It was back in the 1980s. At the time, I was in my late
20s and would often grab my Collie Lacey and drive my
Mustang convertible to the park not too far from our home to go
hiking. Although I was a single female,
I always felt safe hiking in that park.
It was like my second backyard. It was a hot Sunday morning in
July with a slight breeze and a beautiful blue sky.
It was pretty early, around 8:30 AM and the park was deserted
when we pulled up into the parking area.
The parking lot was near the picnic area and restrooms and it
would get crowded later in the day when families arrived for
their picnics and fishermen made their way out to the lake to try
their luck at catching that elusive big one.
This park covers 1900 acres of land and has miles of wooded
dirt trails that intersect each other.
There are a few main trails that pass by a lake, meander along a
lazy river, and lead to 3 hidden breathtaking waterfalls.
It is heavily forested and in the summer when the leaves are
all on board the trails, visibility is limited to the
path. I loved that park, hiked it
often, knew the trails like the back of my hand, and enjoyed
having it to myself. I intentionally chose times when
I knew it would be less crowded. The lot I parked in is across a
little Rd. from the head of my trail, which is my favorite.
As I called Lacey out of the car and snapped on her leash,
another car pulled into the lot. He parked rather close to me,
which I found rather annoying and a bit strange.
I go there for solitude and peace, and there were plenty of
other parking spots. There was no need to crowd me.
The trail Lacey and I wanted to hike on was across the road, so
I headed that way. We started up the hill and onto
a heavily wooded hiking trail. For some reason I was feeling a
sense of dread and glanced at the man as he was getting out of
his car. I am somewhat suspicious when
hiking alone and immediately found him a bit off.
Something about him was setting off alarm bells in my head.
He appeared to be in his 40s and was by himself, which is not
unusual. A lot of people hike by
themselves. It was his attire and demeanor
that caught me off guard. He was dressed like no other
hiker I have ever seen. He had on dress pants and shiny
black dress shoes like the ones my dad would always wear going
to church. The clothes and shoes were a bit
shabby, but still not something somebody would wear when hiking.
None of the trails in this park were paved.
They were all dirt and often muddy since they crossed
meandering streams. But it was his expression that
struck me the most. He was staring intently at Lacey
and me with no expression on his face, and it was making me
extremely uncomfortable. I thought to myself, who does
that? And who wears dress shoes?
Hiking. I began to feel uneasy.
There was just something creepy about him.
Most people who hike the trails keep to themselves but will say
a brief Hi, how are you doing? Or wave something like that?
This man simply stared intently at Lacey and me, with no
expression in his blank eyes. I knew somewhere deep down
inside of me that it would be the best plan of action to avoid
him entirely. It was a little voice in my head
that I had to listen to. I considered giving up my hiking
altogether that day, but I had been looking forward to it and
Laci was raring to go, and maybe I was just being paranoid.
So I turned back around and began walking up the main hiking
trail. I decided to veer off onto one
of the many little paths that branched off the main trail.
I chose this trail as it was not marked with any signage and did
not go towards the falls or the river, but winded through the
dense, heavily forested woods. It was not as popular as the
other trails and I figured I could avoid the man as he
probably would choose one of the more popular marked trails that
most hikers would. As Laci and I walked along, I
glanced around to see if I could still see him.
To my dread, I realized that he had also chosen the trail we
were hiking. I looked around to see if there
were any other hikers out, but it was just him, myself, and
Lacey. I was not concerned to the point
of panic, but still somewhat freaked out.
I decided it was best to continue to steer clear of him,
and as soon as I was able, I took a different cross trail to
avoid him. The trail I chose headed off in
an entirely different direction from the way he was headed.
I kept walking at a fast pace, trying to put as much distance
between me and him as possible. I tried to enjoy the gorgeous,
beautiful day, but I could not shake the feelings of unease,
and all the while walking tried to stay diligent of the man's
location. After hiking for about 5
minutes, I began to feel my sense of unease increasing.
I turned back to notice that the same figure once again was
following us in the distance, gaining on us slowly but
steadily. He had taken the same
intersecting trail as Lacey and I and was following behind us
again. He did not appear to be enjoying
the walk, was not looking at the nature around him, just staring
right at Lacey and me. He continued to stalk us at a
quick pace with a sense of purpose in his stride.
His face was motionless, his eyes never leaving us As I
glanced at him, it seemed waves of malice were emanating from
him, and I was more scared than I had ever been in my life.
By this time, Lacey was beginning to feel my anxiety.
She was a beautiful dog and looked a lot like Lassie.
She was a good 65 lbs and unlike most collies, did not care for
strangers or anything else out of the ordinary.
She was also beginning to pick up on my emotions and starting
to perceive this danger. She began stopping and turning,
looking back at him, perceiving this person as a threat.
I knew all of these trails like the back of my hand and was
quite sure we could lose him. I crossed into another trail and
I thought, surely we had gotten far enough ahead of him that he
would be unable to determine which trail we had walked,
glancing nervously behind me. But much to my horror, when I
looked up the trail ahead, I saw him walking straight towards us
at a determined pace. He had somehow found the trail
that circles around and then crossed over to head us off.
This could be no accident. It was obvious to me now that he
was intentionally following us, but why?
My brain went into OverDrive. All of my senses were telling me
that I was not in a good situation.
I wondered what I could do. I had a very bad feeling about
this man and had to find an escape route and get back to the
safety of my car as quickly as I could.
I hastily looked around for another trail that I could take
before he would reach us. There was nothing.
I quickly thought it through and determined that my only options
were to turn and run back in the opposite direction, dash into
the heavily forested woods, or walk right past him.
I looked at him, judged the distance, and knew if I ran,
even with his street clothes on, he could possibly catch me on
the trail. I had no desire to run off into
the woods, as the grounds are heavily covered with tripping
hazards, and I've watched enough horror movies to know that the
running victim always trips and falls out of panic.
I contemplated all of those options and you're probably
going to think I'm crazy, but I decided the best course of
action was to keep walking straight ahead and walk past
him. I was not alone.
I had Lacey, and she gave me the courage to confront the
alarming, disconcerting stranger as we walked closer to him.
He said nothing, but kept staring at us intently with his
blank, emotionless expression. His eyes were very dark and
menacing. I walked nervously towards him,
and as we got closer and closer to him, I began talking to Lacey
under my breath, urging her on with a desperate voice, pleading
over and over. Get him, Get him.
Lacey felt my fear. She felt it to her very core and
fed off of it. She began growling low in her
throat. The closer he got to us, the
louder and more profound the rumbling from within her became.
