Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Spine-Chilling Tales: Scary Forest Stories That Will Haunt You On A Rainy Night

Episode Date: November 9, 2023

These are 2 Spine-Chilling Tales: Scary Forest Stories That Will Haunt You Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Kyaelire/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/RandomAppalachian468/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:07:42 Story 2 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #forest #cryptids 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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For the last few weeks, I haven't slept. I've always had chronic insomnia, but I usually stick to reading or listening to music, that kind of thing. I was chatting to a friend in London recently, and they told me that when they can't sleep, they go for a walk around the city. There's something about sitting by the fountains

in Trafalgar Square that soothes them, something about the way the light bubbles around the water, that fleeting moment of strange stillness in a place that is never really still at all. I live in a little village by the river in rural England. One of those is mainly populated by older adults who spent their youth walking to school through seven feet of snow uphill and are determined that you should know about it. There's a church, a post office, a little shop and a park. That's your lot.

Don't get me wrong. It does me just fine. I moved here because I like the quiet after all. But, except on Friday and Saturday nights when the few teens in the village are let out to play for the evening, The town is pretty much dead by 11 p.m. That's why I thought I would be okay taking a midnight stroll the next time I couldn't sleep unlike in London, where I would be terrified of being mugged or worse. You walk around a quintessentially English country village at night and are more likely to be harassed by an overenthusiastic badger than anything else. The clock strikes three

in the morning, and I have been awake for hours. I tried everything I know how to try, and I'm at the point of staring at the ceiling with sandpaper eyes, fists clenching and unclenching reflexively, brain running through a zoetrope of images and half-thoughts so quickly that I can barely see them anymore. Stuck in that weird, frustrating state, too tired to sleep, too tired to move, but restless, itchy. Bones are heavy, but the skin is crawling. My body feels so displaced and aching without hurting, like a puppet that's been dropped without thoughts or strings. and now has to wait in whatever uncomfortable position it was left in. My brain is so numb, but it won't shut up.

I force myself to move, concentrate, and move one piece at a time, all joints stiff, all limbs disconnected. Sit up, put the light on, get your jacket and shoes on, and open the door. I just about remembered to take my phone as a torch. I step outside and the air is sharp and cool but not cold. October autumn chill, not winter frost, where the early morning air comes at you as it hates you. close the door and stand on the doorstep for a moment, filling reluctant lungs with air,

in and out, it feels nice, clean, and relaxed against stale, sweaty, non-sleep. I walk around the village and immediately begin to feel better. The rhythm of walking is soothing and gently soothes the worst of the onslaught of unformed thoughts into a placated, soperific numbness. The village is still, but not unnaturally so. I can hear unseen nighttime creatures scurrying about in bushes, sometimes catching glances of them as they dart about in shadowy corners. Tranquilized, I walk through the churchyard, along the path that weaves through the graves.

It may be strange, but I've never felt unsafe or spooked there. Nothing moves that shouldn't move in daylight or darkness. And I look up and at the end of the path, just past the beautiful twists of the wrought iron gates. Something vaguely human and very, very big, passes in front of my vision. I'm not good at judging heights, but it must have been 20 feet tall, dressed in a black cloak, the hood up around what should have been a face. It moved silently and gracefully, unhurried, but with purpose. I thought I must be seeing things, tiredness, the movement of shadows, tricks of the light. Besides, soundless things that size do not exist at half-past three in the

morning in little villages, blinked, shook it off, went to bed. The walk did the trick. I slept until it was light. I saw it the next night, and the next. I don't sleep anymore. All in different places, all moving from shadow to shadow, tree to tree. It either didn't notice me or didn't care. But it was real. It doesn't seem to do any harm, and my poor sleep-deprived brain does nothing but freeze. I don't know if I should be scared. I don't know what to do. I can't tell anyone. No one would believe me. I tried to follow it, but it melts into the darkness all. almost as soon as my eyes can focus on it. By the time I've registered what I see, it isn't there anymore. Last night it appeared in the park. It seems to step from nowhere and move soundlessly

towards the small wood, where a cavalcade of senior citizens walked their inevitably tiny dogs just hours before. Something moved beside it just before it slid between the trees, and I realized it wasn't alone. Another figure, just as tall, glided in and out of the wood, one moment a solid shape against the night sky. The next nothing but a shutter in the air. Yet another, its hooded head bowed in silent greeting. Another stoop and brushes its hands. Does it have hands? Against the tree line before slinking into blackness. I stand frozen. Don't know if I breathe if I'm living. Remember what I was told to do when feeling panicky or unreal. One thing you can taste, two things you can smell. Three things you can touch. Four things you can hear. Five things you can see. I can taste my

tongue. It tastes coppery and thick. I can smell the crisp air. The evening's rain on the grass. I can touch the ground. I can handle the sleeves of my jacket. I can take the pads of my index finger against my thumb. I can't feel anything. I can hear leaves rustling in the lazy early morning breeze. I can listen to a grumpy baby grumbling from somewhere in the depths of the village. I can listen to badgers or foxes rustling somewhere in the darkness. I can listen to someone's wind chimes tinkling softly. I can see the bright moon in an almost blinding white tonight. I can see houses filled with blissfully sleeping people. I can see the church uncanny under the half light. I can see the outline of the woods, trees unfurling with the energy of the witching hour. I can see more

and more strange shapes drifting into the trees, more and more tall, thin, clovening. figures melting into the darkness. I don't remember getting home. Some part of me wonders if it is a dream, but it doesn't feel like a dream, a side effect of such a severe bout of insomnia, but I have never experienced anything like this. I don't know what to do, or who to tell, if there's anyone I even could tell. The creatures, people, figures, I don't mean any harm, but what could they want? It's four minutes past ten in the evening. I haven't slept in two days. maybe three, no, two, three, and I wouldn't be this coherent and unable to think a thing. I can't decide what to do if I need to do anything.

So I'm reaching out to you. Tell me I'm not crazy. Please tell me what you think. Someone out there must have seen them. If you can help me, then please help me. It's now six minutes past ten in the evening. In four hours and 54 minutes I will go outside. I will see them again, and I will decide what to do. It is now eight minutes past ten. Please, hurry.

This is a bad idea. I leaned my head against the rain-covered window and watched the dark trees blur past. My stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot. Carla rolled her mascara-ringed eyes at me from the passenger seat of the Civic. You always say that, Hannah, literally every time, and every time it's fine. Yeah, right. I frowned and counted off on my fingers when she'd been wrong. What about that factory in Nashville?

Or the docks in Charleston. or the unfinished subway system under Cincinnati. I still have nightmares about that homeless guy chasing us. Matt let slide a wry grin from thee, even as he carefully maneuvered the low-bottomed car around yet another abandoned police barricade. He was pretty nuts. It's not going to be like last time, all right?

