I had the misfortune to happen upon the Wicked Willows trail as a small boy. I strayed… well… rather… snuck from the picnic area from the watchful eyes of my mother and father.

You see, all the children had been warned about the dark woods known as Wicked Willows. The stories our parents told us were about unsolved murders, strange disappearances, ghosts, enchantment… witchery. Their tales not only frightened us but also intrigued us.  

Wicked Willows is not easy to find. Set deep north of the small Central Texas town of Hamilton. There, you will find a narrow dirt road that is completely unmarked; invisible to the eye if you are going at a great speed. One might call it a ‘tractor road.’

 If you were to follow it at a good distance it would gracefully turn into a grassy pathway that would ultimately take you into the dreaded Wicked Willows wooded area. From there, the path breaks into many walkable but rough trails that are hidden by the covers of moss, oaks, weeping willows, and all things forest…

  Now, let us go back to the day of the picnic, shall we? I was enjoying my disappearing act away from everyone. Having fun with the knowledge that I had actually escaped undetected and I had never done that before. But, children are so rebellious, and stupid. 

After walking for minutes down the path, I realized the green foliage had given way to a rotted brown dead forest. Though it was noonday, I became aware of how dark my surroundings had become and a terrible sense of absolute ill surrounded me. It was as if it were late afternoon at autumn’s peak. I could not see the sky, for the tree moss had overgrown and the lifeless branches and limbs had become too thick and were overlapping overhead like a burnt-out chandelier covered in dusty spider webs. 

Rolling thunder…Not from a distance, but directly above me and inches from my ears and loud enough to make me wince. That was impossible, for that very day had been cloudless with a brilliant sun and a crystalline blue sky. 

I continued to walk deeper into the willows, stubborn and determined not to show the fear that was already gently holding my hand. As I said, children are so stupid, for that was when I should have run. 

Rain began to fall. In droplets that landed with a ‘plunk,’ and with it, came a cold wind that chilled me through and through… leaving behind the smell of something stagnant and old. Perhaps the odor one would encounter if locked in a New Orleans mausoleum. 

I urged myself forward only to be greeted by a maze of walkways, waterways, and tributaries that led further into the belly of the scorched wood.

Then, It came upon me suddenly. Complete horror befell me. I sensed a tremendous evil. A powerful evil that had already surrounded me and coiled around my body.        

A serpent crushing its meal. It was right there… touching me… preparing to strike. Its malevolence did not lie. I could feel something crawling against my skin, like the crawl of a fly. This was no fly.

It reached for my heart… OH MY GOD… I could feel the invisible touch of icy fingers grasping for my beating life.

Fear locked me and I ran, having no idea where I was going. 

The path was thorn and thistle thick, and large razor-sharp jags slit my skin open as I raced passed, which left bloody gashes in my flesh.

I came to a shabby hollow and stopped. There, in front of me were the remains of an old cemetery and bone-yard. Thick casts of earthen mist wafted by in oceanic waves as the cold rain began to fall in droplets of dirty gray slime. Strings of ‘ghost goo’ dangled from my nose and face and clumped in my hair. My heart was racing. I could barely catch my breath. My stomach was sick and clenched. And as I lurched forward heaving, the horrible sound began and stopped me in my very tracks. I looked up. 

It was coming from behind the tombs and gravestones. 

First, as one long distant echo. Then, it grew louder… and louder… and LOUDER… AND LOUDER! A banshee’s angry wale that made every hair on my head stand on end. A war shriek. A battle cry. I had disturbed IT. It was a sound I pray I will never hear again.

The rain slime stung my eyes and found its way to my mouth. Its taste was the smell of feces. Disorientation hit me for a moment. Ghostly apparitions and murky gray transparent entities floated and hovered nightmarish-like. The phantasms then drifted upon me. Brushing passed, their touch was like gravel scraped across my skin; sandpaper rubbed on an open sore. Their presence was excruciatingly painful. 

These specters were angry and revenge was what they sought. Souls trapped within the Wicked Willows for an eternity. They had not been given a choice just as they were not going to give me a choice. There was no escape for them and neither for me. An ancient curse.

Revenge for their demise was my life. Collecting my flesh and soul. 

I felt their melancholy and despair. I also felt their misery and frenzy and it was a dark and bitter and empty consciousness that left me grave.

I heard the voice of a specter… a demon if you will, creep into my ears, 

“KILL THE LITTLE BASTARD!”

My human instincts and survival mode propelled me and I ran forward into the dead void that lay before me. I don’t remember ever looking back. Just running… running…

My mother and father told me I was found wandering about town. Babbling and mumbling nonsensical wordless tones. My experience had left me damaged, both physically and emotionally. 

Tragically, my brown eyes had been removed; plucked from my face to leave two black sockets. My dark brown hair had turned ivory-white. I can no longer speak, either, for my tongue had been stolen, ripped from my mouth.

I consider myself blessed, though, for I was left my hearing.

It has taken me years to be able to write this document in its totality. 

I warn each and every one of you that the Wicked Willows exists and it is to be taken seriously. Stay away from the woods north of Hamilton. Don’t attempt to try to find it. It is cursed and cursed you will become. 

Let it lie. Just let it lie.