Creepy - The Sydney Tunnels

Episode Date: December 19, 2022

The Sydney Tunnels***Written by: Musa Khattak and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Bonus Episode: "Beware the Lighthouse" written by Paul Caseley***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea 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.

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disturbing creepy pastas 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 and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. He presents The Sydney Tunnels, written by Musa Khadak, and Nerey. by Michelle Kane. The bright yellow no trespassing signs were like mere bugs in my path. I jumped over to the other side of the chain link fence like I had done so many times before.

Pure missile memory guided me at this point. A deep sense of exhilaration filled my chest as my feet landed on the ground I wasn't supposed to be on. Past the fence stood a small black abandoned factory. that looked like it hadn't seen activity for over a decade. I'm an avid fan of urban exploration and like sticking my head in random abandoned places to explore them like I was doing now. I built this hobby with my friend who lost interest in it after about a dozen runs we had together. He always expected to find something interesting, but most of the time the places we explored were just like we always expected. empty, dusty, and boring.

And so, after our 20th run, he never asked me to go anywhere with him and didn't come with me either. I was alone in this hobby now, but I still held a deep passion for it. I spotted the manhole after walking around for a little bit. Silence hung in the air as I looked around before crouching down to examine it.

The factory would have to wait. This was the real place I was. was here to explore. I was going to descend into one of those abandoned tunnels of Sydney. The city has a sprawling network of those under it. They're the result of poor city planning, done by convicts, and were supposed to be used for trains or drainage systems, but ended up abandoned not long after they were built. One of the main reasons these tunnels failed is that the convicts that were tasked with building the tunnels were often underpaid, resulting in poor construction and also attempts to use the tunnels as places to hide away or to escape.

Most of these tunnels are now well known as tourist hotspots, but to this day, a small number of them remain unmapped. Their knowledge rotted away, just like their records did, and now few people know they even exist? The manhole cover was hard to pull off. I struggled with it for a bit before it made that shrill, shrieking sound that only metal can make and slid off. This manhole would supposedly take me to one of those tunnels that had been completely lost and abandoned. If I was at the right place, this would be the only entrance to the tunnel, the rest being sealed off or built over. It's why I had packed a lot of the things in my backpack. Two bottles of water, food, torch batteries, and a small map of the tunnel system formed my inventory. I'd found out about

this tunnel through an online friend, who was also deeply into urban exploration. They promised this would be different from exploring boring buildings. I shone my torch down the manhole opening and saw a rusty metal ladder leading down to a dirty concrete that looked like black mold. It might not be appealing to some, but seeing it brought a sense of excitement to me as I wondered what could be down there. I took a glance at my surroundings one last time. The early morning sun hung high in the sky, and the black factory watched me solemnly from my right. Then before I could change my mind, I swung my body over the ladder and descended into the darkness. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath until my feet finally touched the floor and I exhaled in relief. A thick darkness

overwhelmed me. My legs were filled with jittery nervous energy as I turned my torch on and shone it around the tunnel. The small beam cut through the darkness, illuminating patches of the tunnel. Usually, my urban exploration adventures would lead me to buildings illuminated by bright sunlight through broken windows. Here, the darkness was like a thick black curtain hiding the nightmares of my imagination. The smell was heavy, a thick, musty scent of dirty water, mold, and the accumulation of dust. The air was stale and cold, biting into my skin like ice. I tried to calm myself down, but tend to of unease continued to grab at my thoughts as I pulled my map out of my pocket and studied it. Then I started to head down the tunnel.

My vision narrowed to the small circle of light that my torch emitted. It danced in front of me as I walked, every small movement of the light beam shaking me up as my footsteps echoed all around me. More than once, I felt like I saw something scurry past just at the edge of my vision. Whenever I quickly shot my flashlight over in the direction of the movement, there was nothing to be seen at all. After a while, the dirt black concrete began to make me sick. It was all that I could see. The utter darkness around me was even worse.

It was making me feel like I was blind. I didn't notice at first that I had walked into a large circular room. Darkness can play tricks on you, narrowing your vision until you're not even sure what you're seeing. My stomach tied itself into knots as I scanned the whole place with my flashlight, taking it all in. Entrances to other tunnels lined the walls, all irregular distances from each other like a child had hastily built them.

