I grew up in a rural community in the Squintna area of Alaska,
a place that doesn't often appear on maps.
It's only claim to fame as being a place the Iditarod passes on
the way to Nome. It isn't a town, or even a
village, rather a scattered community of homesteaders,
Apocalypse Preppers, Lodge operations, and wealthy
Southerners with summer retreats all spread for miles up and down
the river. It tends not to be a very
frightening place, though it can be dangerous, whether from
hostile wildlife or smash and grab criminals.
If you know how to handle it with a rifle, there's nothing to
be afraid of. Yet as long as I've lived out
there, I have had an uncanny fear of being out in the woods
alone. My family has a homestead nearby
a large marsh. Ever since I was a child, I
could see that expanse of grass and water outside my window.
It could be mesmerizingly beautiful watching the wind
ripple through that sea of grass, but at the same time
there was always something off putting or eerie about it,
especially when night came. Alaska is known as the place of
the midnight sun. During the summer it never
really gets dark. Instead, everything gets
suspended in a drawn out dusk until morning breaks again.
The sun falls just enough below the horizon that the sky Grays
and all the colors become muted with less definition, but
there's still enough light to see everything, to make out
shapes, perfect conditions to make you think you're seeing
things. I'd be looking out my window
watching the mist roll over the now still grassy expanse,
thinking I could almost make out things moving on the far side of
the marsh. I would always dismiss it.
Moose are frequent and love to browse the aquatic vegetation
there. Yet there was always a fear, a
fear I could not rationalize or explain.
I didn't know where it came from.
When I was young, I attributed the fear to bears.
After all, there were many cases of hungry Grizzlies breaking
into cabins and attacking people in their beds.
This actually happened to one of our neighbors, a story I might
share another time later. My family had to put down a
problem bear that had been breaking into our garbage shed
with it, lying dead before me. I realized that maybe bears
weren't behind this unknown terror.
This strange, irrational dread went on for many years until I
was old and big enough to be allowed to go out on my own.
It subsided with the new found freedom I gained.
I could go wherever I wished, whenever I wished I could
explore. And I did as many children do.
I tromped around the woods, usually armed with a Big Axe,
Bear Spray, and a 22. The area we built on was raised
with a steep wooded slope that ended at the edge of the marsh.
These slopes encircled at least half of the marsh before it
flattened out on the other side. I typically paraded around on
the Highlands, never really venturing down these slopes to
the marsh. The year 2016 was when it began.
Or perhaps it had always been, and I was only just then
noticing there's a big trail that overlooks the marsh where
we had long ago pushed old stumps, rotten logs and debris
from trail creation off the side of the slope, creating kind of a
giant ball of dirt and tangled wood that one could stand on to
overlook the marsh. I was speeding by at the time on
a four Wheeler, and I just happened to look in that
direction when I did. There was something there,
something standing in the trail by the debris pile.
To this day, I almost chalk it up to me seeing things, but I
felt it should be included. I went by so quickly that I
never really got a good look at it.
It looked like it wasn't really there, like an apparition of
some kind. An enormous, hunched body
suspended on thin, emaciated legs, with long spindly arms
reaching out to its side. It was Gray, Gray, like a dark
cloud. It had a big neck and a huge
snouted head. There wasn't enough definition
to the body, and I was going too fast to see much of anything
else. After I'd passed it, I stopped
and backed up to see if I could catch a glimpse of it again.
There was nothing to see. I ruminated on that sighting.
All I could think of was some enormous bipedal moose or wolf.
It couldn't have been a bear. Bears limbs are quite thick and
stocky, not long and emaciated. The fear returned, and this time
I felt like I knew where it was coming from.
Since 2016 there have been happenings, perhaps brought on
by my own foolishness. The next year I sought to
conquer my fear, saying to myself I was only seeing things
and if it was an animal, it was only an animal.
A friend was staying with me at the time and I invited him on a
squirrel hunt with me. An excuse for me to go down
where I saw that thing and in the adjacent area proved to
myself that there was nothing to fear.
With a friend for backup, I regret having dragged him down
there now. It was pretty scummy of me now
that I think about it. Armed with axes, bear spray and
rifles, we went down the slope where the debris pile was.
It was quiet. There were no squirrels
chattering in the trees, no chickadees chirping.
Even the ever present mosquitoes lessened and quieted.
The only sound was us wading through the Bush toward the
bottom of the debris pile. At the marsh's edge we came
across a bone, a femur belonging to something.
We didn't think too much of it. After all, you'll find bones
every now and then, especially out in the Bush.
But eventually we found more. A whole moose carcass picked
clean and scattered around the base of the debris pile.
It's rib cage lay derelict, bleached by the sun, still
interconnected by dried cartilage.
We both thought it interesting, stopping to examine the remains.
It was old. There was no smell.
Perhaps one or two years had passed since its death.
As we sat there over the bones, we looked behind us, noticing
that the pile of debris had several tunnels dug through it
into the side of the slope. Dense Tufts of moose hair
littered around it. Perhaps a bear had dug its den
here. Wisely, we decided to leave,
moving horizontally along the slope, away from those tunnels.
The dread began to seep back into me, though I powered
through it, making excuses. Maybe a bear had eaten the moose
and hibernated there a long time ago, I thought to myself.
But as we progressed, things became, well, uncanny.
Along the slope there were many well worn trails going alongside
it, which we walked on to avoid bushwhacking.
No discernible tracks could be made out, but there were
definitely signs of moose where they had stripped off leaves and
bark to eat, and large patches of flattened grass where
something had bitten down. Eventually we came across
another carcass more intact. This time its bones were less
scattered, likely only one winter since it died.
Its skeletal body was covered in the crunchy shells of dead
insects and maggots, weirdly, and its neck had been snapped,
one of its vertebrates cleanly broken, like someone breaking a
carrot in half. We thought it's strange, and
moved on as we went. We began to notice that every so
often by the side of the trail there was a young Aspen or
Poplar sapling bent over with a log or something holding down
its top, like the log had been placed there to keep it bent
over. We found places where there were
multiple saplings bent over in strange patterns, one after the
other in a row, growing more unnerved.
We continued, eventually seeing little sticks all laid around
the base of a bigger tree, like a tiny teepee.
At that point we knit out of there, heading back to the
house. We got back inside and we're
just taking off our jackets and shoes.
When it happened. There was a howl or a deep moan,
something like that. I struggled to describe it, but
it was so deep, so loud. I could feel it in my chest,
like it rattled my very lungs. The only thing I can really
liken it to was when I was at a military air show and the F
fifteens did a low fly by over the attendees.
