The Dark Somnium - The Darkest Missing Persons Cases I've Seen as a Private Investigator

Episode Date: May 18, 2024

This Creepypasta scary story was written by  @DusklightRadio  make sure to check out their channel and show them some support!Special thanks to  @RomNex  and  @DusklightRadio  for joining me in this!00:00 Strange The Darkest Missing Persons Cases I've Seen as a Private Investigator03:51 Case 1: Helping Hands06:37 Case 2: Mourning Patterns35:07 Case 3: Born from The Earth, Taken by The Earth50:16 Case 4: The King and The Empty Throne01:00:23 Case 5: The Mares Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

I've been a private investigator for most of my life. I feel it important to tell you all at the earliest juncture what I do, why I do it, and the unspoken rules of engagement when revealing information to the masses at large. I've seen far too many inscrutable types just pulling stories out of thin air for a quick buck or completely disrespecting the names and memories of those they were paid to investigate. I won't be doing any of that, not when what's going on concerns all of us. My name is Wilson. I'm a PI that takes most of my appointments online and with very little contact face-to-face.

Not just because of the current social climate, but because I like to be on the go when I'm working. I live close to the Rainbow Springs State Park in central Florida. It's a great place to visit for your mental health, and it keeps me fit. So you can imagine my surprise when a job comes in that is directly linked to the park itself. If you're unfamiliar with the missing 411, it's a book series by David Politis, chronicling the sheer volume of missing person cases in national parks all across the United States. People who vanish in short timeframes without a trace. Some found inexplicably far from where they started without any logical explanation

for how they got there, and bodies left in conditions that would make your skin crawl. Florida doesn't even crack the top 10 for total missing persons, at least not officially. On the back channels, however, there's a lot more to go by. Historically, young people have wandered into the park when drunk, high, or just downright horny with a partner, and either gone off the face of the earth or found dead much, much farther than where they started. My first investigation into the park came when an irate husband was adamant his wife had been cheating on him and wanted me to tail her on one of her midnight's conements.

The guy was rough around the edges, but paid me well. So I obliged. It didn't take long for the spouse to go wandering, and sure enough, she met in the parking lot with the husband's sister. I took the info back to the husband, and, in a complete 180, he simply chuckled and said, What can you do? I'll fall for divorce to give my shit. Thanks, man.

He paid me extra from my troubles, and I went home, treated myself to an extra large takeout, and forgot about it. Two days later, I got a call from my colleague in the precinct. The husband was found sitting in a boat, naked, under a blanket, and drenched in blood, sobbing like a wild man. The rangers asked him what had happened, and he said, It wasn't right. I should have been enough, but now I can be. Before they could clarify, they realized what he was wearing. The bowie knife cast aside in the boat and the cuts on his arms.

It was the skin of a woman, his sister. When he was questioned, his sanity clearly waning. He smiled and told the officers, The Baron of the Woods has her now. He's keeping her safe until I'm ready. He was found hanging in his cell before he was brought to trial, a bloodied message left on the wall. The Baron provides.

That one took a while to get over. I've had a terse conversation with my contact over at the PD, who gave me a polite but firm talking to about the confidentiality of the case. Minded me, I'm just a PI, and once I'm paid, that's the end of it. What you hear, what you see, it stays in that park or with us. Got it? He looked serious, deadly serious. It didn't suit him, and while I didn't fully buy it, I wasn't a fool.

I placated him with a few drinks, and we forgot all about it. That is, until the Pine View field trip. Case one. Helping Hands I'd been tasked with observing and investigating a count. counselor, who was suspected of being actively high on the job and dealing to the students. So knowing they would be off school grounds for the trip, I followed them. That middle school group of 22 went into the park one summer for a weekend of bonding, fun activities, and memories to last a lifetime.

Eighteen would emerge with trauma that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. I was camped up a ways away, and scouting for any sign of the counselor either being high, showing withdrawal or offering it to the kids. It was becoming obvious that there wasn't anything of the sort, so I instead decided to keep tabs and relax with a couple of beers enjoying the night air. According to the witness statements, it started on the first night. A group of five friends were in a tent closest to the embankment where a large swath of trees that led for miles was situated on the opposite side. The youngest, Dylan, complained repeatedly of splashing coming closer to the tent as he tried to sleep.

None of the others believed him and convinced him to just sleep it off, which he did until it happened again and spooked the second kid, Bryce. The other two, Mike and Grayson calmed them down and told them not to complain to the counselor as they liked the spot. The witness sleeping with them, Danny, said he couldn't hear anything and thought they were playing a stupid prank. By the second night, however, things escalated. Danny claimed he was awoken by the sound of splashing outside and muffled groans.

He looked around and saw Dylan was out of his sleeping bag. Worried he may have fallen into the water, Danny went outside into the darkness to call for him. Danny claims he saw a figure in the shallows, maybe waist-deep that was beckoning to him with the arm bending at a weird angle. Danny didn't move and called out to Dylan again, at which point he says he heard Dylan's voice but that it was weird, like somebody doing a really good Dylan impression, but off. Something overcame Danny, and he took a step back as three other shapes rose out of the water, all beckoning with their arms bent to odd angles and calling his name in the same off way that Dylan sounded.

