The Dark Somnium - It's taken me 30 Years to talk about this

Episode Date: January 22, 2024

This Creepypasta scary story is from the nosleep subreddit, written by Strange Accounts, make sure to check out the original story and support the author:"It's taken me 30 Years to talk about this" https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/oyn6aa/the_case_of_the_lost_child_of_walder_forest/ Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

It's taken me thirty years to talk about this. I don't know why now, of all times, I'm feeling the urge to get all of this out, but here it is. I won't lie. I've got some liquor in my veins. I'll have even more by the time I finish saying my peace. I hope I stay coherent enough through all of this, but if not, well, I'm probably not going to look back at this again. In 1993, a child was discovered out in the outskirts of Walder Forest, Montana. A game warden, Chris Stutson, noticed him and contacted the Gorge Falls Police Department. In turn, they contacted me, Harold Dawson, Sheriff's Deputy of Clark County, Montana.

They dispatched me to meet up with the warden and figure out who the kid was. I arrived on the scene mid-afternoon. The brisk autumn air swept a fierce chill through my bones, digging its way underneath my jacket. The scent of turpentine wafted its way through the maze of ponderosa pines that littered Waldered I've heard some say that those trees smell like vanilla. I say they're insane. As the wind billowed past me that afternoon, I remembered thinking to myself, what a shitty day to get lost in the woods.

I gave my patrol vehicle a once over before stepping away from it down the dirt path. I had parked my squad right next to the warden's truck. I could barely tell if the beaten-down truck had always been brown or if it was just showing its age with rust. I had squinted my eyes down the trail that lay ahead of me. Off to the side of the path was an older man in a green and tan buttoned-up duty shirt. He was crouched down right next to a child, no older than ten. The oversized warden's jacket draped over the boy like a blanket.

Hey! I called out to the pair as I walked up to them. Everything all right? The warden gingerly pointed down at the ground near the child's feet, telling the child to stay put. With a quick turn, he hustled over to me. A wooden box tucked under one of his arms. I need to talk to you. The warden grumbled in a hush tone, clearly trying to keep the child from overhearing.

Listen, that kid can't talk much, and I don't know where he came from. But he walked out of the tree line carrying this. The warden lifted up the old wooden lockbox. A rotten smell hit my nostrils the instant it was raised. What the hell is in it? I said, instinctively covering my nose up with my hands. I was trying to use my thick black leather gloves to filter out the rancid smell. Oh, no.

It's locked up and the kid doesn't have a key. Studson took a deep breath and lowered his tone once again, almost ashamed to finish his thought. Look, it's not just this box. The kid's not wearing anything but that jacket I gave him. There's some scars in his body. Scratch that, a lot of scars in his body. They look medical. I think we should get him.

checked into crustal pediatric. I turned my head past the warden's shoulder over to the boy. He stood right in place, stoically facing us. The child's pale skin looked like it hadn't been touched by the sun in years, if ever. Though I could hardly see much of his skin. His black, long hair was draped over his slender face like a curtain. Yeah, I let out an exhausted sigh. I'll take him over to the clinic to get him checked out.

Tell you what, we don't have much help out. here, do me a favor and take that box to the station in the meantime. I'll crack it open once I've dropped him off. With a nod, the warden spun back around towards the child, taking a knee right in front of the boy. Hey, kid, you're going to go with this nice man and he's going to get you some help. I've got something I need to take care of, but I know you're in good hands, okay? The child's eyes rested on Studson. His eyes were too cold and too dark to be a child's. They almost looked vacant. Despite that, Studson turned towards me. and put on his fatherly voice, exaggerating his friendly tone.

All right, boss. He's all yours. Take good care of him. I'll see you down to the station. The warden stood himself up and walked towards his beaten-down truck. I took his spot next to the boy. After a brief moment, the sputtering sounds of Studson's reverberating engine filled the woodline. The warden made a quick U-turn over the dirt road and drove off.

Hey, bud, what's your name? I asked, trying to marshal up my own fatherly tone. The boy's damaged eyes looked into mine. His gaze deadpanned and hardened. Won't hurt. The child sputtered out with no sense of rhythm or rhyme. His vocabulary was clearly underused. I felt my heart sink.

I raised one of my hands and placed it on the boy's shoulders, but his body quickly stiffened at my movement. I put my hand back down to my knee. Did someone hurt you? I asked in the calmest voice I could muster. So hurt. The boy said, his tone glazed over as he trailed his hand down his sternum and stomach. I watched his movements with concern.