I saw a figure in the center of the room. My heart threatened to burst through my ribs as I jerked my flashlight back to its location. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was just a statue. And I let out a nervous laugh. It was like one of those moments where you look around your bedroom in the dark and get scared of a coat because you thought it looked like a figure. However, the unease remained here because this was no ordinary coat. It was a strange statue, a design I'd never seen before.

It was like some bizarre model of a little. of the solar system crafted out of stone that loomed above me in the dark. What I had misunderstood as a figure when my flashlight first fell on it was actually a featureless human statue with deep holes gouged into the stone to serve as eyes. Sprouting from the top of its head was a thin pillar that held a smooth red globe at the top. It was a little bigger than my fist and had a shine to it that made it gleam like a gem under my flashlight. Surrounding the globe were other smaller dull stone globes, all held by pillars and seemingly orbiting the large red globe. That's what I meant by solar system, except there

was something wrong with this particular model. I subconsciously counted the number of smaller stone globes. There were 13 in total, a number which brought a small chill to my spine. It seemed sinister, but I quickly pushed away the thought, thinking of it as a mere coincidence. I walked over to the statue, mesmerized by its design. The red globe continued to stare at me, from above, like an evil lighthouse. This was the kind of thing I was looking for on all my urban exploration adventures, and now I had finally found it. I brought my flashlight over to the statue again, and,

by mere coincidence, I found a small, dusty leather book at the feet of the statue. It was neatly placed right between the feet and was covered in a layer of dust so thick that I could barely make out the dark brown of the cover. Overwhelmed with a deep sense of intrigue, I picked up the book, dusted it off with my hand, the dust clinging to my skin. Upon opening the book, I realized it was a journal. At this point, I had almost forgotten I was in a dark underground tunnel ten feet under the ground. I sat down at the feet of the statue and propped my flashlight between my neck and my head,

so I could read the book with both hands. I won't bore you with the details, but the book was a handwritten journal, outlining the experience of a convict building this tunnel. This convict worked with his group in building the current tunnel system I was sitting in for years of of his life. When they finally finished the tunnel, the government had already announced that the tunnel would be abandoned. In one single decision, years of their hard work went down the drain. They were resentful and angry, wanting to find a use for the tunnel they had dedicated so much time to. Then one day, a strange man supposedly bought the tunnel they had built and put them to work

again. This time, he made them build the statue I was leaning against right now. Beyond that, the entries are rather strange and nonsensical. It's as if working in the tunnels slowly drove the convicts insane. The legible, part of the journal, really only took about 10 minutes to read. After that, the rest of the pages were illogical ramblings. As I flick through the pages, I noticed that for 10 pages straight, only a single phrase was written hundreds of times. Need to find a body. The phrase was unsettling and oddly disturbing. My interest in the book was dwindling as fast as my heart rate was rising,

and suddenly the darkness of the tunnel felt like it was closing in on me. It was silly to be scared of a dusty old journal that was. probably decades old. But I couldn't help but feel something was watching me from the impenetrable darkness. I decided I would examine the journal further later at home, so I tucked it in my backpack before moving on. I swept my torch around the whole circular room again and took count of the tunnel entrances that lined the walls. The number 13 faced me once more, this time as the number of tunnels. It dawned on me that I actually had no idea which tunnel I had entered this room from. Instinctively, I reached for my map. My veins turned to ice. This place did not exist on the map.

I scanned the map again, waving my flashlight over it with shaky hands trying to locate where I was. I had been on the right track, but now I was in a room that didn't exist. It didn't exist on the map. The loud clang of metal snapped me out of my thoughts and brought my heart to my throat. It echoed all around me repeatedly, a grim reminder that the sound was not something I imagined. I frantically spun my body around again and again, trying to make sense of which tunnel the sound had come from, but to no avail. Soon the echo was a mere vibration in the air, and then it was completely gone. The previously peaceful silence was now replaced by a deadly one that spoke of impending doom. Another sound filled the air. This time the sound of metal being dragged across the

chest. My ears bled as it echoed through the chamber once more. I wasn't going to chance anything. It was time to leave. I moved my light over each of the 13 tunnels trying to figure out which one I came from. I picked the one I thought I had come from and convinced myself it was the one, but the panic was still rising within me. My ragged breaths were the only sounds I could hear in the tunnels. The small beam of light in front of me felt like it was constricting me. I felt like at any moment a cold hand would reach out of the darkness and grab me.

