Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep172: Episode 172: Extremely Weird Horror

Episode Date: June 12, 2024

Today’s first terrifying tale of the macabre is the ‘The Blue Bomber’, an original work by the wonderfully talented The Gigconomist, kindly shared with me via my Dr. Creepen’s Vault sub-reddit so that I could narrate it here for you all, with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/TheGigconomist/ Tonight’s second tale of horror is ‘Laser Tag’, a wonderful story By Digigekko, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license:  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Digigekko https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Laser_Tag we round things off with a tale of terrifying genetic mutation, originally titled ‘The Porcine Horror’, is a wonderful story By Bear Lair 64, kindly shared with me via Dr. Creepen’s Vault and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/BearLair64/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Weird things often tap into the unknown, triggering primal instincts and stirring up a sense of unease. When faced with something unfamiliar or inexplicable, our minds can't help but conjure up all sorts of possibilities. Many of them tinged with fear. It's the fear of the unknown, the fear of losing control and the fear of confronting something beyond our understanding. Also, weirdness often disrupts our sense of normalcy and predictability. challenging our perception of reality and leaving us vulnerable to the unexpected.

In a world where we seek comfort in familiarity and order, encountering something weird can shake us to our core, reminding us of the vast mysteries that lie just beyond our grasp, as we'll see in tonight's three tales of terror. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Night stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. and let's begin

the blue bomber I sat patiently in my costume itchy fabric and all waiting for my uncle Jeff to arrive I dressed up as Bennywise this year as I figured it would be topical enough I thought everyone else would dress up as a COVID molecule or something my friend Reagan

who is something else entirely was throwing a party I was hoping that by the end of the night she and I would be more than friends and this is why in In lieu of my dad driving me to Reagan's Halloween party, I'd ask my Uncle Jeff. Whereas my dad is buttoned down and uptight, my Uncle Jeff was laid back and pretty cool in general. Jeff begged my dad to loosen up over the years, which had often led my dad to make fun of him.

But Jeff liked his life, and he was the life of the party. Uncle Jeff was the one that taught me about video games and bands like the Pixies among all the other cool stuff I know. Over the years he went out of his way to help me find myself and navigate my teens He felt more like my older brother than my uncle I was expecting him to pull up into the driveway in his crown Victoria Oh color me surprised when I could hear the wailing of a 3.3-liter V6 as it sputtered and stored its way into my driveway I could smell the oil leak from my living room God damn it he yelled from outside as the engine abruptly shut off

I sighed and made my way to the door when my dad had already been me to it and had thrown it open. Dad was still wearing his dress shirt and slacks from the workday, even though he worked at home now. Jeff, he shouted. He drove that damn thing over here.

And there he was. It was the end of October and my uncle was still wearing cargo shorts, sneakers and a matching Orioles t-shirt and baseball cap. He always wore this crap. It's part of the reason I love him so much. "'I got it, Ray. Just give me a minute,' he yelled back. Jeff had the hood up on the baby blue 2003 caravan,

was looking through the engine compartment. He slid one of the rear doors open and grabbed a gallon of water. He ran back to the hood and opened up a yellow tab, then started pouring water in. As he did they see, look back. "'Ah, sure run fine now, Ray. "'It's the damn radiator,' he shouted back. "'If I dump water in the reservoir,

"'Hey, do you ever take that suit off?' Dad shook his head and looked at me The expression on his face was priceless You sure you want to go to a Halloween party in that thing With him? Last chance Ian Jesus Christ You go on his penny wise Jeff asked me walking towards the house

Yeah, I put a lot of work into this There isn't much worse of a Halloween costume He replied He didn't even go as the Tim Curry version of Pennywise But I'd take it off I'm already ready, I replied, a little whiny. And I don't have another costume. He shook his head.

Hmm, I got something, he said, and he went into the passenger side and pulled out a sailor hat and red and white striped shirt. It's Steve's work costume from Stranger Things Season 3. I figured you might mess this up, so I took it upon myself to bring you a backup. With that, he walked towards the house. Well, I mean, what's wrong with this costume?

I shot back with my dad shaking his head now and walking back into the house, throwing his arms up in exasperation. Let me ask you a question. He responded, now on my doorstep. This party that I'm taking you to, is there going to be someone there that you like? After a moment of thought, I nodded. Ah, he responded with a cocky grin. Now, she thinks she's going to be so willing to make out with a demonic clown from literally the nightmares of children. I raised my finger to counter him, but he actually made a great point.

He nodded and pointed back inside my house, throwing the costume. Yeah, go get changed. I'll be in the blue bomber. He replied as he turned back and walked to the minivan, shaking his head the whole time. I let out a sigh and went back into my house. Took another 45 minutes, but I then ran downstairs and got into the van. It shifted into gear, and we backed out of the house. driveway. For reasons I'd never understood, she was my uncle's pride and joy, a 2003 sky-blue

Dodge Caravan SXT with a mighty V-6 engine. Jeff had picked me up from elementary school the day he bought it in 2015. He direct his 2008 kear and the insurance paid out. I was as freaked out when I was an 11-year-old as I was when he pulled up into the driveway tonight. Oh, I saved a He told me, I only paid a thousand dollars for it. Can you believe it? I can keep driving Uber with it too. That was a thing. Jeff wasn't ever really committed to one job. Primarily, he was a daytime courier with a local chemical laboratory. But he always needed extra money for car maintenance and gas, on top of the small cost of living he had with my kind of aunt, Lisa. So he supplemented that by driving for Uber and Lyft whenever he'd wake up during the day. Oh, it's a,

Got a couple of hiccups. He told me as the oil light came on, the first of many times since he'd bought it. I remember as a kid when he was driving me home, I noticed the beads. Hung off the rear-view mirror, there were these black beads that connected to an odd wooden cross. Eh, what's with the cross, Uncle Jeff?

I asked him. He looked at the rear-view, and he got uncharacteristically quiet. Damned if I know, he responded simply. I'll be honest, bud. I bought this off a gypsy, one of those gypsies that runs the palm reading out of her house in Claymont. Why? I asked. Well, because the price was right, he replied. The only thing was, when I got into, drive it away, she stopped me and pointed at them. Know what she said? He asked with a chuckle. I just looked at him. He started into his terrible Mediterranean accent. "'Someday, Ajave,' he started.

"'Someday you'll have an adventure far from home, "'and you'll need these to get back, "'never take them from the van.' "'Then he grabbed the beads and ran them through his hand "'while we were at a red light. "'Isn't that the coolest damn thing, Ian?' "'he asked me. "'That's the problem with your dad.

"'Where he's always working, "'and all he sees his money. "'Where's he adventuring that, bud?' "'My uncle's favorite word is adventure. everything with him has to be an adventure it's how he gets through his deliveries with the courier company or each of his Uber trips he doesn't see it as work

he sees it as an adventure and maybe he has a point frankly he's been all over the east coast from Florida to Maine as well as parts of the northern and southern Midwest I didn't really believe the gypsy story either my uncle had a tendency to well, embellish a bit when he told his story. I mean he may be a 36-year-old courier, but he gave me a very critical piece of life advice.

Worst comes to Wurseon, it's a souvenir. He told me, always remember that. Wherever you go in life, take a keepsake. Otherwise, how will anyone know where you've been? Every souvenir you keep is another story to tell. In the blue bomber now, I looked around at a few of Jeff's little suit. Vanuiz. Besides all the cobwebs on the windshield and a thumbtacks holding the upholstery to the ceiling, the mighty minivan was littered with parking receipts from Cleveland, toll receipts from New York, and even some busted-up woods. The wood was from the legendary big, white church in Centralia, PA. They tore the church down recently.

Hey, Jeff, I started to ask him, as a thought dawned on me, you can't even drive Uber in this thing anymore, can you? And Uncle Jeff looked over at me and smiled. No, I can't, Ian, he replied to me. That's actually part of why I drove it to your house tonight instead of the Vic. I've got a surprise for you. I perked up. Oh, what is it?

You're sitting in it, but. And my heart sank. I stared down at the glove box in front of me, which he'd taped shut with guerrilla tape. I remembered asking about that before. Oh, that, he'd replied. I screwed up the latch, and now the damn glove box keeps popping open. I taped it shut. I have a second glove box anyway.

It's under the seats, he told me. The tape gave me even more trepidation as we drove towards Reagan's house now. What other issues were wrong in this van that I didn't want to see? See, I figure where you turned in 16 next year. I'll just give you the blue bomber, he said enthusiastically. She's all yours. I've been getting worked on her, got the brakes done, Utah's and so on. Just have to figure out the radiator, and she'll be all ready to go.

And as if on cue, the vine rumbled. Uncle Jeff cursed to himself. Oh, and the damn fuel pump. He replied. We'll need to get you a space heater too. The heating core blew up last year and shot water all through the defroster. And she still harms. Oh, I responded.

Well, um, thanks, Uncle Jeff. I might look for my own car. The smile on my uncle's face dropped as he looked back to the road. I mean, I know it's not the most stylish thing, but the blue bomber is a tank. She can get through anything, and she's not even at 200,000. miles yet. I mean, well, I did feel for my uncle a bit. For reasons that he never quite made clear, he sure loved this stupid minivan. I hated to offend him, but I couldn't drive that death trap. He once had a leak in the fuel pump that could have engulfed him in flames,

and he drove it that way for six months before taking it to the shop. He let out a sign. Well, I see your point. Your dad can take you to finance something anyway. You'll get a warranty out of that, he said, before driving the rest of the way in silence. Well, almost the rest of the way. So, um, is this going to be a good party or a lame-ass party? He asked me when we were about three minutes away from Reagan's house. It's going to be fun, I replied. We're going to do some fun stuff, yeah, play a few games.

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or maybe a recollection of past events, whatever I thought was best. A few years ago I would have thought that writing down my feelings and thoughts was pointless, as would be seeing a therapist in the first place. I thought I got a handle on things on my own, you know, doing the macho act of not asking for outside help. I guess things changed when I saw an old friend a month ago, and every explanation and excuse I'd come up with and made into my personal reality was thrown out the window.

There was a sense of vindication after I left that friend house, but with it came a dreaded truth. Now, I've never told this story to anyone outside of my childhood friends, and through my accounts to the local police who had me repeated over and over. But only one of us was actually there when it happened, the only one who really saw it. Now, I've never liked talking about myself, but Dr. Strauss said that doing so would be cathartic. a release that I needed to have for any chance at further progression. Before I started my sessions, I would never have bothered. It was only recently that I put things together and accepted the facts of that day. It was 15 years ago, the late summer of 1998.

