The woods were always ominous. They stretched far beyond the fruit fields of the country. Surprisingly enough loggers had never cut it down, probably because of the horrifying history behind it. The story goes like this:

Charlotte was a very outdoorsy type of girl, and she got to go outdoors often. But life inside her home wasn’t the best. Nobody has gone into details, but we know she hated it.

One day she decided she was done with the current life she led. When her mother sent her outside with a satchel to go pick some apples from the fruit orchard, she vowed to never come back.

So in her satchel she packed some clothes and sneaked some supplies to find a better home. Preferably in those woods. The forest in which Charlotte always had a fondness for.

Packing her little bag was the easy part, the more challenging part would be getting into the woods without being seen. They technically belonged to nobody, but hunters would occasionally turn up to ambush deer and other unfortunate critters.

The second they heard movement, guns would be fired, no questions asked. This had never happened to anybody, but Charlotte couldn’t help but worry. “Be brave.” She whispered letting out a sigh.

“Charlotte Marie Jones!” Her mother shouted making Charlotte jump and drop the flashlight she had in her right hand. She slowly got up and went to the door. “Y-yes mother?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Go outside Char and get the fruit, I’m going to make pie for the Andrews family later.” Charlotte ignored her and walked out the back door leaving her mother in disbelief.

She walked for a ways to make sure the trees were covering her. It had taken a while but Charlotte had memorized every view point from the windows to the orchard and knew just how to avoid them.

She slipped behind a cherry tree and into the woods, making sure as to duck low so that her head wouldn’t be seen through the bushes.

Then Charlotte ran. Ran through the woods for what seemed like hours, only stopping occasionally to take a sip of water from the small jug she shoved into the satchel.

Once the sun was fully blocked out from the thick wall of trees, she decided it was time to rest. All in all regretting this idea as she pulled out a thin wool blanket and spread it across the leaves and ant infested forest floor.

Sprawling across it, Charlotte attempted to ignore the bugs crawling over her arms and the mosquitos biting at her bare, exposed legs. Trying to catch some shut-eye would not be easy.

Out of nowhere a small thin object came soaring straight towards her. Before she could react, a tranquilizer dart hit her in the side, instantly making her pass out.

A tall guy came striding out from behind a large oak, staring at his new prey. “What a pretty little girl!” He clapped his hands together and tilted his head up to let out a laugh.

He let out a shrill shriek, “Another perfect addition to my collection!” Taking out a knife, the demented man started chopping up the girl, until only her right arm was left.

Then he took a photo, and added it,

to his collection.

And there you have it, the reason why we never dare go into those woods. Because only one part of Charlotte Marie Jones has been found.

Her right arm.