This place is going to be legit, I can feel it. Is that confidence or weed talking? Carla gave him a snide sideways look, clearly trying to push his buttons. Both, baby. Matt returned a carefree wink, ever the gentle optimist, and Carla suppressed a smirk. If we get caught, and they test you, you'll go to jail. She picked at one polished fingernail, little chips of ebony paint flaking onto the dusty carpet.

Nah. Matt swerved back onto the gravel road and pushed down on the accelerator. I'm cool when it comes to talking to the cops. You, on the other hand? The word struck true, and Carla crossed her arms in faux annoyance, though I could tell they were teasing each other. Matt and Carla had been my friend since the eighth grade, and they'd always been opposites.

With two blue-collar parents and five siblings, Matt was laid back, peaceful, and charismatic, the kind of guy who could make anyone smile. More than once, his charm had gotten us out of a tight jam when Matt talked himself into friendship with menacing street thugs, coked out homeless people, and angry police officers alike. On the other hand, Carla was high-strung. the daughter of a wealthy lawyer with a tough love attitude and a knack for trouble. She'd been

suspended twice in school for stealing candy bars from the vending machines and didn't even like chocolate. She did it just for the thrill and to make her single mother furious. Between them, Carla and Matt argued about everything, politics, religion, social trends, and even flavors of ice cream. But there was one thing that brought them together, the same thing that bonded us all as friends and had for close to six years. We loved investigating the paranormal. Well, the word paranormal stretched things a bit. It started with a little blog when we had to do a group project for a computer science class in junior high. Armed with a cheap digital camera, some flashlights, and a complete disregard for curfew, we dedicated ourselves to exploring every inch of our subdivision in Louisville.

Carla was an unapologetic drama queen, acting perfectly enough to convince even even me sometimes. Matt had a way of walking, holding his head, and whispering that made him seem genuinely alarmed, which paired well with Carla's fake terror. Together they paraded in front of the camera, claiming to hear whispers in the storm drains, see faces in the trees at the park, and shadows moving in half-built housing developments. We got an A on that project, and slowly, our blog grew from kids playing around to an internet sensation. Soon, we were exploring. truly creepy areas, including rundown sections of the city that made a haunted house look tame. I, of course, held the camera through it all, terrible at acting, even worse at telling a

convincing lie. I'd been the cause for more than one municipal fine because I'd admitted our true intentions to a security guard. But if I was good at anything, it was seeing things through the lens of filmmaking and finding the best way to make the scene feel real. Since graduating high school the previous May, I'd thought about going to college for film studies, but my parents were both working class, and I doubted working at a burger joint would be enough to foot the bill. Still, doing this kind of stuff let me explore my creative movie producer side, and I always imagined I was some documentary maker off on a grand adventure. At least I tried to, in between fearing for my life, legal record, and freedom every time the others got me into trouble. My parents didn't

like Matt and Carla for reasons that weren't all wrong, and I had to assure them over and over that I would be home in a week, in time for my 20th birthday party that Dad had been preparing for all this month. Man, I could go for one of those loaded chili dogs of his. I'm pretty sure he bought honey mustard corn chips, too. Why couldn't we have just stayed in Kentucky? Slouched in the back seat, I eyed a few raindrops that slid over the glass of Matt's car. Seriously, though, a camping trip? People will say we're copying the Blair Witch Project. Matt reached for his jumbo-sized cherry slushy and took a long sip. I hear you, girl, I do, but I've got it all done.

This place hasn't been explored yet by anyone in the community. I checked three times. There is not one grain of footage about the New Wilderness Wildlife Reserve. We'll be the first ones, meaning we're free to create whatever kind of content we want. Ghosts, cryptids, anything. It's a gold mine. Carla sat up and pointed out her window. A happy smile painted on her lips in the thick black lipstick she adored.

Oh sweet, the moon is coming out, which means the rain should stop soon. Seriously, this will be awesome. We'll get tens of thousands of views within the first hour. Besides, it'll be fun to get out of the urban stuff for once. You know, try some nature-related scares. Yay, Lyme disease and tetanus. I hugged the camera bag closer to my lap. And if we get caught, you saw those military guys at that first crossing we tried.

tried. Every road around this place was blocked, and helicopters were at the county line. They already have our license plate number from this morning. Carla's tan face darkened at that. It's a public road. They can't charge us with anything serious. They're not even National Guard. Besides, if some weekend warrior wants to take me to jail, he can talk to my mom. She'll sue them into the ground. We'll be fine. As usual, Matt interjected his low-key ambiance and flexed his neck back and forth to crack it. Those guys were just doing their job. Besides, they looked tired, so they were probably in some barracks. If we run into anyone, it'll be a different crew, so we'll play the dumb kids' angle. You always defend them. Carla narrowed her eyes at him with more than a bit of venom in her voice.

Literally anyone with a uniform, they're not all heroes, you know. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Unfazed by Carla's angst, Matt drummed the fingers of his free hand on the seat armrest. That's why I talked to the police, not you. Besides, my cousin's a Marine. They're not all jackboots, my little revolutionary. I couldn't help but grin, and despite herself, Carla bit her lip at his name for her, red-tinging her sandy complexion. Matt and Carla had been unusually aggressive with each other in the past three months, and when I'd almost walked in on them steaming up our hotel room in Lexington, my suspicions had been confirmed. Left or right, rich or poor, they had a thing for each other that no one. of arguing could break. And I thought it was cute, even if sometimes annoying. Ah, the modern melting pot. Emphasis on the bank. Should be another five minutes on this road before our turn. Matt glanced at his cell phone in the center console. At least I think so. Man, service sucks out here. They should put up better road signs. Carla poked at her phone screen and irritation. And update Google Maps. I mean seriously, every time I type in Barron County, all that comes up

as freaking Wisconsin. A flash of Jade Green caught my eye from the side of the road, and I jabbed my finger at the window. There, what's that one say? Matt slowed the car to a stop beside the rusty, dented road sign. It looked like no one had been out to replace the battered signpost in years, with tall grass growing up around it, and the letters faded so that I could barely read them in the dark. A long gravel road branched off from the one we were on, and plunged into the gloom, straight as an arrow. I found that odd, as most of the secondary roadways we'd encountered after driving into southeastern Ohio had been anything but straight. It's so dark out. If it hadn't been for that crummy sign, I never would have known the road was there.

