🌲[YOU ARE HERE]

Residents of the countryside part of the town greet you as you exit the interstate into the mountain range. The gas station and friendly local diner is surrounded by lush farmland and fields of happy livestock. The general store is a more if a small grocery market, with advertisements for a petting zoo at the major farm and orchard. Your arrival HERE has been warm and inviting so far.

The folks out in the countryside have superstitions about the mountain town, and don't talk much about it unless asked. The families only come to participate in the faires, festivals, and farmer's market. The children go to a boarding school in another city, and their parents refuse to let them go to the summer camp in the forest. They refuse to tell you why, but they seem to have pained expressions in their silence.

You get back in the car, and continue down the road toward the busier part of town.

Everyone knows when someone is passing through, as visitors are fresh faces among a sea of the familiar. Rumors pop up here and there about those who have come to town with no express purpose.

Folks passing through are usually found at the diner, the festivals and fairs, or the farmers market. The hotel isn't usually busy, as many tourists don't have much to do in town. Not many families from out of town travel to the campsite as it is no longer advertised.

Small groups of road-bound youths tend to stay with friends, at the motel, or in their cars. If you were fortunate to have a camper, there is a small RV park at the gas station before leaving town.

The residents living in The Hills are well off families of town politicians, local businesses, and social elites.

While they seem to keep mostly to themselves, The Hills folk throw lavish parties in large cabin homes deep in the forest on the mountain. The younger generation is not privy to what goes on at these parties, as their parents refuse to acknowledge they happen or if they attend. 

You have been told that some of the well off families aren't worth getting involved with, and to keep your distance.

After crossing the one-car bridge, you are already in The Wood. A densely forested area, with trails and paths and creeks and rivers. 

The old campsite, where the towns local summer camp is held, has a run-down look to it. Not many young children go these days, but it is still held as a day-camp for the school.Through the rest of the year, the campsite is visited by those who seek a more intimate relationship with nature.

State park guides insist that visitors not exceed past marked trails and fencing. That doing so will impede on the safety of the wildlife, and that someone could get hurt. There seems to be an stubborn unease about the trail guides when asked to go off-trail, and no one has been able to convince them otherwise.

Locals have seen mysterious lights in the forest at night, claiming to be campfires, glowing eyes, monsters, or UFOs. Most everyone is disregarded, as nothing has been proven, and photos inconclusive. Some claim that the strange sounds in the forest are creatures from another realm, or ghosts trapped on the mortal coil. As you can tell, The Wood is a popular place for those entertained by the supernatural.

It is a terrible thing when one passes on, leaving life and loved ones behind in your wake. The hours before death seem lost, and the threat of mortality looms upon those who bear witness to its cruel exchange. 

There is, however, a enchanting sense of beauty when seeing the stillness of death first hand. How time seems to stop and for a second the world is a moment frozen forever like a painting.

The cemetery is surrounded by beautiful flowers and fruit trees, the rows of graves dotted with benches and pagodas, and large, ornate metal gates creak open for those in mourning. A small farmhouse on the edge of the cemetery houses the grounds keeper and his family. Flowery hedges border the edges, bringing a sense of peace to the otherwise grim location.