Creepy - Day 8 - Tunnel Rats Part 2 & Hell's Bridge

Episode Date: October 8, 2022

Tunnel Rats Part 2***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Hell's Bridge***Written by: William Presley***Content warning: suicide***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence. Silence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 8. Tunnel Rats Part 2. Written by known of consequence and narrated by Daniel Hewitt. After catching a brief glimpse of that monster, the others are determined to go back. Claiming the pursuit of truth isn't worth dying for.

That's not why I'm here. Kirk killed his girlfriend in this chamber, but the others were killed by that monster as we tried to escape. Eventually, Kurt caught up with us in the second chamber and tried to murder us. Before he could, the monster dragged him down that drop off. The last thing we heard was his gargled screams as the creature ate him alive. How do I know this? I was here 15 years ago.

The group is furious and scared. filled with questions. The concoction I gave them will prevent the ghosts of the tunnels from getting into their minds like they did Gerald. Father O'Neill's journal was full of helpful tips, including information about how the creature he referred to as the tunnel prong. First and foremost, the creature is afraid of fire. Last time I saw that horrid beast, it was ripping apart my friends and appeared invincible. I swore to never come back to this wretched place. but I could never truly leave it alone. Fifteen years ago, I came here because of a stupid Halloween dare,

but I'm back for one specific purpose. My twin brother has an inoperable brain tumor, and the Jericho healing pool is the only thing that can save his life. He was diagnosed three years ago, and that's what drove me to join the tunnel rats. Not for the glory of debunking myths and legends. I needed them as bait for the prawn. without them to distract it, I'd never make it to the pool.

Gerald gets to his feet, groggy from the rag I placed over his mouth. It wasn't chloroform, but a much older recipe that the Catholic Church uses, during exorcisms, to subdue the possessed. Another of the helpful tricks I got from the blue tome, Gerald is grateful for the help, but promises will have a serious talk about this shit if we make it out alive. After apologizing to Caitlin for what he tried to do, he rallies the troops to get out of here. Pulling a climbing axe from my pack, I tell Gerald that's not an option. Now that the prawn knows we're here, they will only die tired if they try to make a run for it. It's been here for thousands of years and knows these tunnels better than anything alive.

It's a true apex predator, better than crocodiles and the great white shark by far. You got us into this mess, Diana. How the hell do we get out of this alive? In truth, I didn't expect everyone to get out. But I don't tell them that. I fill them in on the journal, but exclude my ties to this place. They're far from a muse that I failed to share this information earlier. I simply claim that I didn't believe the father's account,

but decided to prepare for the off chance that it was real. They are skeptical of my words. but begrudgingly accept it. Under the circumstances, what choice do they have? The tunnel prawn has a face like a skeletal fish the size of a Great Dane. Its hard shell body looks similar to a shrimp,

with two long appendages in the front for grabbers, and the eight smaller ones that function like legs. It can move with great speed, attack without warning, and doesn't know the meaning of mercy. There is a telltale sound of clicking when it moves. and it only growls when something startles it. With a mouthful of teeth like a piranha, when it bites,

it claims whatever it clamps down on and won't let go. With as ferocious as it is, I have no idea how Father O'Neill managed to gather so many details about it without getting his face ripped off. I tell the group to follow me as I reload the flare gun, and we start off into the largest chamber yet,

a giant cavern. The space stretches farther than our lights can shine. Father O'Neill didn't leave a map in the blue tome, but he did give detailed directions to the pool. Cracking several of the glowsticks in my pocket, I tossed them as far as I can in various directions. They're brighter than the average glowstick, casting an eerie green glow. It illuminates several holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling. All places the prawn could reappear through. Keeping the axe low on the flare gun level, I lead our group to the left. this is the first time we've headed it a new direction.

And of course, Gerald questions my decision. What makes you so sure this is the way out? Instead of telling them Father O'Neill's directions would lead us to the pool, I inform them that it leads to a faster, safer way out. I don't care if any of them will believe a word for me after tonight. If we make it out of this, I'm done with them anyway. As we approach the next tunnel, I stopped dead in my tracks at the sound of clicking.

