Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary Stories For A Dark And Rainy Night | Scary Reddit Stories Told In The Rain

Episode Date: August 21, 2023

These are 3 Scary Stories For A Dark And Rainy Night | Scary Reddit Stories Told In The Rain Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/ArmchairDetectives/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/disco-dingus/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/flyingflair/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:37:58 Story 2 01:02:46 Story 3 #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #cryptids Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

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Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs. Execution style, killing it's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them.

M.I.A. Streaming now. Only on Peacock. When the voices came on the radio, I was playing with my grandfather. on the front lawn. He was sitting in his rocking chair, and I was out on the lawn when I heard it. A long whistle on the radio, then, Billy, come here, Billy, come here now. Mom began screaming. My dad was running towards me. Grandpa reached me first. Hands clasped over my ears, so hard it left a ringing noise. He was a serious stern old, and I was always a bit

afraid of him. Now he yelled at me over and over. Don't listen to him, Billy, don't listen. His voice came out in a suffocated whisper. Please God, don't let him listen. I love him. The old man's lined face was scrunched over. He was crying. I began to cry too. I could hear my mom and dad screaming in the distance.

Long, horrible whales. I thought they were going insane. I love you, Billy. Don't you leave us. I love you. We stayed for a bit, grasping each other. When he let go, it was quiet outside. On the porch, Mom was standing over the wreck.

parts of the radio, a baseball bat in her hands. That was the last radio in our house. After that day, that old man and I were never close. He never said anything like that, before or after. I wonder if he got embarrassed. That day, though, it scared the crap out of him, and he didn't care. In my old town, there's a whistle, and it puts the fear of God in old men. It comes sometimes, and it comes for us. No matter how painfully familiar it became, not one of us understood it. Who is the one whistling? What do they want? Why? Asking such questions was useful as screaming into a well. All you'd get back was echoes. Among the kids, the fear eventually became second-hand. Our parents had seen the consequences of lending an ear to the whistle, though they never told us. Just don't think about it. Other than all that, everything in my hometown was pretty much free reign for us. We were, of course, told not to play in dangerous areas, and of course that just us on. One such place was the old scrapyard, the type of place where you can call active or derelict in equal measure. The favorite spot was a vast heap of warped metal frames at the very

edge of the lot, disappearing into the woods, fit for summiting any dry day of the week. They might have been defunct pylons or something, but the strange lack of welds or rust suggested something more obscure. One Saturday, me and my buddy Alex were down in the scrapyard at the stroke of noon, ready as ever to clamber up the perilous heights of metal mountain. At first, we called it Iron Mountain, but the name didn't quite fit. The old framework was made of something we couldn't quite put our finger on. We were boys, yeah, but we weren't entirely careless. At least I wasn't. I made sure to bring carabiner belts for each of us to wear, though I think it was just too tedious to clip, unclipp, and clip our way up the whole time. Alex, my more nimble counterpart,

clambered up a ridge on the heap like a bona fide chimp. All I could do was suggest using the safety clips, not enforce it. Race you to the peak, he yelled without even looking back at me. It was irresponsible, but damn if his energy wasn't contagious. I followed suit, choosing to clip on only when needed. I was so focused on my footing I didn't notice Alex was gone until taking a breather and looking up. There was nothing but motionless metal wreckage around. Alex! The only reply was my own echo. I went to shout again when I heard him call out from somewhere.

About 20 feet above, Alex crawled out of a gap in the metalwork. He beckoned me to follow. I jumped down with a hollow thud into what looked like an old cargo container. Whoa, has this been here the whole time? Flakes of rust hung lazily from its corrugated walls, framing a gloomy image of Alex beside a dusty, table, an appealing green fold-up chair. Well, it didn't just appear overnight, did it? Alex scoffed. What do you think? New base of operations? He turned to the scant tabletop.

Its only residence were an old-fashioned radio and some kind of microphone or transceiver. I don't know, man. Bit depressing in here, but with some decoration. I trailed off as Alex fiddled with the radio dials. A dim blue display flickered to life and the radio hissed out static. Dude, Alex yelped while adjusting through frequencies. My dad used to have one of these. If we get walkie-talkies, we can... A sudden hush replace the static. Then a low, almost inaudible buzz,

underlining another sound emerging from the radio waves. Then we heard it. Ears! Cover your ears! I screamed, slapping my hands over my drums with such force it sent a painful compression down my ear tubes. I looked back over to Alex. My stomach felt as if it plummeted, stories. His arms swayed limply by his sides, eyes locked on the radio. I'm not sure exactly what

happened at that moment. The next thing I remember was kicking the radio onto the floor, hands still clamped around my head, then stomping it into scattered pieces. That brief span couldn't have been more than ten seconds. I grasped Alex by the shoulders and spun him around. His limbs felt stiff, but his eyes are what stick with me to this day. They were murky, churning mist in their depths. eyes of an old dog. The shine was gone too, like every molecule of moisture vanished, leaving his eyes matte and dull. I shook him. When that didn't work, I slapped him. Nothing. Alex just stared vacantly at a distant point. Adults. Need to get adults, I croaked through the hard lump in my throat. Without a word, I pulled myself up and out from the belly

of the metal mountain and flew down the beams and bars with reckless abandon. I had to walk around the scrapyard for a few minutes until a single bar of service. popped up. I phoned my dad without hesitation. Dad, I'm at the, um, scrapyard. Alex, he, he heard it. Wait right where you are. I'm coming. There was nothing else that needed to be said. My dad arrived with three other men in a pickup. After a brief explanation and a pointing finger, they set off up the grimy heap for Alex. When they came back, Alex was slung over the largest man's shoulder. They set him in the middle back seat for the ride back, stuffing me in the back. It was hard to hear their conversations.

Still, I swear I heard someone say, would have been better off leaving him there. The rest of Saturday blurred together. My mind was elsewhere. Afternoon bled into evening, bled into night, with oily storm clouds rolling in from the west. I stared out my window through the pattering droplets that died on the glass in small hollow taps. Amid the clear runnels sat a solitary hill on the edge of town, shunned by the trees around it. I understood its predicament then, on Alex's behalf. The whistle, whatever Alex heard in it, whatever it had done to him, left him alone.

Daylight drained over the horizon, yet in the fading dusk, a small figure slowly marched its way up that hill. Dim shades of orange and yellow shone from Alex's blonde hair. My eyes widened. What was he doing? He crested the hill under encroaching shadows and stopped at its peak. I could barely make out his silhouette, eclipsing the face. eclipsing the low sun. His head pulled back, and though it was hard to tell, I think his mouth was moving.