I just graduated middle school, was glad to be getting out of that hellhole, as were a few of my other friends. We didn't all go to the same school or were in the same grade, but we all lived in the same neighbourhood. It was a nice enough place, not far from the waters ports and harbours in Pensacola, Florida, a city tucked in the northwest of the state, right by the Alabama and Georgia borders.

Now, as you might imagine, summer was hot and muggy, and the town didn't have too many attractions for kids. So we spent a lot of our time playing video games or going outside to look for something to do, often inventing sports or stupid, brutish games. We were a group of six boys when we all got together. Our parents all knew each other for the most part.

In spite a few rivalries and some fights amongst us over the years, we all got along pretty well, all growing up within a mile of one another. I don't want to say too much about them, because we've all broken apart over the years, and I don't know where they've all ended up, or how we've dealt with what happened. The last thing I'd want to do is have this story somehow go public

and get big or something, and then some reporter goes out tracking us down and opening up old wounds that some of us might be. have healed by now. Anyway, here are their first names and some overly generalised descriptions of their personalities. Just please, remember that these were actual people, not cartoon characters, when whatever doucheback gets a hold of this journal and decides to make a TV movie out of it.

Well, yeah, I guess I have become a little paranoid over the years. First, it's me, Justin. You'll find enough out about me through this story, so I won't bother you. sharing anything about myself here. Brian was our group's only black kid, and he was always fairly mellow. Just kind of followed us around wherever with few hesitations.

I didn't know his parents well, but they must have raised him something proper. The few times we went out to be little teenage bastards, he'd always only watch us, never knocking over garbage cans or vandalizing anything. Oh, well, not that any of that was ever my idea.

No, those boredom killing brain farts were strictly he externalised from Devon. He looked like a bully, but he was actually never mean to anyone, as bossy as he could be. He was the biggest of the group, but not terribly overweight. I think he must have had ADHD growing up. He was always getting into trouble, often dragging us right down with it. Gilbert, I swear to God that was his name, and yes, he caught a lot of flag for it. He was the nerdy one, the only kid with glasses. He was damn smart, but overly technical for his age.

It's a miracle he never got socked by any of us after he finished listening to one of our conversations and then interjected some facts with an intake of mucus followed by a raised finger and an annoying, actually. But again, he was smart and creative and could make up some good jokes on the fly because of it. Then we had the fraternal twins, Peter and Nick.

Not terribly interesting names, but at least their parents decided to not be ass ass and give them something cute and stupid like Bobby and Robbie. They looked only a little alike, Peter was always about an inch taller than his brother. They both had dirty, blunt hair and matching blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. Peter was energetic and into sports, and was a bit of a loudmouth. Nick was pretty quiet, and he never seemed to be very good at anything we tried, other than video games. Yeah, he could kick our collective asses in almost any genre. I was always a casual gamer, preferring to spend my time outside and only rent games from the nearby video library.

All gone now. But I did have several systems. The one among us subscribed to several gaming magazines. Nick was typically the kid to introduce us to the latest hot title. Well, from the day it came out and we all went to the twins' house to play it, we'd all been addicted for the past year to Golden Eye for the Nintendo 64. It was real hot shit back then. the talk of the classes guys whenever the topic of video games came up.

Playing it automatically made you cool. The game led to many late-night sleepovers, sometimes lasting until the first morning light in the summer. We played other things, of course, mostly Mortal Kombat and Mario Kart, but the epic James Bond shooter was the Crown Jewel. Four-player games were awesome, ten minutes of shooting each other in the face

and being blown up with mines and rocket launches. The two lowest scoring players would trade with the two spectators of the previous game and those watching for a round would usually go scrounge for soda and snacks. Ah, they were good times for us and sharing the game together put a few inventive thoughts into my mind

for a new game of our own. We still had to do something during the daylight hours that we would rather spend outside. After I threw out the idea of a real-life first-person shooter, we quickly came up with the idea of a game simply called guns. The name really showed how creative we could be.

Well, it started as an advanced game of hide-and-seek. After a few free-for-all rounds, we found splitting into two or sometimes even three teams was more fun. Yeah, this sounds kind of lame, I know, but the game's origins had us running and hiding and setting up ambushes along the three main blocks of the neighbourhoods. The goal was to sneak up on someone, point your hand out in the shape of a gun,

and yell, bang. before the other guy could react. Then he was dead and had to wait in the KIA zone. Sometimes though he captured them instead and had him turn on his team. Going indoors was against the rules, as was going on to anyone else's property other than our own yards. Still the neighbourhood provided a fun landscape. Garts, fences, trees and bushes all became barricades.

Sometimes we'd even climb into the branches to hide, waiting for Appri to get close since you could contest a distant hit as a miss the closer you could fire the more likely the other kid was to admit their death and hiding was as important as sneaking around

the back of Brian's dad's pickup truck was a particularly good place to hide many lives were claimed in his driveway to keep things fresh the game evolved quickly walkie talkies were soon used to let teams separate and keeping communication with one another

We made up more pretend weapons than just hand pistols, like the long-range arm rifle and visible rapid-fire machine gun. But it was dawning on us how ridiculous it was starting to look, especially to the passerby jogger or dogwalker, the civilians we shared the neighbourhood with. So we started trying other guns, but nothing worked quite as well as our simple phantom weapons. Water guns were nice on hot days, and we once tried out water balloons as grenades. If the splash hit you, you were dead. But the range was, of course, poor. And if you forgot to pump it, you just end up with a sad little trickle of water

that couldn't reach your target, after which they'd spray you back amid a laugh or two. It was kind of cool finding sources of water around the blocks for refills up, a hammo cachets. The one time we tried Nerf guns, ended in resounding failure. Not only was their range also poor,

but we lost half the darts we found, Like water guns, these toys were meant for running around like an idiot in the backyard. That wasn't what we wanted. We liked the thrill of the hunt, the team play, the ambushes, the double crosses, the crushing defeat, the strategy. We had to perfect our game somehow, with something better. I should mention that Nick and I took the whole thing a little more seriously than the others. If having Gilbert on your team gave you a strategist, Devon provided. you with a fearless berserker, Ryan a patient soldier who could hide for long periods of time,

and Peter a jack of trades grunt. Then Nick and I, who were average at best, wanted a different role. We were the game masters. We set the rules and began to map out entire levels within the neighbourhood, complete with boundaries. A few times we even hit little flags around that if held, gave you power-ups like a second life, or ten seconds of invincibility once you held it up and declared it. letting someone slip past enemy fire run hard. Guns filled up much of our summer. It was like we were programmers and beta testers to a virtual reality game, but it still lacked a solid set of armaments.

We didn't need to get too technical and introduce things like having to reload, but we did want something that had a long, precise range that would not only bring out our true individual skills, but also get rid of the time wasted, no, uh, you didn't hit me, arguments resulting from fired, invisible bang bullets. On my birthday, we made a reservation for the Fun Center, or I sometimes played minigolf with my parents.

It was a pretty cool place with arcade machines, prizes, and even a go-car track. I think a lot of kids have grown up near and frequented similar venues. Last time I was there, I realized that they had a laser tag arena. That was something we had to try. I'd also investigated Paintball by this point, but I figured that we were a bit young for it. I didn't like the idea of only having some boring backwoods to play in or strapping on all that gear.

I also feared the pain that would come from being hit, though I'm sure my stupid childish fear was exaggerated, of course. On top of that, you had to pay to play. We liked our freedom to play for however long we wanted in our neighbourhood, as crappy as our gear was. But I figured laser tag was worth a try, and it wasn't that costly. I walked out of our 15-minute session disappointed.

It wasn't terrible by any means, but I'd expected much more. The indoor arena was made up of crappy plywood forts and was lit with black lights and glowing star stickers. The obnoxiously loud techno music really removed the element of strategy since we couldn't hear ourselves talk, much less listened to our enemy's footsteps in the small arena. Still it did introduce me to laser guns. The few times anyone managed to score a hit, their vest lit up and buzzed loudly.

The guns even made realistic sounds and felt, well, real in our young teenage hands. We may have spent most of our time in the chamber running around like idiots trying to learn how to play, but my heart was still pumping throughout the game. What was the most awesome was just how accurate the things were, and the very idea of shooting an invisible light to target across the room and hitting them instantly and assuredly, this was just mind-blowingly cool for us. Now it would be a good time to emphasize that none of us were gun-nuts. I don't think any of our parents even owned any.

And out of the six of us, only Gilbert, somewhat ironically, I guess you could call it. Join the military, though. I don't think it was in a position where he actually had to hold a weapon. It was just a phase for us, another cool thing that would have run its course eventually. However long guns might have thought. filled our needs. We knew it was always just going to be fun while it lasted. I was an only kid. The other five all had at least one sibling, and that meant I relied on my friends for human contact, and my parents spoiled me, dad especially. I wasn't some needy little tool who had to have the

newest thing, and a lot of it, I could restrain myself, but it always seemed that when the time came that I did ask for something, my dad will give it to me in spades, like no expense was too great, and he always was eager to please. I wanted my own set of laser guns to surprise the guys with. So, one Friday night, we headed out to Target to see if we could find any. I took some looking for in the big old toy section, since I wasn't sure what aisle the guns would be in, but sure enough, they had what I was looking for in store.

On the shelves on the back wall past the aisle with micro-machines. I miss those things. He used to collect them. was a brightly-cutter box with some stupid happy boys on it, one of them holding a comically oversized gun, the other smiling idiotically as he was shot in the back. Well, I was already sold. The toys were called Laser Challenge,

and were expensive, maybe $40 each. But Dad was happy that I was so earnestly excited about the things. I didn't even know they existed before we went looking, figuring that laser tag guns might have been restricted to places, like the Fun Centre. He bought four sets, each of us carrying two boxes up to the checkout. The problem was that they only had four in stock, four groups of guns, vests and backpacks, total.

He knew as well as I did that I needed two more sets if all six of us would be playing. Well, Dad had found out about our game not long after we'd started, and although Mom was a little worried that I was been indoctrinated into gun culture, Dad just laughed it off. That's just the way he was. boys will be boys right and as long as I was outside getting exercise they were both happy I made my grievances known as we got back to the car knowing that I was just stating the obvious well dad promised that he would get another two sets suggesting that we should just test them out first anyway in a four-player game he was nice enough to buy them for me in the first place

so I ended up agreeing with him two of the boys would just have to sit it out for the first few games or maybe act as unarmed scouts or spies. But on the way home, we saw the local Goodwill store. Dad and I traded glances, each knowing what the other was thinking. I'm got some of her dresses from the store, and Dad would bring home quirky little handmade things whenever he stopped by. But I never found much of interest there, and I didn't like the feel or idea of secondhand stuff. Despite that, I knew it was worth a look. Maybe they even had another set or two for cheap.