The jolt and the air reverberating in your lungs is
something that you just can't forget.
This howl boomed once, and that was it.
I felt that whatever it was, it was telling us, I know where
you've been and I know where you live.
My buddy and I were shaken, but we both came to the excuse of
did you hear that howl? It had to have been a wolf or
something. But when we looked at each
other, we both knew darn well it was no wolf.
After this trek down the slope, there have been things
happening. We'll find moose carcasses
increasingly close to our house, with most being yearling calves,
which were about the size of horses.
And we never hear any fight or commotion.
So it's assumed that whatever kills them drags their carcasses
close to our place. And every time it's the same.
The neck is snapped, sometimes with the head detached.
One time in the winter, we went out to the shed to find a moose
head sitting in the doorway. It's decapitated body just off
to the side of the building. It's been a while, and I may be
misremembering, but we might have also found a leg in a tree
as well, and every time it's the same procedure.
We burn or dispose of the carcass so our dogs don't get
into it. We heard one of the neighbors
had something big trying to dig under his house while he was
gone. One evening all his dogs had
been huddled under the cabin. When he came back, he found
massive claw Marks and overturned earth at the edge of
his home. He had to coax his own dogs out,
letting them sleep in the house with him.
A couple of nights later one of his dogs went missing.
A bear, maybe? I'd find strange tracks.
I wouldn't know what to make of one or two in the middle of the
trail with no discernible trackway, even what looked like
semi human handprints in the mud of a nearby lake bottom.
I don't know what to make of this.
A lot of it can kind of be explained away by coincidences,
but the one thing that sold this for me was when I was alone one
night at the house in an upstairs bedroom.
I was reading a book in bed when I heard something outside.
Something was running around on the lawn.
I got up out of bed to go take a look and I heard this massive
whack as if something just hit the side of the house.
I froze, hearing something running around with loud, ragged
breathing. I turned off my lights and
locked the door. The breathing continued heaving
and panting, gargling breaths. I ended up recording a little on
my phone, but due to the crappy audio, I couldn't really make it
out. Over the sound of a clock
ticking in the background, I gathered my courage and peeped
out the window. Nothing there, but it sounded so
close. It had stopped running and all I
could hear was that breathing. Yet try as I might, looking out
the window, I saw nothing. No movement, not anything.
It was as if whatever it was hugged the side of the house
under the eaves to stay hidden from my view.
The breathing slowed to the occasional huff and pant.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, it just stopped.
The next morning I found a large Poplar stick with a long
indentation in the house paint. Whatever it was had hit the side
of the house with a stick, which must have been the whack I heard
since that night. With the breathing and the
stick, there have been no more carcasses.
Life has gone relatively back to normal.
I have reluctantly gone back down over the slope looking for
property markers. The bones are gone and the
tunnels in the debris pile have collapsed or eroded.
Thankfully nothing came of me going down there again, but in
the end, I don't know, Maybe I'm going crazy making connections
between things that aren't really connected.
My fear has subsided. It's smaller, but still there in
the back of my mind whenever I'm alone in the woods.
The last echoes of our college years were fading fast, replaced
by the looming reality of law school and all its attendant
anxieties. I remember thinking, as I sat in
my small, cluttered apartment, how quickly the carefree days
had slipped through our fingers. My phone buzzed, and I saw
Percy's name flash across the screen.
The idea he pitched was simple yet enticing.
A road trip, a final hurrah before we succumb to the rigors
of our respective futures. Percy, Victor, and I had always
shared a thirst for the unknown, a curiosity for the eerie
whispers of the night. It was this shared passion that
set the wheels of our adventure in motion.
The plan was to wind our way through the country, soaking in
the majestic beauty of national parks by day and seeking out
haunted locales by night. Percy, with his mop of untamed
hair and a grin that could light up the darkest rooms, was the de
facto leader of our trio. Victor, more reserved, with a
sharp intellect, hidden behind quiet eyes, was always the one
to temper our enthusiasm with a dose of reality.
And then there was me, caught somewhere in the middle, forever
balancing on the fine line between skepticism and belief.
Our journey began under a sky so blue it felt like a promise.
We drove Percy's beaten up Jeep windows down the air, tasting of
freedom in summer. The road stretched before us
like a ribbon of possibilities. We joked, we sang along to the
radio, and we talked about everything and nothing at all.
It was the kind of easy camaraderie that can only be
forged in the fires of adolescence.
Our stops were whimsical, guided more by fancy than any real
plan. We walked the trails of
Yellowstone, marveling at the Geysers and the vast, untamed
wilderness. We spent a night in a
purportedly haunted hotel in Colorado, where the only spirits
we encountered were the ones we brought in our flask.
It was an idyllic existence, far removed from the impending
responsibilities that awaited us.
But as the days passed, a restlessness began to grow
within me. It was like a slow burning fire,
a yearning for something more, something that could stir the
blood in my veins. Percy and Victor felt it too.
I could see it in their eyes, the way they scanned the
horizon, as if searching for a sign.
It was on one of those aimless evenings in a nondescript motel
room that I stumbled upon the article.
It was buried deep in the archives of an online newspaper,
a small piece from the late 1800s about a remote farmhouse.
The story was a tapestry of horror.
A reclusive family found mutilated, an entire household
bathed in blood and no culprit ever found.
It was the kind of story that would have sent shivers down our
spines. As kids huddled around a
campfire, I remember calling Percy and Victor over my finger,
hovering over the faded print on my laptop screen.
Their reactions were immediate and visceral.
Percy's eyes lit up with that familiar thrill while Victor's
brow furrowed an intrigue. The farmhouse wasn't just
another stop on our journey, it was a call to adventure, a siren
song for our horror loving hearts.
So we veered off the path we had been following.
The road to the farmhouse was a detour, both literal and
metaphorical, leading us away from the predictable and into
the unknown. As the Jeep rumbled down the
dusty back roads, the setting sun casting long shadows across
our path, I felt a thrill of anticipation.
Little did we know, our search for ghosts would soon become
much more than a simple scare. The road behind us unfurled like
a forgotten memory, each mile marker a step further into the
unknown. The landscape had changed, the
lush greens giving way to a more barren, desolate beauty.
Victor drove in silence, his usually expressive eyes narrowed
in concentration. Percy, sprawled across the back.
Seat was lost in his own world, headphones on, nodding to a
rhythm only he could hear. I was left alone with my
thoughts, the newspaper article about the farmhouse burning a
hole in my mind. It was an odd feeling, sitting
there with the wind whipping through the open windows, a
sense of foreboding slowly creeping up my spine.
