When the voices came on the radio, I was playing with my
grandfather on the front lawn. He was sitting in his rocking
chair and I was out on the lawn when I heard it.
A long whistle on the radio. Then Billy, come here, Billy,
come here now, Mom began screaming.
My dad was running towards me. Grandpa reached me first, hands
clasped over my ears. So hard it left a ringing noise.
He was a serious, stern old and I was always a bit afraid of
him. Now he yelled at me over and
over. Don't listen to him, Billy.
Don't listen. His voice came out in a
suffocated whisper. Please, God, don't let him
listen. I love him.
The old man's lined face was scrunched over.
He was crying. I began to cry too.
I could hear my mom and dad screaming in the distance, long,
horrible wails. I thought they were going
insane. I love you, Billy.
Don't you leave us. I love you.
We stayed for a bit, grasping each other when he let go.
It was quiet outside on the porch.
Mom was standing over the wrecked parts of the radio, a
baseball bat in her hands. That was the last radio in our
house after that day. That old man and I were never
close. He never said anything like that
before or after. I wonder if he got embarrassed
that day, though. It scared the crap out of him
and he didn't care. In my Old Town there's a whistle
and it puts the fear of God in old men.
It comes sometimes, and it comes for us.
No matter how painfully familiar it became, not one of us
understood it. Who is the one whistling?
What do they want? Why?
Asking such questions was useful as screaming into a well.
All you'd get back was echoes among the kids.
The fear eventually became secondhand.
Our parents had seen the consequences of lending an ear
to the whistle, though they never told us.
Just don't think about it. Other than all that, everything
in my hometown was pretty much free reign for us.
We were of course told not to play in dangerous areas, and of
course that just spurred us on. One such place was the old scrap
yard, the type of place where you can call active or derelict
in equal measure. The favorite spot was a vast
heap of warped metal frames at the very edge of the lot,
disappearing into the woods fit for summiting any dry day of the
week. They might have been defunct
pylons or something, but the strange lack of welds or rust
suggested something more obscure.
One Saturday, me and my buddy Alex were down in the scrap yard
at the stroke of noon, ready as ever to clamber up the perilous
heights of Metal Mountain. At first we called it Iron
Mountain, but the name didn't quite fit.
The old framework was made of something we couldn't quite put
our finger on. We were boys, yeah, but we
weren't entirely careless. At least, I wasn't.
I made sure to bring carabiner belts for each of us to wear,
though I think it was just too tedious to clip, unclip, and
clip our way up the whole time. Alex, my more nimble
counterpart, clambered up a Ridge on the heap like a bona
fide chimp. All I could do was suggest using
the safety clips, not enforce it.
Race you to the peak, he yelled without even looking back at me.
It was irresponsible, but damn if his energy wasn't contagious.
I followed suit, choosing to clip on only when needed.
I was so focused on my footing I didn't notice Alex was gone
until taking a breather and looking up.
There was nothing but motionless metal wreckage around Alex.
The only reply was my own echo. I went to shout again when I
heard him call out from somewhere about 20 feet above.
Alex crawled out of a gap in the metal work he beckoned me to
follow. I jumped down with a hollow thud
into what looked like an old cargo container.
Whoa, has this been here the whole time?
Flakes of rust hung lazily from its corrugated walls, framing A
gloomy image of Alex beside a dusty table and a peeling green
fold up chair. Well, it didn't just appear
overnight, did it? Alex scoffed.
What do you think? New base of operations?
He turned to the scant tabletop. It's only residents were an
oldfashioned radio and some kind of microphone or transceiver.
I don't know man. Bit depressing in here, but with
some decoration. I trailed off as Alex fiddled
with the radio dials. A dim blue display flickered to
life and the radio hissed out. Static, dude, Alex yelped while
adjusting through frequencies. My dad used to have one of
these. If we get walkie talkies, we can
a sudden hush replace the static.
Then a low, almost inaudible buzz underlining another sound
emerging from the radio waves. Then we heard it.
Ears cover your ears, I screamed, slapping my hands over
my drums with such force it sent a painful compression down my
ear tubes. I looked back over to Alex.
My stomach felt as if it plummeted 10 stories.
His arm swayed limply by his sides, eyes locked on the radio.
I'm not sure exactly what happened at that moment.
The next thing I remember was kicking the radio onto the
floor, hands still clamped around my head, then stomping it
into scattered pieces. That brief span couldn't have
been more than 10 seconds. I grasped Alex by the shoulders
and spun him around. His limbs felt stiff.
But his eyes are what stick with me to this day.
They were murky, churning mist in their depths, the eyes of an
old dog. The shine was gone, too.
Like every molecule of moisture vanished, leaving his eyes matte
and dull. I shook him.
When that didn't work, I slapped him.
Nothing. Alex just stared vacantly at a
distant point. Adults need to get adults, I
croaked through the hard lump in my throat.
Without a word, I pulled myself up and out from the belly of the
metal mountain and flew down the beams and bars with reckless
abandon. I had to walk around the scrap
yard for a few minutes until a single bar of service popped up.
I phoned my dad without hesitation.
Dad, I'm at the scrap yard. Alex.
He he heard it. Wait right where you are.
I'm coming. There was nothing else that
needed to be said. My dad arrived with three other
men in a pickup after a brief explanation and a pointing
finger. They set off up the grimy heap
for Alex. When they came back, Alex was
slung over the largest man's shoulder.
They set him in the middle back seat for the ride back, stuffing
me in the back. It was hard to hear their
conversations. Still, I swear I heard someone
say would have been better off leaving him there.
The rest of Saturday blurred together.
My mind was elsewhere. Afternoon bled into evening,
bled into night, with oily storm clouds rolling in from the West.
I stared out my window through the pattering droplets that died
on the glass and small, hollow taps.
Amid the clear runnels sat a solitary hill on the edge of
town, shunned by the trees around it.
I understood its predicament then, on Alex's behalf.
The whistle, whatever Alex heard in it, whatever it had done to
him, left him alone. Daylight drained over the
horizon. Yet in the fading dusk, a small
figure slowly marched its way up that hill.
Dim shades of orange and yellow shone from Alex's blonde hair.
My eyes widened. What was he doing?
He crested the hill under encroaching shadows and stopped
at its peak. I could barely make out his
silhouette, eclipsing the low sun.
His head pulled back, and though it was hard to tell, I think his
mouth was moving. The only way I could describe it
was that he was speaking into the sky, into the murky clouds
that would swallow his words for themselves.
Hey, Hon. My mom's sudden COO jolted me
back to reality. Bedtime.
She didn't comment on my obvious surprise.
Probably thought it best to ignore the present and let me
calm down. It's going to be Okay, Billy.
None of it was your fault. What about Alex?
She hesitated. He he's very sick now.
I don't know how much longer he has, but he'll find peace.
He won't be in pain. I'm just glad it wasn't.
She trailed off in a sniffle and stroked my hair.
Just. Try and get some rest, baby.
OK mom. I love you.
You too. More than the world and the
stars and everything between. I don't know when I drifted into
sleep, only that it was long after.