It was late by then, near closing time from what I remember, and the checkout lines were filled with the shoppers, many of them mothers with bored kids, their arms full of worn and faded clothing. Just for fun, I checked out the video game section first, but most of the games were still from the last generation. Since they weren't what I was here for anyway, I hurriedly guided my dad to the back where the toys were. I always hated the smell there, the one of mildew and dirty diapers, so I'd be it. didn't want to stay long. We looked around for a bit, but the toy section was so small that much of its space was intruded upon by old VCRs and crappy televisions playing Disney movies on a loop. It became obvious quickly that our search would be fruitless, but again I wasn't too disappointed.

I was happy with what I had for now. As we turned to head out and return home, I noticed a black cardboard box hanging out just a little behind an ugly teal shelf littered with the broken cord of stuffing spewing teddy bears. I was going to leave it be, figuring it was a mouldy toy tomb by now. But then I saw the shape of a gun on the box's side. Was this really what I thought it was? I rushed up to it and pulled it out with some effort as it was snug between the shelf and wall. My reaction upon pulling it out and looking at the cover was unmitigated joy, like it was suddenly Christmas morning. First thing I saw were two handguns helped by a pair of admittedly badass but typical 80s white kids,

holding them upright like they were spies. And the guns didn't need to be overly stylized like the laser-challenged ones in any way. They spoke for themselves. The box was solid black except for the photo cut out on the front of the two kids, a swirling James Bond gun barrel that ended in the white circle behind them. Sure, it was clearly a knock-off image. but it naturally excited me even further, given that golden eye was still my video game goddess at the time. The guns were depicted accurately, positioned in the youth's hands at an angle to show as much detail as possible.

The box's paint was chipped in spots all across it, and the cover was especially faded, but it still looked pretty damn cool. I wondered what lucky kids this must have passed on to over the years. judging by its look, I guess that it was quite old. Well, I was right. In the corner, I saw the copyright year of 1980. The last digit had been replaced by raw cardboard, where the paint was completely gone. But the age of the product didn't bother me too much.

I remember wondering, even back then, that a set of laser guns from the 80s must have been quite pioneering. These must have been quite expensive once. I opened the box and saw the quality put in. into the toys, the cover didn't lie. Better yet, there were two pairs of guns and frontal hit detection vests. Held firmly in an oversized styrofoam mould, indicative of the past decade's environmental lack of foresight. I pried one of the guns out. It was small, but it had some real weight to it, and the build quality was quite good. It was made of strong, solid black

plastic and had a few metal trimmings purely for aesthetics to make it look like a toy. The tip of the barrel where the laser was fired out was also made of this metal, as was the trigger and the iron sight. It quickly occurred to me how dangerously real these things looked, a sharp contrast to the orange and grey laser challenge weapons. Well, if it weren't for the swirling metal bezel around the edges that gave them a more juvenile appearance, someone was just asking to get shot by cops waving these things around. By this point Dad had come over, giving you an impressed, what did you find? He knelt down to the floor to examine the set for himself, and then noticed something on the gun I was still holding.

He pointed it out for me, and I was surprised I hadn't seen it yet. On the back of the iron sights were two green glowing dots. They didn't blink or waver when seen at different angles like normal LEDs. furthermore there was no on or off switch for them or the gun itself or battery compartments anywhere These things were solid sturdy creations that could have easily been mistaken for real guns We couldn't even tell how they were powered Neither my dad nor I knew what to make of the eternal lights But we did think that they were kind of cool

I'd learn much later in life that the lights were made of titrium a radioactive element used for illumine nation on some real guns and watches, or other equipment that might, for whatever reason, need a constant but small source of light. Now, titrium is safe, at least for a radioactive material, but it was still an element that shed its atoms. When I found out about it later in life and researched it, I also learned that it was a key component in nuclear weapons. Had either of us realized such an ominous fact about some of the material used in a damn child's toy, I knew my dad would never have bought it. The vest looked a little more friendly,

though the problem was that they only had frontal sensor boxes, no backpacks like the American units. Their bodies were made of plastic and had a single black circle in the middle where the incoming laser was detected. Four leather straps were attached to the back of the device, held onto it with metal buckles, which were another sign of the toy's age.

I hadn't seen any toys made of that kind of metal that rusts since I was a kid, and that's exactly what the buckles were made of. They'd withered into ugly brown husks, their metal components grinding against one another and producing iron dust. But they were the only parts of the entire set that hadn't aged well, and the rest of it was high quality, if not slightly creepy in that kind of old, strange, industrial toy way. Dad noticed that the back of the sensor units were made of a thin layer of solid flat metal,

and there was a noticeable latch. He popped it open fairly effortlessly and reacted quickly to catch the large battery that dropped out. It looked familiar like the six-bolt battery used on one of my dad's emergency flashlights, but it was solid blue, no wording at all, and the bulk was distributed differently. It was fatter, wider than the kind of oversized battery I was used to. Inside the shell I also noticed a small dial,

but I didn't touch it just yet. Dad put the battery back in and closed the hatch. He told me that he had a hunch that this thing wasn't made in America and wanted to see the front cover. I flipped it over and noticed something that I hadn't seen earlier. The words, even the product name, weren't in English. It was a language that I wasn't familiar with, almost alien to me. But Dad, older and wiser, identified it as Arabic.

I thought that was strange, since the box art looked so American. I was disappointed again, believing that the laser-gun toy from a different country wouldn't work with the other sets. I breathed out an audible sigh. Well, Dad noticed it and quickly cheered me up a little again when he pointed out something on the box. I know it was poorly translated, but it was English. In one corner were the humorous but promising words, work with many type.

Seeing how much I liked the toy already, Dad told me to wait a moment. He left the store and came back in after a minute, one of the laser-challenged pistols in his hand. He flicked a switch on the Forensets vest, making the black circle light up with a monotone chime. A few dozen red LEDs were behind the clear plastic, though a few had burnt out. He gave the toy pistol a test fire at point-blank range, aiming straight at the hit zone. It worked, much to my delight. The vest fired out a small digitized buzz. and one-fourth of the lights disappeared.

After a second hit, another fourth went dark. Dad looked as if he'd figured something out and opened the hatch again to show me something. The vest had a hit-point system, and the dial could control how much damage a single hit could do. By turning it all the way to four, a single shot removed all the quadrants of the health circle. It was a cool feature,

but as we always played one-hit kills, I knew we'd be keeping it all the way up. It wasn't as if our American sets had the option anyway. The last thing I took note of was that in the middle of the target circle was a slightly bigger red dot, which had a flat head, unlike the domed tops of the outer lights. His colour was also a bit darker, as if it was wearing out. But both vests were identical in this regard, so I paid it little mind.

We couldn't find a sheet of instructions anywhere, and my dad still had some hesitations, although the system did seem to work fine. We tested all the guns and vests, and Dad even went back to his car a second time to fetch one of the cheap plastic hitboxes from the other sets that had what looked like orange traffic barricade lights for their sensors. Again, everything was cross-compatible. It looked like it was a done deal once we found the faded peeling price tag. It was $20 for the complete set. It seemed like a really good bargain.

Well, this is where you might expect the person ringing us. up to see the object in question and say something cryptic or give us a frightful or glad to have that out of here look. But the old lady at the register was clearly tired and ready to go home, and well any other time she probably wouldn't have known anything about the toy in any case. Dad paid for it, we were out of the store just as it was closing. The next day, Saturday, I knew would be awesome. When the gang got together at the twins' house after lunch, I revealed the sets, and they were excited by the whole idea of having our own laser guns.

The foreign sets, of course, took the spotlight over the American regular ones. Brian suggested that we do some rock-paper scissors to see who get to use them, but after a debate, in the end I claimed one of them, well, having been the one to find them. We had to compensate a bit, since the foreigners didn't have backpack units, making sense sneak attacks from the rear impossible on its wearers. This would be a huge disadvantage to the others, and so we simply kept the American set's rear-hit packs inside. It was sort of lame only being able to land an official hit on someone's front side, which meant waiting for them to simply turn around to actually kill them if you

were stalking behind them, but we'd deal with it. Nick was a little offended at first after I explained the reason he should get the other. He usually died first, the most often, and was allowed he shot, quite an accomplishment considering the accuracy of imagined slugs. But his brother Peter agreed with the handicap, and with that we were off for a day of team death matches around the neighbourhood. Gil and Brian were in my team the first time, and we kicked ass with a solid score of 3 to 0. After that I took Nick and Devon, so both of the old sets were on a single team.

Devon got taken down, but Nick and I were untouched by long-range ambush that took place one of the blocks curves. Well, that was the first indication that these old sets really were of higher quality, or at least more powerful than the others. While Devon shot three or four times before he was hit, none of them made an impact on Peter, Brian and Gil. But the guns that Nick and I had took out the entire enemy team, one right after the other, after we took a second to steady our aim.

After a third game, we realised that having two boys with the old sets on one team gave them an unfair disadvantage. Having skimmed the manual for the American toys, I remember reading how sunlight could interfere with the laser. That made sense, but it seemed like the advertised 200-foot range was also a lie in the first place, as Gil reported that he had to get within about 50 feet to land a hit with his plastic grey gun. Well, the black ones, however.