It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was more like the thrill of
standing on the edge of a Cliff, wondering what lay beyond.
The article had been brief, the details sparse, but the
implications were clear. Something terrible had happened
in that farmhouse, something that defied explanation as we
turned onto an even more remote Rd.
The shadows seem to grow longer, the trees denser, the jeeps.
Tires crunched over gravel and dirt, the only sound breaking
the heavy silence that had fallen over us.
Victor finally spoke, his voice low.
You sure about this? I could only nod, my gaze fixed
on the thickening woods. The story of the farmhouse was
like something out of a gothic novel.
A reclusive family living far from the nearest town, suddenly
and brutally destroyed. The local townspeople, wary of
the family's isolation, only discovered the tragedy months
later. The newspaper report had been
graphic, body parts strewn across the rooms, blood painting
the walls and the family's heads lined up on a window sill like
some grotesque exhibition. The authorities had blamed a
wild animal, but the townsfolk whispered darker theories.
Witchcraft, curses, something unholy.
Our decision to visit the farmhouse was impulsive, driven
more by our shared love for the macabre than any real plan.
Percy had been the most enthusiastic, his imagination
fired by the tale of horror. Victor, ever the realist, had
raised his eyebrows, but agreed none the less.
And I I was caught in the grip of a story that felt larger than
life, a mystery that beckoned with a sirens call as the sun
began to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the
landscape. We finally saw it, a weathered
sign pointing toward the farmhouse.
The words were barely legible, worn away by time and neglect.
We turned on to an even narrower path, the branches scratching
against the Jeep like fingers trying to hold us back.
The farmhouse itself was a shock.
Nestled in a small clearing, it stood defiantly against the
encroaching forest. Time had not been kind to it.
The wood was rotting, the paint peeling away to reveal the bare
bones beneath. It was smaller than I had
imagined, it's windows dark and empty like the eyes of a skull.
We got out of the Jeep, the air heavy with the scent of decay
and old secrets. The silence was oppressive.
The kind of quiet that feels like a weight on your chest.
As we approach the house, each step felt heavier than the last.
The door hung off its hinges, an unspoken invitation into the
darkness beyond. I remember pausing at the
threshold, a sense of unease washing over me.
The story of the family, the gruesome details of their
deaths, all of it felt suddenly real, tangible.
The line between the past and the present blurred, and for a
moment I wondered if we were stepping into a story that had
never truly ended. The interior of the farmhouse
was like stepping into another world, a snapshot of a past long
forgotten. The first thing that hit me was
the smell, a musty, earthy scent that clung to the back of my
throat. The dimming light from outside
barely penetrated the gloom, casting long, twisted shadows
against the walls. Victor flicked on his
flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness like a
knife. The walls were bare, the paint
peeling and discolored, and the floorboards creaked under our
weight, as if protesting our intrusion.
Percy, ever the Fearless 1, led the way, his steps echoing in
the empty space. This is it, huh?
He said, more to himself than to us.
Victor and I exchanged a look, but said nothing.
The truth was, we were both feeling the weight of the place,
a heaviness that seemed to press down on us with each step.
As we explored the ground floor, I couldn't shake the feeling
that we were being watched. It was an irrational thought, I
knew, but the sensation was undeniable.
The farmhouse was devoid of furniture, save for a few broken
pieces that lay scattered like forgotten toys.
The only sign of the former inhabitants was a series of old
rusty cans in a cupboard, their labels long since faded.
Victor was the first to notice the stairs.
Should we check upstairs? He asked, his voice unusually
hesitant. I nodded and we made our way to
the second floor, the stairs groaning ominously beneath our
weight. The upstairs was, much like the
ground floor, empty and forlorn. The windows were dirty, the
glass cracked and broken in places, allowing slivers of the
dying light to filter through. It was then that we heard it, a
soft rustling sound, like something moving in the shadows.
We froze, our hearts pounding in our chests.
Victor raised his flashlight, the beam dancing across the
walls, but there was nothing there.
Just as we were about to dismiss it as our imagination, there was
a sudden flurry of movement and a bat swooped down from the
rafters, its wings beating frantically.
Percy let out a Yelp, ducking as the bats circled above us.
Dang it, he cursed, swatting at the air.
The bat seemed disoriented, It's echolocation thrown off by the
flashlight. With a final swoop, it
disappeared through a broken window, leaving us in stunned
silence. We laughed, then a nervous,
relieved laughter that echoed through the empty house.
The tension that had been building broke, and for a moment
we were just three friends on an adventure, nothing more.
But as we made our way back downstairs, I couldn't help but
feel a twinge of disappointment. We had come seeking ghosts,
seeking a brush with the supernatural, but all we had
found was an old abandoned house and a disoriented bat.
Little did we know, our real encounter was yet to come.
The sun had set by the time we left the farmhouse, the darkness
complete and absolute. We used our flashlights to
navigate back to the Jeep, the light beams cutting through the
night like beacons. But as we walked, I couldn't
shake the feeling that we were not alone, that something was
watching us from the shadows bidding its time.
Night had fallen like a curtain, heavy and absolute.
The air was cooler now, the forest around us alive with the
sounds of nocturnal creatures. We walked in silence, our
footsteps muffled by the soft earth.
Percy was the first to break the quiet, his voice barely above a
whisper. You guys feel that?
He asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Victor and I exchanged a look, but neither of us responded.
The truth was, we did feel it. A prickling sensation on the
back of our necks, a feeling of being watched.
It was easy to dismiss it as the product of our overactive
imaginations, fueled by the stories of the farmhouse.
But deep down, I knew it was more than that.
We pressed on the beam from Victor's flashlight, cutting a
swath through the darkness. That's when we heard it, a soft,
almost imperceptible rustling in the underbrush.
We stopped, our hearts pounding. In the stillness.
I strained my ears, trying to pinpoint the sound, but it was
gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Probably just an animal, Victor said, but his voice lacked
conviction. We continued our trek back to
the Jeep, but the sense of unease grew with every step.
The forest felt different now, hostile, as if we were
trespassing in a place we didn't belong.
The shadows seem to shift and move, playing tricks on our
eyes. But then, without warning,
Victor's flashlight flickered and died.
We stood there in the darkness, the weight of the night pressing
in on us from all sides. I fumble for my own flashlight,
the sudden urgency making my hands clumsy.
When the light finally came on, it felt like a lifeline, a thin
thread of safety in an ocean of darkness.
We decided to stick close together, moving as one unit.
The Jeep wasn't far now, or so we thought.
But the woods had a way of disorienting you, of twisting
your sense of direction until you doubted even the ground
beneath your feet. That's when we heard it, a low,
guttural laugh drifting through the trees like a wisp of smoke.