I couldn't help but have my mind wander back to what the warden had said about his scars. I'm sorry, kid, I just need to take a quick look. I raised my hand back up to the child and peeled back the warden's coat. Surgical scars lined the child's sternum and stretched further down to checkerboard the boy's stomach. Some were old and faded, others looked newer and fresher. The most recent couldn't have been more than a month old. Jesus. I felt my voice fade off.

Never in my life had seen something on call affected me quite like seeing what was done to that boy. I covered the boy back up in the jacket and stood. This time with a softened touch, I rested my hand on the boy's shoulder and softly pushed him towards my vehicle. We'll get you checked out, bud. I whispered to the child as I strapped him in. I've had other kids in the back of my vehicle before, usually for shows and job events.

They were always looking around and fiddling with everything, but not him. He didn't look around the police car like a normal child might. He was broken. Cop aside, I was a father, and I knew he wasn't in the right headspace. A nearly silent drive took us over to Crest Hill Pediatric Clinic. I carried him inside and let the nurse take him into one of their rooms. I gave them my card and told them to contact me specifically if they learned anything about the boy.

That included his health. Though that was only partially for my investigation. I was praying that the kid was going to be okay. I was certain that this wasn't just a case of a lost child. If it turned out that it was just some irresponsible or abusive parents, then it would take hell and high water to keep me from dealing with his caretakers personally. Shortly after returning to my squad, I drove over to the small. all Clark County Sheriff's Department and stepped my way inside. Normally you'd walk in and you'd

only smell the musk from the aged wood walls, but that day the only thing that struck my nostrils was the smell of that rotting box. Studson was waiting for me right near the check-in. My secretary was sporting a medical mask to help her with the scent. Well, that smell certainly didn't get any better. I grumbled as I put my jacket on the rack, tossing Studson's jacket back towards him. He caught it in the air before looking it over. No, it certainly doesn't. Don't think the heating in here is helping any. I walked back towards my office, studson following in tow.

I sat down at my desk and the warden placed the box in front of me. Got any tools? He asked. I responded in a shrug. I'm sure I've got something in here. I fiddled around and opened up a couple of dottering wooden drawers. The humidity from countless summers kept the drawers from ever closing properly, which provided me with any.

endless frustration over the years. But eventually, through enough back and forth, I found a cheap plastic screwdriver. It had tucked its way underneath some papers. Let's see if this works. I spun the box over and started unscrewing the latches. I tried doing my best not to strip the metal away. With every screw that fell off that box came another wave of foul air. Luckily, it only took a few minutes before the box was ready to be pried open.

Well, let's see what we've got here. I whispered out into the room, more to myself than to Studson. I let my hands trail down the edges of the box before pulling the top off. Putrid air rushed out and slammed into my face. I covered my nose in my mouth and looked inside. I refused to sugarcoat this. Inside was a petrified fetus. At first I thought it was some sort of sun-dried, hairless cat, but looking at its face,

I knew it was human. had dried it out, but it couldn't hide its features. Whoever did this needed to be caught and questioned immediately. I covered the box with its lid and told the warden to stay close to the office. I dialed straight up to the sheriff himself. After a long talk, our discussion boiled down to this, figure out what's going on, let him know, and we'll see what he can do from there. I had the full resources of the department for now, which really only settled down to having

three sheriff deputies and myself at my disposal. I'd have to make due. Shortly after, I got a call from the clinic. They wanted someone from law enforcement down there to talk to the boy. They told me he's been vivisected. Not just once, but multiple times. Anything he could live without was gone. A kidney, his spleen, part of his liver, all surgically removed.

I told them I was on my way. It was the least I could do. I could still be there for him if no one else was. I still remember taking that long drive down to the clinic. It felt far too silent. About 15 minutes of driving, I couldn't help myself anymore. I called up my wife and had her put my son on the phone. I told him I loved him.

I think he knew something was wrong. He didn't laugh or make a joke about it. He just told me he loved me too. The nurses at the clinic escorted me back when I arrived. I walked into the room to see the young boy laying in his small white bed. All sorts of tubes and wires were connected to him. He seemed so much frailer now. Those dark eyes no longer came across as vacant, but just dejected and cast down.