Well, we took a break to figure out their range by doing a few tests, having Brian back up about 10 feet until Peter's hits with my black gun no longer registered. He had to be clear across the block some 500 feet away, and even then in direct sunlight, until his vest stopped buzzing. We all thought once again about just how cool these things were, but I was a bit unsettled. They felt too powerful, as if they were industrial lasers embedded in the black guns that kids should have no business playing with. or if we hit someone in the eye but to the others the pistols

had basically turned into sniper rifles sure we still had to be accurate at long range but we could learn to hit from much further away than seem normal the discovery of the foreign set's abilities changed the game dynamic suddenly Nick and I were deemed permanent squad leaders

we were the specialists meant to be feared that's when Peter started asking me to switch up gear with him. I told him he could have my set tomorrow. But after a few more games, he started whining and bitching about it. At three o'clock we broke for snacks, soda and water to replenish ourselves. We played long and hard so far, and the other people in the neighbourhood had taken notice of our antics. But we were having too much fun to notice or care what they thought of us. Being a nice guy, I relented and told Peter he could have my set for the next round of games,

that would last until we called it an evening. He had the best aim, and a maniacal little grin spread across his face as he no doubt wondered what it would be like pulling off miracle shots as a professional sniper could. The thing was, though, Nick and I couldn't get the vests off. We tried everything, but the buckles were oddly configured little bastards. We couldn't tell even if we were pressing the right thing down on them, or if we had to wiggle them a certain way, or if it was the friction caused by the rust that had locked the last.

them into place. We eventually gave up and had our indoor snack break with them still on, looking like dorks, somewhat to the amusement of the others. Even though I couldn't get my vest off, I still traded guns with Peter. That seemed to be good enough for him. Holding the cheap grey plastic in my hand, I knew it would take a little while to get used to its limitations. As the day wore on and cooled a bit with the setting sun, I started taking my first hits without the advantage of longer range, and I really began to take notice of the strange quirks of the vest. For one, it was uncomfortable. The leather straps that went over my shoulders and around my stomach would have been comfortable if they weren't so tight. On top of this, the metal plate

on the backside of the hit detection unit pressed tightly against the skin was cold, never warming to body temperature. Also, once I took a hit for the first time, I could feel a small tingle of electricity come from the back plate. It was really small, however, less than that of a static shock. I didn't even notice it most of the time, but it was there. Couldn't tell if it was deliberate, like some sort of failing impact feedback, or more like something bigger, being contained but leaking out ever so slightly each time a laser strand was close enough to be detected by the circle in front. But the oddest thing of all were the power lines nearby. They were old and buzzed often in cycles, but whenever I drew near them, they seemed to either buzz louder or started buzzing if they were quiet at the time.

I'd learned about electrical fields in science class that last year of middle school and thought that something in the hitbox might have been causing some sort of interference. But I didn't really think about how powerful the battery would have to be to do such a thing. I did, however, begin to feel unsafe hauling it around. and thinking back, I suddenly remembered the moment my dad had turned it on for the first time in the store. I'd thought nothing of it back then, but when he'd done that, the fluorescent light above us flickered, just briefly. I'd grown up with a fear of electricity. Outlets had always scared the crab out of me as a kid, as if simply touching any part of it would electrocute me. Gut feeling told me something was wrong with this time. I now wish I'd see it.

said something, called off the game completely. After the first game following snacks, when I like the other team used both of the black guns and we got creamed, Peter gave us his brother Nick to even the score. He joined Devin and I, after the 60-second countdown that was used to get the team separated from one another. We headed out, deciding to go on patrol instead of making a base this time, as Devin never liked to sit around and wait for the opposition to find us. Peter's team must have been doing a good job at hiding because we couldn't find them after two sweeps of the block we looked behind every one of our houses

covered the adjacent block and still found no sign of them it was a good idea to separate the team a bit so it wasn't taken down in a single ambush but he always hated breaking up completely and going on patrol alone but Peter and his sneaky bastard gang wanted to play things this way so we had little choice but to separate and cover more ground I checked to make sure that Devon and Nick had their walkie-talkie set to the proper channels and we headed our separate ways.

Now alone my senses heightened. I could feel the beads of sweat on my forehead and hear the faint buzzing of the drooping power lines. It was quiet and the air was still. Everyone else in the neighbourhood had gone inside. Getting tired of the round I started walking down the middle of the streets, putting myself in the open. If someone moved to take a shot at me,

I might react in time, maybe not. It was, after all, just a game, and I was growing impatient and wanted them to come out. I got my wish. As I walked down the empty street just in front of my house, Brian leapt out of some bushes, took aim at me and fired. I heard the buzz, felt the tingle, and looked down to see the red lights disappear.

Proud of his kill, Brian smiled and walked over to me. Despite being a bit pissed off that his team had decided to hide like pussies this round, I still thought up a little compliment to give to him. But it never left my mouth. Just as he stepped in front of me, I heard a loud pop in the distance.

It sounded electrical, like a transformer had just blown. At the same time our two walkie-talkies let out a loud but brief burst of static. Brian and I looked around. maybe expecting to see sparks raining down from a power pole or something. We waited for a few minutes, still out in the open. Brian's staying with me despite being on the opposite team. The pop had taken us out of the game and startled us. We eventually settled down again, and we got ready to part ways.

Brian back into a hiding spot, myself did the dead son. But then, got that horrible smell. I knew what it was. I think everyone does. That stinging stench of an electrical burn. It's similar to dust burning off in a heater, but whereas that aroma is almost pleasant in a way, an electrical burn is a threatening smell you never want to experience.

The last time I had was when our microwave practically exploded last year, which was unpleasant. With the possibility of a fire being nearby, we dropped the game and using Brian's walkie-talkie tried to get in touch with Peter and Gill. We got no response the first few times we tried to contact them. But on the fifth try, some feedback suggested that someone on the other end was holding down the transponder button. No one on the other end spoke, but we still heard something. Brian had to turn up the volume all the way to hear it.

Faint, sobbing. Worried for our friends, we were. ran off together, scouring the neighbourhood. It took us ten minutes to see Devon, who'd spotted us first and was waving us down from the edge of the borderline of the playing field, the farthest possible sidewalk on the last block of the neighbourhood. Stepping out onto the road from it made you dead, at least if anyone else were to see you do it. We rushed over to him and saw Gill examining this sharp incline by the side of the road, where a storm drain feeds run off water down into a ditch-like area that was often muddy.

It was also overgrown with weeds and vines that climbed up the nearby cedar trees, which condensed into an ugly little forest typically occupied by drunks and garbage. For reasons we never really understood, this area on the hedge of our battlefield was Nick's favourite hiding spots. He would sometimes still be in the ditch, eyes peeking out at street level, even after the entire opposing team was already dead. Next to Gill was Peter. in a way I'd never seen him before. He was in a state of shock, rocking back and forth, very gently in a fetal position. I asked everyone what had happened, but Gil wasn't around at the time and knew nothing about it. Peter had yet to say a word.

Nick was nowhere in sight. I tried to coax an answer from Peter, but he just looked back at me with saucer eyes. When I started shaking him and demanded to know him. what had happened he murmured something but it was so quiet he might as well have just mouthed it silently to this day however the closest thing i can think of as to what he said would be i saw him i shot him my stomach dropped peter didn't give me a straight answer but i still had a deep and increasing worry that something terrible had happened to nick but but maybe the hitbox had electrocuted him.

It was morbid, but that's the conclusion my mind had instantly leapt to. Gil, Brian Devin and I searched the area, sinking into the mud on occasion. I sniffed the air, smelling the electrical burn again. Every second that passed by that we didn't find Nick in pain or worse was a small relief, but we didn't find a trace of him at all until we started heading back to Peter. Hidden some of the overgrowth on the incline, their red colour now distinguishable in the grass were Nick's shoes. Gill looked at them closer,

but when he tried to pick them up, Peter suddenly shouted, Don't touch them! Gil abided by the request. Panic overtook the four of us that were still in reality, and we quickly ran to Devon's house, the closest to our current position, and told his parents. They finally caught the police when we managed to confront. convince them that we weren't pulling a prank and we really couldn't find Nick.

The rest of the day was hell, but at least it went by quickly. The police arrived, as did everyone's parents. Peter's father took him home, as he was too traumatized to help the officers in any way. As more cop cars arrived, we explained everything about what we were doing. One of the cops even mentioned how he'd noticed us earlier that day while on patrol. The search party started around sunset. and all the while we were stuck outside in the heat, sweating like crazy on the side of the road as our hearts raced. The police had little to go on and no witnesses other than Peter, who they knew they would need to talk to right away.

I was the first one to suggest to them to find the hit-sensor box and gun from the laser set. That made them a little curious. Well, I explained the devices as much as I could, even the tingling I felt. They may have concluded that the toy sanded down. dangerous, but still it was just a toy. Nevertheless, they decided to take the foreign set in for further investigation. I had no arguments. After what might have just happened to Nick, I wanted nothing to do with the set anymore, or for that matter, laser tag or guns. I knew the game, in whatever form it could have taken after this day, was tainted now. They quickly found

Peter's gun, dropped in the tall grass right by way he'd been sitting. Nix was discovered soon after, not far from his shoes. But even with that help, I couldn't get my vest off. The damn thing felt like it was permanently strapped to my body. He finally took Devon's father bringing a pair of metal shears from his garage to get the hipbox off me, and he had to work to cut through the thick leather straps. But at least I was free and safe. The police took the device and began their search for the other one.

Only, like Nick, they never found it. Over the following weeks, they combed the entire area for both the hipbox and its wearer, even dredgering up mud to see if it had sunken into it. I began to have visions of it exploding in a bright nuclear fireball, vaporizing Nick. But I kept those nightmares to myself. The twins' parents must have suffered more than I did, and I knew it was my fault. Despite all the assurances that day and the ones that follow from the police, Nick was never found. His disappearance made the local news and then hit the state news.

No suspects were ever named. Every time I walked by the missing children board in Walmart, I saw his face haunting me, staring at me above the description and the number to call. I saw that poster hanging for years until I went off to college and left my face. my old town and friends behind, all of whom were irrevocably shattered by the incident. In my senior year, I came out for winter break. By now I had invented that reality that I mentioned earlier. I shoved the idea of the laser-tag toy killing him out of my mind, coming to believe, like the town did, that Nick had ended up as just another vanished or abducted child that

would never return. Coming home, I had a flashback to his funeral, two years. Two years ago, and years after he disappeared, where I was unable to look his parents or Peter in the eye from across Nick's empty casket. But the past didn't stay dead. When I came home, my mother told me in a shallow voice that Peter had been calling recently, asking for me every other day. She told me I should go see him. I didn't want to, but of course I had to. I walked over to his house, where he still lived with his parents. The place had gone to hell. The paint was peeling off.

The grass was so tall that trees could have begun sprouting, and once I was led in, the smell of alcohol was nearly overpowering. With as much motivation as a zombie, Peter's dad rejoined his wife on the couch, where they both lifelessly watched the television. Even eight years later, Nick's death had left a scar on the household. I trudged upstairs and into a dirty, crowded mess of what was once a big living room. The place would have fit right in on an episode of hoarders.

And here's a foreboding detail. Buried under a trash bag of beer cans that was blocking the television, I could see a Nintendo 64 on the floor. As crazy as it sounds, it must have been unused ever since that day, as Nick's golden-eye copy was still plugged into it. This place reeked of despair. I desperately wanted to leave. But if Peter wanted to talk, if he had answers, then I had to meet with him.

He was in his room, also a disaster area. Empty energy drink cans lined the floor. I could see that he'd grown an unruly beard before he turned around in his computer chair after exiting some MMORPG I was unfamiliar with. I greeted him as kindly as possible. I could see his sadness in his sunken eyes, but what he was really hiding was his anger. When he spoke to me, it was in what I can only describe as restrain barks. He must have had nothing but hatred for me, which I didn't blame him for, that he was struggling to control.