The next thing I remember is being ripped out of a hazy dream
or nightmare by my dad shaking, his hands pulled away.
After placing ear defenders on my head, he passed me a torn
notebook page scrawling capitals reading.
Stay here. Do not take the headphones off
till I'm back. I nodded and pulled my covers up
tight, watching the hallway light shrink to a sliver through
the door as Dad left. The shock of it all made
everything come rushing back. Alex and the hill.
I sprang off the mattress and over to the window, parting the
curtains just a crack to peek outside.
Other than swinging flashlight beams, it was nearly pitch black
outside. Still, I knew where the hill
was. Such a familiar sight, it had
become something close to muscle memory.
Squinting in its direction, I frowned.
A messy array of dots punctured the night, blinking in strange
neon greens and Blues. An empty sky told me the cloud
cover hadn't yet passed. Whatever towered out there in
the darkness was below. The clouds. close, real.
I retreated into the sheets. Maybe it was just some sort of
faraway radio tower I'd never seen before that just so
happened to line up with the hill.
An ambient breeze blew in the headphones over my ears like
hearing waves in a seashell. The idea of the whistle worming
its way through the white noise terrified me, and I curled up
under the covers. Sometime later, my bedroom door
opened. I didn't see or hear it, but
felt it. A light tapping on my shoulder
beckoned me to emerge, and my dad gently removed my ear
defenders. What's happening, Dad?
The the lights. Where's Alex?
He didn't answer, only hugging me and whispering that we'd talk
in the morning, promptly gliding out of my room and leaving me
alone. Sleep never came.
How could it? I had so many questions, so much
fear, and so much guilt. It seems so damn obvious.
An old radio, just like the one on the day Grandpa saved me.
The same events played out, only I couldn't save Alex's grandpa.
Had me. I thought of asking him about it
all. But he was still the same old
man with little to say. Sure, finding answers was
enticing, but it wouldn't fix my mistakes.
It wouldn't change the way things had become.
When day broke, I parted my curtains reluctantly.
The hill was empty. The only difference I could tell
was that the grass looked all cut up, earth hewn from its
place, lacerated, torn up. I refused to stare any longer
and went downstairs. I stood in the kitchen.
Hesitantly looking through the window at Grandpa sitting on the
porch, would he comfort me or shoo me away?
In the end, I turned my back to the sun rays and headed
upstairs. With Grandpa on my mind.
A light bulb flickered on. I remember when he moved in a
few years ago. He'd lugged a bunch of old dusty
boxes up the stairs. He definitely didn't put them
anywhere on the 1st floor, so he must have stuffed them up in the
attic. Mom was reading downstairs while
Dad occupied himself with gardening.
Can't blame either of them for distracting themselves.
The attic hatch cord creaked and I feared it might snap, but the
latch released and the bolt on ladder segments slid apart,
hitting the floor with a soft thump.
I climbed the cold rungs and had to stifle a cough.
After inhaling the stale dust choked air, I spent some time
searching and forgotten corners and behind low roof joists until
a stack of beaten cardboard boxes caught my eye.
There wasn't any writing on them, no names or dates.
With their split edges and sagging corners, I got the
impression they were what I was looking for.
The boxes held bundled stacks of papers, some faded photo albums
and the treasure of my hunt, a leather bound diary.
The spine cracked as I flicked through its pages.
Most of the contents were mundane, everyday life until I
stopped at a series of late May entries from 72.
I won't bother writing it in my own words.
The raw details are more than enough.
This is what it said May 23rd, 1972.
I need to get it out because if I don't, I'm scared that I'll
forget it. Not that I want to remember.
I want to forget. I want that more than anything.
But if I forget, it'll come back and put someone else in danger.
It'll take someone the way it took Jim Paulson.
I need to start this at the beginning or as close to the
beginning as I can. Jim and I worked at Reynolds
Quarry together. We didn't know each other beyond
that, not really. Sometimes he'd be there when we
went out for drinks as a crew, but mostly we just kept to
ourselves. I didn't know Jim, but I like to
think he was a good man. He had this big belly laugh.
No matter how bad the joke was. He'd give a chuckle and slap his
knee and tell you you're funnier than Bob Hope.
I think he was married. Yes.
His wife was named Regina. They had three kids with another
on the way. I should call her and have
Cecilia send over a casserole or something.
No woman should go through what she's going through right now.
Lily and Pierce worked for the quarry, too.
The secretary. We all called her Nurse Lily
because she was in night school for nursing.
She'd also patch us up when we got hurt.
I think some of the men came to her with bumps and bruises that
didn't really need looking at. But she was professional about
the whole thing. Always had a smile and a kind
word. Always sent you back to work
feeling great. I always wondered why Nurse Lily
wasn't married. She was still young, only 30.
I know people who would have called her an old maid, but she
had time. Her whole life was laid out in
front of her. She could have had whatever she
wanted. A nursing job, a husband, a
sweet little baby. I shouldn't be sentimental over
Nurse Lily. I can't get sentimental now.
Getting sentimental will only cloud my thinking and prevent me
from remembering how it really happened.
I think that's what it wants. I think it's filling my head
with sweet thoughts of Nurse Lily and Jim Paulson.
As I said, Jim and I weren't good friends.
We work together. It never went beyond that.
I'm getting distracted. I keep feeling that if I don't
write about it, it won't be real.
It is real. It happened.
God damn it happened. There was an explosion.
I remember that when the dynamite went off, Jim and I had
laid the wire and we're climbing up out of the quarry.
I remember the pain in the side of my head, ringing in my ears,
warm, wet, Crimson running down the side of my face.
Doc Hanlon says that flying debris ruptured my eardrum.
I don't remember that. What I do remember is seeing
Jim's face covered in blood, his hands pressed over his eyes, his
mouth open in a distant wail. He was next to me, but he
sounded like he was 10 miles away.
I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him out of the quarry.
The other men helped us to nurse Lily Station.
She had this little office in a trailer where she did paperwork
and kept first aid supplies. I saw her through the window.
She was wearing this little yellow blouse and had her hair
tied back with a red ribbon, and I remember thinking that we'd
ruin her blouse with all the blood.
She jumped up and ran to us, ushering us in.
I remember her shoving Jim into a chair.
She grabbed her first aid kit and I remember thinking that it
wouldn't be enough. Jim had moved one of his hands
and his left eye was bright red, bathed in blood.
The skin around it was shredded, blood streaming down over his
face, seeping onto his shirt and pulling at his collar.
Whatever had hit me in the ear had hit him in the eye.
I sat and pressed my hand against the side of my head.
My ear was a wet, pulpy mass. Nurse Lily had this little radio
on her desk. She always had music on.
She used to sort of dance to it as she moved around the office.
I don't know why I'm writing about that now, I supposed.
It wants me to. It wants me to think about Nurse
Lily dancing instead of what really happened.
The music was there until it wasn't.
The music stopped. I don't really remember when,
but it did. All of a sudden, a low droning
sound started instead. Sort of like a shrill wine or
maybe a whistle. This long, low note just filled
the air. I'll be deaf in that ear for the
rest of my life, but that day my dead ear probably saved me.