I should have reached the rusty ladder by now, but the tunnel kept going. It began to curve to the right. My shoulder rubbed against the wall as I refused to believe the situation I had found myself in. The very walls seemed to close in on me and crush me. I had picked the wrong tunnel, and now I was possibly lost in this horrible tunnel system. I still didn't stop running. The irrational belief that I'd probably find an exit somewhere at the end of this tunnel kept me going. Deep down, I knew it would be almost impossible for that to happen, but when we're

stuck in situations like these, our minds have a habit of fooling us to believe we can survive. The tunnel kept curving until I walked right back to the large circular room with the creepy statue. Something walked past my flashlight. I jumped back and waved the light around everywhere, desperately trying to find it again. I looked. It looked like a person. All my senses were on edge now and sweat was soaking every inch of my shirt. The darkness was now hiding cold hands and tentacles waiting to grab me and consume me. You're imagining things, calm down and think.

I told myself this again and again as I tried to take control of my breathing. By now, it was apparent that out of the 13th, tunnel entrances, only one would lead me back to the manhole. The rest most likely looped back to this room like this whole damn place is a sick game. I was lost, and my map was pointless, but I could still navigate through this place. I had packed for this. I placed my torch down on the ground next to me and frantically searched through my backpack. I produced a packet of chalk sticks from it after a painfully long moment and then ripped the packet open with shaky hands. Half of them clattered on the floor and broke, but I didn't care. I grabbed three from the packet

and shoved the remaining few in my backpack. Then I got up again with the newfound motivation and picked a random tunnel to walk through. After I passed into the entrance, I began to drag the chalk across the left wall of the tunnel to market. The steady sound soothed my nerves and grounded me again. Eventually, I'd find my way and I'd be out of this nightmare. Marking the walls would help me figure out which place I hadn't gone through yet. Still, the sounds that I had heard lingered with me, and I tried to come up with an explanation to them, but couldn't. The tunnel eventually led me back to the statue room, but this time I came back with knowledge. I picked another tunnel and walked through it, again using the chop to mark the left wall.

This tunnel also eventually looped me back to the circular room, but I was feeling more and more confident. I had crossed out four tunnel entrances from my mental possible exits list and had eight more to go before I finally found salvation in the 13th tunnel. When my third tunnel led me back to the circular statue room, I accidentally picked a tunnel I had already gone through.

There I found something that felt like it made a bucket of ice-cold water run down my back. As I swept the flashlight over the tunnel, I saw my original chalk on the left side of the wall, but there on the right side was another chalk marking, almost identical to mine. I had always marked the left side, so I most definitely had not made that marking. Someone had followed right behind me, marking, marking the wall. wall on the right side. My mind went back to the chalk sticks I had dropped on the floor when I was opening the packet in a panic. I didn't stand there thinking anymore. I didn't even bother marking the walls. Someone was in here with me and they were messing with me. And then I felt something,

something like a cold, clammy hand brush against the back of my neck. One second, I was holding my flashlight in front of me and waving around. The next, a pale face with cloudy gray eyes and blue veins like molten spider webs, was staring right into my eyes. I yelped and nearly tripped on myself as I took unsteady steps backwards. Whatever it was, it came closer. It had long forgotten how to be human and was a mere reminder of a person. Dressed in black, it reached out for me with long, dirty fingernails. I nearly dropped my flashlight as I picked another tunnel to run through again. My body was filled with absolute terror as I tried to figure out what that thing was.

I couldn't do this systematically anymore. I desperately needed to find a way out or whoever was chasing me would grab me. Mid-sprint, I realized that my torch was making me stick out like a sore thumb. I turned it off and the darkness enveloped me. I couldn't see my hands in front of me, but it was better than getting seen by whatever was chasing me. I kept my left hand on the wall using it as a guide. Not even three minutes later, I ran back into the statue room.

I couldn't even see it anymore, but the left wall suddenly disappearing under my hand made it obvious. I stopped for a moment, trying to formulate a plan and that's when I hurt them. Soft footsteps behind me, coming closer and closer. I froze in fear, just listening to the rhythmic pattern. A cold, rough hand grasped at my neck, but I was off running again. I waved my hands around in front of me, trying to find something to navigate with, but I couldn't.