By the time we passed him, I was physically holding her off by
her leash. She was lunging at him, snarling
and baring her teeth. He did not react like someone
being threatened aggressively by a dog.
There was no resentment, no irritation.
Strangely, he said nothing to me and I said nothing to him.
He passed by us and gave Lacey a wide berth, no longer looking at
us or showing any interest at all.
I lightly said. That's not nice, Lacey, as I was
petting her and encouraging her to growl at him the entire time,
though she continued to give him the Clint Eastwood stare and
kept barking until he was well past us.
I kept an eye on him, ensuring he did not back away or turn
back towards us. I was eventually relieved to see
that he made his way to a trail that led to the parking lot, got
in his car, and drove away. I continued my hike, heading to
a different section of the park. I kept thinking about the man
and wondering what he had been doing.
To this day, I think Lacey saved me from an awful situation.
When we returned home that day, I made sure she got an extra
special treat. My name is Johnny.
This story happened on June 2017 in the northern region of
Florida. I was 21 years old, working as a
beach photographer that summer with my buddy who had just
graduated from college. We both attended the same
College in Pennsylvania. Our company housed us in a four
bedroom townhouse with about 10 other people.
It was a Friday and I had the day off.
While everyone else was working, I spent the day relaxing in the
house. As the day went on, I became
more and more anxious because I had not done anything active.
Usually I walked at least 10 miles a day on the beach taking
photos of vacationers. Another day on the beach didn't
sound as appealing as taking a break inside with the AC and
some quality Netflix. But today I felt I had been too
lazy with my time, so I decided to go for a night walk
throughout the neighbourhood behind our housing development
on this nice little nature trail.
It's enjoyable to walk there at night because it's always
tranquil and there is a lot of lovely foliage, mansions,
etcetera. On this walk I discovered a bike
trail that I did not know existed before and decided to
check it out. It goes into the woods and I
thought, why not? Maybe being in the trees would
remind me of home in rural Pennsylvania and relax my mind.
Little did I know it would be the exact opposite.
The bike trail runs perpendicular to the road and
goes along a narrow field of power lines that cut through the
woods. I would guess it goes for about
15 miles at least. I had been walking for 20
minutes and all I could hear was the sound of nature around me.
It was very calming. However, the woods always did
give me a spooky feeling. It was a full moon that night,
so I wasn't in complete darkness and could see pretty much all
around me. About 10 to 15 minutes into my
walk, some clouds came in and covered the moon.
It got much darker out of nowhere, so I turned on the
flashlight on my phone. I heard a strange noise coming
from my right across the field. It sounded like a boar or a pig
emitting a long low grunt. It didn't sound like the normal
sounds I was used to. It sounded like something had
caused it distress. I stood there listening for
another sound, but there were no more.
I kept walking, hoping I wouldn't hear it again as it had
come out of nowhere and startled me.
Suddenly I got the feeling that something was not right.
All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I was very
unnerved. Feeling like I was being
watched. I tried to find where I was on
Google Maps, but it would not load because the service was
very weak. I eventually ran into another
path that veered off into the woods and there luckily was a
map on a board beside it. I stared down the course for a
few seconds, contemplating whether to take it.
It looked like that cliche shortcut that looks super scary
but gets you to your destination a bit quicker.
This one was dark, and I mean dark.
There was a thick canopy above as this part of the woods had
only about a foot between the dense trees and the path on both
sides. Without the light of my phone I
would not have been able to see a thing in there.
I decided to turn and walk along this path as it was a quicker
way home instead of going back around the way I had originally
come. Then, as I was about to head
down the set path, I heard footsteps.
I stopped and turned my flashlight off to listen.
I wanted to make sure I wasn't being paranoid and scaring
myself, but I could indeed still hear them.
They were coming towards me from the direction I was headed on
the main path. I ran over into the trees and
hid because I wasn't about to run into some potentially crazy
people out here in the woods. As I was hiding in the trees and
waiting for them to pass me, I suddenly smelled something
terrible. I thought maybe I was just so
scared that I soiled my pants, but that was not the case.
Instead, it smelled like something decomposing, like the
smell of a dead deer carcass baking out in the sun.
If you've ever been hunting, you definitely know that smell.
The footsteps became increasingly closer.
Then they passed me. I counted 3 people, or should I
say silhouettes, and I couldn't make out their faces or even
their clothes. They walked in a straight line,
their heads staring straight ahead of them, and none of them
said a single word. The one in the middle was
dragging some sort of bag behind them along the concrete.
I waited for about 5 minutes until I could no longer see,
hear them, or smell that smell anymore.
I started walking down the dark path slowly but surely.
I tried walking quickly, but I wanted to stay quiet as I was
pretty freaked out. I was wearing flip flops and
they clicked my heels with every step, so the slower I was, the
quieter I was. I walked for about 10 minutes
and I started to hear footsteps again.
I stopped and turned off my flashlight.
The footsteps were coming from behind me this time.
I ran back into the trees and waited to see if those people
were going to come back again, and inevitably it was they.
They brought that awful smell back with them and walked past
me the same way, dragging the bag behind them.
Were these people following me? Why did they happen to turn
around and come onto this path as well?
I stayed out there in the bushes for about 20 minutes or so,
unsure of what to do. I didn't know if I should keep
going the way I was going or run back.
I hope they didn't hear me though.
As I waited, they came by again, which is the freaky part.
I heard a man's voice say a girl's name this time though
Barbara and Willex or something like that.
I waited another 5 minutes and just started running down the
path. I picked up my flip flops to
make sure I didn't make any noise and didn't even turn my
flashlight back on. I ran for what honestly seemed
like 10 minutes until I eventually had to stop to take a
breath. I was still in complete darkness
and turned my flashlight back on to ensure I wasn't being
followed. I didn't smell that horrible
smell, so I turned the flashlight back off to save my
phone's battery and not give myself away.
I didn't know how much longer I had to keep going as this path
did not look nearly as long on the map.
I began to hear sticks breaking in the woods.
They didn't sound like footsteps, but somewhat random.
One would break to the left, then to the right a few minutes
later. Finally they started to get
louder and eventually I bolted again.
I ran and ran, afraid that there would be something chasing me if
I ever turned around. The sticks breaking seemed to
follow along on both sides, not too far behind me.
It was a fight or flight situation and I fled as fast as
I could. After what seemed like running
for an hour, I eventually saw lights and came out of the woods
next to a sewage plant. I hurried home along the
highway. No one was home when I returned
to the townhouse as they had all gone to a beach party.