Nurse Lily was pressing bandages against his face, her mouth
moving a mile a minute as she tried to tell him that things
would be okay. The ambulance was on its way and
he'd be alright. Jim Paulson just got up and
walked out of Nurse Lily's office.
He just got up and walked outside.
She ran after him. At first I thought that she was
trying to get him to come back, but once she caught up to him,
she just walked alongside him. They went outside together.
I didn't go after them. I watched from the window as
they marched out towards the quarry.
I should have gone after them. I should have.
I shouldn't have let them. But I don't think I could have
stopped it. Jim tilted his head back till he
was staring up at the sky. His face turned blue.
I've seen a face turn blue before.
My boy's face turned that exact shade before I realized he was
choking and slapped his back until he threw up chunks of
hamburger. But Jim wasn't choking.
His skin glowed like the fuzz you see on the TV when the
rabbit ears need to be adjusted. It was so bright.
So bright. I covered my face, but I could
still see it. Jim's mouth opened and a long,
thin wire sprouted up like a vine, snaking up through the
dirt. The wire was black and thin,
barely visible. Little satellites butted along
it, blooming like obscene iron flowers.
My teeth began aching. Then it felt like the filings
were trying to get out of my back teeth.
I remember thinking that that mine wanted to grow and stretch
like his. I swear I felt the metal
wiggling. I think I was screaming.
More wires were starting to grow out of Jim's head.
They sprouted from his ruined eye sockets.
I didn't notice Nurse Lily, not at first.
She bolted, running forward and clawing at her face.
Her pretty face wires were growing up out of her eyes and
nose and mouth, stretching up towards the sky.
She stumbled forward, clawing and scratching, trying to pull
the wires out of her skin. I didn't realize how far away
she was. I should have run after her.
I should have found a way to stop her.
I was so focused on the metal worming up out of her flesh, I
didn't fully realize that she was running for the quarry.
She threw herself into it. I think maybe she knew what was
happening. She knew that something was
inside of her, tearing through her flesh in an attempt to get
out, violating her from the inside out.
She knew that there was no hope, and so she did what Jim Paulson
couldn't bring himself to do. She threw herself into the
quarry and ended it. God help me, I should have
stopped her. I should have saved her.
She had her whole life left to live.
I can't think that way, not after what happened to her face.
That metal was rooted somewhere deep inside of her, ripping its
way out. Maybe if it had just been the
metal, things would have been all right.
But it wasn't just the metal in the wires.
There was something else. Something took over Jim Paulson.
Something made him different. Something reached into him,
yanked out his soul, and took over his body.
That's what I tell myself anyway.
The alternative is worse because the alternative is that Jim was
still in there, watching as the metal monstrosity piloted his
body. He looks so relieved at the end.
God forgive me for not helping God forgive her.
They say suicide is a sin, but I think God will forgive Nurse
Lily if there is a God, If he is just and all knowing.
If he truly does love and care for us, then he'll forgive her.
But I know deep down. That if such a God exists, he
never would have let it happen. In the 1st place, May 24th,
1972, Jim Paulson is dead. I've told everyone who will
listen. Jim Paulson is dead and nothing
can bring him back. May 25th, 1972, God forgive me.
Jim would have done the same for me.
I know he would have May 26th, 1972 I told Doc Hanlon to take a
look at my teeth. They haven't been the same since
I heard that sound. That whistle, Doc Hanlon says
that it looks like my fillings melted and flowed out over my
teeth, that my back teeth are covered in metal.
He kept asking me how it happened and I didn't have an
answer for him. I begged him to take them out.
He balked, telling me that they were still good, healthy teeth.
But I offered him some cash and he finally got the pliers and
novocaine. He took out four of my teeth,
the ones with the fillings. It looks like someone poured
metal all over my teeth. I threw them out.
I couldn't bear to look at them. Every time I did, I felt that
strange, twitchy sensation in the back of my mouth, like the
teeth were still in there and they were moving around trying
to reach out for something. My mouth hurts like a son of a
bitch, but at least they're out of my head.
May 27th, 1972. I can't stop thinking about that
night. Every time I close my eyes, I
see that faint gleam of relief I saw in Jim Paulson's One good
eye right before I pulled the trigger.
And splattered what was left of his brains across the quarry.
God help me, God forgive me. It was getting dark when I put
down the diary. Mom was calling me down for
dinner. I ate in silence while my
parents talked about the most mundane things.
Rising onion price, checking the muffler on the family car.
They wanted the nightmare to be over, and the best way to do
that was to pretend I couldn't do that.
Not yet, while mom and dad cleaned up.
I got time to sit down with my grandpa out on the porch.
There was still a red crack across the horizon as the last
rays of sunlight clung to the distant tree line.
I brought the diary and sat down next to the old man.
I looked up at him. Grandpa, can we talk?
I asked. He met my gaze and noticed the
diary. He shook his head.
No, son. He patted me on the back and
grinned. Get on the other side.
Can't hear you. We switched sides.
And I gave him the diary. He ran his fingers across the
pages, feeling the indent of his pen.
You shouldn't read people's Diaries, he said.
That's secret. Sorry, I said.
I was scared about the kid. Alex.
Yeah. He rubbed my shoulder and put
down the diary. It only feels bad for a while.
Then it all goes away. You'll forget.
I don't want to. Grandpa turned to me with a
grunt. He looked at me like he was
trying to read the fine print of a book.
How do we do better if we keep forgetting things?
I said. We adapt.
After a few times, it starts to feel normal.
Look at your mom and dad. I peeked through the window.
Sure enough, they were just washing dishes like nothing ever
happened to them. This had all been a scare, like
seeing a snake in the front yard, but that was all there was
to it. One day later and they were
already making plans for the week.
Why didn't you leave? I asked when that happened in
the book. It doesn't want you to.
And while you hesitate, it makes you forget.
Makes you think it's normal. Did you try?
He looked down at the diary, closing it.
No, son, I didn't. I got us a lemonade.
The sun had fallen well below the horizon, but the glow from
the house was enough for me to see a smile coming back to his
face. Don't you want to live here?
He asked. It's beautiful.
Houses are cheap. You pay attention to this one
thing and it becomes nothing. Doesn't have to be worse than.
Living in a town with a lot of black bears, I pondered it for a
while. Grandpa looked at me intently.
Finally, I shook my head. Bears just eat you.
They don't kill. What makes you into you.
Like with Jim. Grandpa nodded, sipping his
lemonade. Fairpoint.
Mom called me back in to help with the laundry.
Grandpa stayed out, running his hands across his diary.
His smile was fading. Maybe thinking about Jim for the
first time in years dislodged something in his mind.
I did my chores, read some comic books, and tried my best to
think about something else for a while.
By the time I got in bed, my parents were convinced I'd
forgotten about the whole thing. Maybe they had, but I hadn't.
As Mom tucked me in, Grandpa came up to say goodnight.
Mom left us alone for a moment as she closed the door behind
us, he sat down next to me and rubbed my hair.
I know you're scared, he said. If you could leave this town,
would you? I don't know.
This is important, son. If you stay too long and if this
becomes too normal, you'll stay forever.