Carla rubbed at a foggy patch on her window and squinted. Towerpin Road. Is that part of our route? Nope. With a sigh of disappointment, Matt eased off the brake pedal. We're looking for Bethesda Ridge Road. Good catch, though, Hannah. let's keep going. I watched the night swallow up the little sign, its white surfaces backlighted

by the red of Matt's tail lights. For a split second, I almost thought I saw a figure step out of the darkness to stand beside the sign, tilting its head like a curious bird to watch us leave. Come on, snap out of it. There will be plenty of time for creepy imagination stuff later. We drove for another few miles before finally turning onto the road Matt had found on an old map stashed in the corner of a public library. I hadn't thought anything of it the first time he showed me, but Matt seemed to think it worth checking out since the bizarre map of Ohio showed 89 counties instead of the 88 that everyone knew there were. The last county, Barron County, seemed to have been added in the early 1900s, according to the numbers on the old wrinkled paper,

though there was no record of it anywhere to be found. Similarly, there was very little online about the new wilderness wildlife reserve. Still, Carla came across a few different posts about it on some story-sharing sites, which piqued her interest. The stories seemed like total crap to me, but Matt and Carla ate them up, and so we'd planned a trip to the forgotten wastes of the Appalachian foothills to run around in the hot, humid forests,

pretending to be scared by things that weren't there. Made it, Matt put the car into park and cracked his knuckles like he did right before we got ready to do something borderline illegal. Who's ready to get some awesome footage? Carla grinned and glanced back my way. I'm ready if Spielberg is. In her typical, rough-around-the-edges form of friendship,

Carla had awarded me the nickname Spielberg, as an indirect way of saying, even if you're acting sucks, you're great at aiming a camera. While it sometimes felt more like a gift given in pity, no one else had ever given me any other nicknames, so I couldn't exactly be upset about it. We're all good back here. I put on my bravest grin, which ended up being half the size I wanted it to be,

but it did the trick. Setting up camp didn't take very long, and since the rain had stopped, we could find a mostly dry patch of ground, just inside a stand of pines not far from the car. Matt found some broken glass in one spot that he claimed might have been an old camper window, but we couldn't be sure. After the tents went up, our phones were turned off and dumped into a box in Matt's car, for legal reasons, according to Carla, and most of our surplus gear was locked in the trunk.

With that done, we convened by the roadside. Remember, Matt handed a small LED headlamp to each of us. Just because there's hardly anyone out here doesn't mean we can get lazy. Red lights and low voices are the game's name. And pray some farmer with a 12-gauge doesn't accidentally take our heads off while coyote hunting. Keeping my droll thoughts to myself, I spritzed on some buggy. I spritzed on some bugger spray and followed Matt and Carla down the quiet lane. We walked down the long, dark stretch of gravel for 15 minutes until Matt decided we were far enough from our campsite not to draw unnecessary attention from anyone who might see us. Like saboteurs in an old war movie, we scampered into the rolling grass on the other side of the dam and walked right past a yellow private

property. Not trespassing sign along the way. Inky shadows cloaked everything like a heavy layer of soot, reminding me that we weren't in Louisville anymore, with its bright streetlights, hard-paved streets, and security cameras. Wet knee-high grass clawed at my pant legs, and thorny scrub brush swatted at my sides. The scent of cool, fresh rain hung in the air, far better than the stench of the city, but I couldn't enjoy it for the whiny cloud of gnats that howled in my ears. All I had on were a pair of slim-fit green cargo pants and a gray t-shirt. My hair pulled back in a simple pony, tail, and it seemed my bug spray was less than effective. I should have bought the more potent stuff. That's what I get for cheaping out on. Hey, Matt's voice startled me from my musings, and I looked up to

see a tall chain-link fence with barbed wire across the top, a huge gaping hole torn into the wire right next to where he stood. Whatever came through had pushed the fence wire apart like it was made of rubber bands, and Matt could have driven his car into the gap without touching the sides. Check it out. We won't even have to climb. A mischievous twinkle came into Matt's eye as the crimson beam of his headlamp swept over the destroyed wire. Hannah, get the camera ready. This will make a great opening shot. The sight of the ruined fence sent a shiver down my spine. What could have made a hole that big? By all other accounts, the rest of the fence line looked well kept, not super rusty or overgrown. For something to punch clean through woven wire fencing, especially with a string of barbed wire. at the top. I meant an animal with vast strength. Like what? A long-lost dinosaur? Seriously,

Hannah, this is Ohio. Stop freaking out over every little thing. There's a reason Matt and Carla don't put you in front of the camera. To ignore the harsh criticisms of my thoughts, I pulled out the hefty camera we'd purchased as a group, pushed the power button, and remove the lens caps. You want infrared or? My eye caught a speck of color in the grass to my left, and I paused, tucked between the tall blades of bluegrass, a single dirty white and gray sneaker lay discarded, its laces frayed. Scratches and gouges scored the rubber,

and a few dark stains almost looked black as if the shoe had been spattered in tar. I hadn't seen any footprints, though I wasn't an expert tracker. The thought that someone might already be out here and close by poured ice over my blood. Guys, come look at this. The other two clustered around me,

and Carla's eyes lit up. Nice one. A missing shoe, a mysterious ruined fence. This is perfect. I stand corrected. We'll clear 100,000 views in 24 hours, or I'll wear pink lipstick for a week. Matt nudged the sneaker with the toe of his shoe. Don't bets with girls involve them wearing less, not more? Carla made a pleased, timid smile. Grateful I had the camera to hide behind, I did my best not to sigh in jealousy. It must be nice. Despite her gothic fashion tendencies, Carla was a good thing. Carla was a gorgeous, with jet-black hair, sensuous Hispanic facial features, and generous curves where it counted. She could fill out her clothes in ways that made the boys back in high school almost break their necks

when she walked by, something that enraged the preppy girls who had resented her Edgar Allan Poe clothing tastes. By comparison, I wore simple cargo pants and t-shirts, my limbs skinny, and the rest of me barely any better. Even though my grandmother insisted that my stuffing was just slow in coming. I had a suspicion that if one wasn't curvy by 19, that wasn't likely to change. I never admitted it around Carla or Matt, but these trips were getting increasingly lonely, as I woke up night after night, to them curled up in their motel bed while I lay alone in mine. With graduation almost two years ago, I had yet to go on a single date or even hold a boy's hand, much less do whatever they did when they thought I was asleep. Being plain was hard,

But being alone, that's sucked. I'm in favor of Julian, I cut in, readying to press the record on the camera. You know, for the list of baby names. You want the first shot of the fence or the shoe? The gate. Oblivious to my bitter sarcasm, Carla backed up the way we'd come and gestured for us to follow.

We'll walk up and rediscover the shoe. There is no night vision for now. It'll be harder for the viewers to spot our tracks in the grass from before. Then we can focus on finding its owner, should they still be among this world. Her deep, dramatic tone made Matt laugh, and we slogged back a few yards to begin our shoot. I held the camera at the ready

and gave them a countdown on three fingers. All right, guys, we're back! Matt flashed a thumbs up at the camera as he and Carla entered their routine. This time, we've traveled deep into the Appalachian wilderness to a remote wildlife reserve that some people think is part of a secret government cover-up. Carla leaned on his shoulder with her hand,

the two a comedic duo if there was one. We have no idea what we're walking into, folks, so keep your fingers crossed. Remember, you're seeing this raw and unfiltered like we are, as raw as a burned steak. Behind the camera I rolled my eyes at the last line, trailed them back through the grass, and tried not to trip in the murky shadows.