I didn't want to crash into a wall, so I took a chance and turned my flashlight on for a split second. It illuminated another tunnel to my right briefly. I ran in sticking close to the left wall. Someone was chasing me, though, and they weren't being quiet about it anymore. They were coming closer and closer. I did something then that I believe is the one thing that saved me. I stopped and pressed my back against the left wall. desperately molding my body to its curvature. I wanted to morph into it to just disappear into that

wall and not deal with this. The footsteps came closer and closer. My heart felt like it was going to climb up my throat and burst out of my mouth. Sweat was pouring down my temples. My breathing was so loud. I prayed for my life in desperation. The foot steps stopped right in front of me. I could swear I felt something brush right against my leg. And then whoever it was that was following me ran past. They had missed me. I didn't give myself time to breathe, though. I knew I still wasn't safe. And so I sprung to action and started to run the opposite direction. I made it back to the circular room and turned on my torch. I needed it. I needed to think. I needed to find the right tunnel and get out of here. I looked long and hard at each

of the tunnels. They looked identical. The pressure was rising on top of me and I was about collapse under it. Then I chose to blindly walk into one of those tunnels. I was betting my life on this tunnel and I prayed to God that this would lead me out of this nightmare. I still stuck to the left wall and turned off my torch. The only thing I could hear now was my heart and my ears and my heavy breathing. I strained my ears to try and listen out for footsteps, but there was no sound behind me. I had lost whoever was chasing me. For now.

One second, I was jogging through the tunnel. The next, a sharp pain bloomed in my ankle and I was down on the floor, my teeth slamming into cold metal. I winced at the sound I had made. The shock of the fall held me planted in place for a moment, until I realized what I had fallen on. It was the rusty ladder. Someone had pulled it off its hinges and dragged it down to the floor over here. I turned on my torch and scanned the ceiling.

There it was, the manhole. It was like a light in the darkness, my only hope and escape. I got up quickly and grabbed the letter, trying to pick it up. My tired muscles screamed in protest as I dragged the ladder and tried to lift it up so I could prop it against the wall. I set my flashlight down on the floor and angled it so I could see. Every single sound I made caused me to grip my teeth. Then I heard footsteps. They were coming from far down the tunnel. Someone was walking towards me. I urged my muscles to pull the ladder up. But I wasn't strong enough. I steeled myself and pulled again. The footsteps were coming closer and they

were getting faster. They were starting to match my heartbeat, slowly accelerating. Louder and closer, louder and closer. I finally managed to slide the ladder up the wall and angled it towards the manhole at the very edge of my flashlight. I saw the faint figure of a person. I climbed up the ladder, desperately hoping it would stay against the wall. I threw my backpack down as well. It was only weighing me down. Then I remembered the journal, so I quickly dug it out of the bag. Finally, I focused on getting myself up the ladder.

The footsteps were right beside me now. I grunted as I pushed out the manhole cover. The afternoon sun stinging my eyes. I squeezed them shut as I climbed out. When half my body was out, I felt a cold grip on my shoe. I kicked frantically and used all the energy I had left in my body to pull myself up. My shoe came off and I finally managed to get my entire body out of the manhole. Before I collapsed on the ground, I turned around and pushed the manhole cover back in place.

The last thing I saw as I pushed the manhole cover back in place was the same creature that was chasing me. Its cloudy eyes looked like they had been made of glass, and his skin was drained of all blood. I haven't told anyone about what happened down in the tunnel that day. My hobby of urban exploration has left me since, and I would spend hours staring up at the ceiling at night, trying to come to terms with what I had experienced. Sleep didn't provide any relief either. My nightmare is being full of tunnels and creatures chasing me through. through them. Today, I found the courage to flip through the journal again and read it in the safety of my home. It's starting to make sense. The convicts were convinced the statue they had built was

just some sort of decoration for the tunnel. I doubt they even gave much thought to it. However, soon after it was built, it caused changes in their behavior. They worked in the tunnel for hours a day, but now all of a sudden it was driving them insane. Everyone was beginning to get paranoid and violent, with fights breaking out over little things and people getting seriously injured. I've read the parts where the journal turns into ramblings again and tried to make some sense of it. It appears that the convicts had been trapped in the tunnel, just like I had.