So I sat down, got a glass of water and searched the name I
heard on Google, Barbara and Wilcox.
This is where it gets strange in a nutshell.
Barbara and Wilcox and a friend were from Iowa and were hiking
through Florida in the 1970s. On their trip, they were
murdered by a man named Gerard Cher.
The cherry on top of the cake is that it happened in 1973 and the
skeletal remains of the girls were found scattered throughout
the area, which is known as Oak Hammock Park, in 1977 by a group
of fishermen. Why were three people, if that's
what they were, walking through the woods at night in the pitch
black, saying the name of a girl that died 40 years ago about 7
hours away in a different part of Florida altogether?
And what the hell were they dragging behind them?
I'm not sure if I want to know the answers.
Throughout the rest of my summer working in Florida, I continued
to do my night walks, but I never went on that bike trail
again. So if you're ever alone in the
woods, please be careful. You never know who or what you
will find, or worse, who might see you.
Life hasn't really been the same since, well, let's just say
there's some wild stuff out there that would make you crap
your pants if your heart doesn't stop first.
Probably the latter, followed by the former.
Thinking about it now, the word life has a whole new damn
meaning. I'm a deputy in a small town in
Alabama that has a bit of history to it.
I'm not going to tell you where. I don't need all the wannabe
monster hunters coming down here, and honestly, I don't feel
like dealing with body parts and paperwork.
The alphabet soup guys get real pissy when bodies start dropping
and questions start getting asked.
Yeah, they know about this stuff.
Does that surprise you? They pay us very well to keep
the bullcrap to a minimum around here.
So Yep, monsters are real. So are a bunch of other beings.
Gods and other spooky things. You'd be surprised how many of
them really don't want anything to do with humans.
Hey, I can't blame them. I'm not really a fan either.
At least with monsters you know what you're getting, which is
probably eaten. People.
On the other hand, that's a crapshoot.
Well, I guess a little background is in order.
I spent a few years in the military and contracting after
that. I ended up buying a house at the
edge of this town before I knew all the bull crap that was going
on around here. Got bored and went down to the
local sheriff Jack and asked about an opening.
Didn't even fill out an application.
I got the job on the spot. For the first few months it was
the usual speeding tickets, drunk and disorderly.
Normal human crap, right? Well, let the crap commence.
I had been a deputy for seven months when one of the local
farmers called in and reported that some animals were killed
last night and wanted someone to come out to his house.
John Nixon was a 60 year old farmer who lived by himself.
His wife had passed away years ago, but he never remarried and
they never had kids. We met one day at the local
tackle shop. Me being new in town, he took me
to some good fishing spots. The man was a huge military
history buff and would always ask about my time in.
I thought I knew him personally, so I took the call.
As I rolled up to the gate on his property, I saw John
standing at the gate with a shotgun.
Hey John, can I ask why you are standing there with that cannon
in your hands? No response.
He just stared at me. John put that damn shotgun down.
I yelled. It's like he snapped out of a
trance. Mason, I need you to come around
the backside of the house to the barn now.
He snapped. OK, OK, let me get out of the
car and grab some gear, I said, opening the car door.
While I was grabbing my gear, John was standing there, his
eyes scanning the tree line. Come on Mason, you need to see
this, he said, heading towards the back.
I closed the trunk and started walking over in his direction.
So what the hell is going on that's got you walking around
here with that damn bazooka? No response.
He just keeps walking and scanning the tree line.
We finally got to the back of his house, where the barn is.
It looked like a horror movie in that pen.
What the hell happened here? I said, covering my mouth.
There were pieces of chickens and goats everywhere.
A few pigs look like they had been fellated.
It's back, Mason, after all these years, John mumbled.
John, what the hell are you talking about?
What did this? I asked.
John took his eyes off the tree line and looked me dead in the
face. You're not from here, so you
don't know? Know what, man?
What are you saying? I asked, getting annoyed now.
Years ago, the same thing happened to a few guys I know.
All of their livestock had been killed.
Not killed and eaten, just killed.
It got people around here up in arms.
Well, a few of us got together and decided we were going to
look for whatever did it, he said.
What the hell are you telling me, John?
I interrupted. There were four of us.
We were young, thought we were bulletproof.
We went out into the woods 1 morning determined to find the
damn thing that had been killing our animals.
Tommy was the first to say something.
Hey, did you guys hear that? The rest of us didn't hear a
thing, so we kept moving. We got about 3 miles deep into
the old pine forest at the edge of town.
Will was the next to say something.
What the hell? He yelled out while looking down
at the mud. We ran over to where he was
standing to find him wide eyed. I don't know what the actual
hell did this, but we we need to go.
And I mean right now, he said, pointing.
This track was huge, at least 14 inches long, with huge claws.
Gerald spoke up. Let's go guys.
We started backtracking out of the area when we were stopped
cold in our tracks, we all heard it.
This time it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the
same damn time. A sickening, shrieking laugh was
coming from all around us. We panicked and started running.
As soon as we did that, whatever was making that noise centered
as if right behind us, and it was coming fast, ungodly fast,
John said, eyeing the remains of a chicken that was torn apart.
We were about a mile from the trucks when I heard a thud and a
scream. When I looked back, Gerald
wasn't there. Will and Tommy were right behind
me, terror all over their faces. Tommy pulled his pistol and
started shooting backwards. Only one shot rang out before
something tackled him and Will. I stopped raising my rifle, but
they had already been torn apart.
It was seconds and they were in shreds, John, said Mason.
What I saw standing over their shredded bodies has haunted me
since then. The thing was 9 feet tall,
shaped like a man but not its skin or scales, was a mixture of
black and Gray and it looked slimy.
It looked like a damn bodybuilder with huge claw like
hands. Its head was massive, with what
looked like horns coming from the jaw to around the chin.
Its eyes glowed bright green in the middle of the day, and it
had a mouthful of messed up, jagged teeth.
He said, lowering his head. I just just stood there waiting
for my turn. This thing paced back and forth,
staring at me with this creepy damn smile.
It looked down at Will and Tommy, then it looked back up at
me. My heart almost stopped when it
pointed and shook its head at me.
It started making that shrieking laugh as it grabbed what was
left of my friends in each giant claw and walked off into the
woods, Still laughing. I fell to my knees as it
vanished into the trees. I stood there thinking he had
lost his damn mind. John had stopped talking.
He had this way off. Look in his eyes, John.
His eyes snapped back to mine. So what are you telling me a
nine foot creature with claws killed your friends and animals
I half mocked? Yeah, that's what I'm telling
you. It's back for me.
I know it. What makes you think it was this
thing you say killed your friends?