Invariably, I wouldn't say I liked that our videos bent the truth so much. Sure, they looked fantastic when we were done, and as Matt pointed out, we were there to entertain people, but still, I wouldn't say I liked selling the idea that none of it was orchestrated. Dishonesty never sat well with me, but I had to remind myself that I was a filmmaker and a storyteller, which was part of the storytelling process. Where Discovered The Gate, and Matt and Carla played the part of two stunned kids,

ooing and awing over the gap, and pretending to be worried about what could have made such a large hole. Carla found the sneaker and dared to pick it up, always the method actress. Who do you think this belongs to? She whispered to Matt and held the filthy shoe up to the camera. Matt went into his tense machismo stance, head cocked to one side, eyes probing the darkness like he was seriously concerned. I don't know.

Maybe someone got stranded out here. Let's see if we can... As if on cue, the low rumble of tires on gravel echoed from the road behind us, and we all dove for the grass, headlamps clicking off. Breaks screeched their metallic staccato, and the unseen vehicle, rolled to a stop 50 yards away on the road. I waited for them to move on, to throw some garbage out, but the truck stayed put. Why weren't they leaving?

Bright white light stabbed at the misty darkness overhead, and my lungs constricted. A spotlight. Chunk-chunk. The heavy metal bolt on a weapon rattled back and forth, validating a dozen panicked theories in my mind. Now it made sense. The missing shoes, the lonely road, the soldiers. my heart began to pound the wet grass stuck to my face and something skittered across my palm with eight spindly legs each shaky breath tasted of the rain and earth and my ears rang with the nervous thumping of adrenaline

we'd seen too much come too far broken one rule too many and now they would hunt us down carla's words rolled through my head in an eerie mocking mantra at the thought of my blood spattered over the grass by a burst of gunfire with no one to witness it save for the camera raw and unfiltered. I squeezed both eyes shut and forced myself to breathe slowly, counting every second. How long until I heard footsteps, voices, and shouts? How long until we were dragged out of the ditch by our collars, surrounded by rough hands, maybe even... Hannah, Hannah, get the camera up. For Pete's sake, get the camera up. Matt's whisper blasted urgently at me from the shadows, and I bit back a terrified reply, the camera. If I recorded everything, whoever was out there would be less likely to hurt us. Prophing the camera up on a clump of sod, I dared to peek through the tiny viewing screen and click the button to toggle its night vision mode.

Whoa. A mud-spattered pickup truck sat idling on the gravel tarmac, painted a mix of tan and olive drab green, with a strange rebar cage bolted over the windows and a box of square metal plates welded around the bed. I could make out a white-painted emblem on the door that read New wilderness wildlife reserve. The metal covered in various dents and scrapes. Angle iron racks on the sides held long, spear-like poles, some with sharpened points, others with green canisters with little cotter pins in the tips, and others with round metal plates on the end that made them look like oversized toilet plungers. Long spikes had been welded in various places on the vehicle's armored hide, many dented, rusty, or bent from some impact. In the back,

The upper torso of a man stood out at the top of the plate armor, holding on to something long and shiny bolted to the roll bar. With the ambient light from the headlights reflecting off the linked brass cartridges, it didn't take an expert to know what it was. What are they hunting, Godzilla? Carla peeked from behind a small bush. Her words laced with a tinge of surprise. We'd run into security plenty of times in the various places we'd traveled,

but never anyone with a belt-fed 0.50 caliber machine gun in the back. of their up-armored post-apocalyptic pickup truck. It almost looked like something from an article on war-torn Syria, not sleepy rural Ohio. In a flash, the bright white spotlight from earlier swept across the fence line right over our heads, panning wherever the gun was pointed. Sweat beat it on my forehead, and beside me, Carla swore under her breath, Matt lying as still as stone. Hilltop, this is Rhino One. A man's voice floated over the air to me, somewhat faint from the distance, but still loud enough that I could hear the unease in his voice. We've got a breach in the perimeter fence along pasture D. It looks big, Sean. How copy? Please don't come this way.

My pulse roared in my temple, and I pressed myself to the cold, wet grass, like it was the cute guy from fourth E period biology, who I'd never worked up the nerve to talk to. I wanted to go home. This had gone from harmless fun to serious trouble in the time it took. to cook a pop tart, and I was already half-soaked from lying on the wet ground. Rhino-1, this is Hilltop. If you don't see any resident animals in the immediate vicinity, report back here, and we'll send you out with a repair crew. How copy? The radio crackled back with a deeper voice, no doubt their leadership,

and the truck engine revved once more. Roger that hilltop, Rhino-1 copies all. We'll be there in about ten minutes. Off down the road it went. The headlights gradually moving out of sight. and I caught the sound of Matt's relieved sigh. Tell me you got all that on camera. I stayed hunkered down behind the weeds, too on edge to move.

Yeah, I got it. Carla giggled in the shadows, and a moment later, her red headlamp flickered on to reveal a delighted smile. Spielberg strikes again. I can already hear the new subscribers begging for more. We're so getting a plaque for this. Maybe a tombstone. Um, I allowed myself to rise to my...

elbows, cautious as a gopher in hawk territory. I think we should go. Seriously, they seem wound up. What if they shoot at us with that thing? Matt combed a few blades of grass out of his shaggy chestnut hair and wrinkled his nose. I doubt it. What court is going to uphold a couple of dudes machine-gunning three kids in the night for the terrible crime of—Drumroll, please, trespassing, unarmed with a camera and an old shoe. Besides, Carla sat back on her heels and fixed her lopside black watch cap. It's probably not even registered. They fire a shot, it goes to the ATF, and they'll be in federal prison for 20 years, minimum. We've got nothing to worry about. They beamed at me as if we'd discuss the odds of getting free ice cream after school and I gritted my teeth. This happened

every time I brought up a problem or suggested an idea wasn't safe or legal. They always talked me into more, and whenever it did go wrong, they somehow managed to bait me into another misadventure the next time they found a lonely place to film. I got to my feet along with them and picked at the burrs already clogged in the cuffs of my pants. Okay, but they said they'd be back with a repair crew soon. They're going to seal this fence, and if we go through... Seriously, Hannah, it'll take five minutes.