Then, one by one, each of them began to go missing, until the only person left was the convict that was writing this journal. They offered themselves to whatever forces the statue had brought with it, and now they are cursed to live, even after death. The only way to escape and find peace is to bring another person to the statue. Somewhere down under Sydney, the animated corpse of a hundred-year-old convict continues to serve its sentence, roaming the dark tunnels in an attempt to find a body.

Your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. Beware the lighthouse, written by Paul Keseley. When I first approached the Boisele I first nation and asked for permission to hike and camp on Hope Island in late October, they told me I was insane. First, they said it would get very cool, very fast, and late autumn on the island. Secondly, they were worried about me being alone with a rapidly decaying lighthouse and equally decomposing lighthouse keeper's house. I worked hard to convince them that the habitations of human beings were not my concern,

instead photographing the wildlife of the island just before their deep winter slumber was more my concern. At that point, they offered me permission to stay on Beckwith Island. But I finally convinced him that I needed the relative seclusion of Hope Island. Beckwith is beautiful and also teeming with wildlife But it was also buzzed by boaters constantly Due to the moorings and the outhouses Place specifically for tourists

You needed permission to camp on both islands But Beckwith was a regular spot for hikers and picnickers I didn't want to deal with any human beings Who might spoil the shots of a world uninterrupted The Bosolet Band Council finally gave me a very generous Three Day Pass to stay on the island While still trying harder than was reasonable to dissuade me from going.

I landed on the island so early in the morning, it was still almost night. Of course, Canada and late October can be tricky that way. We were only a few days before the end of daylight savings time, and the nights were progressively getting longer, meaning even seven o'clock in the morning could be very dark. In fact, I knew on this day that sunrise wouldn't be

until just before eight o'clock. The sky had a typical dark gray hue, and the trees formed dark silhouettes against the sky, as it made landfall. The lighthouse on the island looked dark and ominous and the competing darkness around it. It was fairly chilly, but not unreasonably so, at about 7 Celsius, or 46 Fahrenheit, if you're from any of the seven countries left in the world that still use that scale. I'd canude over to the island, and it was quite a jaunt, but at least the water was fairly still and not choppy that day. The landing was easy enough, and I dragged my transport far onto the land

and prepped it so it would be easily usable to give me back home. That done, after casting only a sidelong glance to the disused lighthouse, I ignored the small ghost community and started hiking into the forested area of the island. Going was not particularly easy. Anyone familiar with the landscape of what starts to be Northern Ontario knows that its placement on the rocky and hilly Canadian shield can make progress treacherous, dodging sinkholes, warrens, small caves, and oddly placed growing trees was common. I was quite relieved that I didn't have to deal with the now-dormant diamond-back rattlesnakes

that were common in the northern Ontario wilds. The plan was simple. I would set up several automatic cameras tied to movement on my way to where I camp. Those cameras would be turned in the wildlife specialist at the university I studied to earn some much-needed money. The automatic cameras were key to let me know when they took an image as, everything was digital. Providing the signal was good, copies of the photos be automatically transferred to my phone. The camera I carried would be used for my own studies, although it was understood, I would have access to all the photos for my own dissertation. I expected a quiet and restful night

with the automatic cameras doing most of the work. With all this in mind, I eventually found my spot to set up camp, pitched a tent, and settled in for some late autumn camping. After several a lot's of craziness at school prior to this month. I was looking forward to seclusion of this field work to reset and rejuvenate. Using a variety of MREs, or meals ready to eat, from the Army surplus in my area, I settled in for a less than palatable, but at least satisfying dinner. For the short-term camper who wanted to travel light, these things were the answer. But they would never be called gourmet.

Otherwise, I watched the sunset, listen to the summer. sounds of the island and surrounding waters, read for a while by a small rechargeable light I'd brought and prepared to sleep. The next day I'd lay out my solar charger to recharge my phone in light. As I settled into sleep, my phone started to chime loudly, indicating that the cameras were doing their job. I decided before getting ready for bed, I'd wait until morning to view the photos it took. I'm not sure if you've ever taken part in something like this, but my resolve to wait went right out the window and the alerts went off. I was somewhat excited to see what animals were on the island and still active.