Hey, bud, I'm back for a while. As long as nothing crazy happens, I can stick by your side. How does that sound? The boy's eyes were fixated on the white plaster ceiling. They were so crippled, but so deep. A suffering I couldn't imagine was forced onto this poor kid. You want anything? I was told you can't get food until all your labs come back, but water, crans, anything like that?

His eyes flickered towards me when I mentioned the art supplies. Do you want crans? I repeated with a little unexpected surprise. His head lifted off the bed and aimed towards me, his lower jaw trembling. He was clearly interested in the crans, but he couldn't find the words to express himself. What? The boy finally asked. I felt my heart crumple again.

He didn't know the words. word was to want something. He didn't know what want meant. Yeah, I'll get crans for you, buddy. I mustered up the biggest smile I could and walked out of the room. The nurses were more than happy to give me some paper and crayons. They were surprised that he even spoke to me. I walked back into the room and handed them to the boy. Here you go. Feel free to draw whatever you want. The kid gripped the crans in his hand like a spear and extended his arm toward the wall. Luckily, he couldn't reach. Whoa, boy, the papers are meant for drawing, not the wall.

I rallied up another smile and walked over to him. I placed his small hand in mind, slowly gliding his crans toward the clean sheet of paper. He just looked at the paper confused. I helped him press the tip of a crann against the sheet and make a line. For just a split second, his eyes lit up with some sort of feeling, some sort of excitement. See? There you go. Perfect, kid.

I patted him on the shoulder and pulled up a chair next to his bedside. For the next few hours, the kid drew squiggles, little tornadoes and spirals of different colors. Eventually, his eyes glazed over and those spirals started taking shape. Empty rectangles, knives, yellow skies, and stone-colored rooms. He was starting to draw where he was before I found him. Hey, buddy, I know this is a hard question, but who hurt you? His hand stopped scribbling on the page, instead trailing his fingers back to his scars. This will hurt.

He said softly, tears forming on the edges of his eyes. I think he was starting to finally understand that he wasn't in that concrete hell anymore. He could finally relax. Can you draw who hurt you? I asked as I gently nudged his crayon with my finger. He looked down at it. He grabbed an empty sheet of paper and began drawing. The boy drew a woman.

with a long, slicked back black hair. There was no mouth, just a medical mask wrapped around her lower face. She had dark eyes and no discernible age. She could have been any long-haired woman on the streets. The boy cried looking at the picture he drew. I snatched it out of his hands and wrapped the kid up in my arms, shushing him to calm his nerves. I heard him say a single word between his cries. Mother.

He eventually fell asleep in my arms. I stayed up that whole night with the boy. My wife didn't question it when I told her I wasn't coming home. I thank God for her. She has always been a blessing. That following morning I sat in the chair in the boy's room. I managed to get a few more clues out of him, specifically that he came from somewhere in the woods and that he had walked the whole day down to the trail.

That meant wherever he came from couldn't have been far from the dirt path studson found him on. I finally had something to go off of. I ended up waking the other deputies up and called them in for some overtime. It's something I always hated doing, but that's what you sign up for when you're in a small department. Once I explained that we were doing a search on behalf of a possibly abused child, they were all on board, no questions asked. Their names were Jackson Shaw, Lewis Watts, and Dean Terry. Remember them, please.

We started the search around 2 p.m. that day. The same scent of turpentine emanated around us as we readied ourselves for our search around our deputy vehicle. We were surrounded by towering ponderoses and wicked cold wind. Jackson and Lewis had their trunks open. They were each putting up some extra ammo into a duty sack. They were bringing their Remington's with them, just in case. The game plan was pretty simple. Jackson and myself would take the northeast sector, and Dean and Lewis would take the northwest sector.

We'd be in constant radio communication with five-minute status checks. If we spotted anything, we'd wait for everyone to regroup before proceeding. While we were formed up in our little makeshift guard mount, we heard some tires come barreling down the road. We immediately readied ourselves. I felt something fierce burning within my chest. I couldn't tell if it was adrenaline or anger. All I knew was that if I saw an ounce of black hair sticking out of that vehicle, I would have possibly taken up a court case. But it wasn't anyone of the sort.

Kicking up a pile of dirt behind it was an old game warden truck. A big weathered hand had stuck itself out the window and outstretched its fingers into a big wave. I put my pistol back in its holster and walked up to the truck's door with a purpose. I wasn't even all the way up before I started barking at him. Studson, you dumbass, what are you doing here? Studson opened up his rusted door and stepped out, pulling up his duty belt and clipping his holster onto it. Well, I might have heard you were all going into these woods looking for some bad folk.