Carla narrowed her gray eyes at me like she always did when she didn't want to be argued with. Just pick up the camera and let's go. You're lucky this thing is expensive. hefting the camera I threw her a glare that she didn't catch in the dark and focused in on them, Carla in her typical all-black outfit with equally macabre makeup, and Matt with his Louisville Bats t-shirt and faded blue jeans. They straightened up, preparing for me to give them another countdown,

and I raised my three fingers, snap. A slight blur tumbled from the trees just beyond the fence, the object hitting a brush on the way down. Matt and Carla whirled around, and I stared through the grainy night vision in the, the shadows. Something's over there. I gripped the camera with clammy fingers. I saw something fall out of the trees. At any other time, they would have thrown me a dirty look for talking with the camera rolling. Still, instead they took off before I could stop them, Matt doing his usual

hyper-alert walk and Carla with her oh-so-petite parody of her real personality. Like that, they dove through the hole in the fence, leaving me no choice but to groan inwardly and stumble after them. my canvas high top slid over a greasy clump of mud, and I almost went down, muttering with frustration under my breath. We had to go camping. There's a haunted mansion in Blenner Hassett or a deep reservoir near Moorhead. But no, we drove to the middle of freaking nowhere, Ohio, to walk around in the woods, and... Hannah, come on, hurry up. Matt waved at me with more than his typical performance excitement, and I pushed myself into a light jog for the last few yards. Carla's eyes glittered like she'd been given a chance to pick the school uniform colors and had chosen all black.

Look, another shoe rested in her hand, muddy and in tatters, with the same kind of weird ebony stains, only in different places. This one, however, wasn't a sneaker, but a brown leather dress shoe that some office worker might wear to a meeting. That didn't make sense. Why were there just random shoes out here? People threw garbage out in the city all the time, but to come way out here and dump, shoes? I hid my disturbed frown behind the camera, still filming every second. It's not the same. Which means, Matt turned to Carla, who dropped the shoe and put up both hands for a double high-five. We've got two people. They crowed in triumph as if two shoeless people wandering the woods of

God-forsaken Ohio were a good thing. Another mosquito nipped at my ear, and I wished I could smack them both more than anything. I wouldn't say I liked this. The entire thing tightened in my chest like a winch, and I was already soaked to the point I started to feel cold. No people were in these woods. Some litterbug must have thrown his trash over the fence and sped off. Maybe a truck had crashed through the wall, which explained the hole in the shoes. Either way, I wanted to return to our tents, change into my warm, dry clothes, and drive back to civilization for a shower. That's right, fam, we've got two mysterious people in these woods.

Carla crooned for the camera and held up the discarded loafer, which means we just have to keep following the trail until thunk. I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart racing a million miles a minute. Matt lost his smile, and Carla screamed, not the faux girly squeal she did for the camera, but a realistic, unnerved yelp of surprise. Less than 20 yards away, embedded among the thorns, dead leaves, and branches, lay a high-heeled sandal.

Its straps ripped the cork on the heel coated in hateful black stains With the camera viewing screen between my face and the real world I felt like I was looking at the scene From the comfort of my living room, distant and detached But my brain went into full alarm mode Everything about this situation gave me all the bad vibes in the world We now had a third shoe

Different from the others And just like the last one, it had fallen. We have fallen from somewhere up high somewhere in the trees right over our heads thump thump my heart drummed against my ribs and i craned my neck back lifting the camera to the tree branches overhead thump thump terror coursed through me like a tide a faint static buzzed in my ears and crackled against the inside of my skull thump thump my eyes stretched wide at seeing more shoes dozens and dozens suspended from the trees men's shoes women's shoes and even little children's shoes all dripped rainwater from their perches, like forgotten Christmas decorations left to rot. They all bore black stains, and I wondered what the spatters, splashes, and dribbles resembled. Guys, I stepped backward and my entire body shook from head to toe. We have to go, right? Crash, a figure hurtled through the underbrush nearby and fell to the mud in a scrabble of flailing limbs.

ragged clothes, a pale grayish foot missing a shoe, and matted filthy hair the color of mold-encrusted tree bark, glistened in the grainy light of my camera's night vision. His head snapped up with a sickening crunch of stiff neck vertebrae, and the man locked eyes with me through the camera. White filmy eyes and a long Cheshire smile beamed from the man's dirt-streaked face, exposing stubby, squared-off teeth that almost seemed carved as if from wood. Both his hands were grimy and scarred, the fingernails chipped with abuse, and he had scores of black scratches all over him, the crusty scabs, similar in color to the stains on the shoes. Oh my God. For a moment, we both blinked at each other and try as I might. I couldn't command my muscles to move. Matt's eyes were wide as saucers,

and he made no move to intervene. None of us had weapons since we didn't expect to find anything, nothing real, nothing like this. To my left, Carla let out a whimper and bolted. Like a gun had been fired to start a race, the forest exploded with high piercing screams of animalistic glee. Jumping from behind trees, scuttling under the bushes and crawling out from the high grass, a dozen creatures closed in from all sides. Their moon-white eyes flashed in the dark, grayish hands outstretched to snatch at my clothes in desperate hunger. It was as if they had been waiting for me, watching us since we'd crossed the road, and now I'd walked right into their trap. I turned on my heel to run and caught the sight of Matt and Carla well ahead, sprinting as

fast as they could. Too late did I notice the wall of shrieking assailant seal around me. The bizarre figures crouched on all fours, clacking their wooden teeth in anticipation. Screaming, I swung my camera like a club at the nearest one, but she dodged the blow, her grin wicked and crusted with gore. A hand grabbed my ponytail and threw me to the mud, more cold fingers pinning my arms, shoulders and legs. Mouths opened wide, cruel knobby teeth descended toward me, and I writhed in unthinking panic. Woosh! Out of nowhere all the shoes from the trees rained down and thudded into a waist-high heap in the mud just outside the ring of attackers. All the moon-eyed people froze, their smiles vanishing, and they looked at the shoes like deer in the headlights. One set of hands

released its iron grip on my arm, and a wooden-toothed girl flew backward, dragged by some unseen force to the pile of shoes. She wailed in a pitiful screech of fear and pain before the bank sucked her in, with the horrible sound of bones being ground to dust. Startled into action the rest of the freaks abandoned their hold on me and tripped over each other to run away on all fours. In a tremendous spherical cloud, the shoes lifted from the ground, levitating as if held in the air by some invisible hand. Jolts of something black and thin shot out from between each shoe, moving too fast for me to see correctly, and each time the darkness reeled, another crying, moon-eyed person to their doom. All that remained after the screaming crunching of bones and a spray of

black blood were the shoes of the dead freak, freshly stained and added to the cloud-like satellites of a planet. Run, you stupid moron. Reality hit me, and I clawed at the mud and scrambled backward to get away. The rest of the moon-eyed ones already well off into the distance. The levitating sphinel. Now had only one thing left in the small clearing to consume, and a tingling rose on my skin like thousands of tiny insect feelers. Something brushed past my right leg, fast and wriggling. With a wild thrash, I faced it, ready to bite, claw, and scratch to the bitter end. The sphere hovered right over me, maybe six feet away at most, the shoes deathly still. Static rang in my ears, whispers echoed in my mind, and all four limbs became heavy as lead.