Right here with mom and Dad and all the pretty girls in school,
and all these nasty nightmares will fade.
But they'll still be there, right?
Even if I don't remember them? Grandpa sighed and squeezed my
hand. Yeah, he said they will.
Then I guess I'd want to leave. Even if it's just you.
Even if you have to leave Mom and Dad and school behind.
Even in the dark, I could see the glint in his eyes.
What he asked wasn't just a hypothetical, this was something
consequential. Still, thinking back on Alex and
how easily people forgot about him, the answer was simple.
I could never live here knowing that death was a whistle away
and knowing I could one day be okay with it.
Well, that's terrifying. Yeah, I said I want to leave.
Then we'll fix that, he said tomorrow.
All right, all right. I barely slept that night.
There were too many questions running through my mind.
I kept thinking about the diary and the vivid imagery that
Grandpa painted. I thought about the look on
Alex's face after he'd heard the whistle.
I felt the surge of anger in my chest when I smashed that radio.
There were so many emotions brewing under my skin and I
couldn't keep track of what to feel.
So instead, I just lay awake shaking, hoping to feel some
rest before dawn. By morning, I'd gotten about 3
hours of sleep. Dad went to work, and Mom took
me grocery shopping At lunch. She went out to meet some of her
friends, and I got to stay with Grandpa for a few hours.
I didn't mind. Grandpa and I went to the park.
We found a quiet bench overlooking a duck pond.
We just sat there for a while before he handed me an envelope.
You know, the bus stop at the north side, the one past the
malt Mill? I nodded, tracing the edge of
the envelope. It had an elegant to William
text written on the front. There's a bus that goes by there
every midnight, Grandpa said. And you can get on that bus and
never look back. Where would I go?
He handed me a crisp $100 bill. An old friend of mine can meet
you at the end station. But do you really want this?
Do you really want to leave? The ducks played in the pond,
quacking contently the wind made the reeds whistle.
A subtle tune, yeah. Then tonight you go to that bus.
You don't tell a soul about it. You just go and don't look back.
Take your bike and keep your ear defenders on until you step foot
on that bus. Will the whistle let me leave?
It will. How?
Grandpa gave me a handful of unsalted oats for me to feed the
ducks with. I was swarmed by a dozen happy
birds, and still the reeds whistled.
You know when a predator is the most vulnerable?
He asked. No, when it eats.
So to get it to look the other way and for you to get out, it
has to eat. I don't get it.
It's all there, Grandpa said, tapping the envelope.
Don't read it until you get on that bus.
Are you coming with me? I can't, son.
He smiled. No one can.
The day went on as any other. Mom made meatloaf.
Dad fell asleep reading the newspaper.
It was my time to do the dishes, and I did them better and more
thoroughly than I'd ever done before.
Everything had this finality to it.
I'd hidden Grandpa's letter. And the $100 bill in a textbook.
I'd stuffed it in my backpack later that evening as I was
getting ready for bed. This burning anxiety crept up on
me the same way I felt when my mom used to tell me I could get
a single toy from a store. I could never confidently pick
one and this was the same thing. I didn't know what would happen,
and I didn't know what would be the best thing to do.
Then again, the choice had already been made.
The envelope was right there. I'd never really been close to
my grandpa up until now, and having him do this for me,
whatever it was, seemed like the right thing.
So when the clock struck 11:00 PM, it was time to go.
I used the bathroom, filled up a plastic bottle of water, packed
my two favorite shirts, and snuck out the door with my ear
defenders. Snug and safe, I got on my bike
and followed a side Rd. Downtown.
From a distance, I could tell something wasn't right.
There were too many lights on. This wasn't the kind of town
with an active nightlife. Except on New Year's Eve, a few
cars passed me by, breaking the speed limit.
One of them went by so fast I couldn't see who drove it.
All I saw was a cracked side window and a tendril whipping
back and forth like a wounded eel.
There was a woman screaming. I didn't hear her, but I saw a
wide open mouth with a protrusion.
Seconds later, I saw the tail lights disappear into a ditch.
More cracked windows. Something red.
As I got closer to town, I noticed that it wasn't intense
midnight lights that I'd seen. It was fire.
I thought about what Grandpa had said, that a predator is at its
most vulnerable when it's feeding.
This was the feeding. This was what it looked like,
the entire downtown area. Losing their minds, I kept
moving forward, keeping my eyes on the road.
Even so, there were some things that were impossible to look
away from. The white tires of my bike were
stained with blood, leaving a red trail behind.
I kept coughing from the smoke. The body of the guy who owned
the hardware store was kneeling in the middle of the street,
having set himself on fire. His neck was almost a foot too
long and his mouth was wide open.
Towards the sky I could see two people fighting in a parking
garage, one of them beating the other with a meat mallet.
They were a tangled mess of clothes and blood, and I
couldn't see which one was doing what.
But I could see they had a total of five arms.
People had been rushing for their cars.
Some didn't make it. There was this one woman who had
lost her left arm where these long threads of metal had burst
out. They stretched back an entire
block, slowly wrapping around a light post and pulling her
lifeless body. Back in one car, there was a guy
leaning against the horn while something sharp kept pushing
against his mouth from the inside.
One man had climbed up and torn open a part of a power line,
frying himself. Leaving only a mockery of a
bird's nest behind and the charred smile of a skull.
Madness. Complete visceral madness.
Finally, as I reached Main Street, I saw Grandpa's favorite
pub. There was a raging inferno
inside, and I couldn't bear to count the bodies littered on the
street. I peddled past, stopping only to
see if I could spot someone inside.
And there he was, Grandpa, sitting in his favorite spot.
He'd been pierced through the throat by a steakhouse knife.
At the table in front of him was a portable shortwave radio with
its volume turned up to Max and a half finished glass of
lemonade. I kept going.
I could see shadows of inhumane things dancing in the fire, some
of them hobbling in my direction.
I couldn't hear them, but I felt the tremble of high pitched wine
struggling against my ear defenders.
Dehydrated eyes stared at me, begging for whatever salvation
there could be in my death. I turned one last corner down by
the malt mill, one last push to get through town, and there I
saw what Grandpa really meant by feeding the predator in the
entrance of the mill. There must have been a Stampede.
People had gotten stuck. What was left of them were
eating each other. There was almost nothing human
left. The wires squirmed with each
other in the bile of their human parts.
A nest of worms, rat tails and black snakes.
I could see faces in the black nest.
Intact human faces with blank eyes.
Their mouths were opening and closing, as if trying to whisper
to me something was winning. The other faces, one by one,
were torn apart by wires and consumed into the black storm
until only one remained one human head.
The whirlwind of wires slowed and the thing began to take
form. The mess spilled onto the road.
I could feel a voice telling me to move, but I could not move
until I had seen what we were to become, what this was all about.
I wanted to hear what they were whispering to me.
The man's head, wrapped in black wires, spiraled to the top of
the beating, pulsing mass. The once human mass of wires
began to stretch upwards, A coiled cobra raising its head.
It began to take a hauntingly, nightmarishly familiar shape.