The only way I could describe it was that he was speaking into the sky, into the murky clouds that would swallow his words for themselves. Hey, hon, my mom's sudden coup jolted me back to reality. Bedtime. She didn't comment on my obvious surprise, probably thought it best to ignore the present and let me calm down. It's going to be okay, Billy. None of it was your fault. What about Alex? She hesitated. He... he's very sick now. I don't know how much longer he has, but he'll find peace. He won't be in pain. I'm just glad it wasn't. She trailed off in a sniffle and stroked my hair. Just try and get some rest, baby. Okay, Mom, I love you. You too. More than the world and the stars and everything between. I don't know when I drifted into sleep, only that it was long after. The next thing I remember is being ripped out of a hazy dream or... nightmare by my dad shaking. His hands pulled away after placing ear defenders on my head. He passed me a torn notebook page, scrawling capitals reading, stay here, do not. Take the headphones off till I'm back. I nodded and pulled my covers up tight, watching the hallway light shrink to a

sliver through the door as dad left. The shock of it all made everything come rushing back, Alex and the hill. I sprang off the mattress and over to the window, parting the curtains just a to peek outside. Other than swinging flashlight beams, it was nearly pitch black outside. Still, I knew where the hill was. Such a familiar sight, it had become something close to muscle memory. Squinting in its direction, I frowned. A messy array of dots punctured the night, blinking in strange neon greens and blues. An empty sky told me the cloud cover hadn't yet passed. Whatever towered out there in the darkness was below the clouds. Close, real. I retreated into the sheets.

Maybe it was just some sort of faraway radio tower I'd never seen before that just so happened to line up with the hill. An ambient breeze blew in the headphones over my ears, like hearing waves in a seashell. The idea of the whistle warming its way through the white noise terrified me, and I curled up under the covers. Sometime later, my bedroom door opened. I didn't see or hear it, but felt it. A light tapping on my shoulder beckoned me to emerge, and my dad gently removed my ear to defenders. What's happening, Dad? The, the lights. Where's Alex? He didn't answer, only hugging me and whispering that we'd talk in the morning, promptly gliding out of my room and leaving me alone.

Sleep never came. How could it? I had so many questions, so much fear and so much guilt. It seemed so damn obvious. An old radio. Just like the one on the day, Grandpa saved me. The same events played out, only I couldn't save Alex as Grandpa. had me. I thought of asking him about it all, but he was still the same old man with little to say. Sure, finding answers was enticing, but it wouldn't fix my mistakes. It wouldn't change the way things had become. When day broke, I parted my curtains reluctantly. The hill was empty. The only difference I could tell was that the grass looked all cut up, earth hewn from its place, lacerated, torn up. I refused to stare any longer and went downstairs. I stood in the kitchen,

hesitantly looking through the window at Grandpa sitting on the porch. Would he comfort me or shoe me away? In the end, I turned my back to the sun rays and headed upstairs. With Grandpa on my mind, a light bulb flickered on. I remember when he moved in a few years ago he'd lugged a bunch of old dusty boxes up the stairs. He definitely didn't put them anywhere on the first floor, so he must have stuffed them up in the attic.

Mum was reading downstairs while Dad occupied himself with gardening. Can't blame either of them for distracting themselves. The attic hatch cord creaked, and I feared it might snap, but the latch released, and the bolt-on ladder's segment slid apart, hitting the floor with a soft thump. I climbed the cold rungs and had to stifle a cough after inhaling the stale, dust-choked air. I spent some time searching in forgotten corners, and behind low roof joists until a stack of beaten cardboard boxes caught my eye.

There wasn't any writing on them, no names or dates. With their split edges and sagging corners, I got the impression they were what I was looking for. The boxes held bundled stacks of papers, some faded photo albums, and the treasure of my hunt, a leather-bound diary. The spine cracked as I flicked through its pages. Most of the contents were mundane, everyday life, until I stopped at a series of late May entries from 72. I won't bother writing it in my own words. The raw details are more than enough. This is what it said, May 23, 1972.

I need to get it out because if I don't, I'm scared that I'll forget it. Not that I want to remember. I want to forget. I want that more than anything. But if I forget, it'll come back and put someone else in danger. It'll take someone the way it took Jim Paulson. I need to start this at the beginning, or as close to the beginning as I can. Jim and I worked at Reynolds Quarry together.

We didn't know each other beyond that. Not really. Sometimes he'd be there when we went out for drinks as a crew, but mostly we just kept to ourselves. I didn't know Jim, but I like to think he was a good man. He had this big belly laugh. No matter how bad the joke was, he'd give a chuckle and slap his knee and tell you, you're funnier than Bob Hope. I think he was married. Yes, his wife was named Regina. They had three kids with another on the way. I should call her and have Cecil. send over a casserole or something. No woman should go through what she's going through right now. Lillian Pierce worked for the quarry too. The secretary we all called her Nurse Lily because she was in night school for nursing. She'd also patch us up when we got hurt. I think some of the men came to her with bumps and bruises

that didn't really need looking at, but she was professional about the whole thing, always had a smile and a kind word, always sent you back to work feeling great. I always wondered why Nurse Lily wasn't married. She was still young, only 30. I know people who would have called her an old maid, but she had time. Her whole life was laid out in front of her.

She could have had whatever she wanted, a nursing job, a husband, a sweet little baby. I shouldn't be sentimental over Nurse Lily. I can't get sentimental now. Getting sentimental will only cloud my thinking and prevent me from remembering how it really happened. I think that's what it wants. I think it's filling my head with sweet thoughts of Nurse Lily and Jim Paul. As I said, Jim and I weren't good friends. We worked together. It never went beyond that. I'm getting distracted. I keep feeling that if I don't write about it, it won't be real. It is real. It happened. God damn. It happened. There was an explosion. I remember that. When the dynamite went off, Jim and I had laid the wire and were climbing up out of the quarry. I remember the pain in the side of my head, ringing in my ears. warm wet crimson running down the side of my face.

Doc Hanlon says that flying debris ruptured my eardrum. I don't remember that. What I do remember is seeing Jim's face covered in blood. His hands pressed over his eyes, his mouth open in a distant wail. He was next to me, but he sounded like he was ten miles away. I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him out of the quarry. The other men helped us to nurse Lily's station.

She had this little office in a trailer where she did paperwork and kept first aid supply. I saw her through the window. She was wearing this little yellow blouse and had her hair tied back with a red ribbon, and I remember thinking that we'd ruin her blouse with all the blood. She jumped up and ran to us, ushering us in. I remember her shoving Jim into a chair. She grabbed her first aid kit, and I remember thinking that it wouldn't be enough. Jim had moved one of his hands, and his left eye was bright red, bathed in blood. The skin around it was shredded, blood streaming down over his face, seeping onto his shirt and pooling at his collar. Whatever had hit me in the ear had hit him in the eye.

I sat and pressed my hand against the side of my head. My ear was a wet, pulpy mass. Nurse Lily had this little radio on her desk. She always had music on. She used to sort of dance to it as she moved around the office. I don't know why I'm writing about that now. I suppose it wants me to. It wants me to think about Nurse Lily dancing instead of what really happened.

