The Hanging Tree by Peter Hollens except you swear that you can hear a ghostly chorus singing it to the accompaniment of wind whistling through the branches of the old tree that sits atop the infamous Hangman’s Hill. You stop for a moment, entranced, but then quicken your step because local legend has it that the ghosts of those who met their end in that tree still haunt the hill, and they will kill anyone who linger there past midnight – particularly, on an October night like tonight. And the village clocktower up ahead is ticking the seconds down.
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