It was a sound that chilled the blood, a sound that had no place
in the natural world. We froze, our breaths caught in
our throats. What the hell was that?
Percy hissed, his eyes wide with fear.
I shook my head, unable to form words.
The laugh came again, closer this time a sound filled with
malice and hunger. There was a rustling in the
underbrush, a sense of movement, of something circling us in the
darkness. We ran, then, terror lending
speed to our limbs. The forest was a blur around us,
branches snagging at our clothes, roots tripping our
feet. The laughter followed us, a
constant companion in the night. We burst out of the woods and
onto the road, the sight of the Jeep up ahead like a beacon of
hope. We piled in, not bothering with
seatbelts, not bothering with anything but the need to escape.
As I turn the key in the ignition, the headlights came
on, illuminating the road ahead. And that's when we saw it.
A figure standing at the edge of the woods, just outside the
reach of the light. It was tall, too tall to be
human, its eyes glowing red in the darkness.
For a moment we were frozen, our minds unable to process what we
were seeing. Then the figure moved, a fluid,
unnatural motion that defied the laws of physics.
It stepped back into the shadows, disappearing from view.
But the image of those glowing red eyes was seared into my
memory, a reminder of the terror that lurked in the darkness.
We drove in silence, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from
our veins. The road stretched out before
us, leading us away from the nightmare we had just
experienced. But even as we put distance
between US and the farmhouse, I knew that some part of us would
always remain there, trapped in the darkness, forever haunted by
the laughter in the woods. The engine of the Jeep roared to
life, shattering the oppressive silence that had enveloped us.
My hands were shaking as I gripped the steering wheel, my
eyes glued to the rear view mirror, half expecting to see
those glowing red eyes following us.
But there was nothing, only the darkness and the winding Rd.
that stretched out before us. Percy and Victor were silent in
the back seat, their bodies rigid with shock.
The jovial atmosphere that had marked the start of our journey
was gone, replaced by a suffocating sense of dread.
I pushed the Jeep faster, the trees blurring past us in a
green and black smear. None of us spoke.
What was there to say? We had sought out the
supernatural, craving, the thrill of fear, But what we had
found was something else entirely, something that defied
explanation, something that had looked at us with red glowing
eyes and laughed. As we neared the main road, the
sense of urgency that had propelled us began to fade,
giving way to an exhausted relief.
We were safe. Or at least we were out of the
woods, both literally and figuratively.
But the feeling of safety was an illusion, A fragile bubble that
could burst at any moment. We pulled into the hotel parking
lot, the bright lights of the lobby jarring after the darkness
of the woods. The old man at the front desk
gave us a cursory glance as we walked in, his eyes lingering on
our dishevelled appearance. I mumbled our reservation
details, my voice sounding for into my own ears.
The room was a welcome respite, a haven of normalcy in a world
that had suddenly tilted on its axis.
We didn't bother unpacking, didn't bother with showers or
changing clothes. We just collapsed onto the beds,
the events of the night replaying in our minds like a
horror movie on an endless loop. I lay there in the darkness,
staring at the ceiling, the images flashing behind my eyes.
The abandoned farmhouse, the rustling in the underbrush, the
figure with the red eyes. Sleep was a distant dream,
something unattainable and foreign.
The next morning we packed up in silence, the camaraderie of the
road trip a distant memory. The drive back was a quiet
affair, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
We made a few stops more out of necessity than desire, but the
usual banter was gone. We had seen something that
night, something that had changed us, something that had
stripped away the veneer of safety and shown us a glimpse of
the darkness that lurked just beneath the surface.
We finished the road trip as planned, visiting a few tourist
spots, but the joy was gone. There were no more haunted
locations, no more seeking out the supernatural.
We just went through the motions, counting down the miles
until we could go our separate ways.
I still have nightmares about that night, dreams where I'm
running through the woods, pursued by something I can't
see, something that laughs in the darkness.
I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, the echo of that
laughter still ringing in my ears.
I bought a hunting property in Southern Maryland a few years
later, a place where I could find some semblance of peace.
But even now, when the night falls and the woods come alive,
I find myself listening for the sound of laughter, praying that
it was all just a figment of my imagination.
But deep down, I know the truth. The farmhouse, the figure with
the red eyes, the laughter in the woods, they were all real,
and they will haunt me for the rest of my life.
When I was 15 years old, living in Youngstown, OH, on the north
side of the city, I had an experience that still sends
shivers down my spine. To this day.
If you've ever seen pictures of the old steel mills in town,
you'll have an inkling of the eerie setting for this
horrifying tale. My buddy and I were practically
neighbors, his house just across the street from those ominous
mills. We made it our habit to
regularly venture into that desolate, decaying industrial
landscape, not knowing the unspeakable terror that awaited
us. We had our favorite old
buildings in the area, and one in particular became our
makeshift headquarters. We spent weeks fortifying it,
building walls and securing entry points to keep unwanted
visitors at Bay. The wild dogs that roamed the
area, traveling in packs of six or more, were our greatest
concern. They were known for their
viciousness and we couldn't afford any encounters with them.
The building we frequented had no stairs, so we had to make
daring leaps to get inside, which in a twisted way added an
element of safety. Our chosen spot was dangerously
close to an active railroad, which the nearby working steel
mill used for supplies. It was the summer of a
nightmarish encounter, and we were exploring the mills under
the cover of darkness. We always carried guns with us,
for this was Youngstown OH in the late 80s, known as Murder
Town USA at the time. With plenty of gang activity to
match, we had picked a massive old factory building for our
expedition, even setting up a roaring bonfire on the first
floor. To ensure our privacy and avoid
unwanted attention, we erected a wall of metal U-shaped Shields,
which in retrospect we believed were milling Shields.
Little did we know that these would become our lifeline Later
that night. As we hung out by the fire, our
sense of safety crumbled when we heard the distant howls of
approaching dogs. They seem to be in pursuit of
something, their frantic barks echoing in the night.
Curiosity got the better of us, and we stealthily ventured
outside to investigate. The pack of dogs rushed past us,
scrambling over a mound of coke which steel mills used in their
processes. What followed was a gruesome
fight, a savage battle that unfolded before our horrified
eyes, and then an unexpected sound pierced through the chaos.
A louder, more imposing growl. A growl that sent chills down
our spines. Amidst the cacophony of the wild
dogs, a colossal wolf like creature emerged.
Its size was unfathomable, almost surreal.
Like something out of a nightmare.
It crawled on all fours, its massive frame moving with a
grace that belied its terrifying presence.