The music was there until it wasn't. The music stopped. I don't really remember when, but it did all of a sudden. A low droning sound started instead, sort of like a shrill whine, or maybe a whistle. This long low note just filled the air. I'll be deaf in that ear for the rest of my life, but that day, my dead ear probably saved me. Nurse Lily was pressing bandages against his face, her mouth moving a mile a minute as she tried to tell him that things would be okay, the ambulance was on its way, and he'd be all right. Jim Paulson just got to. up and walked out of Nurse Lily's office. He just got up and walked outside. She ran after him. At first I thought that she was trying to get him to come back, but once she caught up to him, she just walked alongside him. They went outside together. I didn't go after them. I watched from the window as they marched out towards the quarry. I should have gone after them. I should have. I shouldn't have let them, but I don't think I could have stopped it. Jim tilted his head back till he was staring up at the sky.

His face turned blue. I've seen a face turned blue before. My boy's face turned that exact shade before I realized he was choking and slapped his back until he threw up chunks of hamburger. But Jim wasn't choking. His skin glowed like the fuzz

you see on the TV when the rabbit ears need to be adjusted. It was so bright, so bright. I covered my face, but I could still see it. Jim's mouth opened and a long, thin wire sprouted up like a vine snaking up through the dirt. The wire was black and thin, barely visible.

Little satellites budded along it, blooming like obscene iron flowers. My teeth began aching then. It felt like the filings were trying to get out of my back teeth. I remember thinking that that mine wanted to grow and stretch like his. I swear I felt the metal wiggling. I think I was screaming. More wires were starting to grow out of Jim's head. They sprouted from his ruined eye sockets.

I didn't notice Nurse Lily. Not at first. She bolted, running forward and clawing at her face, her pretty face. Wires were growing up out of her eyes and nose and mouth, stretching up towards the sky. She stumbled forward, clawing and scratching, trying to pull the wires out of her skin. I didn't realize how far away she was. I should have run after her. I should have found a way to stop her.

I was so focused on the metal warming up out of her flesh. I didn't fully realize that she was running for the quarry. She threw herself into it. I think maybe she knew what was happening. She knew that something was inside of her, tearing through her flesh in an attempt to get out, violating her from the inside out. She knew that there was no hope,

and so she did what Jim Paulson couldn't bring himself to do. She threw herself into the quarry and ended it. God help me, I should have stopped her, I should have saved her, she had her whole life left to live. I can't think that way, not after what happened to her face. That metal was rooted somewhere deep inside of her, ripping its way out. Maybe if it had just been the metal, things would have been all right.

But it wasn't just the metal and the wires. There was something else. Something took over Jim Paulson. Something made him different. Something reached into him, yanked out his soul, and took over his body. That's what I tell myself anyway. The alternative is worse, because the alternative is that Jim was still in there, watching as the metal monstrosity piloted his body. He looked so relieved at the end. God forgive me for not helping. God forgive her. They say suicide is a sin, but I think God will forgive Nurse Lily. If there is a God, if he is just an all-knowing, if he truly does love and care for us, then he'll forgive her. But I know deep down that if such a God exists, he never would have let it happen in the first

place. May 24th, 1972, Jim Paulson is dead. I've told everyone who will listen. Jim Paulson is dead and nothing can bring him back. May 25th, 1972. God forgive me. Jim would have done the same for me. I know he would have. May 26th, 1972. I told Doc Hanlon to take a look at my teeth. They haven't been the same since I heard that sound, that whistle. Doc Hanlon says that it looks like my fillings melted and flowed out over my teeth, that my back teeth are covered in metal. He kept asking me how it happened, and I didn't have an answer for him. I begged him to take them out. He balked, telling me that they were still good healthy teeth, but I offered him some cash, and he finally got the pliers and Novacane. He took out four of my teeth, the ones with the

fillings. It looks like someone poured metal all over my teeth. I threw them out. I couldn't bear to look at them. Every time I did, I felt that strange twitchy sense. in the back of my mouth, like the teeth were still in there, and they were moving around, trying to reach out for something. My mouth hurts like a son of a bitch, but at least they're out of my head. May 27, 1972. I can't stop thinking about that night. Every time I close my eyes, I see that faint gleam of relief I saw in Jim Paulson's one good eye right before I pulled the trigger and splattered what was left of his brains across the quarry. God help me. God. God. God. forgive me. It was getting dark when I put down the diary. Mom was calling me down for dinner.

I ate in silence while my parents talked about the most mundane things. Rising Onion Price, checking the muffler on the family car. They wanted the nightmare to be over, and the best way to do that was to pretend. I couldn't do that. Not yet. While mom and dad cleaned up, I got time to sit down with my grandpa out on the porch. There was still a red crack across the horizon, as the last rays of sunlight clung to the distant tree line. I'd brought the diary and sat down next to the old man. I looked up at him. Grandpa, can we talk? I asked. He met my gaze and noticed the diary. He shook his head. No, son. He patted me on the back and grinned. Get on the other side. Can't hear you. We switched sides. And I gave him the diary. He ran his fingers across the pages,

feeling the indent of his pen. You shouldn't read people's diaries, he said. That's secret. Sorry, I said. I was scared. About the, uh, kid, Alex? Yeah. He rubbed my shoulder and put down the diary. It only feels bad for a while, then it all goes away. You'll forget. I don't want to. Grandpa turned to me with a grunt. He looked at me like he was trying to read the fine print of a book. How do we do better if we keep forgetting things, I said. We adapt. After a few times it starts to feel normal. Look at your mom and dad. I peeked through the window. Sure enough, they were just washing dishes like nothing ever happened. To them, this had all been a scare, like seeing a snake in the front yard, but that was all there was to it.

One day later, and they were already making plans for the week. Why didn't you leave? I asked. When that happened, in the book? It doesn't want you to, and while you hesitate, it makes you forget, makes you think it's normal. Did you try? He looked down at the diary, closing it. it. No, son, I didn't. I got us a lemonade. The sun had fallen well below the horizon, but the glow from the house was enough for me to see a smile coming back to his face. Don't you want to live here? he asked. It's beautiful. Houses are cheap. You pay attention to this one thing and it becomes nothing. Doesn't have to be worse than, living in a town with a lot

of black bears. I pondered it for a while. Grandpa looked at me intently. Finally I shook my head. Bears just eat you. They don't kill what makes you into you, like with Jim. Grandpa nodded, sipping his lemonade. Fair point. Mom called me back in to help with the laundry. Grandpa stayed out, running his hands across his diary. His smile was fading. Maybe thinking about Jim for the first time in years dislodged something in his mind. I did my chores, read some comic books, and tried my best to think about something else for a while. By the time I got in bed, my parents were convinced I'd forgotten about the whole thing. Maybe they had, but I hadn't. As mom tucked me in, Grandpa came up to say goodnight. Mom left us alone for a moment. As she closed

the door behind us, he sat down next to me and rubbed my hair. I know you're scared, he said. If you could leave this town, would you? I don't know. This is important, son. If you stay too long, and if this becomes too normal, you'll stay forever. Right here with mom and dad, and all the pretty girls in school, and all these nasty nightmares will fade. But they'll still be there, right? Even if I don't remember them? Grandpa sighed and squeezed my hand. Yeah, he said.