I also wanted to see how the quality of the photos were using the IR night vision system. All the photographs seemed to come from the same camera. The figure was fairly large and moving from the area that used to house the settlement deeper into the forest. It was possible that the animal was living on the edge of the forest in one of the many potential warrants amongst the rocks and moved inland to hunt at night. Aging size was difficult, but I knew it wasn't a small mammal. There definitely was something human-sized, or close to it in those frames.

The first few photos were blurred messes. I'd laughingly thought I might be able to sell them as Bigfoot or Loch Ness monster pictures. As whatever it was moved away from the camera, it began to come more into frame and focus, and it looked human. Well, mostly human. I judge the figure to be between 170 and 180 centimeters. That's about 5'7 to around 6 feet for people living in the seven countries left in the world using that system. The shape was human overall, perhaps a vagrant living in the disabused hamlet on the aisle, I thought.

They did seem to be wearing clothing, another fact that pointed to what was probably a human illegally living on First Nation land. There were two things that were troubling me that repeated in several photos. The first was an eerie glow to the eyes. This, I reasoned, was common when using IR photography and probably just the result of the limitations of the technology. The thing that was harder to reconcile was the fact that in each photograph the ears of the individual appeared to come to a point. If it was only visible in one photograph,

I could have reasoned that the person moved when the photo was taken, and resulting in an image smear. However, the result was consistent. Then, as I was watching, the camera sent another image. My phone chimed again. The image that I received was unnerving, to say the least. The figure was standing there, staring right at the camera. They crouched down to get a better look at it, and doing so set off the device.

I was able to see the full face, which included the glowing eyes. the pointed ears, and a slightly open mouth that seemed to include elongated central incisors. The style of central incisor this being sport was not common for humans in any way and more resembled what I had seen on rodents. The eyes himself seemed sunken with heavy brows above them, and the head culminated in a ball of paint. The photo is terrifying to begin with, but somehow was rendered even more so due to the black and white nature of the image due to the IR technology. Whatever this thing was, it knew it was being photographed and probably knew I was on the island. I got the sudden feeling that it probably didn't appreciate my intrusion nor my documentation of it.

Quite frankly, for a few minutes I lost my ship. I now had a sudden and near crazed desire to get my things packed and make a pass to whatever the hell that was to my canoe. There were, however, a few things that made me pause. I knew there'd be absolutely no way I'd be able to retrieve the expensive technology I'd mined all over the forested area of the island. Paddling a canoe at around 2 o'clock in the morning during a season when the clouds routinely hid the moon and stars was more than a little hazardous. I also knew I'd have to somehow pack the stuff I had and must do it quietly so not

to attract much attention. I could just leave everything and make a break for the canoe. But the chances of me being caught were still quite high as I had the feeling that the thing I photographed could see in the night, and I could not. The other option would be to try and swim to the next island. However, nighttime swimming in late October was a fool's gambit. It was more than likely that hypothermia would get me, even if I did make it across. Instead, I'd have to find some way to hide.

I found my earbuds and stuck him in, moving my phone to only alert me through them. The forest was full of my small cameras, and as a result, I might be able to track the movements of the thing using them, but I needed to keep as quiet as possible. I knew immediately that if it did come after me, I was at a disadvantage. It knew the island. I didn't. If it really could see in the dark, and who knew what other adaptations it had, I was truly in trouble. I'd have to rely on the technology I had available to even the odds, and that actually bothered me as well. We all know how technology behaves when you really need it the most.

For the next hour, I used the cameras that I planned to keep the thickest part of the forest between me and whatever was pursuing me. It's funny. In the horror movies, you never see the protagonist get fatigued. But as each step I took progressed from the late night into the early morning. I became more and more glaringly aware of my lack of sleep. My footfalls became heavy despite the regular and sudden adrenaline bursts I received. It was also at the dark.

as part of night that I started to notice another problem as well. Thirst. I couldn't really stop to drink water, despite being on an island surrounded by it. And my heightened prey instinct also caused my throat and mouth to dry out as I anticipated an attack. I did my best to tamp down all those panic feelings as I kept moving. It was during the high point of inky blackness on the aisle that I noticed that my cameras hadn't recorded anything for quite some time. Perhaps we're creature pursuing me had figured out their relative worth to me and had taken steps of disable the cameras. Of course, it was just as likely that I had neglected some areas creating blind spots as well.