It was a pylon we were playing with dead bodies in the scrap
yard. The head is on top, his mouth
still opening and closing. He was trying to broadcast a
whistle. I realized then I couldn't get
past this. I would never leave.
What was I thinking? It was too late.
He would sing me my lullaby and I would slumber forever past the
wall of black wiry flesh. The bus station stood there.
I could make out the outline of a man standing there.
What was I thinking? Raise your foot and bring it
down in front of you. You are going to walk forward.
The flood of wires twitched towards me and I saw my foot
move. One foot backing away, the other
foot backing to match. You are going to leave.
You're going to live. I wish that thought was the one
that convinced me, but at that point, my one preteen unpoetic
thought was screw this, I hate this town.
Seriously, screw this. I bolted across the path with my
eyes shut and screaming like a banshee.
The sound of a whirlwind of wires rose around me as the
monster felt me. I heard the zip of wires close
to my face and felt sharp fingers scraping on my cheeks,
but he couldn't catch me. The 32nd bolt through snapping
wires and there was nothing but air on my cheeks and the
whistling of behind me. I snapped my eyes open and
turned. The nest was stapled to the
spot, their wires increasingly bound to the metal frames.
The wires reached out in vain, but receded further and further
into the monstrosity once rooted.
They weren't supposed to leave, I guess, but I was with joy in
this thought. I kept running all the way to
the bus station. It was empty at this point in
the night. Only one other person was there,
the last of my grandfather's instructions.
The man was standing there. He wore a quarry uniform covered
in dirt, a hospital mask and sunglasses, dirty and grimy.
He leaned against the wall and stared at me, breathing hard.
I couldn't speak out, but I knew it had to be him.
He was looking at the monster pylon building itself out there.
The whole scene left him unfazed.
He gestured upon the pylon monster in contemplation.
They're feeding a lot. There'll be no whistle tonight.
In between breaths, I asked so we can leave, right?
They don't just have a seeking whistle, boy.
There's one more independent countermeasure right here and
another down the road. I stumbled closer.
Who are you? You've heard of me, Billy.
I'm an old friend of your grandpa.
I was too close. One hand grabbed my hair as he
brought his eyes down to mine. His mouth was full of wires.
My ear defenders were snatched and smashed into the ground.
Listen, boy, I want you to hear me.
Liquid. I could hear the cold liquid
static issuing from Jim's decades dead body.
Boy, why leave? Boy, Stay with your family.
Have a family. Grow the family.
Stay in the farm for the harvest.
He grabbed my arms. Under the thin skin, his fingers
felt like bags of snakes. I'm leaving.
Screw you, I'm leaving. He grinned.
And the wires inside his wriggled like snakes.
Today's early harvest is acceptable compensation.
He leaned in. You can leave, boy.
He let go of my arms. I could still feel the wriggling
sensation of the wires under his skin.
Better thank your grandpa for this.
Your strain will be salvaged. Your parents will provide
another crop. He raised an arm to the Southern
Rd. Walk down that road.
Is isn't there a bus going there?
Why would there be a bus out of here?
No one ever leaves. He raised his arms in a gesture
encompassing everything. But feel free to come back down
when you get the itch, boy. You never forget your hometown.
Bring your family. Listen to the tunes.
The thing in Jim's skin stood stock still, grinning with his
mouth open, wires writhing inside.
He was like that when I left the station, even as I looked back
constantly to make sure that would be the last conversation I
had in my town. Down the street, I found what I
expected. Out there, a maze of ruined
burned cars blocked the street. Some had their roofs ripped open
as something emerged. The others still had half formed
wires and meshed with bones and vacationing clothes.
The radios inside all looked dead and burned out.
Still I got off the road and headed into the wilderness, not
rejoining till the sun rose and the road was empty.
I was the only thing moving on that road.
I wonder if I was the last. We've been wanting an adventure
before starting a family and the pandemic was the kick up the
butt we needed. While we were involuntarily
housebound, we did a lot of research and decided on
traveling the Americas for three months.
We're from the East of England, so quite frankly anywhere would
have been an adventure. We were fortunate to be in a
position where a three month sabbatical was a comfortable
option for us. My grandparents were wealthy and
had left me a generous sum when they passed.
And my husband Joseph and I both had great jobs.
I had just turned 30 the week before we left.
Joseph was 32. It just felt right, a now or
never type scenario. Calgary was our first
destination, followed by Vancouver.
Then we traveled through the western states of the US down to
Mexico. We were just over a month in by
the time we reached Guatemala, where we were staying in a
forest campsite next to Mayan ruins on our first night.
Joseph excitedly called out to me as I towel dried my hair
after an outdoor shower. Danny, come look at this.
There was a tarantula in the corner of our spacious tent.
One of the employees said it was harmless and he even offered for
us to handle it before moving it outside of camp.
I was apprehensive, but I briefly held it after my
husband. Such a surprisingly delicate
creature. This was definitely the
adventure I had wanted. I felt 1,000,000 miles away from
home in the best way possible on our second full day.
We hiked a trail that was noted for its wildlife spotting
opportunities, particularly various monkey and bird species.
In the process of taking a picture, I dropped my phone and
was taken by surprise as a small monkey took off with it.
Hey, I yelled out. I don't believe it.
What's up? Danny?
Asked Joseph, a little ahead of me.
I couldn't help but laugh. A monkey just took my phone
Seriously? He asked, jogging to me.
Where did it go? In the trees over there?
Little sod, he said, running in that direction.
Joseph, don't bother. It's gone.
We're not leaving without trying, he yelled back.
I reluctantly went into the trees and caught a glimpse of
his shirt in the distance. Please don't go any further,
Joseph. We need to stay on the trail.
I think I can see it, I heard him yell.
Against my better judgment, I began to weave between the
trees, stepping over the foliage.
Howler monkeys spoke to each other in the treetops, probably
laughing about the dumb British tourists.
I spotted a few colorful birds, but didn't have time to observe
their beauty, instead pursuing my silly knight in shining armor
who I'd lost sight of. Joseph, please call out to me
over here. I could see him waving, allowing
me to breathe. When I reached him, I gave him a
hug, then slapped his arm. Ow, I was scared, I said, wiping
sweat from my brow. But look, he said, pointing up.
I couldn't believe it. The little monkey was sitting on
a branch, holding my phone. Hey, little one, I said softly,
holding up my hands. Please, could you drop my phone
down to me? It doesn't speak human, Danny,
said Joseph, picking up a stick. They're very intelligent, I
said. Not that intelligent.
Also, we're in Guatemala. It's more likely to understand
Spanish. He brought the stick back as if
he was about to throw it. I grabbed his wrist.
You are not throwing sticks at the local wildlife?
Jesus Christ. Well, asking nicely didn't work,
he said, pulling away from me. But then there came a thud as my
phone bounced a few feet away from us.
It was undamaged too, the soft ground cushioning its fall.
I was happy that we could head back to the trail, but that was
short lived. Several hours passed and we
couldn't find our way out of the forest.
Joseph did his best to console me, but I could tell he was
scared too. As the ground began to feel
softer and the air more dense and humid, we realized we were
nowhere near where we had come from.
Even the plant life looked different.