Suddenly he started laying everything out there, getting it off his chest at long last. His parents had been sending him to a therapist for all eight years since that day. day and he said that while she helped and he was making slow progress he hated the bitch inside because she didn't believe him when he shared his account of the events he then told me that he just started going to a psychiatrist and hoped that he would believe him understanding his anger and now feeling nothing but pity i talked with him calmly and reasonably he eventually did relax some after getting out all of the contempt he had for me. He took a big breath, and his whole body shuddered,

as if in anticipation of a forthcoming grand revelation, and that was just what I got, as much as it hurts. The truth at last, and that dreaded vindication I mentioned at the start of our story. I never returned to his house that day to retrieve the box, assuming the police would take it, but I watched as Peter reached deep under his bed, the space looking like an unnavigable garbage dump, and pulled out that small black box that I'd seen in my dreams many, many times. It took off the rotted, moist cover, a smell of mould exploding from the inside.

But it was what he took out of the box that made me truly sick to my stomach. It was the missing hit sensor box, only the frontal plastic shell, clearly warped and been scarred by extreme heat. It had partially melted over the black circle in the middle, and the leather straps were charred. Holding back vomit, Peter almost gleefully flipped the device over, as if in his damaged mind I was supposed to like what he was showing me. The metal back had mostly survived intact, but there was a large dent in the middle where it had made contact with the battery. The hinge, however, no longer locked in place, and the back plate swung open freely to reveal the interior of the shell. There was no sign of the battery itself.

Its compartment was a solid black, and there seemed to be dried remnants of battery acid. I could only surmise that the battery had exploded in its entirety. However much energy it had inside must have been incredibly lethal. Justin! Peter suddenly shouted at me, stabbing me out of my day's sickly stupor. He then proceeded to call me an idiot repeatedly for not reading the instructions. I whimpered in reply telling me I didn't see any. And in one broad stroke, Peter tore out the styrofoam, which I noticed had already been broken into several pieces. Under what remained of the fractured white block was a thin, yellowed pamphlets. The guns were printed in black and white on the cover.

Now, both terrifying and wracking me with guilt, he began to shove the mouldy instruction book into my face, thrusting it until it was a few inches in front of my eyes each time he turned a page as he yelled at me to read it. Although I was shaking, I tried my best to do so. Most of the instructions were in Arabic, but there were little warning boxes labelled with an exclamation point in a triangle that were in multiple languages. including French, Spanish and English. Every page had an image of proper use,

the boys from the cover demonstrating various ways of hitting one another with the lasers or simply how to attach the equipment. Other than a few instances of the radioactive trifoyle symbol, the warning seemed innocuous at first. Don't aim at the eyes. Take a break from playing sometimes. Don't use in the rain and so on.

I told Peter I didn't understand what went wrong. I knew enough by this point that he'd figured out what had killed Nick, and he'd hidden his brother's vest in the box. I told him I was so very sorry, but again, that I didn't understand. Before he showed me the last page, Peter said he kept the burnt twisted vest so he could figure out what happened on his own. Maybe he thought the police wouldn't be able to do so. I can't possibly hope to know. Karma now he turned to the last page and handed me the book. My stomach churned again.

The warning was simple, and like the rest of the product poorly translated. Danger, critical hits on. These words were under a diagram of the black hit circle, where an arrow pointed to that smaller centrelight. And there was a descriptive image of one of the boys shooting the other. The demonic smile and a look of victory on his face as he so happily sent the other boy from the box cover into oblivion. The other boy was screaming out in raw pain and terror as his vest exploded and his body turned to fine particles of ash. But Peter wasn't done.

He had one last thing to show me. As he reached for the top of the bookcase in his room, I noticed the faint scratch marks on the metal backing of the destroyed hitbox. It looked like someone had taken a screwdriver to it in order to violently scrape something off. Peter showed me a small, corked plastic vial that he'd taken off of his shelf. Inside was a solid black gathering of what appeared to be soot. He gave me a sickening smile and told me, "'It's been a long time since you've seen Nick, hasn't it?'

"'Say hi to Nick.' I felt myself heave and hit the floor, but nothing came up. My mind scrambled, trying to accept what I'd just been told. To imagine the fear, the pain as my friend burnt up into ash so small it blew away in a light wind, killed by his own brother, eagle-eye Peter, who'd scored a critical. Before I turned and ran out of the house, Peter, holding up what was left of his twin brother, had some advice. I'd see a therapist, Justin.

It'll help. There. I got it all down. Happy Dr. Strauss? Whether or not anyone reads this, I don't care anymore. Maybe in time recording what happened really will help me. I don't know. What I do know is that for an entire day I carried around what I assume was some sick,

perverted Eastern European toy maker's idea of a fun game for the kiddies. A walking time bomb waiting for a bull's eye hit. how all of its previous owners managed to miss I have no idea if you decide to hunt down another set for some sick dark fantasy and you're stupid enough to buy it after reading this journal that some asshole stole and posted online try not to play with anyone who shot his worth a damn

the theory was that it began with Hurricane Harvey a few years ago in mid-August the news media reported the flooding at 5,000 year high levels the waters reached almost to the top of Black Cat Ridge. No one living knew of a time when the waters had been so high. Black Cat Ridge was an area mostly known just to older locals. Back in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, it had been an outlaw hangout, and during prohibition it served as a base for moonshiners.

Still later, it hosted meth and designer drug laps. It was located above the San Jacinto River and cause the river to bend to the southwest. In recent decades, people had built homes, a hospital and even a college around the ridge. But the ridge and adjacent lands remained a wooded, tangled, snake and gator-infested nightmare, surrounded by swamps.

There were even reports that cougars had returned to the area after a half-century absence. Plenty of other wildlife called the area home. Dears, coyotes, raccoons, opossums, feral hogs, feral dogs, and feral cats to name a few. There were plenty of birds and many small animals as well. There was a wetland across from the college campus that hosted a plethora of wildlife. Most of the campus had flooded during

the storm and its immediate aftermath. Emergency workers and volunteers saw and had to clean up many animal carcasses left behind when the waters receded. It was nasty work and the water was contaminated not only from businesses and mills along the river but with crud from the illicit manufactories on the lower parts of Black Cat Ridge. Still, over the next two years, things got better, and the police officers who patrolled the college and the officers and deputies who patrolled around it at night noted that the wildlife had rebounded soundly, especially the feral hog population. They'd started to become a road hazard and tore up every landscaped area they could reach. Feral hogs had been tearing up property for years, yet they seem to have gotten bolder about their

predations since Harvey. One hot summer morning in 2018, the campus officer saw a large truck that cut through the main road adjacent to the campus at about five in the morning. It smacked into a feral sow and kept going, speeding, of course. By the time she arrived, she saw that the sow was twitching its last. Her carcass rested there for a couple of days until animal control could remove it. It reeked immediately since the intestines had burst, and it was July. no one would go near the thing on foot. But from a car,

but one could see that the sail had been particularly large, and more hair-covered her than was normal. She had tusks the size of a large male. Everyone agreed that it was just a freak and hoped that she'd had no piglets since the storm. Time marched forward. The campus and area businesses and homes were repaired. The swamp was deeper and more tangled than ever,

and the gigantic mosquitoes had emerged from his waters were particularly aggressive. A rumour went around the campus that the mosquitoes had attacked and drained all the blood from a student in the far parking lot after night classes. It was salacious and false, of course. The student had suffered only a temporary anemia.

One morning a larger than average gator blocked the road that ran between the college and the wetland, and the school abandoned the wetlands observation platforms rather than repair them. But they'd used the indoor labs. The raccoons had gotten bigger and bolder, too. one actually snatched a lunch bag from a campus officer as he arrived for work and walked toward the office

he didn't dare challenge the creature when it stood on its hind legs and chittered threateningly at him everyone laughed it off of course and the officer simply had lunch in the cafeteria no one noticed that after the incident he avoided the area around the trash cans where the raccoon had been waiting in ambush students became less friendly toward the various stray and semi-wild animals that populated the public areas, especially around the building with the cafeteria where they'd once come to beg for scraps. The animals had become large and aggressive. Even the normally elusive feral cats started to issue hissing challenges over territory and food. The wildest party of the wildlife, though, was a small sounder of feral hogs.

They had definitely grown in stature. They looked different too. All poor kind relatives had hair, but these looked like woolly mammoth hogs from the place to see nearer. Their tusks had grown, and when one could catch a glimpse, they'd see a knob of flesh and bone had grown between the eyes of the pigs. This was more than just a different strain of boar introduced into the local feral population. It was a significant evolution.

By fall of 2020, night officers around the campus and hospital know, that the hogs had grown fearless. No amount of honking, siren-whoops or flashing lights would get them to move. Eventually, the officer would either have to take another route or get out of the vehicle and try to shoe them away from the area. That could be dangerous with any pigs when there were new piglets. The cells were very protective. Yet until recently, that tactic had worked well enough. Officer G. Haleck, a city officer, got out of his unit to try to chase away the notorious sounder of Monster hogs. They'd stop while crossing a larger roadway by the hospital and it blocked the ambulance entrance. He had to get them to move, and they hadn't responded to his measures with noise and light. He removed the cartridge from his electronic control weapon and activated the charge to make a loud,

sputtering crackle of electricity. Sometimes the frequency of that noise would convince critters to skiddle. He saw that the largest hog in the sounder of five stood at least four feet tall at the shoulder and had to weigh near 500 pounds. It had abnormally long tusks. They looked to be about foot long, jutting and gleaming in the headlines. The enormous porker stared him down and started to stalk menacingly toward him. He fled back to the car and decided to go another way. As he reversed, he felt an impact on his driver's side door, and the car slew to one side with the combined momentum. He corrected course and got the vehicle back

so that he could turn and drive forward. However, as he shifted into drive, he saw that the big boar-hog stood in front of his car and glared bayfully at him through the windshield. The mane of bristled hair from its head, shoulders and backs stood erect in a display of aggression. He swore that the monster hog locked eyes with him. Definitely some kind of mutant, he thought.

and mentally dubbed it, the saber-toothed heart. The beast allowed him enough room to drive past and get to a lot near one of the buildings over 100 yards from the sounder. He watched him hatefully the entire time. His door was jammed shut, and he had to clamber over his in-car computer and radio set up to crawl out of the passenger side. His driver door was crushed,

and the steel was punctured and peeled open. Well, he had to write a lengthy report, and caught flat from both his supervisors and his co-workers. Later that week he met up with the campus officer on the same shift over free coffee at a nearby convenience store. She didn't laugh at his account, but simply grew quiet as he told his tale. Then, finally, spoke up.