The prawn is closing in on us, but I can't tell from which direction. Cracking another stick, I tossed the green glowing rod into the tunnel, but see nothing in it. A scream from behind has us all whirling around. Helen's legs can be seen kicking as she disappears through a hole above us.

I don't bother firing off another flare. She's already gone. With the prawn distracted with a fresh meal, I move quickly. The shuffling of bodies behind me lets me know the others are following. I feel a stab of guilt when Helen screams die in a gurgling whisper. She was a bit of a diva and whined about the dumbest things, but she wasn't a bad person. Caitlin begins to cry and the others are murmuring angry, hateful things at me, but I shush them all with a cock of the flare guns hammer. If they wanted to be picked off quicker, then by all me,

continue flapping your traps. Otherwise, shut the hell up and make as little noise as possible. The prawn may not look like it has ears, but it hunts by sound. Turning back to face the darkness ahead, movement startles me, and I accidentally fire off a flare. It bounces off the wall, ceiling, and sails past a specter that recoils in shock before fading away. It stops after a few dozen yards, glowing a bright red as it lays on.

the ground of another small chamber. I really wish it hadn't, because what I see won't go well with my group. Skeletons of past explorers litter the ground, and I realized my mistake. Damn my dyslexia. We were supposed to go right, not left. Everyone enters, and those murmurs begin again. Among the scores of skeletons and tattered rags, there are nearly a dozen holes for the prawn to come through. against one is a pool of black bubbling liquid. Is that the pool? Travis asks, but it's not. The healing pool glows blue, and this stuff looks like oil.

I warn them all from getting close. One drop of that shit will do worse things to you than kill you. It'll make you violently ill and liquefy your insides, leaving your brain for last so you can experience every agonizing second. Seriously. I don't want to know how Father O'Neill found this out. I go to turn back, but the sounds of bones clinking together stops me, half expecting to see an army of skeleton standing to attack.

I'm greeted by a different sight. Denise is picking up the femur bone of a skeleton and wrapping the tattered rags of that explorer's clothes around one end. Before the flare goes out, she uses it to light the rags on fire. It's a smart move. and the others follow her lead. Now properly armed with torches we go back the way we came. Even with all the light we're carrying,

I still see the green glow of the sticks. Reentering the large chamber, the sound of dripping echoes. Blood drops fall from the hole Helen was dragged through. Odds are, her remains will end up in the chamber we just left, or in another just like it. I whisper an apology before moving on, but I don't let my resolve fall to. My brother's life depends on my success, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for him.

Tossing another glow stick to the right tunnel this time. I see it fly through several specters. These ones are better to find than the rest we've seen, and they hold rage in their eyes. Those ghostly mouths shouted us, but their voices can't be heard thanks to the vials we all drank. The resistance effects of the concoction only works for a handful of hours, so we need to pick up the pace. Last thing we need is more of our groups suffering from homicidal rages. Then again, if they knew the full truth, they wouldn't need the ghostly influence to murder me. Waiting through the unrelenting ghosts leaves me with uncontrollable shivers.

Passing through them turns my blood to ice. Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, the tunnel opens up into another cavern. And I go deaf as a loud growl makes me jump back. The prong is above the tunnel end. looking down at us within arm's reach. I point the flare gun at it, but pulling the trigger only brings a click. I forgot to reload the damn thing.