could see it, just behind the curtain of lost footwear, horrifying enough to lock me in place. An eye, surrounded by molten, greasy black sinews that curled around each other in perpetual motion, the orb watched me with an emotionless gaze. It was enormous, the size of a car tire, bloodshot, and with crimson irises that seethed like flames. In my head, a disembodied voice chanted something repeatedly. A wordless, unintelligible mumble that rang deep into my subconscious like a cathedral bell. Black tendrils reached from between the shoes for me, and pain flared in my limbs every time I tried to flee like knives were burrowed into the folds of my brain, controlling my every move. It was all I could do to stay conscious, the horror and adrenaline keeping the shadows in my

mind at bay. Can't fall asleep. I can't let it take me. I can't. My fingers twitched against my collarbone at the last second and touched something smooth. Gritting my teeth in pain, I forced my arm to jerk the chain from my neck. In all our trips across the country, I'd been chased by countless stray dogs, and so my parents had gifted me an electric dog whistle for just such occasions. The whistle had saved me many times, and I got to where I touched it on reflex whenever we got into trouble. It was less of a reasonable thought and more of a childish impulse that I pulled the whistle from my shirt front and clicked the tone button. Furious howls tore through my skull, followed by searing white-hot pain. As the whistle dangled from my fingers, I clapped both palms

to my ears, screaming in agony. It seemed my brain was being ripped apart, shredded by some bladed worm throwing a tantrum inside my skull, and all my muscles spasmed in uncontrolled torment. Above me, the world began to spin, the dark mass convulsed, and the sky rained with slimy gore-covered shoes. Zap. Harsh and cold, a jolt of electricity sliced through my mind, clearing away all thoughts, and I tumbled down into unending darkness. I lay in a field of white wildflowers, the warm sun overhead making me tired. Someone had their arms around me, and I could smell a musky cologne that reminded me of chocolate. His face was a blur, but the stranger held me close, his calloused hands pressing down over my sternum in a way that made heat pool in my core. Soft, velvety lips met.

mine and a light sensation filled my chest like I would burst. Come on, he whispered, his warm breath tickling my ear. Wake up. Come on, Sivvy, wake up. A heavyweight leaned on my chest, and my mouth shot open to drag a long, damp gulp of air down into my lungs. I got a live one. A male voice echoed over me, and gentle hands cradled my head. Hey, can you hear me? Please open your eyes for me. Open your eyes, Sivy. Come on. My eyelids. fluttered, and I blinked at a pair of sky-blue irises, bushy brown eyebrows, and a warm, relieved smile. Bright fingers of light cut through the murky woods around me. Flashlights mounted on the ends of rifles held by dozens of people dressed in black polo shirts.

A few trucks sat near the fence, and I could hear the crackle of radio chatter. Jumbled piles of old, smelly shoes lay around me, partially covering my stomach and legs. A metallic taste stung the inside of my mouth, and my ears rang irritably. It's okay, I've got you. The guy looked to be in his early twenties, with broad shoulders and the start of a stubble beard. He had close-cut hair the color of maple syrup and wore a black polo shirt, over which a green bandolier full of rifle magazines was strapped. The barrel of a rifle poked from behind one shoulder,

and I saw the words, New Wilderness Wildlife Reserve stenciled on the breast pocket of his shirt. Is this a dream? I tried to take another breath, but my head spun, and stars danced before my eyes. More coppery taste flowed over my upper lip, and pain pulsed in my temples. Jamie, get over here. I'm losing her. A girl appeared behind the boy, her bleach blonde hair and a tight bun, a Kalashnikov slung over her shoulder. She threw herself beside me and reached to cut my face with both hands. Can you hear me? She stared into my eyes, turning my head with her hands, inspecting me like a ripe watermelon.

Blackness nibbled at the edges of my vision, and it took all my effort to nod. blink twice if two plus two equals four. Despite my dizziness, I pressed my eyelids down twice in a row. She's not scrambled, but she's going into shock. The girl pressed two fingers to my neck, her skin cool and dry compared to my sweaty flesh. Geez, Chris, did you break her sternum? No. Above me, the boy looked down at my face in despair, his expression blurting as my eyes watered.

I swear, I didn't push that hard, just enough to get her breathing. A loud electrosynth foghorn ripped through the trees from somewhere nearby, and a strange metallic screech thudding rumbled closer. Technos! One of the other fighters pointed his rifle into the dark tree line, and the night came alive with the crack, crack of gunfire. Everything tilted, and the shoes fell away, as the boy lifted me from the ground like a sack of potatoes.

We got to go. Jamie, help me get her in the truck. Trees crunched, brush snapped, and piercing white light flooded. the clearing. The blonde girl put her hand over my eyes and ran alongside the boy who carried me. You stay awake, you hear? Between the girl's fingers, I barely glimpsed the outline of something vast and angular clambering through the pines. Its eight gray legs skittering easily over the rough terrain. Small dark figures of the fighters surrounded it, and like something from a cave painting,

they fired up at the colossal shadow with everything they had. Get the magnet spears, bring it down! A deeper male voice bellowed, and long sticks flew through the air at the encircled thing, followed by the resounding clang of metal hitting metal. A truck door creaked open by my head, and several hands pulled me inside a small hot metal box. Tense faces peered down, and the boy who carried me leaned close, his worried blue eyes dull into mine. Don't you die on me? But shadows clawed away the light. Pain throbbed in my head, and just before I blacked out, another long, strange foghorn

blast echoed like the roar of a prehistoric dinosaur. Darkness. Soft, smooth warmth covered my arms. The electric whining of machines hummed in the background, along with the distant chirp of crickets and the croaks of frogs. Crisp acidic chlorine tickled my nose, and a cool breeze whispered past my cheek. My eyelids split open, and I inhaled. Owl. Breathing hurt. My ribs ached, especially around the front, and it took all my effort to prop myself up on both elbows. What the? White cotton sheets lay over me, a small twin-sized metal bedstead holding me off the tile floor.