I couldn't help but snivel as my nerves got the better of me.
A weight was lifted when we spotted a solitary house in a
clearing. Joseph, look, I yelled with
relief. There was a sudden rustling in
the plants to our left, followed by a deep growl.
We only had a second to acknowledge it before a large
crocodile snapped its jaws in our direction.
I screamed as Joseph pulled me towards him.
Dejarlas, we heard a woman yell from the house.
The crocodiles growls became quieter as it backed up out of
sight. We hurried to the moderately
sized wooden house, which was elevated a little from the
ground on stilts. A woman stood on the steps
leading up to the door. She was around her mid 30s, with
Raven black hair that spilled over her shoulders.
She was beautiful. She was also heavily pregnant.
Hola, said. Joseph a little out of breath.
Por favour or lost. Perdido.
I speak English, she said. Please come inside.
She turned and walked up the steps.
Joseph and I looked at each other, briefly hesitating before
following her into the house. Once inside, I broke down.
Gracias. I cried.
Joseph put his arm around me as the woman took my trembling
hands in hers. I have something for your
anxiety, she said. Sit down.
We don't want to be a bother, said Joseph.
If you could just point us. No bother, she said.
Please sit. We took off our backpacks and
sat at a table in the rustic kitchen.
I was surprised to see electric powered lighting, as wherever we
were felt off the grid. The woman boiled some water on a
stove, then started to prepare food.
She put a plate of fruit on the table along with some bread,
various spreads and some sliced meat.
Eat, she said with a smile. Turning back to the stove, I
looked at Joseph, who just shrugged.
Despite our reservations, we were famished.
I used my fingers to eat some mango and banana.
Joseph braved the unidentified meat, making a sandwich with one
of the spreads, which he said was similar to horseradish.
The woman came back and put two hot cups on the table.
It smelt strong with herbs and spices.
You drink this, you feel better, she said warmly.
Thank you, I said, taking a small sip along with Joseph.
It was so bitter it made my face screw up.
Joseph audibly groaned in disgust, then looked incredibly
apologetic. The woman laughed.
It does not taste good, but it is good for the soul.
She tapped her chest and forehead.
We didn't want to be rude, so we continue drinking it.
I'm Danny, by the way, and this is my husband, Joseph.
I am Lorena, she said. Are those crocodiles dangerous?
Ask Joseph. They can be, she said, taking a
seat as she lovingly rubbed her large belly.
But we share this land, so we must respect one another.
Will this be your first child? I asked.
She nodded. I am very blessed.
Congratulations, I said, reaching across to take Joseph's
hand. We'd like to start a family of
our own, too, once we're back home.
Speaking of which, said Joseph, we'd really appreciate your help
getting back to our camp. Is there a path we can take or
it will be dark soon, said Lorena.
It will not be safe after dark. You can stay here tonight.
We couldn't put you out like that.
I said. I insist, she said.
You will find your way tomorrow. I looked at Joseph as if to say
do something, but he just shrugged.
You're very kind, Lorena, he said.
We're incredibly grateful. Thank you.
I freshened up, feeling gross and sticky from the day's heat.
Fortunately, I'd packed a spare top and shorts in my backpack,
thinking that they could come in handy for that very reason.
While Joseph was in the bathroom, Lorena showed me
around. It was as quaint and rustic as
you'd expect a house in the rainforest to be.
An impressive collection, I said, observing a large wall of
books. You like to read?
She asked. Oh, yes, I adore reading.
My favorite author is Virgilio Rodriguez Macau.
She showed me his works on the shelf and stroked the spine of 1
called El Mundo del Mysterio Verde.
This is my favorite book, I'm afraid.
My Spanish is terrible, I laughed.
I would understand very little. We went to the back of the
house, where there was an elevated deck over a large
expanse of water. With trees and plants growing
directly out of it, the sun was beginning to set and it gave it
such a warm glow. Wow, I said.
What a view. Welcome to the swamp, said
Lorena. Are you out here alone?
I asked. You haven't mentioned the baby's
father? She looked down and stroked her
belly, a small smile on her lips.
I am alone now, but not for long.
I'm sorry if I asked too much. I have my sisters nearby, and
them too. She nodded to the water where
some crocodiles had surfaced. I got a little shiver in
England. We look out back and might see
the neighbor's cat or the odd hedgehog here.
It's something that wants to eat you.
She laughed. We have cats too, but they also
might want to eat you. She groaned a little and held
her belly. Ooh, she is moving tonight.
May I? She smiled and took my hand,
gently pressing it against her. I could feel as her baby turned
inside. How does it feel?
I asked. She sighed.
Magical. Like the greatest honor.
It is hard to explain. I understand, I said.
I honestly can't wait for that next chapter in my life.
At least I hope for that next chapter.
You will be a great mother, Danny, she said.
I feel it. I smiled.
Thank you, Lorena. So will you.
The baby kicked out suddenly, making me flinch.
I laughed it off as we went back inside.
Lorena kindly put us up in a spare bedroom.
Joseph stared at me intently as we lay on the unfamiliar bed.
He brushed the hair from my face and kissed me, his other hand
stroking my inner thigh. Joseph, I said.
We can't not hear. I don't know what it is.
Maybe the fact that Lorena is smoking.
Hey, I laughed playfully, slapping him.
But I couldn't deny I felt the same way too.
We made love, then fell asleep to the sounds of nature.
I woke up in the early hours, when it was still dark.
I stirred for a while but became restless, so I left the bedroom
and went to the deck for fresh air.
The swamp was bathed in moonlight, giving it an
enchanting look. Despite the terrifying
experience of being lost earlier, I felt grateful that it
had led us to Lorena and this beautiful part of the world.
As I was looking around, I spotted something in the forest
to the left. There was something white that
stood out, but I couldn't quite tell what it was at that point.
As I kept staring, I began to notice small details and
realized I was looking at the skull of a large animal.
It's empty eye sockets appeared to be looking in my direction.
I assumed it was attached to a tree as it was suspended a few
feet from the ground, but it turned and disappeared into the
forest. I gasped and stepped back.
When I turned to go back inside, Lorena was standing in the
doorway making me scream. I did not mean to scare you, she
said. Lorena.
I said, clutching my hands to my chest.
I just. I saw something in the trees.
A skull. A large animal skull.
I was breathing heavily as she took my hands.
You are far from home, Danny. We have different ways here.
There are villages nearby with ancient tribes.
Some of these tribes wear the skulls as a how you say?
I shook my head. Tradition.
Superstition. See.
Like this? Oh my goodness, I said.
Are they dangerous? No, she said.
Not to us. I took a deep breath and laughed
uneasily. Well, I wanted an adventure, and
I certainly got that. I went back to bed thinking I
wasn't going to get any sleep at all.
But within minutes of hearing Joseph's gentle breaths, I
joined him. I awoke to sunlight and the
smell of something delicious cooking, as well as an empty
bed. Joseph was eating breakfast in
the kitchen. Good morning, I said, and Lorena
was already guiding me to sit at the table.
Putting a plate of eggs and avocado in front of me.
You are spoiling us, Lorena. It is my pleasure, she said.
