Flimptember the Stot

Dear Journal,

As I waited for my “J” posts to take root I saw some of the other middle-aged teen-agers gathering around the edge of the forest. 

Forests in a realistic medieval fantasy world are a place where secrets and danger live. There aren’t only outlaws hiding in it, there are also witches, fantasy animals, ironic deaths, and many other horrible things that want to kill you.

One of the scarier things supposedly living in the woods is Preston Manning, and he likes to reform. He is said to live near the western edge of the forest, exactly where my colleagues had congregated.

They like to show off how brave they are to the girls by seeing how far they are willing to go into the forest. There are a lot of stories about what Preston Manning can do to you.

I didn’t really believe the stories about Preston Manning. The other day a ghost tried to convince me his witch girlfriend lived in the next town over. People are as willing to lie about girlfriends as they are about scary things living in the woods.

I told the guys I thought all this talk was nonsense. When someone else said the same thing the guys told us that when Greg made it 25 paces he could hear the word ‘reform’ drifting in the wind.

Another guy said, “When Brad went 30 paces, he swore he could feel someone or something breathing on him”

One of the girls said, “Liam went 35 paces, before he took the last step he felt a hand around his wrist, and it felt as if his insides were turning.”

I got bored of these stories and went home. When I asked dad if he believed in Preston Manning he told me to shut up and get him another bottle.

When I did, we heard…

Then he said, “never say that name again,” and didn’t speak for the rest of the day.

Then last night, as I puzzled over the mystery of PM (I don’t want to even write his whole name now) a squirrel scratched at my window…

…then just stared at me.