They will. Then I guess I'd want to leave. Even if it's just you? Even if you have to leave mom and dad in school behind? Even in the dark, I could see the glint in his eyes. What he asked wasn't just a hypothetical. This was something consequential. Still, thinking back on Alex and how easily people forgot about him, the answer was simple.

I could never live here, knowing that death was a whistle away. And knowing I could one day be okay with it, well, that's terrifying. Yeah, I said. I want to leave. Then we'll fix that, he said. Tomorrow, all right? All right. I barely slept that night.

There were too many questions running through my mind. I kept thinking about the diary and the vivid imagery that grandpa paid. I thought about the look on Alex's face after he'd heard the whistle. I felt the surge of anger in my chest when I smashed that radio. There were so many emotions brewing under my skin, and I couldn't keep track of what to feel. So instead, I just lay awake, shaking, hoping to feel some rest before dawn. By morning, I'd gotten about three hours of sleep. Dad went to work, and Mom took me grocery shopping.

At lunch she went out to meet some of her friends. and I got to stay with Grandpa for a few hours. I didn't mind. Grandpa and I went to the park. We found a quiet bench overlooking a duck pond. We just sat there for a while before he handed me an envelope. You know the bus stop at the north side? The one past the malt mill?

I nodded, tracing the edge of the envelope. It had an elegant to William text written on the front. There's a bus that goes by there every midnight, Grandpa said. And you can get on that bus and never look back. Where would I go? He handed me a crisp $100 bill. An old friend of mine can meet you at the end station. But do you really want this?

Do you really want to leave? The ducks played in the pond, quacking contently. The wind made the reeds whistle a subtle tune. Yeah. Then tonight you go to that bus. You don't tell a soul about it. You just go and don't look back. Take your bike and keep your ear defenders on until you step foot on that bus.

Will the whistle let me leave? It will. How? Grandpa gave me a handful of unsalted oats for me to feed the ducks with. I was swarmed by a dozen happy birds, and still, the reeds whistled. You know when a predator is the most vulnerable? he asked. No. When it eats. So to get it to look the other way, and for you to get out, it has to eat. I don't get it. It's all there, Grandpa said, tapping the envelope. Don't read it until you get on that bus. Are you coming with me? I can't, son. He smiled. No one can. The day went on as any other. Mom made meatloaf. Dad fell asleep reading the newspaper. It was my time to do the dishes, and I did them better and more thoroughly than I'd ever done before. Everything had this finality to it. I'd hidden Grandpa's letter and the $100 bill in a textbook. I'd stuffed it in my backpack. Later that evening, as I was getting ready for bed, this burning anxiety crept up on me. The same way I felt when my mom used to tell me I could get a single toy from a store. I could never confidently pick one, and this was the same thing. I didn't know what would happen, and I didn't know what would be the best thing to do.

Then again, the choice had already been made. The envelope was right there. I'd never really been close to my grandpa up until now, and having him do this for me, whatever it was, seemed like the right thing. So when the clock struck 11 p.m., it was time to go. I used the bathroom, filled up a plastic bottle of water, packed my two favorite shirts, and snuck out the door with my ear defenders snug and safe. I got on my bike and followed a side road downtown. From a distance I could tell something wasn't right. There were too many lights on. This wasn't the kind of town with an active nightlife, except on New Year's Eve. A few cars passed me by, breaking the speed limit. One of them went by so fast I couldn't see who drove it. All I saw was a cracked side window and a tendril whipping back and

forth like a wounded eel. There was a woman screaming. I didn't hear her, but I saw a wide open mouth with a protrusion. Seconds later, I saw the taillights disappear into a ditch, more cracked windows, something red. As I got closer to town, I noticed that it wasn't intense midnight lights that I'd seen. It was fire. I thought about what Grandpa had said, that a predator is at its vulnerable when it's feeding. This was the feeding. This was what it looked like, the entire downtown area losing their minds. I kept moving forward, keeping my eyes on the road. Even so, there were some things that were impossible to look away from. The white tires of my bike were stained with blood, leaving a red trail behind. I kept coughing from the smoke. The body of the guy who owned the

hardware store was kneeling in the middle of the street, having set himself on fire. His neck was almost a foot too long, and his mouth was wide open towards the sky. I could see two people fighting in a parking garage, one of them beating the other with a meat mallet. They were a tangled mess of clothes and blood, and I couldn't see which one was doing what, but I could see they had a total of five arms. People had been rushing for their cars. Some didn't make it. There was this one woman who had lost her left arm, where these long threads of metal had burst out. They stretched back an entire block, slowly wrapping around a light post and pulling her lifeless body back. In one car there was a guy leaning against the horn while something sharp kept pushing against his

mouth from the inside. One man had climbed up and torn open a part of a power line, frying himself, leaving only a mockery of a bird's nest behind, and the charred smile of a skull. Madness, complete visceral madness. Finally, as I reached Main Street, I saw Grandpa's favorite pub. There was a raging inferno inside, and I couldn't bear to count the bodies littered on the street. I peddled past, stopping only to see if I could spot someone inside, and there he was. Grandpa, sitting in his favorite spot, he'd been pierced through the throat by a steakhouse knife. At the table in front of him was a portable shortwave radio with its volume turned up to max, and a half-finished glass of lemonade. I kept going. I could see shadows of inhumane things dancing in the fire,

some of them hobbling in my direction. I couldn't hear them, but I felt the tremble of high-pitched wine struggling against my ear defenders. Dehydrated eyes stared at me, begging for whatever salvation there could be in my death. I turned one last corner, down by the malt mill, one last push to get through town, and there, I saw what Grandpa really meant by feeding the predator. In the entrance of the mill, there must have been a stampede. People had gotten stuck. What was left of them were eating each other.

There was almost nothing human left. The wires squirmed with each other in the bile of their human parts, a nest of worms, rat tails, and black snakes. I could see faces in the black nest, intact human faces with blank eyes. Their mouths were opening and closing as if trying to whisper to me. Something was winning. The other faces, one by one, were torn apart by wires

and consumed into the black storm, until only one remained. One human head. The whirlwind of wires slowed, and the thing began to take form. The mess spilled onto the road. I could feel a voice telling me to move, but I could not move until I had seen. What we were to become, what this was all about. I wanted to hear what they were whispering to me.

The man's head wrapped in black wires spiraled to the top of the beating, pulsing mass. The once human mass of wires began to stretch upwards, a coiled cobra raising its head. It began to take a hauntingly, nightmarishly familiar shape. It was a pylon. We were playing with dead bodies in the scrapyard. The head is on top. His mouth still opening and closing. He was trying to broadcast a whistle.

