*3. “The Screaming Man of Pluckley” – a very long horror story*

 🌲 ** *(Due to length, I'll start immediately)* --- ### *Prologue: A Village Hidden in Fog* Pluckley, a picturesque village in Kent, looks like a postcard during the day: whitewashed houses, stone gardens, watercolor-like greenery. But at night… At night, the fog descends on Pluckley like a veil of the dead. And the Screaming Woods – the Forest of Screams – awakens. James Carter, a photographer from Dover, came there to take a series of photos for a book about English legends. Little did he know he would witness something unforgettable. -- ### *Chapter I: The First Scream* James pitched his tent at the edge of the forest. He set up his camera, tripod, and gear. Everything went on as normal… until midnight. Then he heard the first scream. It wasn't the sound of an animal. It wasn't human either. It was a scream that sounded like: * splintering wood, * choking pain, * the desperation of a dying man. James froze. And then he heard something worse: footsteps. Slow, heavy. Approaching his tent. -- ### *Chapter II: Man of the Woods* James peered out. The fog was so thick he could almost touch it. But after a moment, a figure emerged from it. A man. In a worn, old forestry jacket. A piece of broken tree limb protruded from his chest. James took a step back. The man opened his mouth. The scream that escaped was the same one he'd heard earlier. It sounded like an echo of pain from centuries ago. James instinctively raised his camera and took a picture. A flash illuminated the fog. The man disappeared. But in the picture… a silhouette remained. Indistinct. Blurry. But there it was. -- ### *Chapter III: An Old Legend* James went to the village the next day. At The Black Horse Inn, he tried to talk to the locals. When he mentioned the forest, the people fell silent. "Did you hear a scream?" asked an old man in the corner. "Yes." The man sighed. "That's the Screaming Woodsman. He died in the 17th century. A tree fell on him during a gale, piercing his chest. He lay dying all day. No one helped him—everyone thought it was a monster screaming in the forest." The old man looked James straight in the eye. "He's not screaming because he's in pain. He's screaming because he's *warning*." "Warning? About what?" "About what killed him." James didn't understand. Not yet. --- ### *Chapter IV: The Night of the Gale* That night, he returned to the forest. The fog was thinner, but the wind was stronger. James was taking pictures when suddenly the tree next to him began to creak. Heavily. Ominously. And then he heard a scream. Right behind him. He turned. The forester stood before him. This time, he looked more… human. Desperation filled his eyes. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. He simply pointed at the tree above James. James looked up. The trunk…was cracking. In a second, he understood. He threw himself to the ground. The tree collapsed. Exactly where he stood. When he lifted his head, the Woodsman was looking at him with quiet relief. And then… for the first time in hundreds of years… he didn't scream. He simply disappeared. --- ### *Epilogue* James's photos from that night became famous. One of them—the one from their first encounter—shows the silhouette of a man with a branch in his chest. But there's something more. In the background, a large tree can be seen, cracked *exactly* where it had broken on the night the Woodsman died. And under the photo, James wrote: > *"He wasn't screaming in pain. > He was screaming to save me."*