Danny said Joseph Lorena is fishing this morning and I
offered to help. You know how much I love to
fish. I do, I said.
But perhaps we should be thinking about getting back to
camp. I'm sure they were concerned
when we didn't come back yesterday.
They have our money already, he said.
I doubt they care. His response irritated me a
little. I disagree.
I think they will be searching for us.
If not now, then soon. I am sorry, said Lorena.
I do not want to cause trouble. Not at all.
I said. We're so grateful for what
you've done for us, but I worry that we'll be causing trouble by
being missing Danny. We only live once, he said.
I don't know what it is, but I love it out here.
Just let me have this just for today, please.
I felt like he'd got me in a spot where saying no would make
me a monster. How far are we from camp?
Roughly. I asked, telling Lorena where we
were based. No more than three hours.
You just follow the swamp. N Joseph was looking at me with
puppy eyes. Okay.
But we should head back this afternoon.
Absolutely, he said. Thank you, Danny.
Lorena, put a hand on my shoulder.
Will you join us? I contemplated it.
You know, it's actually been pretty full on up until now.
I think I might take the opportunity to chill on the
deck, watch the world go by, maybe read a book that you do
not understand, She laughed. Exactly new experiences all
around. I insisted on washing the dishes
as Joseph and Lorena prepared to head out to a spot a little
further up the swamp. I spent an hour or so on the
deck before heading back inside to cool down, checking out
Lorena's book wall in more detail.
They were all in Spanish from what I could see, but I
recognize some of the more famous titles.
I found the books by Virgilio Rodriguez Macau.
My eyes fell on El Mundo del Mysterio Verde.
Lorena's favorite Something green.
Mystery, I said out loud, chuckling to myself when I
pulled it out. The book only moves slightly,
and something in the wall clicked.
I was frozen to the spot for a moment before I gently pushed on
the wall and part of it moved inwards on a hinge.
Buzz off, I said, taking a step back as cool air blew from
within. I'd only seen secret doors and
films, and had no idea such things existed.
On the other side was a dark passageway with stone walls.
I looked around like a child about to do something naughty
and almost stepped fully inside without propping the door open.
The last thing I wanted was for it to close behind me with no
way of getting out, so I used a stack of old books that looked
like encyclopedias. My heart was racing as I went
inside as I followed the wall that gradually became lighter as
beams of natural light shone from cracks in the ceiling.
The ground was a mixture of stone, dirt and small plants.
The temperature was cool compared to the rest of the
house. I eventually came to a large
opening that was lit by larger beams and flame torches on the
walls. It was like a massive hall
inside an ancient temple. It took me far too long to
notice that it was impossible for this room to exist as part
of Lorena's house. It was at least double the size
alone. My brain couldn't work out where
I was as I had only walked in a straight line.
I should have been in the swamp. There were several tall trees
growing out of the floor. In the center were some stone
steps that led up to an idol. I climbed them to get a better
look. Carved from stone was the figure
of a nude woman, but her head was that of a crocodile.
What the hell? I whispered.
Lorena had mentioned the local tribes.
I assumed this was something they worshipped or used to
worship. I gasped as a tarantula made an
appearance, crawling from the back of the idol's leg.
It looked similar to the one that had been in our tent.
I felt compelled to pick it up, as if I was trying to prove a
point to myself, so I gently placed a hand near it and used
my other to coax it. I held it in my palms like it
was made of porcelain. There came a deep, guttural
growl from nearby. I made a sudden move to turn and
I guess it startled the spider. It bit my right palm, forcing me
to drop it. I watched it scurry away into
the darkness as my palm began to sting.
I had two puncture wounds that trickled with a little blood.
The growl came again and this time I fell back, my hand making
contact with the idol. There was a strange sensation in
my arm, like an intense vibration.
I pulled my hand away and looked up, the long reptilian face
appearing to look down on me. I back down the steps, my heart
bursting from my chest. There was a loud hiss to my side
and a large, very real crocodile snapped at me.
I screamed and fell, throwing myself back.
It turned to face me, but didn't move any closer.
It just growled. I quickly got to my feet and ran
back down the passageway, feeling relief when the hidden
door was still propped open. I ran out of the house and
looked around, making an educated guess where Lorena and
Joseph might be. I called their names
frantically. I wanted to grab Joseph and
leave, find our own way back to camp.
As far as I was concerned, the adventure was over.
It had now moved into creepy, weird territory.
I almost fell to my knees when I saw Joseph on the Bank of the
swamp. Hey, what's up with you?
He asked. Where's Lorena?
I asked out of breath. She went back to the house.
Why We need to get out of here now, Danny, he said, grabbing my
shoulders. Tell me why I did my best at
explaining what had happened. He started to laugh.
Why are you laughing at me, Danny?
Look where you are. We're in Central freaking
America, not Suffolk. You know about the history and
culture. These are not unusual things for
this part of the world. But but the room shouldn't
exist. It's shush, Danny.
I thought you were more open to cultural differences.
You're embarrassing yourself now.
I was completely taken aback. I I am open.
Joseph. What I just experienced wasn't
like that, though. You want to go?
He yelled. Fine, We'll just crap on
Lorena's hospitality and go. Come on.
He started to storm away. Leaving me feeling
uncomfortable, but he stopped and turned back, looking in all
directions before he spoke. Screw it.
I was going to wait until we got to Peru.
People fall from those mountains all the time.
But here's as good a place as any middle of nowhere.
No one out here but sweet Lorena.
He started walking towards me and picked up a rock.
I I don't understand. Joseph, you don't really need to
understand. I started to back away.
You're scaring me. I do love you in a way, Danny.
But one thing I really love about you is your bank account.
I couldn't believe what was happening.
It made me forget about everything that had come before.
But we're going to start a family.
He scoffed. I don't want children with you.
I never did. My heart was broken and my
nerves were shattered in the space of minutes.
Joseph, I cried. You don't have to do this.
The money is ours to share. You wouldn't get it anyway.
It would go to my parents. Well, I know that's a lie
because I was there when you wrote the will.
I changed it. I snapped without your
knowledge. He froze and looked at me like
he'd been deceived. I don't believe you, but
regardless, I kind of have to do this now.
I screamed and ran in the opposite direction.
Joseph grabbed me from behind and I felt a dull pain on the
back of my head. My vision became blurry as I hit
the water and made a feeble attempt to stay on the surface.
Oh no, he said dramatically. You've fallen in the swamp.
Shame about the man eating crocodiles and all.
Joe, please help, he screamed from his lungs.
Oh God help. He smiled at me, waved, then
jogged towards the house. I could hear him screaming for
Lorena as everything started getting darker.
One thing I noticed was on a nearby Bank of the swamp.
There was another one of those skull people.
They appeared to just watch me as I struggled.
The last thing I remember is a crocodile on the swamp surface
making a beeline towards me. And then I went completely
under. I woke up to screams.
As my eyes adjusted, I could see warm shades flickering in my
peripheral vision. When I sat up, pain shot through
the back of my head. I felt the wound that Joseph had
inflicted, my hair still damp. As I focused, I could see I was
back in the chamber, the ancient hall.
