My name is William Harold Smythe and this is the story of how I became one of last true immortals. My life began in the year of our lord 1747, on March the fourth, on a small farm outside of Trenton, New Jersey. I was the fifth son of a wheat farmer named Caleb Smythe. My father was a second-generation immigrant when his father brought his pregnant wife over to the New World from Surrey, England to make a better life for his family. Grandfather died of a heart attack after my sister Sarah was born and Grandmother Smythe lasted only another year or so after his passing. Father worked the fields from sun-up to sundown, along with my older brothers; Samuel, Nathaniel, Martin, and Steven. Yes, I was the baby of the family, though Sarah was born five years before me and was my mother's pride and joy. As the weeks passed and became months, I learned to crawl then walk and finally talk. Once I started talking no one in the family could get me to stop. They always referred to me as the chatterbox and if they yelled at me to be silent, I just kept going as if nothing was said. As the years passed I grew into the spitting image of my grandfather, black hair that shown almost blue and sea green eyes, though a little taller than he was at the end of his life. At the age of fifteen I started growing taller and ended up at the height of six feet four inches. Because of the work that I did on the farm I developed strong, lean muscles that belied my true strength. By the time I reached eighteen I was trapping and hunting in the forest surrounding our home, so we had fresh meat every few days.
It all started on a crisp April morning, a Sunday if memory serves me correctly, I had risen with the sun and dressed quickly to start my chores. Poppa was working in the fields already, tending to the matters of various pests. I walked down the familiar stairs of my home, hearing the clinking, hustle and bustle of breakfast being made. As I walked into the kitchen, Mother scolds me for sleeping so late, though I know she is only teasing me, as is her custom to do so.
"Morning Momma." I said with a small smile.
"Good morning sleepyhead. What are your plans for today?" asked Samantha. Samantha Smythe was always a chipper sort of woman with a pleasant sense of humor.
"Well, after I finish my chores Martin and I will be going into the forest to hunt." He had prepared his hunting rifle and all of their supplies the night before.
"Be careful, William. You know I don't like you going into that particular forest to hunt. You've heard the rumors, same as I have. Something is very queer about those woods." Samantha said as she hugged her son. The fabric of her homespun dress always felt scratchy against his skin.
"Yes, Momma. I always am and you know it." I stated. After I ate my breakfast of porridge my siblings decided now was the time to make an entrance. I cleared my bowl from the table as everyone was murmuring good morning to each other. I told Martin to hurry up but my older brother told me that
'Rome wasn't built in a day.'
I rolled my eyes at him, as was my custom, whenever he tried to impart little pearls of wisdom to me or anyone else.
As I walked outside onto the front porch I called out good morning to Poppa, to which he waved from the golden field. A few more weeks and the wheat would be ready for harvesting, then we would rotate other crops in it's' place.
'Better get started on my chores.' I thought.
I made my way to our chicken coop, checked on their water, threw a little feed on the ground outside the coop but still inside the fenced area for the chickens. They all ran out of the coop to get to the feed first, and while they were feeding, I managed to scoop out all the dropping with a shovel before they were finished. The chickens seemed a little off today for some reason, they were acting very strange. I just couldn't put my finger on what was off. Anyhow, I headed towards the barn to move a few bundles of hay. I've been putting it off for a few days and Pa would take his belt to me if I didn't get it done today, before I left. Ten bundles of hay, weighing about thirty pounds apiece, tied in sturdy twine, by the time I was done moving them I was lightly covered in sweat. I then hear Martin calling my name so I hollered back that I'd be there soon. I ran out of the barn as soon as I was finished with my chores. Martin was standing on the porch with his rifle and his rucksack full of supplies for our expedition. I looked around the porch and didn't see my things.
"Marty, where is my stuff?" I asked my brother.
"Do I look like your body servant? Get your things yourself." Martin said smartly.
I stomped back into the house, letting the door slam behind me.
"Don't slam the door William!" My mother exclaimed.
I cringed inwardly; her yelling was like sharp nails on a chalkboard. I quietly walked back up to my room and gathered his gear. I gathered my flintlock rifle, gunpowder, paper wadding, lead ammunition, hunting knife, bedroll, and a few blankets.
'I'd only need the last two if Martin decided to camp out in the forest.' William thought.