A Man Builds A Cabin In The Woods Because He Doesn't Like Society
When Mark was younger he always had an aversion to society and people in general, which is why he built his small log cabin deep in the forest. He loved the peace and tranquility of living alone, and being one with nature was all he thought he’d ever need for a perfect life.
One afternoon while gathering firewood, he accidentally cut his arm on the jagged bark of a Woolly Walla Willow tree, resulting in a deep gash all the way to the bone that bled profusely. He had a vast amount of supplies in his cabin, but he didn’t have a needle or thread to sew up the wound, so he knew he needed medical treatment as soon as possible. Unfortunately, that meant he’d have to hike the twenty-six miles back to the town that he was born in. Either that, or die up here in the woods.
Mark seriously considered his options, and after five minutes he reluctantly decided on the former. He hadn’t seen another human being for the last forty-five years, and at sixty-six he wasn’t any spring chicken anymore. But he knew he could make it.
Loading up his rucksack with a few meager provisions, he started on his trek, and by the next evening he arrived at his destination.
But the town was deserted, and all of the stores and houses were completely empty. Feeling helpless, he closed his eyes, laid down in the street, and waited to die. But a few moments later he heard a sucking sound. He opened his eyes to see a pale-faced young woman lapping up the blood from his arm.
The woman paused and looked deeply into Mark’s eyes.
“Don’t worry, my friend,” she said, baring her prominent canines. “You’re not alone. You’ll be with us now.”