He thinks about the body in the woods sometimes.
Hard to forget where you are buried.
Summary: The Amity Park forest is haunted, in many and varied ways.
Warning: Implied death, murder, and sexual situations.
The Amity Park forest is haunted, you need only hear the screams coming from the thick darkness of it.
If you pass by in the night, you will hear the howling of the animals deep within yourself, hollowing you from the inside out until you're shaking like an autumn leaf, about to fall off from the tree that is your life.
Whatever you do, don't follow the laughter. Don't follow the melodious singing and the hollers of youthful joy, because if children can be cruel, teenagers more so, and they wait for you to lower your guard and think them your friends.
Do not harm the fauna here, it is protected by s̶͈̹̭͉͚̬̯̠̰̳̮̫̪̞̐́͂̃́̓́̇́̈́͛͜͠͠ȏ̶̘͔̺m̷̡̛̘̮̙̜̹͕͈̖̲̟̍́͆͐͑̾ȅ̸̱̽̒̒̆̍̎̇o̷̟͙̟̖͂̔͛̿͌͛̐̀̑͒͊̀̑̒͐ń̴̠̊͆̈́̒́̒͋̏e̶̩̹̱͓̱̽̒͒͛ else. There is only one hunter here, and if you try to take his post, you will find you have become the prey.
If you see the pale boy with the white hair and the green eyes, and he asks for help, help him. He will take you through the thickness, and know exactly where to turn, when to duck, how to step around the obstacles on your path. Soon, you will start seeing the light filter through the treetops, making the dust dance in the air around you.
D̶̛͙̹͇̹̈́̓̌̏͑͛̇̊͘̚͝͝ǫ̶̢̝̳̳̼̥̱͈̣͕́͑̈́͛̉ ̵̨̧̫̼̖̩̝̦̌̉̎̀̍̒́̿͋̿͋̊̍n̴̥̹̝̯̣̪̹̺̣̞͈̽͂̈̓́̀̓̏̅̚͜͠͝o̶̖̽̔̾̀̽̀̆͐̌̀͗͠t̴̳̦̰̜͐̈́̎̈́̀̈́͘͝ ̴̫̦̤̬̹͔̺͆͋ḽ̵̨̮̦̘̤̗̹͆͜ͅͅǒ̴̞̲̳́̓̇̏̕͘ö̷̡̮̤̯̝̝̭̪̪̪͕̥́̏̏́̐̓̅̄͋̈́̈͘̚͜͜͝k̷̼̜̭͎̈͛͂͋̕̕ ̷̬̘̥̟̹̫̭͕̞̬̱̮̝́͌̔̉͒̊̈́̌̓ḇ̴̢̢̻̝̦͖̩̙̯̝̌́͂́͑̈́̎̅̍̃́̓͜͝ȩ̷̨̨̯̗͈̠͖̜̘͎͈̳̫̗̈͗́̀̈͛̃́̀͠y̵͇̠̰̬͍̓̂ǫ̵͇̥͉̜̮̭̖̲̔̐͐̿̏͘n̶̢̰̩̙̦͕̖͇͇̋̓͆̍̓͐͐̈́̕͜ͅd̷̛͕̰̤̞̩͛̉̈̾̎̃̆̀͛͝͠ ̵̩͓̜̭̹̲̪̝̤̲̼̦͗̆̎̊̄͠ͅͅţ̷̡̫͚̱͓̦̬̞̦̥̦̮̫̆ḧ̵̦̠̻͈̦̮́̍̇̑̓͝ë̵͚͕̫̎̀̑̕ṃ̶̡̬͙̺̹̤̬̯̹̓̎̈̋͐͊͗̔̐̌̓͝.̸̨̯̦͈̝̖̜̺̲̾́̃̈̎̄̄͋̐̈́̅͘̚͜ͅ
The boy will take you to the clearing, with joyous birds singing, beautiful blue flowers blooming at your feet, and the sound of the running creek nearby. The boy will smile and take you by your hand as you look, speechless, at his unmoving form three feet under you. His hair will be black as the feathers of the ravens singing around you, and his eyes the pale blue of the sky above your head, beyond the treetops where you m̸̪͈͉̙͖̟͔̋̀͗̽̓͒̆̋͆̓u̵̡̱͉͌̀̽́̅̃s̸̢̨̠̫̦̣̪̜͛̄͠ṱ̶̨̳͍͖̯̪͈́̿̽́̒̅͗̒̈́͘͜ņ̸̗̲̯̱̼̺̤͉͎͋͂͗̒̋̈́̒͂͘'̸̨̘̲͚̊̍̍̄̃̉̈́́̽̚͘͝t̵̡̤̭͖̹͍̰̞̻͕̝̃̒̒̌́̂͠ look —though some are reminded more of ice, like the one running down your spine when you look into those dead eyes—, but it will be him and you will know it. And as you look upon his half-buried corpse, the boy will push you into the second hole, which he dug himself for you.
You will lie there, unmoving, wordlessly watching him throw shovel after shovel of dirt on you; you won't complain, you won't say a thing, because dead men tell no tales.
You didn't heed my advice, you howled with the wolves and the wild dogs, you laughed and took delight in the carnal and the drugs as you sang your throat raw, you hunted and were hunted in turn so as to know what is like to be predator and be prey.
The boy cried for you and took you to your grave, but don't worry, for he is kind; far kinder than I was with him, and the one before me was in turn. He will bury you properly, and put the blue iris that grows in the clearing atop your grave, and speak on how you will be missed. There won't be need for coins in your eyes, neither of you had any after you followed the laughter of the manic youth, but he will make sure you cross the river nonetheless.
You may rest in peace, as do I, even as the boy stays back, trapped in the forest.