Just so happened that I'm out here looking for a rabbit wolf. Crazy how these things work out. But since I'm here, might as well team up together. Studson was a good man. If I didn't know I could trust him to handle his own, I would have sent him home. But I didn't. Instead, I nodded. Yeah, crazy how the world works.

Couldn't agree more, though. Stutson, come with me and Jackson. We'll keep an eye out for that wolf while we're out here. Without even a smile between us, we both returned to the group. No chances out there. The sheriff said if we find anything, we report it back to him, and he'll bring us some extra reinforcements. We've got the kid in the hospital safe. We don't need to lose anyone for being dumb out here.

With a deep breath, I continued. All right, let's get this started. Jackson, Studson, let's head out. With that, our two groups broke away from our vehicles. We headed up to the northeast like that. We planned. Like clockwork, our watches would beep every five minutes, and we'd radio ourselves in. We gave ourselves until sunset to regroup back of the squads.

Unfortunately, only after a few hours, the sun had already started setting, and nothing turned up. We swung back around towards our vehicles. It wasn't too much longer after making a U-turn in that forest that we got a broadcast over the radio. It was Dean. He only whispered into his mic. I could barely hear him through the static.

Dawson, it's Dean. I don't know where Lewis went. He was right behind me, not even a minute ago. I think... The transmission ended. I immediately tried radioing back. Dean, where are you? You think you could wave your flashlight around for a while until we can find you?

I held up the mic to my ear, just in case we only got whispering back again, but we didn't even get that. Well, boss, what do you want to do? Studson asked. His big hand held on to his pistol grip. The hood of his holster down. He clearly knew what he wanted to do. We could take the gamble that there's some interference around here and head back to the squads, but if I'm being honest, I don't like how that conversation went.

Yeah, I'm with you on that one. Jackson chimed in. He was scanning the now darkening forest, white-knuckling his shotgun. Sounds like we've made up our minds then. We all looked at each other and shared the same agreeable nod. Weapons drawn. Don't fire unless you know what you're shooting at. Jackson B. Point. Stutson and I will be behind you. Make sure we see each other, all right?

I looked towards the warden who nodded. We formed into a tight triangle and slowly made our way west. After about 30 minutes, Waldorf forest fell into complete darkness. We flipped on our spotlights to illuminate the area around us, but that only went so far. Every five feet was a tree obscuring our light and casting dancing shadows around us. I couldn't help but feel like we were being watched. To this day, I don't know if we were or not. I could see a light up bed. Jackson whispered out. He let his pace fall by a few seconds so we could see what he was looking at. Sure enough, there was a strong beam of light shooting its way up at a tree trunk about 30 yards from us.

We press him forward? The deputy at our point asked while he re-gripped his hands around the shotgun frame. Despite the bitter fall weather, we all found ourselves with a cold sweat burrowing into our clothes. I tapped Jackson on the back to let him know that we were still behind him. He swallowed some spit and pressed on. We couldn't have been more than ten yards away by the time we noticed the spotlight was dangling off of a bush. It was the same make and model as ours.

We knew it came from one of our units. Hey, Studson, you good at tracking? I could feel the cold air hit my throat with every word. Yeah, I've got some experience. Cover me and I'll look. I nodded. Tap Jackson on the back of his shoulder. We formed a two-man ring around Studson as he looked over the area.

It didn't take long for him to spout off some information. There is a lot of blood, still wet but cold. It's on the spotlight too. Looks like some drag marks are going through the brush over there. He lifted his spotlight and I risked a glance. Sure enough, there was upturned dirt and broken branches going straight through the bushes. The whole situation just changed. Studson, I suppose that wolf you mentioned earlier didn't happen to actually exist, did it?

Studson shook his head. Didn't think so. Give me a second. I grabbed my radio and switched frequencies back to the department dispatch. Mark, it's Dawson. Call up the sheriff and tell him we possibly have two officers down northwest of our vehicles on Access Road B. Walder's Wood. We'll need medical on the way.