I realized then. I couldn't get past this. I would never leave. What was I thinking? It was too late. He would sing me my lullaby and I would slumber forever. Past the wall of black wiry flesh. The bus station stood there.

I could make out the outline of a man standing there. What was I thinking? Raise your foot and bring it down in front of you. You are going to walk forward. The flood of wires twitched towards me and I saw my foot move. One foot backing away, the other foot backing to match. You are going to leave. You are going to live.

I wish that thought was the one that convinced me. But at that point my one preteen unpoetic thought was, Screw this. I hate this town. Seriously, screw this. I bolted across the path with my eyes shut and screaming like a banshee. The sound of a whirlwind of wires rose around me as the monster felt me. I heard the zip of wires close to my face and felt sharp fingers scraping on my cheeks,

but he couldn't catch me. The thirty-second bolt threw snapping wires and there was nothing but air on my cheeks and the whistling of behind me. I snapped my eyes open and turned. The nest was stapled to the spot, their wires increasingly bound to the metal frames. The wires reached out in vain but receded further and further into the monstrosity. Once rooted, they weren't supposed to leave, I guess. But I was.

With joy in this thought, I kept running all the way to the bus station. It was empty. At this point in the night, only one other person was there, the last of my grandfather's instructions. The man was standing there. He wore a quarry uniform covered in dirt, a hospital mask, and sunglasses. Dirty and grimy, he leaned against the wall and stared at me. Breathing hard, I couldn't speak out, but I knew it had to be him.

He was looking at the monster pylon, building itself out there. The whole scene left him unfazed. He gestured upon the pylon monster in contemplation. They're feeding a lot. There'll be no whistle tonight. In between breaths, I asked, so we can leave, right? They don't just have a seeking whistle, boy. There's one more independent countermeasure right here,

and another down the road. I stumbled closer. Who are you? You've heard of me, Billy. I'm an old friend of your grandpa. I was too close. One hand grabbed my hair as he brought his eyes down to mine. His mouth was full of wires. My ear defenders were snatched and smashed into the ground. Listen, boy, I want you to hear me. Liquid. I could hear the cold liquid static issuing from Jim's decade's dead body.

Boy, why leave, boy, stay with your family, have a family, grow the family, stay in the farm for the harvest. He grabbed my arms. Under the thin skin, his fingers felt like bags of snake. I'm leaving. Screw you. I'm leaving. He grinned, and the wires inside his wriggled like snakes. Today's early harvest is acceptable compensation. He leaned in. You can leave, boy. He let go of my arms. I could still feel the wriggling sensation of the wires under his skin. Better thank your grandpa for this. Your strain will be salvaged. Your parents will provide another crop. He raised an arm to the southern road. Walk down that road. Is, isn't there a bus going there? Why would there be a bus out of here? No one ever leaves. He raised his arms in a gesture,

encompassing everything. But feel free to come back down when you get the itch boy. You never forget your hometown. Bring your family. Listen to the tunes. The thing in Jim's skin stood stock still, grinning with his mouth open, wires writhing inside. He was like that when I left the station, even as I looked back constantly to make sure. That would be the last conversation I had in my town. Down the street, I found what I expected out there. A maze of ruined, burned cars blocked the street. Some had their roofs ripped open as something emerged. Others still had half-formed wires and meshed with bones and vacationing clothes. The radios inside all looked dead and burned out. Still, I got off the road and headed into the wilderness, not rejoining till the sun rose and the road was empty. I was the only thing moving on that road. I wonder if I was the last. You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save?

Enough. Enough to get lost. Or you could book a stay with Hilton. Welcome to your ocean front room. Just steps from the water. The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected.

When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right, so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade.

Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right. We'd been wanting an adventure before starting a family, and the pandemic. was the kick-up the butt we needed. While we were involuntarily housebound, we did a lot of research, and decided on traveling the Americas for three months. We're from the east of England, so quite frankly anywhere would have been an adventure. We were fortunate to be in a position where a three-month sabbatical was a comfortable option for us. My grandparents were wealthy, and had left me a generous

sum when they passed, and my husband Joseph and I both had great jobs. I had just turned 30 the week before we left, Joseph was 32. It just felt right. A now or never type scenario. Calgary was our first destination, followed by Vancouver. Then we traveled through the western states of the U.S. down to Mexico. We were just over a month in by the time we reached Guatemala, where we were staying in a forest campsite next to Mayan ruins. On our first night, Joseph excitedly called out to me as I towel-dried my hair after an outdoor shower. Danny, come look at this. There was a tarantula in the corner of our spacious tent. One of the employees said it was harmless, and he even offered for us to handle it before

moving it outside of camp. I was apprehensive, but I briefly held it after my husband, such a surprisingly delicate creature. This was definitely the adventure I had wanted. I felt a million miles away from home in the best way possible. On our second full day, we hiked a trail that was noted for its wildlife spotting opportunities, particularly various monkey and bird species. In the process of taking a picture, I dropped my phone and was taken by surprise as a small monkey

took off with it. Hey! I yelled out. I don't believe it. What's up, Danny? asked Joseph, a little ahead of me. I couldn't help but laugh. A monkey just took my phone. Seriously?

He asked, jogging to me. Where did it go? In the trees over there. Little sod, he said, running in that direction. Joseph, don't bother, it's gone. We're not leaving without trying, he yelled back. I reluctantly went into the trees and caught a glimpse of his shirt in the distance. Please don't go any further, Joseph. We need to stay on the trail.

I think I can see it, I heard him yell. Against my better judgment, I began to weave between the trees, stepping over the foliage. Howler monkeys spoke to each other in the treetops, probably laughing about the dumb British tourists. I spotted a few colorful birds, but didn't have time to observe their beauty, instead pursuing my silly knight in shining armor who I'd lost sight of. Joseph, please call out to me. Over here. I could see him waving, allowing me to breathe. When I reached him, I gave him a hug, then slapped his arm. Ow! I was scared, I said, wiping sweat from my brow. But look, he said, pointing up. I couldn't believe it. The little monkey was sitting on a branch

holding my phone. Hey, little one, I said softly, holding up my hands. Please could you drop my phone down to me? It doesn't speak human, Danny, said Joseph, picking up. a stick. They're very intelligent, I said. Not that intelligent. Also, we're in Guatemala. It's more likely to understand Spanish. He brought the stick back as if he was about to throw it. I grabbed his wrist. You are not throwing sticks at the local wildlife, Jesus Christ. Well, asking nicely didn't work, he said, pulling away from me. But then there came a thud as my phone bounced a few feet away from us. It was undamaged, too, the soft ground cushioning its fall. I was happy that we could head back to the trail, but that was short-lived.