It could have been coyotes. I asked.
I know, Mason. I heard that same horrible
shrieking laugh in the woods behind the barn last night.
Now, I've heard some real bull crap in my time, especially
during my time in the contracting field, but this was
the most out there crap I had ever heard.
All right, all right, let's just take a big step backwards.
I need to wrap my head around all of this, I said, taking a
deep breath. John laid the shotgun down to
his side. I'm telling you the truth,
Mason. I'm too old and tired to lie
about stuff, he said, shrugging. I looked deep into this man's
eyes. When I did, I saw something that
told me this was the absolute truth as he knew it.
You haven't given me any reason to doubt you, but, man, this is
hard to swallow. I need proof, John.
That's the way this works. A look of frustration washed
over his weathered face. Proof.
You want proof, huh? Follow me.
John groaned. He started walking towards the
trees behind the barn. As we got closer to the trees, I
started to smell rusty copper blood.
I thought out loud. John raised his shotgun as we
walked closer. That damn gun had to be illegal,
but this wasn't the time for that.
Him raising that gun made me a little uneasy, so I pulled my
Glock 9mm out and flip the safety off.
John owned about 90 acres, most of it unkempt.
A lot of the land was behind the barn, which butted up to a state
forest. We took about 12 steps into the
wood line when the smell of death hit me like a brick.
I'm taking you to where I heard the noise coming from last
night. Your proof is out there, Mason,
he said with a slight edge to his voice.
We walked almost 100 yards into the woods.
When John stopped in front of a tree, it looked twisted and
warped all the way to its top. I stepped around John and saw
huge claw marks cut deep all the way around the base of the tree.
It's hard to even call it that. What the hell is this?
I said, looking up. This is a marker.
It's territory starts here, John replied.
I looked at John like he was crazy, which at this point I
thought he was. This thing travels throughout
these woods. I found five more of these trees
in our town, he said, putting a hand on the tree.
This isn't telling me anything, John, just that you've got a
weird tree on your property. I said back to him.
Do you hear that? To move this mess forward?
I stopped talking and just listened.
I hadn't noticed that during our walk into the woods it had got
quiet. And I mean, not one sound.
What the hell? Where did all the animals go?
I asked, looking around. They're scared, Mason.
You should be too. Let's get back to the house.
We turned and started making our way out of the woods.
We were damn near the tree line when I heard a snap.
I turned around, gun raised to see a black streak dart back
deeper into the woods. What the hell was that?
All John said was we need to leave now.
We turned and started sprinting the rest of the way out of the
woods. I was surprised at how fast John
was for an old man. We got all the way back to my
patrol car. I don't know what that was, but
I don't think you should stay here tonight, John, Pack some
stuff and come to my place, I said, pointing my gun at the
trees. John just let out a sigh, as if
frustrated and defeated. You weren't listening.
The pine forest, these trees, it's all connected.
I'm talking about before this area was even inhabited by
native peoples. This thing has been around for a
very long time. I have been looking into this
since that day. I had to find out what it was
and if it can be killed, He tried to explain.
The whole time John was talking, I had my eyes and weapon pointed
at the trees. You can put that down, Mason.
It just wanted you to know it's here, he said.
John, I need to process this crap.
I've never seen or heard anything like this and to be
straight with you, I'm at a loss right now, I said, opening the
trunk. I get it, I get it.
Sheriff Jack was a deputy back then.
When you see him, tell him, I said the dark is here.
And with that, he just turned his back and walked back into
his house, not saying another word.
I got back in the car and sat there looking at the tree line.
After a few minutes, I went back to the station.
I must have walked in with that universal.
What the hell look on my face because Kathy, the clerk, asked
what was wrong with me. I told her I was fine and asked
if she had seen the sheriff. Yeah, he's in the gun cage.
Are you sure you're OK, Mason? She asked again.
Yeah, I'm good. Just need to talk to Jack.
I started walking towards the back of the building when Jack
came around the corner. Hey Mason, what's up?
He said, walking up to me. I just got back from John's
house. The look on his face completely
changed. He had a bunch of animals killed
last night. It looked like a slaughterhouse.
He told me to tell you the dark was back, I told him, noticing
his reaction. Jack stiffened up and without
saying a word, gestured for me to follow him towards the back
security door. We headed towards the back and
out the door. Jack had stopped to make sure
the door was secure, then pointed at his truck and said
get in. After getting in he looked over
I need some coffee, then started the truck up and headed West out
of the parking lot towards the coffee shop.
He ordered a large black coffee with extra sugar and then asked
if I wanted one. I'll take a small black no
sugar. We pulled out and headed E back
past the station. We ended up driving towards the
edge of the county. What's going on?
And why are we heading way the hell out here?
I looked at Jack and said Jack just took a long sip of his
coffee and then placed it back in the holder.
After a long breath, he said you want some answers about what
happened at John's house? I'm sure he told you about a few
other things about this town. Well, we're going to go get you
some answers, he said, looking at a black sedan passing in the
opposite direction. ITE so like you, Mason, I'm not
from here either. I was a trooper in New York for
a few years before I came down here.
I resigned after a call to an old couple's house, he said,
reaching for his cup. My partner Jake and I responded
to what was thought to be an animal attack.
We were the first on the scene, having been a couple of miles
away looking for speeders. When we rolled up, an older
woman came running over to the cruiser.
She had a panicked look on her face and just kept repeating
they're dead. They're dead.
We hopped out and sat her in the back of the car, then asked what
happened. I I came over to talk to Gloria
and and I saw the door open. I walked in yelling her and
Alan's name, but they didn't answer.
I found them upstairs. It's horrible, she said,
sobbing. Jake and I drew our weapons and
started making the move inside. Like the witness said, the front
door was open, so we moved in. It smelled like sulfur and
blood. When we entered, we started
clearing rooms. The first floor was clear so we
made our way up the steps. The smell was overpowering now.
We cleared the bathroom and the two smaller rooms were clear.
Also, the door to the master bedroom was slightly opened.
I motioned to Jake and we hit the door.
It looked like some movie stuff. I kid you not.
Jake turned and went back into the hallway and threw up.
I stepped into the room and listen.
I had never seen anything like this before, Jack stammered out.
These two people were in shreds on the bed.
Their insides had been yanked out and thrown around the room.
After looking at the bodies, I noticed these huge claw marks in
the wall. I'm talking as if Andre the
Giant had had a Kruger glove. I stepped back out of the room
and told dispatch that we needed more units.
