lumberjack along with all of the men who had come to turn the beautiful trees into paper dropped dead.

From then on, like a sweet siren the woods sang and anyone who dared enter the woods to hurt the trees be it by accident or on purpose fell victim to the screech. Night after painful night it woke them from their sleep and when morning came the police would deliver the news to the town via radio of whom had perished. These woods have fueled many ghost stories they say, if you hear what sounds like change in your pocket as you walk and you don't have any. Then the spirit of the businessman who tried to cut down the forest will drag you down with him. Or if you hear a random thud in the night, its the sound of the lumberjacks body hitting the ground.

Well i can't say there is no credibility to the stories that are told. These woods are haunted with the souls that dared to threaten it, forced to spend their days wandering and dying a painful death over and over again with each shrill call. And in the night the trees whisper to me a funny joke, they say "If you will not live for me then you need not live at all."