A thin blue medical gown hugged my body, and my hair flowed loose around my shoulders in soft brown rivulets. The bed I sat on was surrounded by a little nook of hanging white sheets, and through the thin curtains I could make out a larger room beyond. It smelled of industrial cleaner, the walls lined with white-painted tables and cupboards. A few metal trays stood next to some squat gray plaits, machines that idled in the corner like waiting cars. Through the closed window just behind my

bed I could hear the muted songs of insects and frogs on the other side of the glass. The lights overhead were dimmed, dark enough that I almost felt bad about saying anything, like I risked waking someone up. Hello? My voice rasped, scratchy and weak as if I'd swallowed a bucket of nails. Squeak. A swivel chair moved out of my sight, and the quick talk, talk of shoe heels on the cold floor echoed closer. Shadows, closed on my white cotton sanctuary and I shrunk back into the covers, my heart racing. Slender fingers drew aside the curtain and I jumped, startled despite myself. Well, good morning, kiddo. A woman appeared dressed in a white doctor's coat, a light blue blouse underneath,

and tan slacks. Likely in her mid-forties, she was tall and slender, with long golden-brown hair pulled back into a functional ponytail. Her face bore many lines of fatigue, but she gave me a friendly, almost maternal smile. Or rather, good evening. You gave us a scare back there. How are you feeling? Confused. Swallowing, I coughed dry as a cottonball and winced at how it stung. I, my ribs kind of hurt. How bad on a scale of one to ten? I breathe deep on purpose, pushing my limits to see just how much it throbbed. I guess like four, maybe three if I don't try too hard. The woman ducked behind the curtain to pull at an unseen cabinet and return to sit beside me with a paper cup full of water. It'll probably be that way for a while. Chris said he had to do compressions

to get you conscious. Lucky for you, our x-rays didn't find any fractures, and you don't show any signs of brain scrambling. You'll have some nasty bruises, but nothing worse than that. I flicked my eyes down at the hospital gown covering me, and fought the fire of humiliation in my cheeks. My clothes. sorry about them. The woman leaned forward to poke a cautious finger through my hair around the scalp and seemed satisfied to find nothing there. But they were growing sprouts from the organic material we found you in,

and we figured better safe than sorry, same with your personal effects. But you're clean, so you don't have to worry about infections or internal growth. Both relieved and puzzled by her words, I downed the water she'd given me in a few greedy gulps. So, what hospital is this? A rueful chuckle,

burst from the woman's lips, and she shook her head. I'm afraid it isn't at all. This is the Fur and Fang veterinary clinic, or at least it used to be. I'm Dr. Alicia O'Brien, the chief medical officer for New Wilderness. I stared, my heart skipping a beat at the memory of that name. New Wilderness. I was still here, still stuck in this nightmarish place with the monsters that had, wait, why am I the only one? My friends. Cautiously, I looked around for any sign of Matt or Carla. I... There were two others with me, a boy and a girl about my age.

Did you see them? Her kind eyes lost some glow, and Dr. O'Brien sighed wearily. Did you happen to come here in a gray Toyota? Oh no, please God, no. Yes, I squeaked, my stomach lurching in a sickening knot. She stared at the floor momentarily, a look of remorse on her tired face. Our patrol spotted a gray car speeding away just before they got. to the scene. A boy and a girl match those descriptions. With all the anomalies around, we couldn't

chase after them, so I honestly have no idea where they went. It felt like the floor fell from under me, and I sat there, stunned. Matt and Carla had left me? They had left me to die, to be ripped apart, eaten, and devoured like a package of hamburger helper. And they hadn't even looked back. No, it can't be true. This lady has to be lying. She has to. Can I use your phone? I gathered my hospital gown around me, trying to hold my composure. Dr. O'Brien handed me a square black smartphone from her trouser pocket. You might have to walk around the room to find some decent signal, if any. Ever since the mutants started showing up, cell service has been terrible.

None of our landlines work either. My feet hit the cold floor tiles, and I sucked in a breath at the tingling sensation it brought. standing, I swayed but paced around the room, until a solitary bar popped up in the upper right-hand corner, and I dialed Carla's number. Nothing. The call dropped before I could even hear a dial tone. Come on, come on, I grumbled, and tried again. Again, the call never even rang. Just five minutes for God's sake, I need five. The phone began to ring and I listened, mentally begging Carla to answer. Click. Hello? Carla? I almost broke down in tears at the sound of her voice.

Carla, I... It's me. It's Hannah. Where are you? A long pause followed. Oh my go. Matt, it's Hannah. It's freaking Hannah. She's alive. Matt's voice echoed through the speaker shortly after hers. Hey, Hannah. Is it you? I couldn't stop the grin from crawling, and tears streamed down my cheeks. Yeah, it's me. The park rangers found me, so I'm safe. Are you guys all right? I thought those things got you. Yeah, we're good. Matt chuckled. That was super gnarly, huh? Did you get it on camera? Wow, what's your first question? For some reason, that stuck in my brain more than usual. Matt and Carla had one-track minds about our blog, but this, they hadn't even asked if I was okay. Matt, where are you guys? I demanded,

with more force in my voice this time, and my smile began to melt. Those creeps attacked, and you both just took off. More silence. Through the hushed, static. I thought I heard them whispering to each other on the other side as if arguing over what to say. We, um, Carla came back on at last with a heavy, reluctant sigh. We're in Cincinnati. What? I almost dropped the phone, my mouth hanging open. What? I, Carla, you guys left me behind. I'm still here at New Wilderness. You drove four hours to Cincinnati without even returning to look for me? We thought you were dead, she whispered, and it seemed she started to choke up, her voice cracking with partial sobs.

Hannah, we didn't mean to honest, but we had to get out of there, and... Why didn't you call somebody? My tears returned, but not out of joy, the anger and hurt boiling over after months of bottling it. Those things tried to eat me. How could you just leave and not at least tell the police? We thought about it. Matt tried to sound apologetic, though I could recognize the fake charm he used on the street

to talk down angry police officers. But we ran into many soldiers close to the county line. and they were super pissed to find us there. Seriously, Spielberg, we didn't want to get sued for trespass. Are you serious? To hear him try to use my nickname now, after everything humorously sent me over the edge. You scummy low-life coward,

you left me to die all for a freaking video and you don't even have the decency, common sense, and balls to go and tell someone where I am, what the actual hell is wrong with you. Hannah, please, we didn't... Carla tried to interject, but I was a volcano, and the eruption wouldn't stop. Shut up, Carla!

I snarled through gritted teeth, remembering all the fines, the creepy homeless people chasing us, the angry police officers calling my parents, all for clicks, all for a stupid blog I never appeared in because I couldn't lie as well as they could. Forever shut your stupid mouth.

I am so sick and tired of you two doing this to me. I could have died, and you weren't going to tell anyone, were you? You weren't going to call my parents the cops or any freaking one because you didn't want to get charged for being the dumbest pair of morons in the universe. I told you it was a bad idea. I told you not to. But do you ever listen? No. We'll call someone, okay? Matt sounded irritated now as if he had a right to be. Look, we'll call Carla's mom and maybe she can work out a deal. Don't bother. I hissed as my rage grew to a crescendo.