I walked back to the front door where Jake was standing, hunched
over looking out of it. Parked outside were three black
SU VS and a black sedan. I counted 11 men dressed in
black tactical military gear, some with a type of rifle I had
never seen before, but you could tell it was large caliber, the
rest with SMG weapons. When I looked over towards the
patrol car, one of the men had the door opened and was talking
to the witness. He saw us and started our way.
He was dressed in all black too and carried what looked like a
Desert Eagle in a chest holster. When he got closer, I got a
better look at him. He looked to be in his late 40s
with salt and pepper colored hair and a big scar that ran
down the right side of his face. He got about 10 feet from the
steps. We appreciate the assistance,
but you are no longer needed, he said in a deep voice.
As he was saying this, one of the other guys escorted the
witness out of our car and into the back of that sedan.
The guy started walking away from us.
Who are you and what the hell is going on?
I yelled at him. He turned with a look on his
face that you only see in movies, then took a few steps
towards us. Your command has been informed
and you are to leave now, he said, raising his hand up
towards that holstered pistol. Jake looked at me and shook his
head. Screw it, let's go.
Let them deal with that mess upstairs, he said, still
coughing, then started heading towards the car.
I followed him down the steps, looking this guy up and down,
checking out the vehicles and looking for anything that might
tell me who we were dealing with.
The only thing I saw was on the dude's uniform.
There was a patch on his shoulder.
It was an all black diamond with a weird looking black M in the
middle of it. The guy stared us down until we
were in the car driving away. He had that pistol in his hand
and the other men started moving into the house.
Jake and I didn't say a word until the radio squawked and we
were told to head back to the barracks.
When we got there, we were told to report to the troop
commander's office. Commander Thompson was sitting
in his office along with a man in a nice two piece suit.
The man in the suit stood there quietly while Thompson told us
that we never responded to any call out to that farmhouse and
that this was the first and only time he would say it.
With that, he dismissed us and we walked out.
The crap didn't sit well with me and I ended up resigning a few
months later. I came down here and then that
stuff in the woods happened. I was on the scene.
I saw the claw marks. They look just like the ones in
New York and the same damn truck showed up with different
personnel. I knew just to shut up and walk
away, and after making that choice, I have had a pretty good
career here. He finished grabbing his cup out
of the holder. My brain was in OverDrive.
I was just about to completely question bomb Jack when he said
we're here. He pulled off onto this
overgrown driveway and drove for about 1/4 mile.
We pulled up to an old two-story house that looked like it was in
ruins, but the lights were on. Where the hell are we?
I asked as the last word of that question left my mouth.
The front door of the house opened.
Standing in the doorway was an old man dressed in weathered
black clothing. Jack leaned over to me.
You wanted answers. Well, there they are.
As we got out of the truck, the old man approached us.
His face was marked with years of weathering, and his eyes held
a depth that seemed to pull at the darkest corners of my soul.
He extended a rough hand in greeting Jack Mason, come
inside, we've got a lot to cover and not much time, he said, his
voice gravelly with age. Inside, the house was
surprisingly cozy, despite its dilapidated exterior.
Books and papers were stacked high in every corner, and
strange symbols were scribbled across numerous chalkboards.
The old man motioned for us to sit at a large, sturdy wooden
table covered with maps and various artifacts.
As you might have guessed, I'm not just a hermit living out
here in the middle of nowhere. The old man began, his eyes
scanning both of us. I've been tracking, studying,
and sometimes confronting these creatures for most of my life.
What happened to John's farm? What you saw, Mason?
It's just the tip of the iceberg, Jack, interjected
Mason, This is Henry. He's sort of a legend around
these parts. Used to work with the government
on these matters until he decided going solo was the safer
bet. Henry nodded slightly.
The creature you're dealing with is ancient, more intelligent
than you might expect. An extremely dangerous.
It's part of a species that predates most of human history,
and it's not the only one of its kind.
There are others, each with their territories, patterns, and
appetites. The room grew colder as he
spoke, and the gravity of the situation began to weigh heavily
on me. Why is it back now, after all
these years? I asked my voice barely above a
whisper. That's the $1,000,000 question,
isn't it? Henry replied, pausing to sift
through some papers before continuing.
These creatures, they're connected to the land, to the
history of this place, Changes in the environment, certain
alignments, activities of certain, let's call them cults,
can awaken them from periods of dormancy.
He pointed at a series of marks on one of the maps.
These incidents aren't random. There's a pattern and it's
starting to accelerate. Something big is coming,
something that hasn't happened in over a century, and I believe
it's related to why the creature attacked John's farm.
Jack looked solemnly at me. That's why I brought you here,
Mason. You're new.
Yes, but you've seen enough now to know that this isn't just
local folklore. We need to prepare, and we need
all the help we can get. Henry stood up, walking over to
a large cabinet and pulling out several old leather bound books.
I have compiled research evidence, accounts and theories
here. If we're going to stand a
chance, we need to understand what we're dealing with fully.
And Mason? You need to decide how deep you
want to go into this, because once you're in, there's no easy
way out. The weight of his words settled
in as I looked over at Jack, who nodded in agreement.
The night ahead would be long filled with revelations and
decisions, but one thing was clear.
My life as a deputy in this small town was about to change
forever. As the night pressed on, the
thick air inside Henry's cluttered study became almost
suffocating. The ticking of an old clock was
the only sound that punctuated our hushed voices as we poured
over ancient texts and cryptic maps.
Henry's revelations painted a picture so sinister, so beyond
the realm of our understanding, that my gut churned with a
mixture of fear and adrenaline. I need a moment, I mumbled,
standing to stretch my legs, feeling the weight of every
story, every encounter pressing down on me.
Jack nodded, his face etched with lines of concern and
weariness stepping outside. The chill of the air slapped me,
a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere within.
The night was pitch black, the moon a mere sliver, barely
casting shadows on the ground. I walked a little way off from
the house, my thoughts swirling every rustle in the bushes,
every snap of a twig under foot spiked my heart rate.
I tried convincing myself it was just the wind, just a small
animal scurrying about. But after tonight, nothing
seemed innocuous anymore. As I turned back towards the
house, a sudden movement in the periphery of my vision caught my
attention. I froze, squinting into the
darkness. There it was again, a swift,
shadowy figure darting between the trees.
My hand instinctively went to my side, only to remember I'd left
my gun inside. Jack.
Henry, I called out, but my voice seemed to be swallowed by
the thick forest air. Turning back to the house, I
hesitated, every instinct screaming at me to run, to get
inside. But then the shadow moved
closer, unafraid, deliberate in its approach.