I've noticed the changes. I've been on graveyards for a few years since the storm. The animals have changed, especially the swine. That big male you mentioned. Looks like a mammoth without a trunk. They spent some time lamenting that they told their supervisors, but no one had done anything.

So me, the night clerk, overheard as he stalked the coffee counter. Yes, I have seen these monster pigs. Very frightening. Sometimes I'm afraid to take the trash to the dumpster. I can see them through the trees. They're too big. It's not normal.

They discussed the Hawks for a while, then attempted to resolve the rest of the world's problems before each return to his or her respective duties. At around 4 in the morning, Sami had to take the trash to the dumpster on the dark side of the building. The trash truck would arrive around 4.30, and early morning customers shortly thereafter. He'd have help for the morning rush. His cousin Hamid would arrive at 5. Hamid was the eldest of his uncle Mohammed's and was the day managed since Mohammed owned the franchise. At least I have work and family.

He fumed as he dragged the heavy bags through the back door. His mind on other worries, he failed to note the glowing yellow eyes emanating from hulking silhouette standing just inside the wood line behind the stall. As he toppled the last bag over the side of the dumpster, Samir had a loud grunt from the other side of the steel box. It's quickly followed by several more grunts and snuffles. The dumpster boomed as something struck it from the other side. It could have been anything from wild animals to feral people who lived in camps around the woods. Yet some he had a sinking feeling that it was something else. He started to walk rapidly back toward the rear doorway

of the building, a sweat sprung out on his forehead and his eyes rolled in sudden fear. He was too afraid to look over his shoulder. He just wanted to focus on getting back inside. Some he didn't know he could fly, but he was suddenly airborne, telling ass overhead. He felt tremendous pain in his legs, and then he struck the asphalt,

and the agonizing sensation in his left shoulder supplemented the pain from the back of his legs, at least until a large, dark object bit into his right leg, and all other pains were forgotten as the bone shattered. He screamed in fear and agony. An enormous boar hog had clamped its moor around his leg at the knee joint. He tried to raise his torso, but his left forearm was seized by another set of jowls and savagely pointed tea. His mind blank for a moment, and then he began to scream again, this time mindlessly, as more teeth shredded his flesh.

And the last thing he saw was the open mouth and gullet of the poor kind horror, as it clamped onto his face. and crushed his skull. By the time the trash truck arrived, the sounder was gone, there wasn't much left of Sammy, just a few pieces of bone and flesh and a large smudge of blood on the asphalt. The driver didn't notice.

There were always wet spots in convenience store parking lots, especially around the dumpsters. He simply racked up the dumpster, emptied it into the truck container, and moved on to his next stop. Hummed arrived, just after five. he was habitually late since he knew that Sami wouldn't dare complain.

Besides, he didn't want to have to help with the small chores necessary to begin the business day. He liked Sammy well enough, but had his own responsibilities and future planned out. He was puzzled when he arrived and Sammy was nowhere in sight. There were three customers at the counter and two more roaming the aisles. They all looked confused and frustrated. The first in line had placed some bills on the house. the counter was writing a note on one of the napkins from the coffee counter as Hamid approach. Ah, we haven't seen on Sammy this morning. We've got to get to work.

Didn't want to leave without pain or get him in trouble. It must be in the back somewhere. One of the other men in line spoke up. Yeah, maybe he ate one of those ancient burritos on the roller. That'd keep anyone on the job. The other two laughed along with him. Hamid scowled and quickly said about ringing up the purchases. He took care of the stream of customers that didn't give him a break for the next few hours, all the time wondering what had happened to some Eve. He had to call his father to get another employee to come in and help. No problem. He had other siblings, and at least one other person was already scheduled for the day shift and would arrive at six. God, where is that little rat? He wondered, until the morning rush finally gave way. He was

actually a little concerned. This was very very very very. very unlike Summi. The young man was invariably on time and worked very diligently. The one time he had been out sick, he had the flu, and he still made it in after only a couple of days off and before he was well. He'd even made up the hours he'd missed. As soon as he had a break, Hummy had took a look around the premises. Summere was nodding the back, and there was no one in the bathroom with its perpetual

out-of-order sign. No one in the office. He'd even look behind the desk. He finally decided to look around outside Nothing but a large brown smear in the area near the dumpster Sammy should have hosed off whatever that was Looks like old roadkill He went back inside and pulled up the surveillance recordings

He fast forwarded it until just before 4 a.m. He saw Sammy speaking with two cops who come into mooch-free stale coffee As soon as they left Sammy set up the coffee machine for a fresh match Then he gathered the trash and hefted it through the back door. There was no camera for the dark area by the dumpsters. No need. Who'd steal from a dumpster?

Hummede kept watching. The cameras were motion activated, and the recording was empty until customers started to arrive. Hamid spoke with his father, who was annoyed at Sammy, but not too worried. Maybe he was angry at something. Maybe he's taken up smoking and knew better than to come back inside. Who knows? If he doesn't show up for his shift tonight, we can call the police. He, of course, didn't show.

At around 10 o'clock that evening, they finally called in that Sami was missing. It had been raining since the afternoon. Most of Sami was gone by the time Officer Halleck arrived to take a report. He looked at the video recordings and looked around inside and outside the store. He questioned Hamid's younger brother, Adil, and set up a time for a day. shift officer to interview Hamid and Muhammad. Some of he was an adult, and there was no evidence of foul play.

He took the bus to work, so no one had any idea where we would have gone, and the call was marked as no priority, no safety concerns. Two days later, Josh McClintock was out in the woods near the campus for the first day of squirrel season. He hoped to shoot a mess for the rodents for a dish of squirrel and dumpings. his wife Martha could still cook at 73 and he could still bring home hunted meat at 75 life was good

so long as no one complained about him shooting so close to the campus things had changed so much in his lifetime human expansion had encroached on the wild areas he'd known in his youth he settled in near a large hardwood tree and waited for the animals to stir again after he disturbed them with his presence eventually birds began to once again flitter through the branch

and sing their morning songs. A large raccoon waddled by on its way home before the sun was too high. It looked over its shoulder at him with a glare and gave him a sinister grin. It gave out a sharp little bark and stood on its hind legs and waddled on into the trees. Josh was dumbfounded.

He rubbed his eyes. Shit, the old-timer's disease has me, and I've gone crazy. Maybe I just dozed off it. I haven't been. up as early in a while. Then he saw a big red fox squirrel scuttle into sight on the trunk of a large oak to his left. Biggest he'd seen in years. The breed had gotten scarce even before Harvey. He unlimbered his 20-gay shotgun and slowly put it in position to fire on the hapless arboreal resident.

Then he heard a loud rustle of brush from over his right shoulder. Something big had decided to move. The squirrel darted around to the other side. of the tree, and the other birds and animals fell instantly silent. Josh shifted around thinking, oh shit, I'm caught. Private land, probably the owner. He decided to remain still. Maybe the guy would pass him. He darted his eyes around, trying to avoid moving the rest of his body, much of the way squirrels freeze or try to hide on the far side of tree bowls and then freeze. He heard heavy breathing behind him, and a grunt and a snort. About that time a figure appeared to his front right.

It had moved up silently through the trees. Ah, stupid hog. He scared the shit out of me. Josh grouched. It was only then he registered how enormous the hog was. Yeah, this day is definitely a bust. The monstrous hog just stood there looking at him for a moment, then bristled and poured the grin.

John knew that his number four shot would just anger the animal, but he instinctively shifted the barrel of his shotgun toward the beast. That was when he felt the agony of a large tusk into his lower abdomen and ripped upward into his chest cavity. While he'd been watching the sow, the boar had spiked him. Martha was a widow before Joshy's corpse even hit the leaves on the ground, and the sounder had another solid meal. By the next day a search party

combed the woods near the campus. Many were student volunteers. The search was called off after only a couple of hours. The mosquitoes had swarmed the searchers, and one of them had a close call with a water moccasin. The cotton mouth chased her up into a tree

and continually tried to strike at her. About the time it started to slither up the trunk, another searcher arrived. He had a walking stick with a metal tip, and was able to spear the large reptile. Then he was in trouble. The snake didn't die and was so large and heavy that its strikes began to tear it loose from where it was pinned.

Fortunately, the combined screams of the students brought over a campus officer who shot the thing several times and finally hid it in the head. It measured in at five feet long and was about six inches in diameter. Between the insane mosquitoes and enormous venomous reptiles, The local constabulary decided to restrict the search to first respondents. About then it started to rain heavily, and the search became moot.

Dogs had tracked very close to where Josh had been posted, but something turned them from the scent, and they either shied away, or just sat or lay on the ground and whined. Since the county had been in charge of the search for Josh and the city had jurisdiction on Sami, the two cases were not linked beyond interagency gossip at the first line officer level. Josh was old and people assumed he'd gone out and had a heart attack or had fallen in some water or something. The story was quickly replaced by other events in local and national news.

It was an election year after all and November was just around the corner. The rain finally gave up a few days later and by evening there was nothing left of it but groundfall. Good night, Buenos Noches, Officer Therese called to the two cleaning crew members as the women made their way to the parking lot in tandem. He smiled in satisfaction. Apparently they decided to heed his advice that they should travel in pairs for safety. One never knew when a crook might pop up,

or a wild coyote or feral domestic animal might approach. The ladies returned his wishes and walked away, chattering amicably as they made their way through the well-lit parking area. The officer went back inside. It was nearly ten o'clock and time for shift change. most of the buildings were already locked well the women had nearly made it to their cars

that were part very close to one another in the employee lot when Esmeralda the elder of the two noticed them in the strip of woods between the parking area and the roadway were several sets of glowing yellow eyes set within large dark silhouettes she started to ask her young friend Jennifer if she saw them but it was clear that she had since Jennifer had fallen silence

a rare occurrence in Elmoralda's experience with the girl. There were four sets of eyes that glared balefully from the shadows. The shaggy outlines moved forward slowly, as though stalking towards the women. Esmeralda moved first. Get in the car, Jenny! She called to the younger woman. Jennifer stood frozen in horror as the hairy brutes came into view. Esmeralda focused briefly on getting into her own pick-up.

She fumbled with the keys. I should have listened when the officer said to have your keys ready before you get to your vehicle. About that time the rumble of hooves on pavement registered, and she looked up in time to see the dark shape that rushed at her from the well-lit parking area. She noted the glint of the tusk as it rose and entered her skull from below the chin. The impact was so fierce that it drove her back into the open truck door and tore the door from its hinges. By then, Jennifer was able to scream.

