Although it's not my second job of choice, it's just something I do on the side whenever I want to. Other than being a full-time gardener at the farmhouse, I am also a part time forest runner on most days. But they insisted I take the money or go find some other place to sleep. All I needed was a roof over my head and a place to sleep. Which I guess is a little above average for most gardeners, but I did let the owners know I was just about ready to work for free. The kind of place where cellular towers are practically non-existent, and the nearest civilization is at least a gazillion miles away. It's nothing fancy (obviously) just a big old building right in the middle of nowhere surrounded by layers upon layers of thick bushes, trees, and mountains high as the eye can see. My name is Blake, and I live on a farmhouse. But before that, there are a couple things you should know about me first. Because the stories I am going to be sharing with you during my free time moving forward, might just be some of the craziest things you've ever heard. If you haven’t, however, then are you in for one heck of a tail. Well, if you have experienced any and or all of what I had just mentioned, then you probably already have a good idea of the place and some of the things I am about to tell you. Have you ever been stabbed through the center of your palm by a stumpy little demon shrub with needle like spikes hiding beneath the leaves and running down its trunk like exterior? Not to mention the erratic demonic tendencies some of the plants around here seem to sometimes possess. Have you ever been followed through the woods by a mysterious hooded figure crunching through the brush and stalking your every move from just beyond the tree line? Have you ever been tail down the side of a mountain by a band of angry machete-wielding onion people with Jack o’lantern like faces and major territory issues?
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