Its eyes, glowing with a yellowish amber light, seemed to
possess an otherworldly power source.
I can still feel the fear that washed over us at that moment,
my heart racing and my skin prickling.
My friends stumbled backward into our makeshift wall, and in
that instant the creature turned its attention towards us.
The sheer magnitude of dread that overcame us was
indescribable. Its growl resonated deep within
our chests, an ominous sound that seemed to Pierce through
our very souls. Then the unimaginable happened.
The creature, this nightmarish being, did something that defied
all logic and reason. It stood up on its hind legs,
revealing a set of massive dog like legs, their muscles
resembling those of a bodybuilder only thicker.
It's towering, muscular form was a horrifying sight to behold.
One of my friends was so terrified that he broke into
tears, his body trembling with fear.
In a frantic attempt to escape, we dashed inside the building,
climbing two sets of deteriorating, crumbling
concrete stairs to reach the third floor.
The realization that we were fortunate not to have broken a
bone or worse, in our haste only added to our panic.
But the creature wasn't done with us yet.
We could hear it climbing up the exterior of the building, its
shadow casting a pall over us. We stood motionless, paralyzed
by fear, even though we should have hidden from view.
At the very least, it was as large as a grizzly bear.
Yet it's canine nature made it seem like an impossible, surreal
creature. Its eyes continued to glow and
it began to drool profusely, as if anticipating a meal.
The question gnawed at our minds.
Did it want to kill us? It certainly had the means to do
so. Then it shifted its gaze towards
the stairs We had just ascended, and a new wave of terror washed
over us. It was heading in our direction,
and we were trapped on the third floor.
Panic set in and we desperately considered our limited options.
An outside fire escape leading to the roof, or a perilous
descent to the 4th floor. The creature effortlessly
cleared the missing steps and reached the 2nd floor, it's
growls echoing through the building.
We held our breath, praying for a miracle, and then our
salvation arrived in the form of a passing train.
The train's horn blared as it slowly passed by, likely drawn
to our blazing bonfire. The creature was startled,
diverting its attention towards the train source.
In mere seconds it made its exit, disappearing into the
night. We screamed for help, but no one
came to our rescue. Instead, we were left screaming
from the sheer stress and relief that we might have escaped with
our lives intact. When the train finally vanished
from our ears, our fear returned in full force.
Every little sound seemed like the creature returning for us.
We cautiously descended to the second floor, waiting for what
felt like an eternity, then to the first floor, where we
huddled for an additional hour before mustering the courage to
venture outside. Every step we took, we feared
that the creature would reappear in the distance.
We could still hear the wild dogs, and we ran as if our lives
depended on it, finally reaching my friend's house.
To this day, those of us who survived that night and remain
in touch relive the horror, unable to forget the
unimaginable encounter. I'm still awestruck that such
creatures can exist, and whenever I hear similar stories,
I freeze, transported back to that fateful night when the
boundaries of reality were shattered and we encountered A
terror beyond imagination. As I sat an officer chases dimly
lit office, my eyes were glued to the computer screen,
displaying footage that still gives me chills.
Chase, a seasoned officer with a stern look, played the video
from the body Cam found on one of the hunters who ventured into
the Weeping River Forest. The forest, known for its dense
trees and eerie silence, was the last place Eric and Frank were
seen alive. Only one of them ever made it
back, and now I was about to find out why.
The footage started with a shaky image of lush green
surroundings, the kind of vibrant nature you'd expect in a
forest. But something was off.
It was too quiet, almost as if the forest was holding its
breath. I leaned forward, my heart
pounding in my chest as I watched Eric and Frank, 2
hunters, appear on the screen. They had been sent to collect
samples from animals infected with a disease nobody could
figure out. I'm telling you, Frank, I hid
it. Eric's voice came from the
speakers. He held a hunting rifle in his
left hand, his right hand far from the trigger, showing he was
a responsible hunter. Then where is it?
Frank's voice was tinged with impatience.
The camera jostled as they pushed through the dense
underbrush, searching for whatever Eric had shot.
My eyes darted across the screen, trying to spot any sign
of the animal before they did. Suddenly the footage steadied,
and there it was, a fawn lying on the ground, seemingly weak
from blood loss. Told you, I got it.
Eric's triumphant voice rang out.
Frank grumbled something about owing Eric 10 bucks before the
footage showed him inspecting the fawn.
It was a small creature with a wound that wasn't bleeding as it
should. Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong. As they examined the fawn, I
couldn't help but lean closer. My curiosity piqued.
The animal had another wound, older and infected with
something that looked like red fungi.
It was unlike anything I'd ever seen.
Eric and Frank seem just as puzzled, discussing the nature
of the wound and the absent mother of the fawn.
The footage took a dark turn when Eric, ignoring Frank's
warning, reached out and touched the red fibers emerging from the
fawn's wound. The fibers reacted instantly,
wrapping around his finger and digging into his skin.
I recoiled in my seat, a chill running down my spine.
Eric's cry of pain echoed in the room, and I felt a knot form in
my stomach. Damn, that looked painful, I
muttered, more to myself than to Officer Chase.
Chase, who had been quietly observing me, gave a nod.
It gets worse, he said, his voice grave, the footage fast
forwarded to their journey back. Eric was clearly struggling, his
condition deteriorating rapidly. His face was pale.
Sweat covered his brow, and he slouched as if it was a
Herculean effort just to stand. Frank's concern was evident even
through the grainy footage, something Eric began, but he was
cut off by his own violent vomiting, his speech slurred,
and he could barely walk. As the footage ended, my mind
raced with questions and fear. What had they encountered in
that forest? What was this disease?
And most importantly, what happened to Eric and Frank after
the camera stopped? Eric Crawford was never found,
Chase said, answering one of my unspoken questions.
And Frank Dale? He died a day later, showing the
same symptoms. I leaned back in my chair, my
mind racing. This was no ordinary case.
This was something out of a Horror Story.
And now it was my job to find out what really happened in the
Weeping River Forest. The Weeping River Forest loomed
ahead, its dense canopy casting long shadows that seem to
whisper secrets of the unknown. Officer Chase and I had just
arrived at the outskirts, the place where civilization ended
and untamed nature began. I couldn't shake off the eerie
feeling that the forest was watching us, hiding its dark
secrets under its green veil. We were greeted by Doctor Lisa
Pearson and her team of biologists who had set up a
makeshift lab amidst the trees. Doctor Pearson, with her sharp
eyes and a no nonsense attitude, seemed like someone who had
spent her life unraveling nature's mysteries.