Or, the creature had figured out how to sidestep them. They were created to record wildlife after all. And while a fox or hair could be intelligent in their own way, they tended not to really bother much with inanimate equipment. Whatever I was facing was quite different. I was musing just this fact when I started to double back and decided to head towards where I'd stashed my canoe. By the time I reached it, it would start to be light out due to the circuitous manner of my movements. It was at this point that would ever been pursuing me found me.

The creature. Its eyes blazing red seemed to come out of nowhere. In the starlight and waiting moon at the night it seemed to have a greenish parlor to its skin. No more apparent were the inhuman aspects of its form than the bald pate it sported, through the greeny paleness of which you could see several throbbing black veins. The ears, as I had noted earlier, ended in a definitive point, and the almost feral face sported lengthened square central incisors giving it a feral rodent look, which is somehow familiar to me.

It did wear clothing, although it looked dusty and old. The old world fabric was originally a gray color, but over time I picked up various other colors obviously collected through the natural environment of the aisle. The woolen pants and pico were starting to show wear and looked moth eaten. The black boots were also looking worn and like they were starting to rot. This thing let out a growl and ran towards me in an almost unthinkable manner. It became very clear very quickly that I was meant to be a source of food to this creature. human flesh or perhaps blooded delicacy it had not experienced in quite some time.

With the warnings of the council now ringing in my ears, I did my best to side-step the thing, allowing it only to side-check me as it ran at me. Still, it was fairly easy to see that the strength that had was a good deal more than its frail form should be logically able to support. I wasn't sure if I could outrun it, so I ran into the water and started to swim. was at that point that I noticed a creature stopped at the bank, not during to venture into the cold embrace of the lake around the island.

I'm lucky that I'm a strong swimmer, and that we hadn't reached the coldest time of year yet. As in many parts of the world, it had started to become common for it to get very cold, and yet bodies of water don't completely freeze like they used to. I figured we were at least a few weeks away from this state. Make no mistake. the water was uncomfortably frigid but given the choice between the maniac getting a hold of me

and swimming in cold water the choice was fairly easy I put in a burst of speed and strength to swim out of sight and then around the peninsula of the island my hope was that whatever this creature was who would not be able to easily see me I worked through the water to try and get some distance and looked for an area that had a beach that was far receded

from the forested area The more clearing, the more warning if that thing found me. Once I found a workable area, I made landfall again. The only thing colder than being in the water was exiting it. The late fall air reacted less than favorably on my skin as I walked along the beach back towards the ghost village where my canoe was holed up. It was as I got closer than I noticed that the lighthouse was lit up. The lighthouse itself was weathered and worn, one step away from tumbling down.

The light that it currently cast had an eerie pale glow, probably caused from years of dust to neglect on the mirrors and windows in the principal lighting area. I couldn't help but wonder if the creature had lit it or someone else put the light on because they knew a dangerous creature living on the island. I snuck slowly along the edge of the village before deciding that it was probably safer to be on the few decaying gravel roads than skirting along the edges of the forest. the fact that the village looked very different at night than during the day. I managed to find my stowed canoe just as I heard a growling sound becoming louder and louder.

I have portaged many times, but I've never portaged while running before, partially knowing that the canoe is a weapon as well as my means of escape. When the sounds of the beast became closer, I swung the fiberglass craft around hard and made direct contact with that strange pale head. The connection elicited the most unhearthly howl I have ever experienced. The tone and ferocity caused immediate goose flesh and a strange tingled on my spine. Still, I kept hold of my means of escape and ran. Soon I made it to the water and the pursuant creature stopped once again at the water's edge. I was able to make it out into the lake and for

some time I just drifted, ensuring I kept away from the shore until first light. The creature, for its part, watch me from the banks, never letting its feet get too close to the water, and only left about ten minutes before the sky began to lighten, making way for daybreak. The rest of my day involved getting back to mainland, filing a police report that wasn't taken seriously, trying to find out more about the island. My first stop was one of the elders of the Bosolil First Nation. After relaying what had occurred on the island, his face began to twist into a rather a strange grin. I felt more than a little upset that he found my

predicament amusing, at least until I heard his response. Oh, so you figured you'd go to the wise old First Nation elder, huh? Have me tell you a tale? Go find one of your own elders instead and ask them about the lighthouse keeper. We have nothing to do with that thing. That abomination is your own people's doing.

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