Stuff That Scares Me

I heard something move in the dark. And I wanted to hear it again. That's the problem. That's always been the problem. Some people hear a sound in the woods and walk the other way. I'm the kind who stands still and listens. I'm Wallace Cole. I grew up in the mountains of West Virginia, where the old folks knew things they wouldn't say out loud. Not because they didn't believe them. Because they did. I carried that with me. Into the hollows and the abandoned places. Into the fog that lays long and doesn't lift when it should. Into rooms where I was absolutely alone — until something moved at the edge of what I could see, and alone stopped being the right word. I collect the stories that people carry but don't tell. Appalachian folklore. Unsolved disappearances. Encounters that never made it into a report. Warnings that have survived for generations without anyone remembering why. I've followed the footprints. I've sat across kitchen tables from people who shook while they told me what they saw. I've studied the evidence and the closed investigations and the ground where the truth sits waiting for someone willing to look at it. Some of what you'll hear is documented. Some is drawn from real events. Some is simply possible. All of it is the kind of thing that stays with you after dark. This is Stuff That Scares Me.