My breath caught in my throat as the details of the creature
became clearer. It was massive, its body covered
in what looked like slick black scales reflecting the faint
moonlight. The limbs were grotesquely long,
ending in sharp, clawed fingers that scraped the ground with
each movement, But it was the eyes that held me frozen,
glowing A fierce, unnatural green.
They bore into me, paralyzing me with dread.
Then it smiled, or at least it seemed to smile, an expression
so twisted and malevolent that my blood turned ice cold.
The creature turned its head as if amused by my terror.
I wanted to scream, to call out again, but my voice was gone,
trapped somewhere in my chest with what felt like excruciating
slowness. It took another step toward me,
the ground seeming to shudder under its weight.
I could hear the faintest sound now, a sickening, gurgling
chuckle that seemed to come from the creature itself.
My mind raced, desperate for a plan, but my body refused to
cooperate, refused to run. Just as the creature raised a
clawed hand, a loud gunshot shattered the night.
The creature recoiled, A shriek piercing the air that made my
ears ring. Another shot rang out, and then
another. Jack and Henry rushed out, guns
pointed at the creature, which was now writhing and howling in
pain. Get inside, Mason.
Jack yelled, firing another round.
My legs finally sprung to life, and I sprinted towards the
house, not daring to look back. As I reached the door, another
scream echoed through the forest, a sound so filled with
rage and agony that it promised retribution.
We barricaded ourselves inside, listening as the creatures cries
faded into the distance. Henry's face was grave as he
reloaded his gun. It knows we're here now, he said
quietly, And it won't stop. As dawn broke, the terror of the
night lingered. We were no longer hunters but
pray, waiting in the eerie silence for the creatures next
move. The truth was clear.
We had only glimpsed the darkness that lurked in the
shadows, and the real nightmare had just begun.
I've never been one for ghost stories.
Out here in Fairbanks, AK, you learn to respect the wild for
what it is. Cold, brutal and unforgiving.
But there's a stretch on the eastern side of Farmer's Loop
that I can't explain. It's the one place that chills
me to the bone. 10 years ago, that road changed everything.
I thought I knew about the dark. Mom and I were driving home from
the hospital that night. The air was crisp, the kind of
cold that bites at your cheeks and makes your eyes water if
you're outside. For more than a few minutes.
Inside the car, the heater fought a losing battle against
the creeping frost on the windshield.
We were quiet, each lost in our own thoughts.
Mom had just gotten her cast off her wrist finally healed from a
fall on the ice, and the relief hadn't worn off yet.
We took the eastern side home because it was shorter, though
rarely traveled late at night. As we turned on to Farmer's
loop, I remember feeling uneasy, like the darkness itself had
weight pressing in around the car.
There was this clearing coming up, a large open field with a
single metal tower standing Sentinel in the middle.
It was just a patch of land, but at night it seemed like a gaping
mouth waiting to swallow us whole.
Mom flicked on the high beams and the world in front of us
flooded with light. That's when we saw it.
At first I mistook it for a large dog rummaging near the
ditch, but as it crawled into the beam of our headlights, my
stomach twisted. This was no dog.
It was a thing, pale and grotesque, Its limbs contorted
as it moved on all fours. Its skin seemed to glow faintly
in the harsh light, like the underbelly of a fish.
It stopped and turned towards us, where its eyes should have
been. There were only dark, empty
sockets, A void that seemed to pull at the very light around it
and its mouth. It was a jagged line stretched
into a grimace that might have been a smile in another life.
Mom screamed, a sharp, piercing sound that seemed to crack the
silence like ice. Her hands gripped the steering
wheel tighter, and the car lurched forward as she stomped
on the accelerator. I pressed my back into the seat,
my heart hammering against my chest like it was trying to
break free. We didn't speak.
What was there to say in the rear view mirror?
The clearing disappeared into the night, swallowed up by the
darkness as if it had never existed.
But the image of that thing stayed with me, burned into my
eyelids every time I blinked. We never talked about it, not
really. Mom would change the subject or
brush it off with a nervous laugh whenever I brought it up.
But there was a look in her eyes sometimes, a shadow that passed
over her when she thought I wasn't looking.
She remembered she had to. I've driven past that stretch of
Rd. since then, always during the day and never alone.
There's something about that place, something poisonous that
lingers in the air like a bad memory.
It's a part of the road that feels wrong, like a note played
off key in an otherwise perfect song.
And maybe I'm just a local, scared of a shadow, a man too
quick to feel the cold. But I'll tell you this, I
believe in what I saw that night, and I've learned the hard
way that some roads and fair bakes are best left untraveled
after dark. I've never been one to leave
things be, especially not after what I'd seen as a kid on
Farmer's Loop. So when curiosity got the better
of me one late night, I found myself steering my truck down
the familiar Rd. towards Sheep Creek, driven by a mix of dread
and determination. The sky was clear, stars
twinkling coldly above, their light dim compared to the vivid
memories that haunted me. The university was quiet as I
passed its buildings, dark silhouettes against the night
sky. The road to Sheep Creek was less
travelled, more isolated. I felt every mile stretch out,
unwinding, like the stories told in hushed tones around the fire
back in town. Stories of lights, strange
sounds and shadows that moved with intent as I approach the
infamous bend near Sheep Creek. That's when it started, Flashes
of light, brilliant and blinding.
They erupted at intervals, lighting up the night like
paparazzi at a scandal. At first I thought it was
lightning, but there was no Thunder, just silence.
After each flash, a heavy, expectant silence, as if the
night held its breath. The phenomenon was unnerving.
Each flash seemed to originate from the same spot in the sky,
then streaked downwards, bending unnaturally towards the ground.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel, the leather
creaking under my hands. I slowed down, straining to make
sense of what I was seeing. It was like nothing natural.
I knew more like a scene from a sci-fi movie, unsettling in its
precision and repetition. I wasn't the only one out here.
Shadows moved at the edges of the road, people from nearby
homes drawn out by the spectacle or perhaps by the same morbid
curiosity that had snagged me. But their faces weren't filled
with wonder. They were etched with fear,
their eyes wide, their movements jittery.
This community, once vibrant now seemed cloaked in a collective
unease, a shared secret that no one wanted to acknowledge.
Turning back seemed the sensible thing to do, yet the part of me
that needed answers pressed on. I drove further the road now,
less a path and more a passage through a waking nightmare.
Then, as I rounded the curve where the Creek was closest, the
entire area exploded in light, a flash so intense it turned night
into day for a heartbeat, revealing the stark fear on the
faces of those outside their homes.
In that burst of light, I caught a glimpse of something more, a
shape, a figure outlined against the brightness.
