Day 1,687

Someone is always crying for help in the woods. It's best not to think about what kind of creature can mimic the sound of absolute terror so perfectly and better still - don't wonder where they learnt it. Too many joggers and dog walkers have gone missing this way and I'm sure it will eventually add their voices to its repertoire.

It has a thousand voices or just one, depending on who you ask. In some tales it's a lost child that was stolen by the fae and dumped back in our realm when it grew too old to entertain them and now it doesn't know how to do anything but cry out for help.

In other tales it's a beast made from the bones of babies left out by unwed mothers, coated in moss and the rags the poor things were wrapped up in. They call out to people who have long since died and should you encounter them, they may see a familial resemblance in you and pull you in close for an embrace that never ends.

Of course the sensible answer is that an exotic bird learnt this call as a party trick and escaped on a fine summer's day to wander the woods, terrifying everyone it meets. Unfortunately the sensible answer doesn't explain why so many people go missing from here each year or why there are so many tiny handprints in the mud.