Day 2,156

My nan had spent her whole life out in the woods in that little cottage. She met grandad when he was repairing the cable that fed electricity to the single light bulb in the living room and he eventually moved in with her. Never questioned why she lived all alone out there or where her family was.

Dad couldn't stand it out there, too full of odd sounds and too far from everywhere else. Soon as he moved out he said he felt something moved with him, keeping watch from the moment he left the woods and leaving him when he went back to visit.

I knew what he meant when I was old enough to remember feeling those eyes opening up in the back of my mind on our way back from the yearly visit. It was our first once since grandad died, I remember that much. Nan insisted on burying him in the tiny old churchyard even deeper in the woods and we had to get special permits as it was only technically consecrated.

It was where she wanted to be buried too, she told us, right next to him and with a very specific tombstone design that she'd already had carved. We'd only need to fill in the end date - she was practical like that. Practical enough to know what was watching us and know how we'd react if we knew at the time.

My parents still don't know what it is but they've gotten used to it and consider it as much a part of their live as a family pet. I only found out the truth when I went to visit nan's grave on the one year anniversary of her passing and heard it following me for the first time in my entire life.

Its footsteps were quiet but deliberate, like it knew I could finally hear it and it didn't want to scare me. I snuck the occasional glance back in time for it to slip behind a tree or dive into a bush. It was almost comical how much it didn't want to be seen until we got to the old churchyard.

That's when it started to cry.