There was silence. I felt my heart start pounding. A few seconds later, I finally got a reply. Understood. Dispatching medical and routing up the chain. I'll have medical weight by your vehicles for you. His tone was professional, but I knew this was hitting him just as hard as us. We didn't have time to worry yet. Thanks, Mark. I let go of my radio. Instinctively Jackson got back in front of us. We reformed into our formation. Jackson's face told me everything I needed to know. His adrenaline was spiked. His pupils' damn near glowed. We pressed forward. Stutson occasionally gave out directions to Jackson.

Jackson, I kept looking out on the tree line, seeing things that weren't there. Shadows dancing around from our light, looking like creatures from nightmares. But we weren't chasing ghosts. I knew that. Somewhere in those trees was a woman with a long black hair that I needed to find. I had a hunch she'd be around my missing deputies. Jackson stopped quickly. I nearly bumped into his back.

The sound of silence clogged our ears worse than any broken old motor could. With two of his fingers, he pointed straight ahead of us, flipping off his spotlight in the process. Studson and I did the same. We expected to be caked in total darkness, but just in front of us was a small clearing. An old electric lantern buzzed out in front of an archaic, broken-down wooden cabin. A dull orange light illuminated a window, but we couldn't see much from where we were. What's the plan? Jackson whispered, taking a heavy knee on the ground, his shock unarmed directly at the front door. I was at an impasse.

Lewis and Dean could be dying in there, and if I waited for backup, it could be too late. I'd have to make those calls to their wives and mothers and explain how we just waited for them to die, or I could choose to press forward. That put us at risk for one or two or even all of us dying. My choice was made for me when I heard Dean yelp out from inside. We pressed forward. Jackson, take us to the window. We need to see what's inside.

Studson, stick close, look for anything out of the ordinary. Could be traps. Looks like an old hunting cabin. They both nodded. Their gaze is affixed to the home in the clearing. It didn't take long for Studson to grab onto Jackson and yank him back. We were walking in darkness, no flashlights, but somehow Studson still noticed the wire sticking out of the ground. We followed the thin metal line with our eyes and saw it connected to razor wire.

A man-sized snare. Jackson just shook his head and gritted his teeth. I could feel the tension spike. Studson tapped Jackson's elbow and nodded off towards another path. We followed. It took us straight up to the window. Kneeling down next to it, we listened. We could hear muffled voices coming from inside.

One clearly feminine, the other a man's, beaten down and slow. The woman spoke first. You're a grown man. Learn to have some impulse control. Now sit in the chair before you ruin another one. We heard a hefty stomp on the wooden floorboards inside the cabin. Don't give me that attitude. You know you need help with your moods.

A deep grunt exhaled from the other side of the window. Loud creaking footsteps walk straight up to the far side of the cabin. I fiddled in my uniform, looking for something I could use to see inside. My hands met my badge. Screw it, I thought. With a try, I unpinned the polished silver badge. my chest and lifted it up to the window. A small reflection showed me something I wasn't expecting.

A burly man clad in dirty denim overalls had strapped himself into a thick wooden chair. His face was badly burnt on either side of his temples, and jutting out of them was what looked like metal screws. He rocked back and forth in the chair with more and more aggression as a slender silhouette walked beside him. He flexed his neck muscles and craned his charred head away from the figure. The shadowy outline of the woman finally stepped into view, a woman with long black hair wearing a dull blue surgical mask.

Her outfit consisted of a ripped and frayed nurse's uniform, a mockery of the nurse I left back at the clinic. She reached over the desk near the man and pulled out two long, black and red cords. They were affixed with small black box on the desk. She softly hushed to the man who slowly stopped rocking in the chair. Once he was calm, the woman leaned over the hulking mass of meat. She placed the black cords metal and clamps to the metal strips that were sticking out of the man's temples.

He immediately screamed as smoke pulled around his head. His body was jerking furiously and his muscles were tightening and spasming. A thick white foam formed at the edge of his mouth. The woman slowly counted at three and released the cords from the man's head. The large man now slowly rocked back and forth in his chair, drool spilling from his lips. Even from the other side of the window, we could smell charred hair and skin wafting its way out of the home. There you go, honey. See? All those nasty thoughts are all gone now. In a mockery of kindness, she carefully undid his straps.

She stood him up and helped him into the back room. He stumbled over himself, bracing one large paw on the wooden walls next to him. I pocketed my duty badge and looked over to Jackson and Studson. I think my face said it all. We found our girl. We found the mother. I indicated with my two fingers that there were only two of them in the house and that they were both in a back room. I pointed over to the lost spotlight and shrugged, trying to indicate that I didn't see the missing deputies yet. That was enough, though. It was time for us to head to the door and make our way inside.