The scream didn't last long as she was bowled over and trampled by a quartet of swine. Once they started to eat her alive, she was unable to make any noise other than a gurgle from her missing throat. Fortunately, she lost consciousness quickly. Twenty minutes later, as Officer Torres headed into the parking lot to go home for the evening, he saw that the vehicles that belonged to the cleaning crew ladies were still in the lots. He called over to the other officer who was headed towards his own car. Hey, Jay, did you see the cleaning ladies? Officer Johnson, Jay, looked up from the text he was typing,

and without actually looking around, said, Nope, just us chicken. Torres then registered the dark shapes moving through the thin line of trees behind the lot in the roadway. He saw the damage to Esmeralda's pickup, and his heart skipped a beat as he noticed the large puddles of blood and big. of soft tissue and bones scattered across the pavement. Oh, fuck, he said quietly, then shouted to Johnson. Get over here, help!

He pulled out his flashlight and his sidearm and started walking quickly toward the horrific scene. He used his radio to contact dispatch and request assistance from the supervisor, who was still inside the office and to send EMS. As he made it to Esmeralda's pickup, he saw that the dark shapes in the the shadows of the pines had halted. And then, glowing eyes steaded ominously toward him. Johnson approached quickly and panted out. On your left!

Torres spared him a glance. The younger officer was winded from fear stress rather than physical exertion. Jay was in good shape and was on target with his sidearm. The officers used their flashlights to illuminate the faces that contain those terror-inducing eyes. What they saw was five sets of enormous pork-kind features smeared with fresh gall. There were scraps of bone and flesh on the ground near their feet. Most noticeably, the monsters looked angry at having had their repast so rudely interrupted. The big boss snorted loudly and poured at the ground in front of him.

His mane bristled. It was a warning. The officers had been hesitant to fire. They had clear policies on when to shoot at animals, but as the ball lowered its big ugly head, Torres came to the conclusion that policy or not, this was an appropriate situation to shoot. He fired all the rounds in his 16-round magazine before the enormous pig struck him and bowled him over like he wasn't even an obstacle. As soon as Torres fired, Johnson joined in in a reflexive reaction. He sprayed and prayed and emptied his magazine into the full.

other porkers. Jay shakily reloaded as the boar hog tore into his partner on the ground. Despite his sorry shooting, his targets had remained in place, so he'd gotten in a lucky shot and taken out one of the largest houses. She wasn't dead, but dying. Maybe Torres had hit her too. Jay had hit one of the other three in the right hip, and it was spinning around its own body with incredible speed, trying to locate the creature that had so viciously stung it. Eventually that one collapsed into the injured leg and had difficulty standing again. Officer Johnson didn't see all of that. The remaining two blasted into him before he could seat the second magazine.

They made short work of the two officers. Then, after they checked on the now-dead cell, they quickly moved into the thicker woods across the road and headed back to their den to grieve, but with full bellies. The supervisor and night officer came out quickly in response to the radio call, but arrived only in time to watch as the sound had disappeared into the shadows. EMS arrived shortly, and then Life Flight arrived and transported Officer Johnson, who clung on to life by a thread.

His left arm had been torn from his torso. Officer Torres only lasted a moment. His intestines were spilled onto the front of his pants. His vest had been made for bullet impacts rather than stabbing objects, The rest of his body was trampled, and it was clear that his ribs had been crushed. His supervisor held his hand as he breathed out the last part of a Hail Mary and expired. He'd managed to press record on his body camera just before he drew his side up. The video wasn't the greatest, and it mostly showed dark figures rushing and flailing,

and the audio was mostly screams grunts and unpleasant sounds. yet the frame-by-frame review finally produced at least one clear photo and thus was born the legend of the saber-toothed hogs. It was an overnight hit on social media and in the press. There was evidence, at least from the meagre remains of the cleaning crew, that the hogs had become human-eating predators. Investigators found poor kind DNA in the mess that was Jennifer and on the uniforms of the responding officers.

There were definite abnormalities that led to first. further testing. Someone puzzled out one of the abnormalities and they drug tested the samples. They found trace amounts of methamphetamine and ketamine. The assumption was that one or more of the victims had been using the substances. Officer Johnson somehow managed to survive, though he would require a lifetime of both physical and psychological therapy. He wasn't much help with his recollection of that night. Oh, so much blood. Oh, those poor ladies. It was so big.

He rounded in short decarto sentences. He made a great media figure, though. Young, a military veteran. Jimrat, handsome. At least as long as one viewed the before photos. He was set up for an experimental prosthesis, which made for an ongoing series in the local media, but that was a long while later.

Once the various law enforcement agencies had enough information, the dots connected. and several missing persons cases were attributed to a suspected feral pig predation. The hunt was on for the sounder of mutant saber-toothed hogs. Professional hunters volunteered by the hundreds. Every law enforcement jurisdiction and politician wanted in on it, and every nut with a firearm wanted to be the one to get the big bore as a trophy and for notoriety. The experts provided opinions and discussed various theories on why omnivorous creatures would suddenly become.

carnivorous predators. The primary consensus was that it had to do with climate change, the popular theory for anything odd in nature. The campus became the centre for the hunt, and classes were disrupted by the presence of so many emergency responders. Parents brought students from classes at the campus because of safety concerns. Property became a zoo of humanity.

The woods from the interstate highway to the river and from the highway bridge north to a major FM road were closed. Neighborhoods and businesses were put on mandatory curfews and volunteer guards set out to patrol in their pickup trucks, complete with wannabe heroes perched in the beds with rifles and shotguns. Everyone was on guard with the hogs, except for the retired on-active duty security guard posted at a local manufacturing business

that had somehow evaded the floodwaters. His company had been contracted because of the hogs, murders. The atmosphere of fear had led to a boom in security contracts for the duration of the emergency. The guard's name was Fredericks, but everyone called him, Gollum. He looked like the movie version of that character, grown to six feet tall and aged around 45. He was unpleasant, irresponsible, and a know-it-all who actually knew very little. Fredericks ignored all the hoopla and hype. Any fool knows how to hunt feral hags. dumb asses, he thought as he slouched on his golf cart, semi-dosing next to his cup of coffee.

His supervisor had told him to stay inside and not use the cart since the hogs were reported to be as large as the little vehicle. Fredericks didn't care. What did that little idiot know? Fredericks had been a real cop, a deputy for one of the local constable's offices for almost two years before he'd been given the option to resign or be terminated. well he'd done security work ever since none of these youngsters could tell him anything he sat there

dozing and musing about what the other guards had meant when they called him goll something from some stupid movie he mentally grumbled well at least it wasn't poor blood like when he'd used the segue at the mall and then the noise startled him fully awake

it was a splash and he heard a few more splash flashes and squelches of mud as he turned his ears to the sounds. There was a drainage ditch along the front of the property, part of the reason the waters had failed to inundate the main building of DMT Solutions Incorporated. Something or someone was approaching through the waters of the ditch. Maybe several somethings or somebody's.

He thought, Ah, probably some idiot kids. When the head appeared above the ditch, Fredericks could not believe his eyes. It was gargantuan, bigger than any hog he'd ever seen. It was almost as big as the head of the rhino he'd seen in the zoo many years ago. Only this one had tusks like an elephant, rather than a horn on its nose, and a big bulging knob of a forehead.

The head turned toward him, and he saw the yellow eyes focus on him in his little car. His bladder released, and without thinking or steering, he flawed the drive pedal. The front of the cart faced the exit driveway, but the front wheels had been turned to the side away from the one with the rhino hog. Gollum was headed in the right direction, completely by accident. He rode the golf cart directly off the driveway

into the deepest part of the ditch on the other side. The big boar-hong led out a snort that sounded like laughter. By the time he and the rest of his sounder had made their way into the ditch on the other side of the driveway, their initial work was done. Frederick's lay in a heap on the dash of the car.

His heart had failed. The Farrells left little of the man and destroyed the cart, but the remains were easy to spot when the first employee arrived to work the next morning. After all, the back half of a golf cart blocking the drive will tend to get one's attention.

The hunt intensified. The sounder was down to two-south, sows. The one that left the college parking lot injured could not keep up with the rest and after a few days of her lagging ended up as a meal for the rest. The remaining two would bear litter soon. They'd all noticed that the more they preyed upon the two-legged creatures, the more they grew. They may have just been eating so much protein, but they were all adults and should have stopped growing. Having such thoughts and the ability to communicate them to one another was something new and had only manifested in their generation.

It may have had something to do with the knobs that had formed on their foreheads and were covered heavily in bulk. They'd found a low spot by the river, a little bend in the tributary creek that was damp without being full of water. They used it as a wallow. They always felt unusually energetic after a wallow in that spot. Their home was uphill near the top of Black Cat Ridge. The flood left behind a large old oak Just below the high water mark of the flood The roots had come to rest over a low spot in the ground With a little digging they'd made a nice dam

Since then the local weeds and brush had grown And leaves and pine straw had fallen To provide some camouflage It would be a nice safe place to raise a family The two legs who had inundated the area in the past few days Trails past it without a glance hopefully they would leave soon they'd started to travel in groups and carry weapons

if they didn't go away soon the sounder would have to take on a group of them or leave altogether don't know why the dogs won't track him Travis said as he looked toward the other three members of his party I do know that hardly anyone has looked up this way nobody likes going up hills ain't that high for hill but well folks are lazy

Travis was a volunteer with hunting and tracking experience his friend Billy was in the group along with a deputy and a police officer from local agencies they made their way up the ridge and over to the back side that faced away from settled areas and toward the river the thing is if I was a hog I'd hide as far away from people as I could Billy snorted you are a hog a beer and pork rind hog and you do live far away from other people they shared a laugh it was apparently an old exchange between them The two police officers exchanged a look as well and silently panted with exertion as they climbed up from a draw that cut into the ridge. They'd had a rough hike.

The land and vegetation were unforgiving and each was carrying an AR-style rifle. The two hunters carried short-barrel 12 GA shotguns, what they called pig guns. They all wore pistols and carried knives. Billy carried a machete in a sheath, but they'd mostly stuck to game trails, and he hadn't had to use it much. The office accursed as he stepped into a wet hole from where a tree had rotted in place. Ah, that's nasty. Cold, too. The others tried not to laugh. The holes were covered by pine straw and were difficult to spot, so it could have happened to any of them. He pulled his leg from the hole and shook off as much of the muck as he could.