Glad you could join us, she said, her voice tinged with both
seriousness and curiosity. We've got quite a situation
here. As we walked through the camp, I
noticed samples and equipment scattered around.
It felt like a scene straight out of a sci-fi movie.
Only this was real. Very real, Doctor Pearson began,
explaining their findings. The red fibers, the same ones
that had attacked Eric in the footage, were unlike any
pathogen they'd ever seen. They weren't viral, bacterial,
fungal, or even prion based. These fibers were something
else, something unnervingly alien.
The Organism sustains the host's life while feeding off it,
Doctor Pearson continued, pointing to a series of images
showing various stages of infection.
It's like a parasite, but with a level of sophistication we've
never encountered. My mind raced with questions.
How did such an Organism come to exist?
Was it natural or something more sinister?
The implications were terrifying.
As Doctor Pearson spoke, I felt a growing sense of unease.
This wasn't just about solving a case anymore.
It was about confronting a potential threat we hardly
understood. Officer Chase, who had been
quiet until now, finally spoke up.
What's the plan then? How do we tackle this thing?
Doctor Pearson exchanged a glance with her team, her
expression grave. We need to understand how far
this infection is spread and whether it's confined to the
forest. The decision was made to explore
deeper into the forest. As we geared up, the reality of
the situation hit me. We were about to step into the
unknown, into a world where nature had concocted something
beyond our understanding. I felt a mix of fear and
adrenaline as we venture deeper into the forest.
The silence of the forest was unsettling.
It was as if the usual chatter of wildlife had been silenced by
an unseen force. We pushed through the thick
underbrush, every step taking us further from safety and deeper
into the mystery. As we walked, Doctor Pearson
briefed us on the safety protocols.
Avoid direct contact with any animal, dead or alive.
If you see those red fibers, do not touch them under any
circumstances. The deeper we went, the more
signs of the infection we saw. Animals once vibrant and full of
life now lay motionless, their bodies overtaken by the red
fibers. Each sighting sent a chill down
my spine, a stark reminder of the danger we were in.
Eventually we reached an area where the fibers seemed more
concentrated, their red hue standing out against the green
of the forest. It was here that we discovered
the entrance to a cave system, partially hidden by overgrown
foliage. This could be it, Doctor Pearson
said, her voice a mix of excitement and apprehension.
The heart of the infection could lie within.
I took a deep breath, stealing myself for what lay ahead.
We were about to enter the belly of the beast into a world where
nature's laws had been twisted into something unrecognizable.
The mystery of the Weeping River Forest was about to unfold, and
I knew our lives would never be the same again.
The mouth of The Cave yawned before us, a dark abyss that
promised only unknown dangers. I felt a shiver run down my
spine as Doctor Lisa Pearson Jane, a former marine biologist,
and I prepared to delve into the depths of this natural
labyrinth. The air was cool and damp, a
stark contrast to the warm, vibrant life of the forest
outside. As we ventured into The Cave,
our flashlights cut through the darkness, revealing walls
covered in red fibers that seem to pulse with a sinister life of
their own. It was like stepping into a
different world, one governed by this eerie alien Organism.
My heart raced with a mix of fear and fascination.
Watch your step, Doctor, Pearson warned, her voice echoing off
the walls. We don't know what we might
encounter down here. The further we went, the more
the red fibre seemed to invade The Cave.
It was as if the entire place was being consumed by them.
We came across various animals, from small rodents to larger
mammals, all ensnared by the Organism.
Their eyes were open but unseeing, A haunting reminder of
the fate that had befallen them. Eventually we found Mark,
another member of Doctor Pearson's team.
He was partially fused with The Cave wall, red fibers creeping
over his body like sinister vines.
His eyes met mine, filled with a mix of pain and resignation.
We heard someone calling for help deeper in The Cave.
Mark rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
But I fell. And these things, they got me.
I felt a lump in my throat as I looked at Mark, trapped and
helpless. Jane, who had known Mark for
years, knelt beside him, her face etched with concern and
sorrow. We'll find a way to get you out,
Mark, she said, her voice firm yet gentle.
But deep down I knew the chances were slim.
The Organism had already claimed him, and there was little we
could do. Leaving Mark with a promise to
return, we press deeper into The Cave.
The calls for help that Mark had mentioned were nowhere to be
heard, replaced by an oppressive silence that weighed heavily on
us. The deeper we ventured, the more
The Cave seemed to close in around us, the air growing
thicker, harder to breathe. Finally, we reached a pit, a
gaping hole in the earth from which the red fibers seem to
emanate. Peering down into the abyss, I
could see no bottom, only darkness.
The realization hit me hard. This Organism, this Crimson
Nexus, it was far more extensive and dangerous than we had
imagined. We need to get back, Doctor,
Pearson said, her voice laced with urgency.
We're not equipped to deal with this.
We made our way back to where we had left Mark, only to find him
in a worse state. The fibers had spread further,
covering more of his body. I can feel them inside my head,
Mark whispered, his voice trembling.
They're everywhere. Mask of pain as she looked at
her friend, knowing there was nothing we could do to save him.
We need to warn the others, I said, my voice barely above a
whisper. We need to get out of here.
With heavy hearts we made our way back to the surface, each
step taking us away from the horror we had witnessed, but
bringing us no closer to understanding or stopping it.
The Crimson Nexus was a threat unlike any we had faced, and as
we emerged back into the light of day, I knew that our battle
against it had only just begun, breathing heavily.
We emerged. From The Cave into the daylight,
which now seemed harsh and unforgiving, the forest around
us felt different, like a once familiar friend who had turned
into a stranger, Doctor, Lisa Pearson.
Jane and I were still processing the nightmarish scene we had
left behind in The Cave. The image of Mark consumed by
the Crimson Nexus haunted me. We need to get back to the lab
now, Doctor Pearson said, her voice urgent and tense as we
hurried through the forest. I couldn't shake off the feeling
of being watched. The red fibers had changed
everything, and now the forest felt like a ticking time bomb
waiting to explode. As we approach the field lab, a
chilling scream pierced the air. My heart jumped into my throat.
We broke into a run, and what we saw upon arriving turned my
blood cold. Gerard, another member of the
team, was on the ground, thrashing in agony.
The red fibers had infected him, and his arms and torso were a
horrifying sight of intertwining red strands.
Jane rushed to his side, her face pale.
Gerard, hold on, we're here, she called out, but it was evident
that Gerard was beyond our help. The fibers had taken hold of
him, just like they had with Mark.
I felt a surge of helplessness and anger.
This thing, this Crimson Nexus, was like a relentless predator,
consuming everything in its path.