We crept around the home and stacked ourselves up next to the front door. We carefully searched the doorframe for anything that might lead us to believe that there were any traps that were set for us. Studson just shook his head. He didn't see any. We all took a deep breath and counted a three using our fingers. Jackson was at point, me behind him and Studson following in the rear. At the signal of the third finger being raised, Jackson pressed forward. He kicked the door hard enough to break through its rusted hinges.

A major boom shook throughout the house. Sheriff's Department, get on the ground now! Jackson hollered out. He breached straight forward into the home with us in tow. Jackson and I turned on our strobe lights. We were hoping to disorient the twisted family inside. Nearly immediately after we crashed through the front door, we heard a broken window come from the back room.

Yet still we pressed forward, past the kitchen in the foyer. Jackson kicked over a large table that lay in our way. Old magazines, coffee grounds, and plates lurched forward and littered the floor. The smell of burning flesh and iron hit our nostrils hard. We made our way towards the back room that the couple had fled into, just moments before. But just as we crossed the threshold, we were stopped in place by the black-haired woman. Officers, please, stop, don't hurt us. She cried out to us with her arms outstretched. Tears were streaming down her face.

Please, we didn't do anything wrong. Her chest heaved as she took in long sobs, her small body lurching up and down from her deep breaths. I gave her no more than a second thought. I kicked Stutcheon's shoe to signal that I needed some help. Jackson held back to provide overwatch for our rest. Stutzen and I quickly rushed the woman, and the second we touched her, she yelped out. How are you doing this? I kicked her fee out from under her. She slammed onto the ground, her breath taken away immediately. For a second, there was silence, until we heard Jackson's Remington drop.

We looked up to see Jackson standing completely still, arms draped down at his side. The only movement being a few twitches from his feet, his eyes started turning red and bloodshot as he looked down at us, blood pooling around him. The burned man had jabbed a hunting knife straight through the back of Jackson's skull. I dropped my handcuffs and reached from my pistol. I aimed it up towards the man, but that freak used Jackson as a shield. He kicked the shotgun behind the corner of the room and out of our sight. I screamed at him to drop his weapon just so I could take my shot. Instead, the big man darted around the corner, chasing the shotgun. He had let Jackson's body drop straight to the ground. Studson immediately jumped up.

and took off after the man. I yelled out for him to stop, but Studson was seeing red. The second he crossed the threshold of the door, I heard a shotgun blast go off. Studson's arm was torn right off. Blood flooded down his warden's coat before he staggered back to the ground. He let out a groan and went silent. The woman under me started laughing. Her face was twisted up off the ground to look at the scene that lay in front of her.

I planted the butt of my pistol right into her temple. She stopped moving. I kept my sights toward the doorway. My trigger already half depressed. I got your girl right here, you asshole. You want her dead? I'll kill her. I spat out my words.

I wanted this over with now. I wanted every spare second I could gather for a chance to save my deputies. The man muttered out a string of incoherent gibberish, like it didn't know how to talk. But it seemed like it was asking me to stop. If you don't want me to hurt her, then drop the shotgun and lay down right in front of me. The simple-minded man nodded while panicking. I heard a clacking of metal on the ground. The tip of Jackson's Remington poked its way around the corner of the doorway and found itself resting on the floor.

The big man walked in front of the threshold with his arms up. I shot. I shot that guy right between the eyes, and he dropped like a sack of rocks. I didn't have time to deal with him. I had deputies down, and guess what? I still see his dumb face every time I close my eyes. Was he a good man in a bad situation? I don't know.

I don't. But I had a choice to make, and I made it. I quickly holstered my pistol and grabbed my handcuffs back from the floor. I placed one loop around the woman's thin wrist and the other around her ankle. I moved myself over towards Jackson and took his handcuffs off from his belt. I did the same with the other half of the woman's body. She was the only one that deserved something worse than death, and I was going to bring it to her. I left her on the floor, unconscious, but breathing.

I could finally check up on my partners. I ran back towards Studson and Jackson. Jackson was gone. His skin had already turned yellow like plastic. I'd been to enough calls to know what death looked like. But Studson, Studson, he was holding on to that stump with all of his might. His skin was pale, but by God, he was still sweating and swearing. I ripped off his belt and tied it right above his wound.

