I live in a remote cabin in the woods. It’s a peaceful life, but sometimes the isolation gets to me. Last night, as I was taking out the trash, I heard a flute. It was a beautiful melody, and it seemed to be coming from the woods.
At first, I thought it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. But then the music grew louder, drawing me closer to the edge of the trees.
I stepped cautiously into the woods, my heart pounding in my chest. The flute was getting louder, and I could hear footsteps now, crunching through the underbrush.
And then I saw him.
He was an old man, dressed in tattered clothes, with a long white beard and a weathered face. He was playing a native American flute, the notes echoing through the trees.
I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel him watching me. I tried to back away, but he stepped forward, playing faster now, the notes growing more frantic.
I realized too late that I was in danger. I turned and ran, my heart racing as I fled through the woods, branches clawing at my face.
But I could hear him behind me, laughing and playing his flute. And then, as I burst into the clearing, I saw his face.
It was twisted and grotesque, his eyes glowing in the darkness. And then he lunged at me.
I woke up this morning with scratches on my face and a deep sense of dread in my stomach. I don’t know who that man was or what he wanted, but I know that I never want to hear that flute again.
For the next few days, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I went outside, I felt eyes on me, and the flute music seemed to be in the back of my mind, haunting me.
I tried to forget about it, but the memory wouldn’t leave me alone. I started having nightmares, where the old man would chase me through the woods, playing his flute all the while. I woke up in a cold sweat every time, feeling like he was just outside my window.
One day, while I was chopping wood, I heard a rustling in the bushes. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, and I thought I could hear the old man’s flute music in the distance.
I turned and ran back to the cabin, locking the door behind me. But the fear wouldn’t leave me. I felt like the old man was still out there, waiting for me.
That night, as I was trying to fall asleep, I heard a soft tapping on my window. I tried to ignore it, but it persisted, growing louder and more insistent.
Finally, I got up and looked out the window. And there, standing in the moonlight, was the old man.
He was playing his flute, the music haunting and beautiful all at once. I could see his face now, and it was even more twisted and grotesque than I remembered.
I tried to shut the window, but it wouldn’t budge. And then the old man stopped playing and whispered my name.
I was frozen with fear, unable to move or speak. And then he started to climb through the window.
I don’t know how long I stood there, paralyzed with fear. But finally, I found the strength to run. I grabbed my keys and fled the cabin, not looking back until I was miles away.
I don’t know what the old man wanted, or why he was playing that flute. But I do know that I will never go back to that cabin again. And every time I hear a flute, even a beautiful one, I feel a shiver run down my spine.
It’s been years since that night, and I’ve tried to forget about the old man and his haunting melody. But sometimes, when I’m alone at night, I can still hear it in the back of my mind.
And I wonder, did the old man ever find what he was looking for? Was he trying to warn me of something, or was he simply trying to scare me away?
I may never know the answers to those questions. But what I do know is that music has a power that we may never fully understand. And that sometimes, the most haunting melodies can come from the darkest corners of our world.