Fumbling with the gun and a flare from my pocket, Rocco comes running up with a battle cry. A bone torch in hand. My discarded climbing axe in the other, he swings the axe at the creature and catches it in the side of the head. The growl before had been loud, but the shriek it unleashes is, is worse. Rocko uses his incredible strength to pull the prong closer as he brings the torch to its

face. Rearing back and making Rocco loses balance, the prawn whips out its front grabbers, hitting him in the torso and clipping my arm. Half of Rocco is taken up as the prawn escapes, his lower half collapsing to the floor. There are numerous screams and yells from the group. Horror too light a word to describe the emotions they're feeling. Me? I'm grateful for his sacrifice, even with the huge gash in my arm nearly bisecting my bicep. Would the flare gun finally loaded, I walk on,

throwing more glow sticks around looking for the next damn tunnel. The pain in my arm is incredible as I perform such an easy task. But God damn it, we're so close. I overlooked the passage twice because the stupid thing is so narrow. Gerald might not be able to get through it at all. Not bothering to tell them I throw a stick through the crack and squeeze through with the flare gun pointed forward. My pack is behind me,

the strap wrapped around my wrist since I can't stand to grip it. I realize how easily a person could develop claustrophobia in a place like this. The wall's so close that my chest and butter touching both sides. On the upside, this is probably the safest place in this underground hell from the prawn. Shit, I can barely turn my head to see Denise following. For what seems like a mile, the tightness of the space only seems to get worse.

I'm leaving a bloody trail behind me as I can't prevent my injury from brushing against the wall. Denise says something, but I'm starting to get lightheaded, and I can't make out her words. I think it was something about leaving the others behind, but I'm having difficulty understanding. I blink and it takes a long time for my eyes to open back up. This can't be it. I can't be fucking dying now. I'm so damn close. The lights of my harness go out as I slump forward,

hitting the switch against the wall. My eyes don't want to open again, but a faint glow grabs my tenuous attention. There's light just ahead, a calming blue. With my declining grasp on reality, I think it's the gates of heaven, welcoming me home,

but I know that's not right. After leading my co-workers to their death, Heaven probably isn't where I'm going to end up. No, not heaven. The pool. Holy shit. I made it to the pool. Falling out of the narrow slit,

I crawl in the oddly warm stone floor. The strap of my pack isn't on my wrist anymore and I don't care. I crawl forever. Time losing all meaning. Before I know it, The glowing blue is brilliantly bright and in my face. With my injured arm, I reach out into that light and nearly scream. My entire arm is on fire, but it only lasts a moment before a cold calm washes over it

and begins to flow into the rest of me. I didn't realize how tired I was before my injury. The adrenaline was masking the fatigue. Now I'm refreshed and feeling better than I have in a long time. Denise is suddenly above me rolling away from the glowing. light. Not for the first time. I look into the blue eyes and the face that has seen much better days. She was lovely in her youth. But 45 years of a hard life has taken its toll. We both look to the torn sleeve of my jacket and see unmarred flesh. In moments the pool closed the wound that had been

draining my blood and slowly killing me. Scambling for my forgotten pack, I find it just outside the narrow slit of rock. Digging inside, I take a second shockcase out and pull it up. Inside, there are three eight-ounce jars, and I take out the first. Dipping it into the pool, I fill it with the blue gel and twist the lid closed. As I get the second one out, Denise begins to yell at me. This is why you brought us down here? You knew the danger and didn't bother to warn us that all this shit was fucking real? They wouldn't have believed me anyway, Denise especially. She's more of a skeptic than all the others were combined. You selfish little bitch!

People died because of you. I tell her about my brother as I fill the jars, but she doesn't care. She's been with the tunnel rats from the beginning. Thought of them as family. The only family she ever had. Before I can close the shockcase and put it back in my pack, she lunges at me. We wrestle on the ground for the upper hand, but I've got 15 years on her, not to mention the pool renewed my body. Rolling her off of me, Denise falls off and into the pool.

I hold her under the surface as she struggles, but despite her efforts, I don't let up. I don't want to drown her, so I let her go after a moment. Denise doesn't come to the surface immediately. She stays submerged for nearly a minute. When she breaches the surface and takes in a huge breath, she looks like she shed 20. years of age, jumping out of the pool and feeling like a million bucks. Denise can't believe how good she feels. I feel incredible.

No wonder you risked all our lives for this. I don't care about youth or living beyond my years. Only my brother's health. Denise is already talking about making a return trip in 20 years. And how much easier it'll be if we kill the prawn before we leave. She wants me to fill the vials from earlier with the blue gel. and with the access to real-life healing potions, we can take that monster out no problem.