It was human, like, yet distorted by the intensity of
the light, its features blurred and shifting.
It was there, and then it wasn't as if it had never been more
than a trick of the light. The darkness returned,
oppressive and complete. I pulled over, heart pounding,
my mind racing. What was happening here?
Was it related to what I'd seen as a kid?
Was this natural or something else?
The light never came again that night, but the chill that
settled over me felt like it might never leave.
I drove home in a daze, the echoes of those flashes like
after images on my retinas. I knew I'd be back, though some
part of me couldn't let go, couldn't stop until I
understood. But another part of me, the
primal, instinctive part, whispered that some things once
seen can never be unseen. And maybe, just maybe, they're
not meant to be. The drive back to that forsaken
stretch of road near Sheep Creek was a journey I made out of
desperation more than courage. Every mile closer to where I'd
seen the bizarre lightning in the shadowy figure, my resolve
twisted with a nod of fear. But the need for answers, for
some resolution to the haunting questions that had followed me
since childhood pushed me onward.
That evening the sky was a bruised mix of purples and
blacks, clouds rolling in thick over the horizon, like a curtain
about to drop on the last act of a play.
I parked my truck off the side of the road, just before the
bend that led to the heart of the disturbances.
The air was electric, tinged with the scent of an oncoming
storm, and for a moment I hesitated, my hand on the door
handle, wondering if some stories were better left
unfinished. Stepping out, I felt the static
cling to my clothes, prickle at my skin.
The wind picked up, carrying whispers of the past, echoes of
my mother's scream, the haunting voids of that creature's eyes.
I walked toward the bend, my flashlight cutting a swath
through the darkness, every shadow making me jump, every
rustle in the bushes, tightening the grip on my nerves As I
rounded the curve. The ground suddenly vibrated
under foot. A deep, resonant hum filled the
air, a sound that seemed as if the earth itself was groaning
ahead. The sky split open with a final,
cataclysmic flash of light. It was unlike any lightning I'd
ever known. It struck the ground, sending up
a plume of sparks and dirt, and for a split second it
illuminated everything. The trees, the road, the fear
etched deeply into my own features.
In that glare I saw it again, the figure from before, clearer
now unmistakably human in shape, yet otherworldly in presence.
It stood at the center of the luminous storm, arms raised as
if commanding the elements themselves.
The sight of it rooted me to the spot, a primal part of my brain
screaming to run, while another deeper part urged me to stay, to
understand. Then, just as quickly, the light
was gone, sucked back into the clouds, and with it the figure
disappeared. The darkness returned deeper
than before, a blanket that smothered all my senses.
I stood there, heart pounding, breathing ragged as the
realization dawned on me. The figure wasn't just a figment
or a shadow, it was real. As real as the fear that clawed
at my throat. I don't know how long I stood
there, caught between the world I knew and one that defied
explanation. When I finally turned back to my
truck, the dread that had accompanied me felt lighter,
replaced by a weary acceptance. Some mysteries aren't meant to
be solved, not completely. Some truths are too vast, too
ancient, bound up in the very fabric of places like Fairbanks.
As I drove home, the first drops of rain began to fall, tapping
against the windshield in a slow, methodical beat.
They seem to cleanse the air, wash away some of the nights
sharp edges. I knew I wouldn't return to
Sheep Creek. I had seen enough to know that
some roads, especially those we travel in search of our deepest
fears, are best left behind. But the shadows of what I saw
that night, they'll linger a part of me now as much as the
wild, untamed land of Alaska itself.
The storm caught us off guard, pummeling the countryside with a
fury that seemed almost personal.
Rain lashed against the windshield like gravel as
Kayla's friend Nick squinted into the unrelenting night.
My hands clutched the cold passenger seat, my knuckles
white, my stomach churning with every flash of lightning that
illuminated the sky. Can't see a thing out here, Nick
muttered, his voice tinged with worry.
He slowed the car to a crawl. The headlights caught glimpses
of water flooding the ditches beside the road, turning our
route into a treacherous stream. Kayla leaned forward from the
back seat, her usual bubbly self oddly quiet.
There's a place up ahead, she said.
We can stop there until this lets up.
I twisted to look at her, trying to read her expression in the
dim glow of the dashboard lights.
What place? I asked.
Just an old shack my uncle used to talk about, he said.
It's been empty for years. We'll be fine there.
Nick didn't argue. The fear of a crash in this
downpour seemed a greater risk than taking refuge in some
deserted building. We turned off the main road at
the next gap in the hedge, tires sloshing through mud and water.
The shack appeared as a dark silhouette against the stormy
backdrop, its shaped, blotchy and indistinct like a smudge of
charcoal on wet paper. We parked and dashed through the
rain, which by now felt like icy needles against my skin.
Inside, the shack was grim and unwelcoming.
The air smelled of damp wood and mold.
My flashlight beam danced across bare walls and an uneven floor
strewn with leaves and debris. A couple of broken chairs and an
old table were the only furnishings.
It was far from a haven, but it was shelter.
We'll be OK here until morning, Nick declared, more to convince
himself than us. I thought.
He checked his phone, frowned, and shoved it back into his
pocket. No signal.
Kayla pulled a couple of candles from her bag.
She always was the prepared one, and lit them.
The small flames flickered, casting eerie shadows that
danced along the walls. It's kind of creepy, huh?
She said with a half smile, trying to cut the tension.
I forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow, even to my own ears.
Yeah, just a bit. We set up in one corner of the
shack, laying out our wet jackets to dry and huddling
together for warmth. The storm outside did not abate,
each Thunder clap a reminder of how isolated we were.
As the hours ticked by, the initial adrenaline of our mad
dash into the shack faded, replaced by an uneasy silence.
Every sound seemed amplified in the small, confined space.
The wind howled through cracks in the timber, and somewhere in
the distance a branch snapped. Thunder rolled over the hills
like a series of explosions. And then, amidst the cacophony
of the storm, I heard something else.
Something that didn't fit, a soft moaning wail that seemed to
come from inside the shack. I sat up, my heart hammering in
my chest. Did you hear that?
I whispered. Nick and Kayla were still
listening intently. After a moment, Kayla shook her
head. It's just the wind, she said,
But the sound came again, a mournful cry that sent shivers
down my spine. This time, I wasn't the only one
who heard it. What in the world is that?
Nick breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
We stared at each other in the dim candlelight, the shadows
around us suddenly menacing. Outside the storm raged, but
inside, a different kind of fear was taking hold.
Morning never felt more like a continuation of night.