Several hours passed, and we couldn't find our way out of the forest. Joseph did his best to console me, but I could tell he was scared, too. As the ground began to feel softer, and the air more dense and humid, we realized we were nowhere near where we had come from. Even the plant life looked different. I couldn't help but snivel as my nerves got the better of me. A weight was lifted when we spotted a solitary house in a clearing. Joseph, look, I yelled with relief. There was a sudden rustling in the plants to our left,

followed by a deep growl. We only had a second to acknowledge it before a large crocodile snapped its jaws in our direction. I screamed as Joseph pulled me towards him. Dejarlas, we heard a woman yell from the house. The crocodile's growls became quieter as it backed up out of sight. We hurried to the moderately sized wooden house, which was elevated a little from the ground on stilts. A woman stood on the steps leading up to the door. She was around her mid-thirties with raven black hair that spilled over her shoulders. She was beautiful. She was also heavily pregnant.

"'Hola,' said Joseph a little out of breath. "'Por favor, or lost, perdito.' "'I speak English,' she said. "'Please come inside.' She turned and walked up the steps. Joseph and I looked at each other, briefly hesitating before following her into the house. Once inside I broke down. Gracias, I cried.

Joseph put his arm around me as the woman took my trembling hands in hers. I have something for your anxiety, she said. Sit down. We don't want to be a bother, said Joseph. If you could just point us. No bother, she said. Please sit. We took off our backpacks and sat at a table in the rustic kitchen.

I was surprised to see electric-powered lighting, as wherever we were felt off the green. rid. The woman boiled some water on a stove, then started to prepare food. She put a plate of fruit on the table along with some bread, various spreads, and some sliced meat. Eat, she said with a smile, turning back to the stove. I looked at Joseph who just shrugged. Despite our reservations, we were famished. I used my fingers to eat some mango and banana. Joseph braved the unidentified meat, making a sandwich with one of the spreads which he said was similar to horseradish. The woman came back and put two hot cups on the table. It smelt strong with herbs and spices.

You drink this, you feel better, she said warmly. Thank you, I said, taking a small sip along with Joseph. It was so bitter it made my face screw up. Joseph audibly groaned in disgust, then looked incredibly apologetic. The woman laughed. It does not taste good, but it is good for the soul. She tapped her chest and forehead. We didn't want to be rude, so we continued drinking it. I'm Danny, by the way, and this is my husband Joseph. I am Lorena, she said. Are those crocodiles dangerous? Ask Joseph.

They can be, she said, taking a seat as she lovingly rubbed her large belly. But we share this land, so we must respect one another. Will this be your first child? I asked. She nodded. I am very blessed. Congratulations, I said, reaching across to take Joseph's hand. We'd like to start a family of our own too once we're back

home. Speaking of which, said Joseph, we'd really appreciate your help getting back to our camp. Is there a path we can take, or? It will be dark soon, said Lorena. It will not be safe after dark. You can stay here tonight. We couldn't put you out like that, I said. I insist, she said. You will find your way tomorrow. I looked at Joseph as if to say do something, but he just shrugged. You're very kind, Lorena, he said. We're incredibly grateful, thank you. I fret. I fred. freshened up, feeling gross and sticky from the day's heat. Fortunately, I'd packed a spare top and shorts in my backpack, thinking that they could come in handy for that very reason. While Joseph was in the bathroom, Lorena showed me around. It was as quaint and rustic as you'd

expect a house in the rainforest to be. An impressive collection, I said, observing a large wall of books. You like to read? she asked. Oh yes, I adore reading. My favorite author is Virgilio Rodriguez-McCoh She showed me his works on the shelf and stroked the spine of one called El Mundo del Mysterio Verde. This is my favorite book. I'm afraid my Spanish is terrible, I laughed. I would understand very little. We went to the back of the house where there was an elevated deck over a large expanse of water, with trees and plants growing directly out of it.

The sun was beginning to set, and it gave it such a warm glow. Wow, I said. What a view. Welcome to the swamp, said Lurina. Are you out here alone? I asked. You haven't mentioned the baby's father. She looked down and stroked her belly, a small smile on her lips. I am alone now, but not for long. I'm sorry if I asked too much. I have my sisters nearby, and them too. She nodded to the water where some crocodiles had surfaced. I got a little shiver. In England we look out back and might see the neighbor's cat, or the odd hedgehog. Here it's something that wants to eat you. She laughed. We have

cats, too, but they also might want to eat you. She groaned a little and held her belly. Ooh, she is moving tonight. May I? She smiled and took my hand, gently pressing it against her. I could feel as her baby turned inside. How does it feel? I asked. She sighed. Magical, like the greatest honor. It is hard to explain. I understand, I said. I honestly can't wait for that next chapter in my life. At least I hope for that next chapter. You will be a great mother, Danny, she said. I feel it. I smiled.

Thank you, Lorena. So will you. The baby kicked out suddenly, making me flinch. I laughed it off as we went back inside. Lorena kindly put us up in a spare bedroom. Joseph stared at me intently as we lay on the unfamiliar bed. He brushed the hair from my face and kissed me, his other hand stroking my inner thigh.

Joseph, I said. We can't, not here. I don't know what it is. Maybe the fact that Lorena, is smoking. Hey, I laughed, playfully slapping him, but I couldn't deny I felt the same way too. We made love, then fell asleep to the sounds of nature. I woke up in the early hours when it was still dark. I stirred for a while but became restless, so I left the bedroom and went to the deck for fresh air. The swamp was bathed in moonlight, giving it an enchanting look. Despite the

terrifying experience of being lost earlier, I felt grateful that it had led us to Lorena and this beautiful part of the world. As I was looking around, I spotted something in the forest to the left. There was something white that stood out, but I couldn't quite tell what it was at that point. As I kept staring, I began to notice small details and realized I was looking at the skull of a large animal. Its empty eye sockets appeared to be looking in my direction. I assumed it was attached to a tree, as it was suspended a few feet from the ground, but it turned and disappeared into the forest. I gasped and stepped back.

When I turned to go back inside, Lorena was standing in the doorway, making me scream. I did not mean to scare you, she said. Lorena, I said, clutching my hands to my chest. I just, I saw something in the trees, a skull, a large animal skull. I was breathing heavily as she took my hands. You are far from home, Danny.

We have different ways here. There are villages nearby with ancient tribes. Some of these tribes wear the skulls as a, how you say, I shook my head. Tradition? Superstition? See, like this. Oh my goodness, I said. Are they dangerous? No, she said, not to us. I took a deep breath and laughed uneasily.

Well, I wanted an adventure, and I certainly got that. I went back to bed thinking I wasn't going to get any sleep at all. But within minutes of hearing Joseph's gentle breaths, I joined him. I awoke to sunlight and the smell of something delicious cooking, as well as an empty bed. Joseph was eating breakfast in the kitchen. Good morning, I said, and Lorena was already guiding me to sit at the table, putting a plate of eggs and avocado in front of me. You are spoiling us, Lorena.