There's a huge flaw with her plan. The healing pool has a finite amount of liquid in it, and it won't last forever. The prawn and the ghosts are the only reason the pool isn't empty, and if we eliminate it, there won't be a pool to come back to in 20 years. What we need to do is claim we never found it and get the hell out of here.

Once we're back in the safety of the surface, we need to destroy all the footage and recording, and come up with a convincing story cover. Not the first time I've had to do that, but it is interesting to see Denise no longer cares about her supposed family. As I get the shock case in my pack, Denise dumps out her canteen and fills it from the pool. Squeezing back through the narrow slit is easier this time around,

and I even managed to pick up the flare gun I apparently dropped along the way. After 20 minutes I see the green glow of my last glow stick. There's no noise of any kind coming from the other side. No clicking of the prawn prowling, no murmurs of the others in our group, neither of which is a good sign. The carnage we find explains everything. Four hours later, Denise and I emerged from the tunnels. The others are dead, having a final stand with the prawn while we were at the pool.

They managed to seriously injure the beast, and it left us alone as we escaped. Turns out the daisy chain of relays were damaged, and the last transmissions Leonard received was footage of Gerald, about to attack Caitlin. Like Kurt, I use Gerald as a fall guy, claiming he went mad and killed everyone. Denise backs me up, and the secrets of the Jericho healing pool are secure for now.

For your bonus episode, creepy presents, Hell's Bridge, written by William Presley. There was that smell. You don't have to be a seasoned cop to know what it meant. I looked over to Burke who grimmest as he pounded on the door to the small brown brick bungalow. Detroit Police!

I might have to find a window or something, I mumbled. My partner shook his head, rattling the unlocked door handle. I think we got lucky the... He choked in his last syllable. Both of us slapped across the face by even stronger waft of sewage and overripe fruit from inside the entryway. Instantly the hair on the back of my neck stood up. something was off about this place and not just because of what was almost certainly waiting in one of the back bedrooms

the outside added all the appearances of suburban life a neat lawn carefully planted flower beds even porch furniture the interior was the opposite story plaster from the crumbling walls littered the empty floors thick bed sheets hung over the windows leaving only small slivers of light by which to navigate Detroit Police Burke shouted again

Still nothing We followed the stench to a room At the far end of the only hallway Anyone there? I called You better hope no one answers at this point My partner scoffed Honestly, I'd rather find a ghost

Than another murdered drug dealer At least a ghost won't make me wonder Why the hell I'm wasting my time tracking down That toilet scrubbers of the world But I bit my tongue the second I opened the bedroom door. Holy shit, my partner hissed. I just shook my head and wondered what the fuck we'd walked into.

The old man hanging before us hadn't been a drug dealer. Down much was certain. What seemed less certain was whether or not he'd ever been human. After almost a week of being stuck there, his whole body had turned at putrid shade of blue. And that neck. Good God, that neck. It was stretched nearly two feet. feet from the bottom of the noose so the corpse's toes brushed against the pentegram burned into the hardwood.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to get away from that house, far away. But I couldn't. My feet were frozen in place. My gaze fixed on the old man's throat. It was expanding as if you were a bullfrog. And then it happened. The corpse's head snapped back. His jaw dislocating his four insect-like limbs erupted from his mouth in a way they resembled a spider calling out of a drain.

Two longer appendages planted themselves on the ground, given this thing the leverage it needed to hoist the rest of its body out into the open. What emerged was a silhouette darker than even the darkest corners of the room, one that almost resembled a man. Almost Its whole frame was impossibly thin And it stood so tall That its head brushed against the ceiling Still paralyzed I locked eyes with Burke Was stuck trembling in place

He whimpered something to me But I couldn't respond My pounding heart had become lodged behind my Adam's apple All I could do is stand there Watching as the shadow figure Tadled closer than closer closer and closer, closer, and... My eyes snapped open.