Doctor Pearson was on her phone, speaking rapidly.
We need an evacuation plan. This is beyond our control, she
said, her voice shaky. Then the sound of rustling
leaves and snapping twigs alerted us to a new danger. 2
infected bear Cubs, Their bodies, grotesquely altered by
the red fibers, emerged from the bushes.
Their eyes were wild, and they moved with a terrifying,
unnatural agility. Watch out, I yelled as one of
the Cubs lunge towards us. Instinctively, I reached for the
gun I had been given for protection.
My hands shook as I fired, the sound of the gunshot echoing
through the forest. The cub was hit, but it kept
coming, driven by the relentless force of the infection.
Jane, with a bravery I could hardly believe, leapt forward
with a knife, slashing at the fibers.
The scene was chaotic, a desperate struggle for survival
against a foe that seemed invincible.
Get to the lab now, Doctor, Pearson shouted, her voice
cutting through the mayhem. We retreated, the sound of the
infected Cubs growls haunting our steps.
Back at the lab, the reality of our situation sank in.
We were outmatched and outgunned.
This wasn't just a scientific expedition gone wrong.
It was a battle for survival against an unknown enemy.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
What do we do now? I asked, looking at Doctor
Pearson. Her face was grim.
We wait for extraction and hope that we can contain this before
it spreads any further. As we waited, the weight of our
situation settled on my shoulders.
The Crimson Nexus wasn't just a threat to us, it was a threat to
the world. And as the minutes ticked by, I
couldn't help but wonder if we were already too late.
The forest around us had transformed from a place of
natural beauty to a nightmarish landscape.
The red fibers of the Crimson Nexus seem to have infiltrated
every corner, turning the once peaceful Weeping River Forest
into a living horror. Doctor Lisa Pearson, Jane and I
were on edge, every sound sending a jolt of fear through
us as we awaited extraction. The weight of the situation was
crushing. The Organism we had encountered
wasn't just a scientific anomaly, it was a catastrophic
threat. Every minute we spent in the
forest felt like a gamble against an unseen timer I
couldn't shake. The image of Mark and.
Gerard consumed by the Nexus from my mind, then.
The sound of approaching. Helicopters broke the tense
silence. Relief washed over me mixed with
a sense of impending doom. As the choppers landed, soldiers
poured out their faces, stern and focused.
It was clear that the situation had escalated beyond our
control. We're evacuating the area, The
threat level has been raised, one of the soldiers announced,
his voice firm. We were quickly ushered into the
helicopters as we lifted off. I looked down at the forest
below it's green canopy, hiding the deadly secret we had
uncovered. The flight back was silent, each
of us lost in our thoughts. Doctor Pearson looked out the
window, her expression unreadable.
Jane sat with her head bowed, her hands clenched tightly.
I could only imagine the turmoil in her mind, having lost friends
to the Nexus once we landed. We were debriefed by.
A team of officials, their questions were rapid and
clinical, focused on understanding the extent of the
threat. I recounted everything we had
witnessed, the horror in The Cave and the aggressive nature
of the infection. The officials exchanged grave
looks. The area will be quarantined and
monitored. Any further spread of the
infection will be dealt with accordingly, one of them said.
The finality in his voice sent a chill down my spine as I left
the debriefing room. The reality of what we had faced
hit me. The Crimson Nexus was more than
a biological threat, it was a reminder of our vulnerability in
the face of nature's unknown mysteries.
The thought that there could be more out there, undiscovered and
potentially catastrophic, was terrifying.
I walked out of the facility, the sky above clear and blue.
It was a stark contrast to the darkness we had left behind in
the forest. The world around me continued as
usual, oblivious to the danger that had lurked in the shadows
of the Weeping River Forest as I drove.
Home the events of. The past few days replayed in my
mind. The fear, the desperation, the
loss. It was over, for now, but the
experience had changed me. I knew that the world was full
of hidden dangers, and the Crimson Nexus was just one of
them. I arrived home.
The. Familiarity of my surroundings,
a small comfort. But as I sat down trying to
process everything, I couldn't escape the feeling that this was
just the beginning. The race against extinction
wasn't over. It had just started.
And next time we might not be so lucky.
The morning sun cast a warm golden.
Hue over the Pacific, the kind of view that could make a man
forget his troubles if only for a moment.
I sipped my coffee on the porch of my small rented house in
Oceanside, a stone's throw from Camp Pendleton where I was newly
stationed. The sea breeze carried the
distant sound of waves crashing and seagulls cawing a serene
backdrop to the thoughts racing through my head.
Life here was a paradox. The neighborhood had a laid
back, almost surfer like vibe, a stark contrast to the rigid
discipline and strict hierarchy that ruled my life on base.
People around here seem to move at a different pace, unhurried,
soaking in each day like it was a gift.
I envied them in a way. My days, on the other hand, were
a relentless drill of orders, exercises, and the stern gaze of
my commanding officer, a man who seemed to have a permanent frown
etched onto his weathered face. As a kid growing up in Wyoming,
I'd always craved adventure and the great outdoors.
The Marines seemed like a natural fit, a chance to serve
my country and feed my appetite for the wild and the unknown.
But reality hit hard and fast. The military wasn't just about
adventure. It was about discipline,
structure, and often sacrifice. Camp Pendleton, with its
sprawling acres and strategic importance, was a dream come
true on paper, but it was quickly becoming a grueling test
of my limits. I tried to shake off the
thoughts as I finished my coffee and headed out.
The early morning air was crisp, a reminder that the ocean was as
much a part of this place as the land.
I jogged along the beach, feeling the sand give way under
my boots, trying to let the rhythm of my steps and the sound
of the surf calm my restless mind.
But peace was elusive the more I settled into.
My new life. The more I felt torn.
During the day I was a marine, part of a well oiled machine,
where orders were followed without question and personal
feelings were a liability. But at night, when I lay in my
bunk, listening to the distant sound of the ocean, a different
side of me emerged. A side that longed for freedom,
for the simplicity of a life not bound by rigid rules and the
unyielding gaze of authority. It was during.
One of these restless nights. That it first happened.
I woke up suddenly, heart racing to find myself standing in the
middle of a field, the base a distant silhouette against the
starry sky. The moon hung low, casting a
pale light over the barren landscape.
How had I gotten here? I remember dreams of marching
drills that had haunted me since basic training, but this was no
dream. This was real panic set in.
As I realized I was. Sleepwalking.
Something I hadn't done since I was a kid.
My mind raced with questions. How long had I been out here?
What if I'd wandered onto the firing range, or into some
restricted area? I looked around, disoriented,
trying to find a landmark, anything that would point me
back to the base. And then I saw it.