Well, they'd all pause for a moment, to ensure he hadn't twisted his ankle or knee. The deputy leaned his weight on the hand he pleased. placed against the trunk of a large uprooted oak tree as he caught his breath. Now I really need to get back in the gym, he thought, as he heard a loud, deep, octave grunt and snort from the other side of the hole, where the top part of the tree began to spread into branches. All members of the party turned toward the sounds. They all knew what had made them. A feral hog.

Then a tremendous beast appeared suddenly at the root end of the tree. It moved incredibly fast for such a large animal. Before any of the man could react, it was upon them. It directly struck Billy and pushed him into Travis, and then lifted both men into the air. Its rear flank crushed the deputy against the hard wood of the tree. The officer stood a few feet away from the rest and did a great job in bringing his rifle to bear,

but about that time, he felt something tear into the back of his left thigh. It entered just above the back of his knee joint, a spike that then tore upwards and ripped through his left butter. He landed on his right side. Rifle dropped and forgotten in his newfound agony. He didn't suffer long. Enormous porcine jaws clamped on his neck, and he could have sworn he heard a snap before his vision faded down a long, dark corridor, and sounds and sensations ceased. another ghost for the storied Black Cat Ridge

The others fared no better The board burst through the group Then made an amazingly quick and agile 180 degree turn To charge back into their midst He focused on Travis Until the man lay in a ball Around his own awful Billy had been unable to rise

His right femur was broken He was already in shock Fortunately He clenched his eyes shut with the pain and didn't see the steer-sized hoof that crushed his skull. The deputy had been bruised and winded, but otherwise he was not seriously injured. He watched on in horror as the beast made it spin and again attacked the two hunters. He'd seen balls at the rodeo make spins like that to get rid of riders,

and then rapidly turn and try to gaw them, yet he was always amazed when such bulky creatures displayed highly dexterous acrobatics. He dropped the AR when the bore struck him, so he quickly drew his sidearm. His peripheral vision noted a dark blur as a set of teeth buried into his forearm, and he was suddenly and painfully yanked from his feet and dragged along the side of the tree trunk. As they passed the roots, his other arm snagged and he came to a momentary halt. Then he felt his forearm separate from his elbow. The unlucky, or perhaps truly fortunate man, passed out for him.

from the pain and sudden blood loss, and so didn't feel the rest of what happened to his body. When the party did not report back to operations, the sheriff and the command group looked into where the team had been assigned to search. Crest of Black Catridge, figureless, he spat. Nothing good ever comes from that area, said when Harvey washed out the meth monkeys. He looked around at the commanders. It's getting dark. Probably best of plan and wait until morning. early morning maybe we can catch them while they're still stirring one of the commanders piped up what about the missing men

are we just going to leave them out there the sheriff offered the man a steely gaze they got lost or worse in daylight you've seen those woods do you want to go traips and through them in the dark he looked around at the others we need a plan thorough hogs are smart

they have a great sense of smell a downright uncanny when it comes to spy and traps. Any thoughts or suggestions? The game ward and captain in charge of organizing the volunteer hunters took up the gauntlet. We have enough people to make a tiger hunt. No elephants but a couple of master trucks may do the trick. The discussion went on for quite a while. At least they finally had a specific location to search.

If the party had been attacked, it had happened in daylight, so they must have been near a wallow or a den. The plan would cover. of both a search and rescue operation and a hunt. So they all went to their various sleeping arrangements confidently and satisfied. Before dawn, the entire emergency response group was on hand for a briefing to include assignments. The mission would combine looking for the missing team members as well as trying to locate the hogs. The sheriff filled them in on the attack on the security guard.

Security guard from one of the local companies was slaughtered the other night and his golf cart was shattered and scattered. Some of you may know him. I've heard his buddies call him Gollum. His real name was Fredericks. He paused and looked around for confirmation. There was none. There was another video recording. From the building, very clear.

The big boar looks to stand around five feet at the hump on his shoulders and weighs in a good 800 to a thousand, very lean pounds. The tusks are abnormally long and there's an odd lump between his eyes. This master doesn't need the saber. with a tus to kill. It needs only to trample or crush. Now, time is short. We'll meet at the base for the ridge in ten minutes. Well, he knew it would take longer, but he needed them to comprehend the urgency. Everyone will shake out in the line. As we proceed, you will stay inside of the team members to your left and right. While time is a factor, safety is a greater consideration.

Stay on line with the others. I cannot stress that enough. We've set up two all wheel drive vehicles with shooting platforms on the other side of the ridge and at the bottom. They're already in place on the other side of the ridge, ready to ambush the killers once we flush them. If we fail to locate and neutralize the hogs, we may be able to drive them into range of our shooters. Once we've crested the ridge, we'll descend only a short way down the other side. We do not want anyone in a line of fire of the shooters on the trucks. By the way, don't worry about making noise. The more the better.

Might as well drive the monsters ahead. Just a reminder, they are aggressive and may turn back on us, so be ready. He answered a few questions, and then they were off on the hunt for the Sabretooth Hawks. It took longer than anyone hoped to get everyone lined up and moving, but once they started, it went mostly to plan. About 15 minutes in, a shot rang out near the north end of the line, followed by the staccato sound of several more rounds from different calibers. That stopped everyone in their tracks, as per capita. the plan. It was hard for the team members to restrain themselves from sprinting to the aid of those who had fired. However, the firing stopped abruptly after the initial bursts. Then the waiting

began. Shortly, the sheriff sent over the radio that all was well, but that one sector had encountered an extra large nutria that had attacked a team member. He requested that the team leader from the game wardens respond. He gave the order to move forward again, and every Everyone did so, on much higher doses of adrenaline. Just over the ridge, a team a little south of the crest came across a large tree that blocked their progress. They found weapons and a few other inedible items, large pools of dry blood and awful. The area stack, and flies that had grown to the size of horseflies buzzed around the sticky mess.

This caused another brief pause, evidence texts were deployed to the scene. Once they arrived, the line completed its push. No one had spotted the pigs. SWAT Officer Jenkins, who was an assigned sniper, lay prone on his mobile shooting platform. His spotter, Officer Tran, stood to shake off fatigue and to maintain a better view. It was a secondary spotter, a local hog hunter on the platform, and the driver sat stoically in his seat, looking around in every direction he could. vehicle was positioned closest to the river. It sat on oversized wheels and tires, so everyone was

reasonably high off the ground. They were all pretty tired since they'd left late the night before to get into position in time for the early hunt. Well, it was a waking shock when they heard the radio traffic about the fate of the missing party. Jenkins thought, how many more? Soon he could hear the noise of the beaters as they came to a stop a safe distance out of the line of fire from either truck. The sheriff came over the radio and told the beaters to make some noise. The first responders yelled and clapped their hands and whistled along with most of the volunteers, but sure enough, a few of those Yahoo's fired rounds. Apparently, they didn't understand the concept of gravity. The rounds had to come down somewhere, and there were far too many

people in the area. There was a quick and angry broadcast of ceasefire, repeated until well after the last shops. This was followed by a tense reminder that firearms were to be used only when they faced a life-threatening situation. At least the way it isn't boring, he thought as he looked up and winked to Officer Tran, who smirked, shook his head and mouthed, dumbasses. That was when a rumble of hooves and a loud boom erupted from the passenger's side of the truck, and the entire vehicle tipped a little toward the driver's side.

There was another rumble of hoops, and before the vehicle could tip back, an even greater impact. This time it tipped most of the way. Grunting squeals, deepened and increased in volume to a surrealistic level, roared as another impact finished the job and rolled the truck onto its side and then onto its top. The boar and the larger, older cell, stood looking on in satisfaction. Their long hair was matted with marred from their early morning wall. It spotted the ambush on the way back to the den, and it decided to conduct.

one of their own. They'd left the younger cell down by the river. She was slow and gravid, getting ready to have her little ones. In the truck, the driver dangled upside down, caught in his seatbelt. Officer Tran and the civilian hunter had fallen when the truck rolled. The hunter had jumped free, but lost his life. Tran and Jenkins managed to end up on the ground with the bed of the truck and the roll bar keeping the mass above them. Trang was curled around a broken arm. Jenkins, while stunned by the suddenness of the attack, still had hold of his rifle. He turned dizzily toward the two brutish swine. The big male eyed the truck and poured at the ground. The sow had started a loping run that would build up momentum for another strike.

As he came around face forward, Jenkins had time to get his muzzle in line and fire. He fired two more rounds in quick succession, and the sow screamed as the fifty-caliber rounds struck her, in the chest and penetrated her vital organs. Her carcass skidded to a stop about a foot from the side of the truck, and Jenkins' view was entirely blocked. He rolled toward the driver's side and scrambled to his feet. Tran! He reached under the truck and grabbed hold of Officer Tran's collar.

He pulled backwards as hard as he could to get clear of the truck. Had the ball flipped the truck over again, they would have made it. Instead there was a loud crash from the front of the truck, and the front end, engine and all, spun towards them at tremendous speed. The impact sent both men sprawling into the underbrush, both of them stunned and helpless. Jenkins could hear the sounds of shouts and the rumble of many running feet as the beater crew poured down the ridge to rescue them. He managed to open his eyes and looked toward the ruined truck, just as the bore rounded the front and glared at him with furious eyes. The truck had made a full 360-degree turn with the top of the cab as an axis. The bore poured at the ground, bristled its mane, then, just as it squatted to begin a trampling charge.

A shot ran out, followed rapidly by eleven more. Boar stumbled away from the cab area of the truck and fell onto its side. Everyone had forgotten about the driver, who carried a 45-caliber pistol with high-powered ammunition. He emptied the entire magazine into the neck of the monster hog from no more than three feet, and he was a good shot, despite being shaken and dizzy and dangling upside down. The saber-tooth horror struggled to regain its feet, though it bled profusely. About that time, the beaters and the hunter who'd been thrown clear when the Porcine Terrace hit the truck, arrived and added their own rounds to the mix, and eventually the boar-hog stilled and expelled its last breath.

The photos and video footage were impressive. The head would eventually be mounted at the sheriff's office and featured an election post of photos. Jenkins and Tran made a full recovery, and the shy driver, Hunter, ended up making the talk shows as the hero that broad down the saber-tooth feral hog. The funerals for the party of dead searches were massive

and vired with election news coverage in the media and social media for the next two weeks. hunters were scheduled to come in and remove or destroy the other affected fauna. The only argument was which agency would pay for the hunters. On the other side of the San Jacinto River, the younger cell nursed her litter. Their new den was a little low-lying and swampy for her tastes, but she would tolerate it until the piglets were weaned. That would best be soon, she thought in Porkinese.

My little balls already have tusks, and they're unhoused. uncomfortable to suckle. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye bye.