I rubbed my aching temple with a groan. The Coval case. Even after 20 years, I could picture every detail of that incident as clearly as the day it had happened. My constant nighttime refreshers definitely didn't help the matter either. The dream used to serve as a warning shot

whenever an assignment was about to turn particularly nasty, but lately, all my assignments had been a unique shade of stomach churning. That meant a visit from Mr. Coval at least once a week. With another groan, I hobbled out to the hotel balcony for a cigarette, shaking my head when the first puff fell flat. And I always did lately. From Detroit homicide to the FBI, this career had taken everything from me.

Sanity, sleep, friends, a marriage. Well, my hair line. And now I couldn't even enjoy an early morning's smoke. Another hint, it was time to escape this line of work and move on with my life. Too bad there was nothing to escape to. At this point, life without investigation was just death. And realizing that was the only thing to keep him going. Well, besides an unbelievable taste for Schadenfreude,

It was nice to know that however shitty my day was bound to be, some local perverts was about to be a whole lot worse. Perverts. That's got to be what it is, I grumbled. Heading back inside to flip through the case files that spent the previous night's scanning. Seven kids, all missing, disappeared from their homes without a trace. It was pretty clear to me I was dealing with some sort of sex trafficking operation. Not that the naive locals wanted to believe it. After weeks of insisting this sort of thing couldn't happen in a small western Michigan town like Rockford.

The FBI's involvement had been a massive wake-up call. A needed wake-up call at that. Law enforcement here was really floundering. When they compiled their reports, they hadn't even thought to include... My thoughts were interrupted by my ringtone. Up, Shaw, I answered listening intently as a deputy described. you another disappearance. Tax me the parent's address.

I'll be over in a minute. I hung up and ran a hand over my stubble, debating a shave. Nah. Wasn't worth the effort. Simply threw myself into something presentable, usual canvas jacket and khakis before lumber into the car. And what seemed like no time, I was barreling down the road with a cup of gas station coffee in my hand,

taking my first good look at Rockford. By the way that the brown brick store, the war fronts of Main Street and surrounding forestry were pulled together, almost seamlessly, by the park along the River Dam. It was easy to see how the locals have been lulled into a false sense of security. The whole area was disgustingly charming. A far cry from outer Detroit. I think this is it.

I muttered pulling up beside a house so warped and white that it reminded me of a hospital sheet against the morning sky. A baby-faced deputy greeted me on the port. The church. Families inside, they're not taking it well. How would you take it if your eight-year-old daughter ended up disappearing? I almost laughed. They have anything useful to say?

He shook his head. Pretty much what I told you on the phone. Everything was normal last night, but when the parents woke up a few hours ago, the front door was unlocked and their kid was gone. I'll make this quick then. The deputy led me into a small sitting room filled to the beach. bring with knockoff Victorian furniture from the 70s. A middle-aged couple held each other on the couch,

crying under the gaze of a decrepit old man who's nursing bed had been positioned in the corner. Mr. and Mrs. Metzker, this is Agent John Upshaw. He'll be working on Keely's case. I stepped forward with a curt nod. I'll be doing everything I can over the next few days to bring your daughter home safely. Now, I'm not trying to draw this out,

but I want to make double sure that nobody saw or heard anything unusual last night. Nothing, Mr. Metzger replied. The old man followed me with a single green eye as I walked over to his bed, his jaw trembling with the effort to chewing his gums. From where I was standing, I had a perfect view of the front door. Nobody? Mrs. Metzker pulled herself together enough to answer. If you're talking about my father-in-law, he had a stroke years ago.

He can't really see and he doesn't understand much. What's his name? Richard? Does he communicate? Only in grunts. I bent down beside the bed trying to pretend I couldn't smell the colossomy bag. Well, Richard, can you make a noise for me? Anything?