A faint glow in the distance, the lights of the base calling
me back to reality. My legs felt like lead as I
started walking, each step a reminder of how far I'd strayed
not just from my bed, but from the person I thought I was.
As the base grew closer, a chilling thought crept into my
mind. What if this was just the
beginning? What if the discipline and
structure I'd embraced were just a facade, and underneath I was
still that kid, lost and wandering, searching for a place
to belong. The dirt beneath my boots felt
cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warm, soft sand
I was used to. The night air carried a
different kind of silence, the kind that settles deep in your
bones, heavy and foreboding. I trudged forward, my mind still
grappling with the surreal reality of waking up in the
middle of nowhere. The bases lights flickered in
the distance like a beacon in the dark, guiding me back to
safety. Or so I thought.
My steps were mechanical, driven by a primal urge to find
familiar ground, but something felt off.
The back of my neck tingled, the kind of sensation you get when
you know you're not alone, I told myself.
It was just the chill of the night, or perhaps the leftover
adrenaline from the shock of waking up in a field, but deep
down, I knew it was more than that.
I was trained to trust my instincts, to listen to that
little voice inside that often knew more than my rational mind,
and right now that voice was screaming at me to be alert.
I slowed down, my senses on high alert, scanning the darkness for
any sign of movement. That's when I heard it.
A soft, barely audible clearing of a throat.
My heart leaped to my throat. I spun around my hand,
instinctively reaching for a weapon I didn't have.
Who's there? I called out, trying to sound
more confident than I felt. The figure stepped forward, just
enough for the moonlight to reveal his features, a Marine
uniform adorned with the Insignia of an officer.
But something about him was off. Lost Marine?
He asked, his voice deep and gruff yet tinged with an
unsettling friendliness. His eyes caught the moonlight,
reflecting an eerie yellow hue that sent a shiver down my
spine. I tried to respond, but my voice
caught in my throat. Yes, Sir, Just heading back to
the base, sleepwalking, I guess. I managed to stammer out.
He smiled, a gesture that should have been reassuring but wasn't.
We must be distant relatives, both of us wandering in the
night. His words were casual, but there
was an undercurrent of something darker, something predatory.
As we walked, I found myself drawn into a conversation that
felt oddly natural yet surreal. He asked about my life, my
family probing with a curiosity that felt invasive yet
compelling. I caught myself sharing details
I hadn't intended to his presence lulling me into a sense
of false security. Then, as the bases lights grew
brighter, my perception shifted. His resemblance to me became
uncanny, unsettling. My mind raced, trying to
rationalize the transformation. Had the darkness played tricks
on my eyes? But deep down I knew it was more
than that. His questions grew more
personal, his gaze more intense. I felt myself slowing down,
matching his pace, the bases lights dimming as if being
swallowed by the night. Panic set in, a realization
dawning on me that I was no longer in control.
I blinked, and the man was gone. In his place stood a creature of
nightmares, tall and gaunt, its skin a ghostly Gray.
Its eyes were black voids, its mouth filled with razor sharp
teeth, unhinged like a snake's. The creature lunged, and I felt
its teeth sink into my shoulder, a pain so intense it jolted me
awake from my trance. Shots rang out, voices shouting
in the distance, but all I could focus on was the creature, its
form now dissolving into shadows, retreating into the
night. I lay there panting, my shoulder
burning, the realization sinking in that what had attacked me was
no ordinary animal as my rescuers.
Approached. Their voices filled with relief
and disbelief, I knew I couldn't tell them the truth.
They saw a Mountain Lion, a wolf.
But I had seen something far more terrifying, something that
defied explanation. And as I stumbled back to the
base, supported by my fellow Marines, I knew that whatever
had attacked me in the darkness had left me with more than just
physical scars. The hospital room was sterile
and white, the kind of place that's supposed to make you feel
safe. But as I lay there, staring at
the ceiling, I knew safety was just an illusion.
The doctors came and went, their faces masks of professional
concern, but their eyes couldn't hide the truth.
They were baffled, and a little afraid.
I could feel it spreading through me, whatever it was that
creature had given me, the bite on my shoulder had healed
strangely, leaving behind a dark vein like pattern that seemed to
pulse with its own life. It wasn't just the wound, it was
inside me, changing me. Sleep was no longer restful.
It was a battleground. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, my
heart racing. Fragments of nightmares
lingering in my mind. Dreams of running through the
night, of hunger, of a darkness that was more than just the
absence of light. And each time I awoke, the lines
on my skin seem to have grown creeping closer to my heart, to
my mind. The hospital released me, but it
wasn't a discharge. It was an exile.
They didn't know what to do with me, and they didn't want
whatever was happening to me happening there.
I couldn't blame them. I didn't want to be near anyone
either. The thing inside me, it was
growing stronger, and I was scared of what it would do if it
got out. I tried to go back to my life,
to pretend everything was normal.
But how do you pretend when every mirror shows you a
stranger? The veins were on my neck, now,
visible for anyone to see. People stared, and I saw the
questions in their eyes, the fear.
I started wearing scarves, even in the heat, anything to cover
the marks. But it wasn't just the physical
changes. It was the blackouts, the lost
time. I'd find myself in places with
no memory of how I got there. Hours gone in the blink of an
eye, and every time it happened I'd feel it.
The pull of the night, the call of the wild places far from the
lights of the base. I became a recluse, avoiding
people, avoiding the questions I couldn't answer.
I knew they were watching me, the military, the doctors.
They were waiting to see what I would become.
And deep down, so was I one night.
It happened. The transformation.
It wasn't like in the movies, where you see the change coming.
It was sudden, a snap of the mind and body.
I found myself standing in the middle of those same fields, the
darkness around me alive. With whispers, I looked down at
my hands, or what should have been my hands.
They were elongated, clawed, the skin of sickly Gray.
I could feel the power in my limbs, the hunger in my belly.
I was no longer just a man. I was something else, Something
more. But even as I stood there,
reveling in the newfound strength, a part of me was
screaming, fighting to regain control.
I wasn't just a creature of the night.
I was still a marine, still a man, and I wasn't going to let
this thing take that away from me.
I don't know how long I fought, how long I struggled against the
darkness inside, but eventually I found myself back in my bed,
the morning sun streaming through the window.
The veins were receding, the claws gone for now, but I knew
it wasn't over. The creature was still there,
lurking in the shadows of my mind, waiting for the night to
fall again, and I knew I had to be ready to fight it, to hold on
to the man I still was. Because one day the battle would
be for keeps, and I wasn't going down without a fight.