The storm still rattled, the old shack pressing us into another
gloomy day. I woke to the chill of dawn, an
unwelcome cold seeping through the thin walls.
Nick's bed, nothing more than a pile of old blankets in the
corner, was empty, the blankets folded neatly, his belongings
gone. Nick, I called out, my voice
sounding strange in the confined space.
No answer. I nudged Kayla awake, her eyes
fluttering open with confusion. He's gone, I said, gesturing to
the empty corner. Her expression shifted from
sleepiness to concern as she scanned the room.
Maybe he went outside, she suggested, though her tone
lacked conviction. We dressed quickly and stepped
out into the Gray wash of early morning.
The rain had turned into a drizzle, the clouds hanging low
like a shroud over the landscape.
There was no sign of Nick, no footprints in the muddy ground
outside the shack. The car.
Our lifeline to the outside world was also missing.
Panic fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird.
He wouldn't just leave us here, I muttered, more to myself than
to Kayla. Let's check around, she said,
leading the way. As we circled the shack.
The surrounding fields, barren and soaked, offered no clues.
We called his name until our voices grew hoarse.
The only replies. The rustle of wind through the
wet grass and the distant rumble of Thunder back inside the shack
felt smaller, the air heavier. We rummaged through the scant
provisions. We had some protein bars, 1/2
empty bottle of water, and realized how dire our situation
had become. I'm going to check the shack
again, I declared, determined to find anything Nick might have
left behind or overlooked clues about the building itself.
The interior of the shack seemed unchanged at first glance, but
as I moved a candle closer to the walls, something caught my
eye. A seam, not quite natural,
suggested a door where none had appeared before.
My heart raced. I pressed against it, the wood
cold and unyielding, under my fingertips.
It's like a secret door, I whispered to Kayla, who joined
me with a skeptical frown. It's just an old shack, Cora.
These places have weird construction, she said, but her
voice faltered when she saw the outline I was tracing.
Together. We pushed the door, remained
firm, mocking our efforts with its silent, stoic facade.
Discouraged, I stepped back, my foot catching on a loose
floorboard. It creaked ominously, revealing
a hidden space beneath. Look at this, I said, kneeling
down. Inside we found a small box,
dust covered and forgotten. It contained a few old
photographs and letters, nothing that explained the door or
Nick's disappearance, but a glimpse into the shack's
mysterious past. The day waned, and with each
passing hour the shack seemed to close in around us.
The moans from the previous night returned, this time
louder, clearer. We clung to the light of our
candles as shadows stretched and twisted along the walls.
We're not alone in here, I said, my voice barely a whisper, dread
settling in my stomach like a stone.
Kayla nodded, her eyes wide. I know.
As night fell, our resolve hardened.
We had to understand the shack's secrets, confront whatever
lurked within or beyond that strange, immovable door.
Fear twisted with curiosity, the need to know overriding the
impulse to flee. We'll find him, I said to Kayla,
though I didn't know if I was promising her or myself.
We prepared to face another night.
The storm outside, mirroring the turmoil within the morning
light, did nothing to alleviate the darkness that had settled
inside the shack. I awoke with a start, my heart
pounding, the dream of Kayla's transformation still vivid in my
mind. She was different now, her once
warm eyes replaced by an ominous glow that seemed to pulse with
malice. Cora, are you OK?
Her voice broke through, my thoughts too sweet, too calm.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on her, watching for any signs of
the creature I'd seen in my nightmare.
But all I saw was Kayla, looking concerned and slightly perplexed
by my intense gaze. We need to do something, I
finally said, my voice firm despite the shaking I felt
inside. We can't just stay here, Kayla
agreed, though reluctantly. The storm has lessened.
Maybe we can find the car, or at least get a signal on our
phones. We ventured outside, the air
fresh with the scent of rain and earth, The ground squelched
under our boots as we trudge through the muddy field.
The shack, viewed in the light of day, was even more desolate,
a stark reminder of our isolation.
As we walked, the landscape seemed to shift subtly, the
familiar becoming foreign. Trees appear denser and darker
than I remembered, their branches twisting into grotesque
shapes. The sky, a dull Gray expanse
when we started, now pulsed with a deep, unsettling red.
Kayla, do you see that? I pointed to the sky, my voice
barely a whisper. She looked up, her brow
furrowing. It's just the storm, Cora.
Weird weather out here. But it wasn't just the weather.
The air felt charged heavy with a presence that watched, waited.
We reached the spot where we thought we'd left the car, but
it was gone, replaced by more dense, impenetrable woods.
Panic rose in my throat. We should go back, I said,
turning to Kayla, but she was no longer beside me.
Turning around, I saw her standing several feet away, her
back to me. Kayla.
I called out, but she didn't respond.
As I approached, she turned slowly, her eyes now glowing
that dreadful red. The sight of her stopped me
cold. This wasn't my friend, this was
something else. Something dark and terrifying.
Kayla. I tried again, my voice
trembling. She smiled.
But it was all wrong, a grotesque mimicry of human
emotion. We can't leave Cora.
We're part of this place now. I backed away, my mind racing.
Everything inside me screamed to run, to escape the nightmare
that had ensnared us. I turned and fled, not knowing
where I was going, only that I needed to get away.
The woods closed in around me, branches clawing at my clothes,
tripping my feet. I heard her behind me, her
footsteps unnaturally silent. The red light from the sky
seemed to guide her, a beacon for the darkness that had
consumed her. Exhaustion overtook fear, and I
stumbled to the ground, gasping for breath.
I looked up, expecting to see Kayla, but instead the woods
parted, revealing a massive, shadowy figure.
Its countless eyes burned with the same red light, and I knew
this was the source, the heart of the darkness.
I waited for the end, for the creature to consume me, as it
had Kayla, but it merely watched, its gaze heavy and sad,
as if disappointed, it turned and vanished into the trees.
I lay there, the cold seeping into my bones, the silence
oppressive. After a long moment I gathered
my strength and stood. The shack was visible through
the trees, a beacon of relative safety in the madness.
I made my way back, the door creaking ominously as I entered
the familiar yet tainted refuge. The shack was empty, Kayla was
gone, and I was alone with the haunting red light that filtered
through the cracks. Sitting down, I pulled out my
journal, the pages fluttering in the faint breeze.
I began to write, not sure who would ever read it, but needing
to record the truth of what had happened here, in this place
where reality bent and darkness dwelled outside, the red sky
darkened, and I knew that whatever peace I'd found was
only temporary. But for now it was enough to
have a moment to breathe, to gather my thoughts and prepare
for what was to come, whatever that might be.