His chewing became more furious, white wisps a hair bouncing against his head. Is there something you know about where your granddaughter went that may be we need to know. Without warning, the old man grabbed my arm and turned to face me, humming a strange, undulating tune somewhere between a nursery rhyme and a funeral ballad. Both husband and wife looked at me in shock. I take it that's never happened before. They shook their heads. All right then, I sighed, getting up to leave. Well, thank you all for your time, and I hope to have an update for you soon. The deputy met me back on the porch.

What do you think that was? Exactly what it looked like. Seenile old man babbling in a corner. Look, I'm going to get right to the point here. You guys are missing the obvious. I read your reports. No mention where these kids go to school or church or anything like that. A perfectly normal eight-year-old doesn't just wander off into the night. Someone coaxed her out.

Someone she would open the door for. Someone she trusts. Teacher, pastor, think along those lines. You find out all the victims are connected, and I'll find you a predator. That's the thing, they're not. Between the eight victims, we have two schools, four grades, and three churches. Most of them don't even know each other. I looped my hands through my belt, worn a little tighter every day, and sucked on my bottom lip.

I was afraid of that. Probably means we have a trafficking ring on our hands. I won't. Once again, my train of thought was interrupted by a phone. This time, the deputies. He was as pale as the house before the call it even ended. They found the kids. All eight of them.

Ted. He whispered. Off risk road. Should we? Have someone else break the news. I need to take me over there. By the way, what was your name again? Morgan.

We exchanged a wave and shortly thereafter pulled up beside a side of. each other at one of the most serene crime scenes I'd ever seen. Thick forest shot up on either side of the road. The first tints of spring popping vibrantly from black tree limbs. I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. The air was heavy with the scent of last year's leaves the king and the April sun. They crumbled beneath my feet as I followed the deputy down toward a river. Not this again.

I whispered across my hands over my chest. Pentegrams were everywhere I looked, carved into trunks drawn into dirt, spray painted all along an old cobblestone bridge. Morgan saw my expression and laughed. I forgot. You're from the east side. You don't know where we are, do you? I shook my head. Hell's bridge. Looks like this year round, thanks to a bunch of local jackasses.

Sounds like a good story. It's definitely really. relevant. In the mid-1800s, there was supposedly a case of possession here in town, a minister, Elias Frisk, and whatever was inside him seemed to have a taste for young children. He would stand outside their bedroom windows late at night and lure them away with this demonic swan song. Pied pipered him right out into the woods and chopped him up with a hatchet. I think five or six went missing in total, but obviously kindly old Pastor Frisk was never a suspect. In fact, when all the adults in the area formed a search party, they asked him to watch their

kids so no one else would disappear while they were gone. First mistake, I muttered. Never leave your sons with anything even remotely resembling a priest. Yeah, well, it was a pretty big mistake. First told the kids that they were going to go play a game by the river. Tied them together by their necks and let them out here for another hatchet job. Just when he was getting ready to swing, some of the parents' spills. spotted him. He ended up throwing the kid at the head of the rope chain into the water

said that the current would sweep all the rest away. Nobody could get to the victims before they drowned. Angry townsfolk hung the minister off the bridge right then and there. And let me guess. If you come here after midnight, you can still hear the minister singing. I hummed a few notes of Richard Metzger's deranged lullaby. Not funny, the deputy grimaced. Not true either. There were no frisks in the area before the 1920s. An older cop with pop belly came over to shake my hand. Breem. Frisk on my mother's side.

Well, if there was no elias frisk before, it sounds like there is now. Morgan shot back. I said nothing, only following the two men to what looked more like a human-colored pile of potpourri than eight distinct victims. Talk about a hatchet job. I murmured. My eyes drifting from the fleshy mowen to a pentagonal piece of wood propped up on two candlesticks. A ram's head was carved into its center.

A satanic altar. You've seen it before? Hmm. Back in the day, Detroit had an outbreak of satanic activity rivaling even the one on Staten Island. Questions whether this altar is part of the crime scene or whether it was already here. doesn't exactly look out of place, does it? Maybe we should call that medium and we'll keep showing up at the station.

