The House in the Wood That Was Gone in the Morning | A Dark Folk Story

When Aldric was thirty-four, in an October long past, he set out from a small western country market town called Wenford on a clear cold morning, walking the road he had walked three times before, up to a town two days north and east called Chesham. He carried a fiddle on his back. He had been on the road sixteen years. The weather changed at noon. The rain began at three. By four it was the kind of rain a man cannot walk for long against. By dusk Aldric had missed the turning for the inn at the half-way, had pressed on past the missed turning, and had come off the road altogether onto a track he could not remember entering. The track took him through a wood he did not see himself enter into a small clearing. In the clearing was a small cottage with smoke rising from its chimney and warm yellow light in its window. The old man and the old woman who lived there opened the door before he had knocked. They offered him supper. They gave him dry clothes. They did not, in all the evening, ask him a single question they had not already known the answer to. There was a fiddle on the wall above the hearth, dark and old, hanging quiet. What Aldric ate at their table, what he played them on his fiddle when the supper was finished, what he found in the clearing when he opened his eyes in the morning, and what the innkeeper at the next village told him three days later about the cottage in the wood that had been empty for sixty years, is the story of this video. A long folk horror story for the long quiet nights. Settle in by the fire. There is no hurry. If you enjoyed this story, please consider subscribing for more long-form folk horror told in the slow contemplative style of the old country. #folkhorror #sleepstory #ghoststory #darkfantasy #bedtimestory #travelersfire