My hand gripping the phone so hard I heard plastic begin to crack under the strain. Just don't Don't, all right? I'll take care of myself. We're done, I'm done. Screw you both. Screw your stupid blog, and I swear. If I ever see either of you again, I'll break your worthless nose. I jabbed my thumb into the red end call button and tossed the phone onto a nearby table. My vision tinged crimson, and I hurled my bald fist at the drywall repeatedly with a high-pitched scream of bitterness. Crunch. At the final blow, the sheetrock crumpled under my knuckles. Pain flared in my hand and chest, and I slumped to the floor. floor in hot tears. Sobing, I rested my forehead against the wall and berated myself for being

stupid. Mom had always told me they weren't good friends. She'd warned me many times. Had I listened? No. I'd wanted to prove to her that I was grown up, could handle myself and knew what I was doing. And what did I have to show for it? I was isolated, stranded in some hellscape nightmare, with my only two friends having left me high and dry the second things went south. Two gentle hands smoothed over my trembling shoulders, and Dr. O'Brien knelt beside me. Hey, it's okay. You're okay. Just take deep breaths for me. I couldn't see. Hot tears coated my face, and my nose ran like a faucet. Your phone, I... I think I could... cracked it. I'm sorry. I... Don't. She pulled me closer in a warm, soft hug and patted my back between shoulder blades.

It's just a phone. You've been through a lot. I'd be upset, too. She held me until the tears stopped and guided me back to my bed to hand me a box of tissues. My fingers pulsed, and I could see the torn skin bleeding, the flesh around them red and swollen. Did I break it? I whispered, embarrassed as the doctor inspected my poor hand. I don't think so. Dr. O'Brien poked at my fingers until I winced in pain. But these knuckles are going to swell like golf balls now. At least you didn't punch the fridge door, or we'd be looking at a broken wrist.

I'll clean these cuts and get you some ice. The soft swish of a door opening caught my attention, and from the opposite side of the room, a girl walked into view. Her arms were full of folded clothes, and a pair of scuffed, tan-colored hiking boots hung by their laces from one elbow. She wore close-fitting khaki pants tucked into combat boots and a black polo shirt. A leather pistol belt sat atop her hips, adorned with numerous small pouches,

and the black grip of a handgun stuck. out of a holster on her right side. A long knife in its sheath hung from the opposite hip, and I recognized the bleach blonde hair of the girl who had helped rescue me. Our eyes met, and she beamed in similar recognition. Hey, you're still kicking. Wow, that hand looks rough. My face almost melted with shame, and Dr. O'Brien threw the girl a stern, raised eyebrow look. Hannah, this is Jamie Lanson. She's one of the Rangers who brought you in. All in a good day's work. Jamie winked at me and her expression softened a little at seeing the tear streaks on my face.

You're pretty lucky, you know. Chris insisted on searching the shoes, after his flashlight glinted off your camera. If it weren't for him, we never would have found you. Sniffling, I nodded and tried to bring his face up in my mind, those sapphire-colored eyes, his rugged jawline. But it was hard to focus with the throbbing in my hand, and the sting of betrayal still burning. in my chest. Jamie shuffled closer and held out the clothes. These are mine, but I've got more so

you can have them. You should fit since you're smaller than me. And look, I even dug up a pack of underwear brand new. The way she said it, so optimistically, and yet undoubtedly knowing that such a thing was hardly noteworthy, struck me as funny somehow, and I couldn't help but grin. As an only child, I'd always wondered what it would have been like to have siblings, especially sisters, someone to talk to, confide in, and share with. Mom and Dad were pretty tight-lipped about their reasons for only having me, but in the moment it felt nice to imagine having a cool older sister like Jamie to defend me at school. She'd probably have decked those preppy downtown girls in their upturned noses.

That'd be fun to see. Her own grin flashed, wry and pleased across Jamie's sharp face. There's that smile. See, I knew you were tough. brain shredders better watch out for you. My eyebrows must have gone clear to the ceiling. Brain shredders? The creature that almost killed you. Dr. O'Brien pulled a clipboard of the foot of my bed and scribbled something down on it. It's a sigh organic, one of the rarest and most dangerous anomalies that exists. It works off telekinesis and psychom manipulation, immobilizing prey and scrambling their neural firing patterns before ingesting their body. Basically, a mental hand grenade with mold issues. Jamie chimed in and crossed her arms to throw me an inquisitive look,

but you brought it down, from ten yards away no less. My throat scratched dry again, and I wished I'd saved some of my water from earlier. I had a dog whistle around my neck, one of those electric ones. I just pushed it, and then everything went blank. Both Dr. O'Brien and Jamie blinked at me, stunned. You killed a brain shredder at close range. Jamie repeat. Jamie pointed, pointing a finger at each imaginary word like she wanted to be sure she'd heard me correctly. With a doggy beeper, my face burned and I dragged my eyes down at my lap. I didn't have anything else. Dr. O'Brien and Jamie both exchanged surprised, delighted smiles.

Impressive. Dr. O'Brien scratched something else down on her clipboard. Bad ass! Jamie shook her bleach blonde head, emerald green eyes glittering with approval, and pointed to the clothes in my arms. I definitely want to hear that story later. Come on, get dressed and I'll show you around. Dr. O'Brien threw her a sideways glance. Be careful with this one. All right, Lansson, she needs to rest.

No crazy stunts for a few days, minimum. Crazy stunts? Jamie winked and headed for the door to give me some privacy. I think this one might finally be crazier than me. Pulling on my new clothes proved to be tricky with how sore my chest was, but I managed. Dr. O'Brien helped lace my boots for me and gave me some Tylenol. before walking me to the door of the clinic. I'll check in with you every so often.

She patted my arm with a gentleness that eased some of my jangled nerves. If you need anything, my door is always open. I made a grateful smile. Thanks. She strode back into the dimly lit interior of the clinic, and just as I turned to go, something caught my eye. A door stood not far to my right, slightly ajar. Through the crack between the door jam and the door itself,

I could just make out a room beyond, with tables, shelves, and various pieces of laboratory equipment. Dim blue light filled the space, and I figured it to be some kind of ultraviolet lamp to keep bacteria at bay. I almost shrugged it off until I saw the eyes. Two milky white eyes gleamed back at me from the shadows, unblinking, and wide with a strange mania. Dark, greasy hair floated around the still pale face, and a slack jaw displayed stubby peg-shaped teeth. Black nylon straps ran under the armpits of the creature, holding it suspended, and I realized that the thing was surrounded by some kind of clear fluid in a large, upright tank. Everything all right? Dr. O'Brien watched me from a few feet away, her face partially obscured by shadow.

I could have sworn I saw something like a curious glint in her eyes, but the moment passed too quick for me to be certain. I'm fine. I blurted and pushed my way through the double doors. Somehow, plunging into a forgotten corner of Appalachia felt safer than being in that room, with its humming machines, chlorine smell, and something horrible trapped within walls of glass.