It is my pleasure, she said. Danny, said Joseph, Larina is fishing this morning, and I offered to help. You know how much I love to fish. I do, I said. But perhaps we should. be thinking about getting back to camp. I'm sure they were concerned when we didn't come back yesterday. They have our money already, he said. I doubt they care. His response irritated me a little. I disagree. I think they will be searching for us. If not now, then soon. I am sorry, said Larina.

I do not want to cause trouble. Not at all, I said. We're so grateful for what you've done for us, but I worry that we'll be causing trouble by being missing. Danny, we only live once. he said. I don't know what it is, but I love it out here. Just let me have this just for today. Please. I felt like he'd got me in a spot where saying no would make me a monster. How far are we from camp roughly? I asked, telling Lorena where we were based. No more than three hours. You just follow the swamp north. Joseph was looking at me with puppy eyes. Okay, but we should head back this afternoon. Absolutely, he said, thank you, Danny. Larina put a hand on my shoulder. Will you join us?

I contemplated it. You know, it's actually been pretty full on up until now. I think I might take the opportunity to chill on the deck, watch the world go by. Maybe read a book that you do not understand? She laughed. Exactly. New experiences all around. I insisted on washing the dishes, as Joseph and Lorena prepared to head out to a spot a little further up the swamp.

I spent an hour or so on the deck before heading back inside to cool down, checking out Lorena's book wall in more detail. They were all in Spanish from what I could see, but I recognized some of the more famous titles. I found the books by Virgilio Rodriguez Macal. My eyes fell on El Mundo del Mysterio Verde, Lorena's favorite. Something green mystery, I said out loud, chuckling to myself. When I pulled it out, the book only moved slightly, and something in the wall clicked. I was frozen to the spot for a moment before I gently pushed on the wall,

and part of it moved inwards on a hinge. buzz off, I said, taking a step back as cool air blew from within. I'd only seen secret doors and films and had no idea such things existed. On the other side was a dark passageway with stone walls. I looked around like a child about to do something naughty and almost stepped fully inside without propping the door open. The last thing I wanted was for it to close behind me with no way of getting out, so I used a stack of old books that looked like encyclopedias. My heart was racing as I went inside. As I followed the wall, it gradually became lighter, as beams of natural light shone from cracks in the ceiling. The ground was a mixture of stone, dirt, and small plants. The temperature

was cool compared to the rest of the house. I eventually came to a large opening that was lit by larger beams and flame torches on the walls. It was like a massive hall inside an ancient temple. It took me far too long to notice that it was impossible for this room to exist as part of Lorena's house. It was at least double the size alone. My brain couldn't work out where I was as I had only walked in a straight line. I should have been in the swamp. There were several tall trees growing out of the floor. In the center were some stone steps that led up to an idol. I climbed them to get a better look. Carved from stone was the figure of a nude woman, but her head was that of a crocodile. What the hell? I whispered. Lorina had mentioned the local tribes. I assumed. I assumed. I

I assumed this was something they worshipped or used to worship. I gasped as a tarantula made an appearance, crawling from the back of the idol's leg. It looked similar to the one that had been in our tent. I felt compelled to pick it up, as if I was trying to prove a point to myself. So I gently placed a hand near it and used my other to coax it. I held it in my palms like it was made of porcelain.

There came a deep, guttural growl from nearby. I made a sudden move to turn and I guess it startled the spider. It bit my right palm, forcing me to drop it. I watched it scurry away into the darkness as my palm began to sting. I had two puncture wounds that trickled with a little blood. The growl came again, and this time I fell back, my hand making contact with the idle. There was a strange sensation in my arm, like an intense vibration. I pulled my hand away and looked up, the long reptilian face appearing to look down on me.

I backed down the steps, my heart bursting from my chest. There was a loud hiss to my side and a large, very real crocodile snapped at me. I screamed and fell, throwing myself back. It turned to face me but didn't move any closer. It just growled. I quickly got to my feet and ran back down the passageway, feeling relief when the hidden door was still propped open. I ran out of the house and looked around,

making an educated guess where Lorena and Joseph might be. I called their names frantically. I wanted to grab Joseph and leave, find our own way back to camp. As far as I was concerned, the adventure was over. It had now moved into creepy weird territory. I almost fell to my knees when I saw Joseph on the bank of the swamp. Hey, what's up with you? he asked. Where's Lorena? I asked, out of breath. She went back to the house. Why? We need to get out of here now. Danny, he said, grabbing my shoulders. Tell me why. I did my best at explaining what had happened. He started to laugh.

Why are you laughing at me? Danny, look where you are. We're in Central freaking America, not Suffolk. You know about the history and culture. These are not unusual things for this part of the world. But... But the room shouldn't exist. It's...

Shush, Danny. I thought you were more open to cultural differences. You're embarrassing yourself now. I was completely taken aback. I... I am open, Joseph. What I just experienced wasn't like that, though. You want to go? He yelled.

Fine. We'll just crap on Lorena's hospitality and go. Come on. He started to storm away, leaving me feeling uncomfortable. But he stopped and turned back, looking in all directions before he spoke. Screw it. I was going to wait until we got to Peru. People fall from those mountains all the time. But here's as good a place as any. Middle of nowhere. No one out here but sweet Lorena. He started walking towards me and picked up a rock. I don't understand Joseph. You don't really need to understand. I started to back away. You're scaring me.

I do love you in a way, Danny. But one thing I really love about you is your bank account. I couldn't believe what was happening. It made me forget about everything that had come before. But we're going to start a family, he scoffed. I don't want children with you. I never did. My heart was broken and my nerves were shattered in the space of minutes.

Joseph, I cried. you don't have to do this. The money is ours to share. You wouldn't get it anyway. It would go to my parents. Well, I know that's a lie because I was there when you wrote the will. I changed it, I snapped, without your knowledge. He froze and looked at me like he'd been deceived. I don't believe you, but regardless, I kind of have to do this now. I screamed and ran in the opposite direction. Joseph grabbed me from behind and I felt a dull pain on the back of my head. My vision became blurry as I hit the water and made a feeble attempt to stay on the surface. Oh no, he said dramatically. You've fallen in the swamp. Shame about the man-eating crocodiles and all. Joe, please, help,

he screamed from his lungs. Oh, God, help! He smiled at me, waved, then jogged towards the house. I could hear him screaming for Lorena as everything started getting darker. One thing I noticed was on a nearby bank of the swamp. There was another one of those skull people. They appeared to just watch me as I struggled. The last thing I remember is a crocodile on the swamp surface making a beeline towards me, and then I went completely under. I woke up to screams. As my eyes adjusted, I could see warm shades flickering in my peripheral vision. When I sat up, pain shot through the back of my head. I felt the wound that Joseph had inflicted, my hair still damp. As I focused, I could see I was back in the chamber, the ancient hall. There was a large fire bathing it with light.

casting shadows that reached to the ceiling. Joseph was screaming. He was tied to one of the trees. His arms stretched to the sides and tied to protruding branches. Before the idol was Lorena, contributing to the screams. She was on her back with her legs spread. A slightly older woman with a striking family resemblance spoke encouragingly in Spanish, long dark hair covering her bare chest.