There was a large fire bathing it with light casting shadows
that reached to the ceiling. Joseph was screaming.
He was tied to one of the trees. His arms stretched to the sides
and tied to protruding branches before the idol was Lorena,
contributing to the screams. She was on her back.
With her legs spread, a slightly older woman with a striking
family resemblance spoke encouragingly in Spanish, long
dark hair covering her bare chest.
A younger, facially similar woman danced around the fire,
waving her arms to imaginary music.
Her hair was in a Pixie style, her body proudly on display.
These were Lorena's sisters. Lorena threw her head back and
looked right at me, thick veins protruding from her forehead and
neck as she groaned in agony. There were crocodiles all around
the hall, coming to witness the events too.
One brushed against me as it passed it, scales rough against
my skin. I cowered, but it showed no
hostility. With a final scream, Lorena
collapsed and the sister standing over her smiled wide.
Oh God no. Joseph screamed from the tree,
thrashing his head from side to side.
The sister held up Lorena's baby, but it wasn't human.
It was reptilian. It had a long tail and a long
snout. She said something in Spanish,
and the dancing sister repeated it.
Lorena slowly got to her feet, looking shaky as she met her
sisters by the fire. They chanted together.
The sister holding the baby crocodile screamed something.
Then she threw it into the flames.
A single fireball erupted, then became nothing but embers.
The dancing sister retrieved a knife from the idle steps and
skipped towards Joseph. No, you crazy person, he yelled,
violently thrashing about. She made two cuts as he
screamed, one on each of his inner thighs. close to the
groin. Blood streamed down his legs,
causing 2 crocodiles below him to hiss and snap.
In a frenzy, Lorena walked over to me and I rolled over,
attempting to crawl away. No, Danny, she said
breathlessly. She helped me stand up and
guided me to the idol where the sisters were waiting.
I cried. Please Lorena, I don't want to
be here. It cannot be undone, she said.
This is a blessing. When we got to the idol, the
older sister took my right hand and ran her fingers over the
small puncture wounds on my palm.
She then pointed to the spot on the idol marked with my blood.
The three sisters showed their palms, all exhibiting scars from
previous self-inflicted wounds. La Diste tusangre a la madre,
she said, then paused, as if taken by surprise.
She rushed to me and stroked my belly, then took my face in her
hands. Erisunajija del Pantano, she
said. I look to Lorena for help.
You are a daughter of the swamp. She smiled, rubbing my belly.
Congratulations. I pushed her hand away and shook
my head. No, I don't want to be.
I want to go home. The older sister picked up a
crocodile skull from the idol steps.
It was the top half only, and it had a headband attached inside.
She placed it onto the younger sister's head.
And then took another and placed it on Lorena.
He had Del Pantano, she said, putting a skull on my head,
before finally putting one on herself.
I barely resisted. Feeling mentally and physically
exhausted, the sisters guided me to the fire, where they all
began to chant again. Several crocodiles joined us,
looking up at the flames. I cried under the skull for
myself and for Joseph. His eyes were wide and
delirious, his screams hoarse from the damage they'd caused.
Danny. He stuttered.
Stop this madness, please. I felt his anguish.
The sisters gripped my arms as they chanted loudly.
The flames grew higher and a form began to take shape within
a tall hourglass figure with hair that flowed down to her
buttocks and long, scaly jaws filled with pointed teeth.
She must have stood at least 8 feet tall as she roared into the
chamber. I don't know how long she'd been
away for the one the sisters called Madre, but one thing was
clear as she looked at Joseph. She was hungry.
Birds whistle, the wind blows algae and trees rustle in the
autumn breeze. Leaves fall off all the trees as
peace waves across the landscape.
I live in a wooden bungalow. Lanterns light up my home with a
warm, mellow burn. I have a large bedroom with a
kitchen and a small bathroom across the room I hung for my
own food. Yet recently the food has become
more and more scarce, leading me to have to stay out a few hours
later on some nights for enough meat to go to bed full.
There are no natural predators and no hunters would come here.
As this forest isn't known for its food but more for its
luscious scenery, I've been looking out for whatever may be
killing off my prey, but to no avail.
I2 nights ago when this began was out with a sniper rifle.
I bent my knees to hide in hopes none of my prey sees me, but it
was practically useless. I found a decently large rabbit
that could keep me fed for tonight, and possibly tomorrow
morning as well. I placed the sniper over my knee
and closed one eye, aiming for the back of the skull.
As I was about to pull down on the trigger, I heard frantic
rustles behind me. I reopened, my eye, turning to
my right in case this was some sort of wolf or another
dangerous animal. I found nothing.
I quickly turned back for the kill and the rabbit was gone.
God damn it. Just as I wanted to finish my
sentence, I heard my name. Paul.
Paul, please help. I was confused as I lived alone
and had no alive family who could have come to see me.
I also didn't recognize the voice, but an unknown feeling
lured me to go and help. It sounded like a young girl, so
if it wasn't just my mind playing tricks and frustration,
I could help her and get her to safety.
I stood up beginning to walk in the direction I heard the voice.
Paul, please. What?
I heard the voice from behind me, yet it came from the right
last time I second guessed myself, thinking it was my mind.
I began to walk back home as the sunset made the sky grow orange,
rivers rushing and flowing freely while leaves crunched as
I took each step. I got into bed hoping I was just
hearing things and the river may have messed up my hearing.
I put out my Lantern and tried sleeping, but tossed and turned
in hunger. I eventually fell asleep.
Yesterday was as normal, but when I went hunting yet again, I
couldn't find any animals whatsoever, not even small
insects or birds in the sky. I continued walking around, not
worried about getting lost as I've lived here for 16 years and
know each tree like the palm of my hand.
As I finally came across a small squirrel, I groaned an annoyance
as though it wasn't nothing. It still wasn't much, and I
haven't eaten meat in the past day and have been eating fruit
and crops. I aimed my rifle yet again,
prepared to shoot yet again, but I once again heard my name,
Paul. I yet again wanted to look for
the source, but this time ignored it and hunger for some
food. As I missed my first shot, the
squirrel began to run across the dirt and I knew it was no use.
I arose wanting to find the voice yet again.
I began to search, knowing it wasn't just my mind.
It began to grow dark, so I lit a match to see clearer as I
walked. It began to rain and quickly
turned into heavy hail as my match was put out.
I rolled my eyes in annoyance and started to walk back home.
Paul help me. The voice sounded much deeper
than previously, like a fully grown man was forcing his voice
to sound intimidating. I stood frozen in shock but
quickly started running the moment I saw them. 10s of
hundreds of white glowing eyes stared me down as they grew
closer, edging towards me. I shut my door behind me as a
bang crashed against it. And multiple screams echoed in
the air. Come outside Paul.
We can't play inside. I ran into my bedroom, locking
the door and grabbing my machete for protection, yet I doubted it
would do anything. We can't come inside, come out
to play. This made me feel comfortable,
as by now they could have broken inside, so for whatever reason
they probably couldn't do so. I'm writing this now as a final
goodbye to this world, as I don't think they will leave in
the morning. If I survive.
I'll update when I get the chance.