The blood stopped. He turned to me and smiled. I begged him to stay awake and he nodded as best he could. I rushed over to the back room. It was a badly crumbling bedroom. I found a trap door near the bed frame that led down into a basement. I grabbed onto it and pulled. I got lucky when it opened.

I wasn't thinking. If it was a trap, well, I wouldn't be recording this. I flicked on my steady light and aimed it down. nothing but a small concrete box, but off in the corner was a crumpled up deputy, Dean. As soon as the light shined on his face, he raised up a hand to shield his eyes. He was alive. Can you walk? I called out to him, my voice echoing off the smooth concrete walls.

I got good and pretty good. I think if I stand... He stopped mid-sentence. I understood what he was about to say. I think he just didn't want to admit it yet. I ran through my options. No medical crew is going to come inside a trapped home, and I have a downed deputy, a downed warden and a prisoner, two of which won't last very long, not to mention a missing deputy who was still somewhere out in the woods. I banged my fist against my head trying to fight out my indecision.

I flipped my mic back to the dispatcher. Mark, it's Dawson. I've got Dean and Studson both with me. They're both bleeding pretty bad. Get the sheriff to send those reinforcements out to my location. I'm about 15 northwest of the vehicles. I'm in a cabin. I'm going to have to drag them out for medical.

Make sure the crews bring everything they've got. Dean isn't looking so good. Tell whatever officers are down by the vehicles to come up here, ASAP, and help me with the transport. Tell them to watch their step. There are traps outside. Understood. Routing medical and redirecting Gorge Falls, PD. Any updates on Lewis?

Negative. He's still missing. We'll continue the search after I get these two men help. Ten four. I took a deep breath and looked around the bloodied old cabin. I did my best to take it all in and calm my heart rate. With a bit of a heave, I dragged the woman closer to the trap door. She was still slumped over with the big bloody red welt on her temple.

I slid down the wall and sat down. Hey, Dean, you good? Still breathing. His voice was labored, but okay. Studson, how about you? Well, I hear you hollering at me. His voice was quiet, groaned. He was in worse shape than.

He first let on. I want status checks every ten seconds. If you stop talking to me, I'll kick your ass back to life. And so the night went on. For fifteen minutes, I didn't know if I'd lose my deputies. Both of them even went quiet during that last minute. I had to take a risk and leave the woman to physically snap them back to this world, but they made it.

We got them on stretchers and took them out of the woods as soon as we could. Like I thought, Jackson was long gone before help arrived. I still haven't thrown out his locker that's in the department. His wife couldn't bear to go through it. Maybe his son will want to crack it open one day. In the meantime, I'll keep the locker just the way it is. Lewis's body was found about an hour later after reinforcements arrived. Blunt forced damage to his head.

That's what took him out. That's what keeps me from losing my mind about shooting that big man. He took two of ours, and I only took one of his. As for the boy back at the clinic, well, he started getting better. It was touch and go for a while, but local word got out and he found some donors willing to help him get back to stable health. Missing one or two organs no big deal, but when you're stripped down to factory settings, things get more complicated. Oh, and Studson ended up adopting him, named him Miles. Him and his daughters get along great. It took a while, but Studson is a good

and patient man, and Miles ended up turning around eventually. Dean was patched up and came into work the second he could. I think losing both Jackson and Lewis hurt us both. We needed this job to keep us going. We both feel a lot of blame for that night. I'm glad we were both there for each other during those dark nights when those bad thoughts ended up creeping in on us. As for the black-haired woman, her name is Josephine Adams. She had a miscarriage about ten years prior to the night of her arrest. Her husband's mind snapped. He tried killing himself. She instead cured him by shocking the man into mental degeneration. Mrs. Adams had miles just to try to find a way to bring her firstborn back. She had a child right in front of her, and she abused him like a labrat. Yet in court,

she emphatically stated that she was the only sane one in her family. She was declared medically incompetent by the court. She was sent to a criminal psychiatric ward for the rest of her life. Don't let anyone tell you different. Those wards are no better than prison. To be honest, I was just happy to have a chance to testify against her. I brought Jackson's and Lewis's badges with me. I thought they'd want to be there for it. Anyway, that's about it for my reminiscing. Miles and my son Tucker are both graduating college at the end of the year. I'm proud of them both. Dean, Stutzen and I are having a little celebration party later this month. I guess life moves on. I really hope that one day... I can too.