A younger, facially similar woman danced around the fire, waving her arms to imaginary music. Her hair was in a pixie style, her body proudly on display. These were Lorena's sisters. Lorena threw her head back and looked right at me, thick veins protruding from her forehead and neck as she groaned in agony. There were crocodiles all around the hall coming to witness the events too. One brushed against me as it passed. It scales rough against my skin.

I cowered, but it showed no hostility. With a final scream, Lorena collapsed, and the sister standing over her smiled wide. Oh, God, no! Joseph screamed from the tree, thrashing his head from side to side. The sister held up Lorena's baby, but it wasn't human. It was reptilian. It had a long tail and a long snout. She said something in Spanish, and the dancing sister repeated it. Lorena slowly got to her feet, looking shaky as she met her sisters by the fire. They chanted together. The sister holding the baby crocodile screamed something,

then she threw it into the flames. A single fireball erupted, then became nothing. but embers. The dancing sister retrieved a knife from the idle steps and skipped towards Joseph. No, you crazy person, he yelled, violently thrashing about. She made two cuts as he screamed, one on each of his inner thighs close to the groin. Blood streamed down his legs, causing two crocodiles below him to hiss and snap in a frenzy. Lerina walked over to me and I rolled over attempting to crawl away. No, Danny, she said breathlessly. She helped me stand up and guided me to the idol, where the sisters were waiting. I cried. Please, Larina, I don't want to be here. It cannot be undone, she said. This is a blessing. When we got to the idol, the older sister took my

right hand and ran her fingers over the small puncture wounds on my palm. She then pointed to the spot on the idol marked with my blood. The three sisters showed their palms, all exhibiting scars from previous self-inflicted wounds. Le diste tu sangre to la Madre, she said, then paused as if taken by surprise. She rushed to me and stroked my belly, then took my face in her hands. "'Eres una hija del pantano,' she said. I look to Lorena for help. You are a daughter of the swamp, she smiled, rubbing my belly. Congratulations. I pushed her hand away and shook my head. No, I don't want to be. I want to go home. The older sister picked up a crocodile skull from the idle steps. It was the top half only, and it had a headband attached inside. She placed it onto the younger

sister's head, then took another and placed it on Lorena. Hea del Pantano, she said, putting a skull on my head before finally putting one on herself. I barely resisted, feeling mentally and physically exhausted. The sisters guided me to the fire where they all began to chant again. Several crocodiles joined us, looking up at the flames. I cried under the skull for myself, and for Joseph. His eyes were wide and delirious, his screams horse from the damage they'd caused. Danny, he stuttered, stop this madness, please.

I felt his anguish. The sisters gripped my arms as they chanted loudly. The flames grew higher and a form began to take shape within, a tall hourglass figure with hair that flowed down to her buttocks and long, scaly jaws filled with pointed teeth. She must have stood at least eight feet tall as she roared into the chamber. I don't know how long she'd been away for, the one the sisters called Madre,

but one thing was clear as she looked at Joseph. She was hungry. This is a Bose moment. You've been there. Small talks going nowhere, but then the Bose speaker kicks in. Music you can feel fills the room, and no more chat with Jenny from accounts. Your life deserves music. Your music deserves Bose.

Find your perfect product at Bose.com. Birds whistle. The wind blows algae and trees rustle in the autumn breeze. Leaves fall off all the trees as peace waves across the landscape. I live in a wooden bungalow, lanterns light up my home with a warm mellow burn. I have a large bedroom with a kitchen and a small bathroom across the room. I hung for my own food, yet recently the food has become more and more scarce, leading me to have to stay out a few hours later on some nights for enough meat to go to bed full.

There are no natural predators, and no hunters would come here as this forest isn't known for its food, but more for its luscious scenery. I've been looking out for whatever may be killing off my prey, but to no avail. I, two nights ago when this began, was out with a sniper rifle. I bent my knees to hide in hopes none of my prey sees me, but it was practically useless. I found a decently large rabbit that could keep me fed for tonight, and possibly tomorrow morning as well. I placed the sniper over my knee and closed one eye, aiming for the back of the skull.

As I was about to pull down on the trigger, I heard frantic rustles behind me. I reopened my eye, turning to my right in case this was some sort of wolf or another dangerous animal. I found nothing. I quickly turned back for the kill, and the rabbit was gone. God damn it. Just as I wanted to finish my sentence, I heard my name. Paul, Paul, please help. I was confused as I lived alone and had no alive family who could have come to see me. I also didn't recognize the voice, but an unknown feeling lured me to go and help. It sounded like a young girl, so if it wasn't just my mind playing tricks and frustration, I could help her and get her to safety. I stood up, beginning to walk in the direction I heard the voice. Paul, please, what? I heard the voice

from behind me, yet it came from the right last time. I second-guessed myself thinking it was my mind. I began to walk back home as the sunset made the sky grow orange, rivers rushing and flowing freely while leaves crunched as I took each step. I got into bed hoping I was just to be. I was just to hearing things, and the river may have messed up my hearing. I put out my lantern and tried sleeping, but tossed and turned in hunger. I eventually fell asleep. Yesterday was as normal, but when I went hunting yet again, I couldn't find any animals whatsoever, not even small insects or birds in the sky. I continued walking around, not worried about getting lost as I've lived here for 16 years, and know each tree like the palm of my hand. As I finally came across a small school,

I groaned in annoyance as though it wasn't nothing. It still wasn't much, and I haven't eaten meat in the past day and have been eating fruit and crops. I aimed my rifle yet again, prepared to shoot yet again, but I once again heard my name. Paul. I yet again wanted to look for the source, but this time ignored it in hunger for some food. As I missed my first shot, the squirrel began to run across the dirt, and I knew it was no use. I arose wanting to find the voice yet again. I began to search knowing it wasn't just my mind. It began to grow dark so I lit a match to see clearer. As I walked, it began to rain and quickly turned into heavy hail as my match was put out.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance and started to walk back home. Paul, help me. The voice sounded much deeper than previously like a fully grown man was forcing his voice to sound intimidating. I stood, frozen in shock, but quickly started running the moment I saw them. Tens of hundreds of white glowing eyes stared me down as they grew closer, edging towards me. I shut my door behind me as a bang crashed against it, and multiple screams echoed in the air. Come outside, Paul, we can't play inside. I ran into my bedroom, locking the door and grabbing my machete for protection, yet I doubted it would do anything.

We can't come inside, come out to play. This made me feel comfortable, as by now they could have broken inside, so, for whatever reason, they probably couldn't do so. I'm writing this now as a final goodbye to this world as I don't think they will leave in the morning. If I survive, I'll update when I get the chance.