Bream joked. Gotta make sure a perp is even human. Maybe someone came out here and conjured something up. I shrugged. Eyebrows raised. That was a possibility. Morgan looked at me in shock.

You don't really believe this shit, do you? Listen, I believe in things I can see. And I've seen some shit. But right now, no. I'm pretty sure we're dealing with the perp we can get cuffs on. Either some sick bastard finally snapped and figured he'd step into old frisked shoes, or there's something even more sinister happening. There were always whispers about Satanists using kids and their rituals.

Regardless, crimes definitely tied to the sight, so I want two tents out here tonight. I'll be in one and two of your people being the other. As long as we keep things low-key, whoever did this will be back. Both men nodded. An hour later I found myself sitting in a camouflage pop-up. The local police department had actually sent the two officers that requested, with the three of us each agreeing to take a turn on watch.

Originally, I'd offered to cover the dreaded middle shift since I never managed to sleep on these sorts of stakeouts anyway. But I was starting to wish I hadn't. There was something different about tonight. Cold air seemed to be weighing down my eyelids. my mind drifting away with the sounds of the river. Next thing I remember, I was back in a Coval house with the shadow man looming over me. And yeah, rather than fear, I felt confusion.

I knew I was dreaming for once. I knew that this figure couldn't hurt me. But I also couldn't wake up. It wanted me here. Wanted me to feel its long, icy finger, running along my jaw line. The finger then curled into a come-hither motion before lurching out the bedroom door. No way, I'm about to follow that thing, I thought.

Whatever it's trying to show me isn't something I want to see. Too bad my feet wouldn't listen. They were under the command of something else now, carrying me dutifully across the threshold and into... Into blackness. Absolute blackness. my only hint as to what was going to come in the form of a song made familiar that very morning. And now it had lyrics.

Oh, lovely appearance of death. No sight upon earth is so fair. Not all the gay pageants of breath can with the dead body compare. My mind was cloudy when I finally woke up and it took me a minute to realize that I could still hear the singing. The voice behind it was stolid and masculine. In solemn delight I survey, a corpse when the spirit is fled, in love with the beautiful clay, and longing to lie in its stead. I shot out of the tent, flashlight in one hand and gun in the other.

Wake your ass up! I hissed as I kicked the ankle of the officer who was supposed to be on watch. It was no use. He seemed to be in a state of psychic paralysis, and so was his counterpart. This left me no choice but to try and find the source of the noise myself, and when I did, I dim near fell over. There he was, wandering along the riverbank, with the same uneven gate, the figure from my nightmares. I'm trembling.

I train the light directly on his shoulders to find that he'd suddenly taken on more human features. The hands protruding from his newly-dawned cassock were actually covered with flesh, and a single lock was combed over the part of his head where his hair had receded. He turned his long gaunt face toward me, bearing down with a pair of eyes as black as a smiling boy that had opened up above his chin. It was what he had gripped between his fingers, however, that most disturbed me. A rope. One that wound its way,

on the necks of eight different children. Holy Jesus Christ! I yelled a drop an all but useless gun and rushed forward. No, no, no, no, no, no. Not that it mattered. My body went right through the man's captives. They didn't even seem to notice me. That's when I realized that every kid looked exactly like one of the victims from my case files.

There was no saving the dead. I simply stood there, down by the same. They were confounded while they made their way to the bridge, placing their tiny bodies between the slots of the railing, so that the rope looped around each rung. The foam minister waited patiently for them to get settled, then finished his song with a wave. That was their cue. The kids jumped down in unison, the tips of their tiny feet combing the water while they gagged. In that moment, spurred on by their cries some animalistic instinct overtook. me. I jumped under the old stone structure and grabbed at the rope. They felt real this time, too.

The fibers were pressed firmly against my palm, yet when I pulled up, I found out a string of bodies but a long noose, almost glowing in the moonlight. I looked at the empty spot where the creature had stood in back. So this is what he wanted. I whispered. And to be honest, it was a the same thing I wanted. The last thing I heard was the snapping of a top rope as I fell toward the waves.

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