Danny says he screamed and ran into the tent to wake the others, but the bags were empty. At this point, I'm now awake at my little campsite and overlooking the scene, and I see Danny running to the cabin screaming as people rushed toward the shallows. Dylan, Bryce, Mitchell, and Gray were never found. The only thing that showed they'd stepped into the shallows were some clothes and, most disturbingly, arms that had been left floating in the place where Danny spied them. Case 2. Morning Patterns After that, I stepped up my research into the local legends around the park and disappearances

that hadn't gone on public record. Brick wall after brick wall hit me before I caught a break. Someone had heard I was looking into what went on at the park, and I received an email. The email my assistant forwarded was titled Disappearances in State Park, Help. Dear Mr. Cooper, I hear you have been taking cases for those who go missing in the park, and I'm hoping you can help me. My name is Marco, and I am writing to you in the hopes you can help me with something that is long plate my family. I'll get straight to the point. Every one of my children has gone missing when they

turn 18. I am a proud father of six, two girls and four boys. A busy household at one time, I'm sure you can imagine. There's Michael, 24, Piorthur, 22, Julia and Tomas, 21, Jonas 17, and Yanna, 15. my children besides Jonas and Diana are missing Mr. Cooper, and all of them were last seen heading into Rainbow Springs State Park. Jonas's 18th birthday is coming up, and my wife and I cannot bear the thought of losing another. I realize how far fetch this must sound to you, and you undoubtedly have your concerns, but if you are at the very least willing to meet with me, I will explain further. Please, our family can only take so much turmoil. We need help, and there's nowhere else to turn. Yours faithfully, Marco Baldoni. I blinked and made sure Dolly, my PA,

hadn't sent me spam by accident. She confirmed she hadn't. I reread the contents of the email three times over before doing some research into the park itself, knowing full well that all state Parks had a varying degree of missing persons, but never hearing of multiple siblings. Scouring the articles, I could only find one on the eldest son, Mikhail, from six years ago, providing minimal information, save for an appeal and a shot of him with his family. A tall, fair-skinned kid with messy, curly black hair that stretched over his brow and dangled in front of his eyes that were hidden behind thick glasses. A cheeky smile as he stands arm in arm with his other siblings, proud parents standing behind him at a family ceremony.

I don't know what it was, but something in the photo tugged at the withered heartstrings and my afternoon schedule wasn't exactly packed, so I decided to meet the family for a coffee and hear them out. I had no idea how much this case would haunt my dreams for years to come. I drove up to the Baldoni household and immediately knew I was dealing with the grief-stricken family, broken beyond repair. The lawn was barely kept up, hedges were jutting out, and the neighbors murmured fervently to one another as I trudged up the driveway to the house. Not so much judging as they were silently looking on with pity, one word repeatedly being picked up as I reached the door. Cursed. Marco answered the door before I could even wrap my knuckles for a second knock. He was disheveled, frantic, and above all else, tired. The man I saw,

on the photos was portly, salt and pepper, curly hair, and a wide grin showcasing the pride in his family. The man in front of me looked 15 years older, frail, balding, and with a permanent grimace as if the bags under his eyes weighed his whole face down. Ah, detective, please come in. He opened the door wider, and the distinct odor of mus permeated my nostrils, but I had been to far worse places and followed with a smile as we sat down in the living room, a place that had clearly become a shrine of sorts to their lost children. Photos of kids in various stages of their lives littered every piece of furniture, from the fireplace stand to the coffee table. If I'd looked for long enough, I'm sure I could have traced

each child's milestone from birth to disappearance in the photos, newspaper articles, and trinkets. Marco sat down, as one of his children brought in some lemonade and sat next to him, arm on his shoulder reassuringly. I take it this is Yana. I asked, staring at the young girl, trying to gauge any information I could without asking. She seemed to be in good health, tired like her father, but much more steadfast, though that could be chocked up to her age. She nodded and she introduced herself, a soft smile breaking across her face. It's nice to meet you.

My dad says you're here to help me find out where my siblings are. Marco interjected, almost like a trained reaction. Find out what happened to them, Yanna. We know where they are. His hands fell into his lap and his entire body language dropped further. He had already resigned himself to their fate. I took a sip of lemonade and took out my notepad. Why don't you tell me where this all began, Marco?

What happened with Mikhail? Marco's eyes widened at the mere mention of his son's name. His lip trembled, but of reassured. ensuring squeeze from Yana kept his resolve. He nodded and got up, looking at a series of photos on the mantel place. Mikhail was our first born, a truly gifted boy with computers. He was remarked as a prodigy from a young age and entered into a scholarship. We emigrated here when he was four, and you can imagine the issues we faced from the outside world.

So our pride in him was immeasurable. but never to the point we pushed him too hard. We just wanted him to be happy. But Mikhail was the sort to expect too much of himself and it frequently resulted in him locking himself away in his room if he didn't achieve perfect scores or an experiment didn't turn out the way he wanted. He started researching into ways to help broaden his horizons and deepen his understanding of how things worked.

That led him to some research which completely consumed him from the age of 17. Marco picked up the photo of Mikhail's graduation, tears staining his cheeks. My brilliant boy was obsessed, barely spoke to us in the lead up to his 18th birthday. If he wasn't working on his experiments, he was out taking long walks until God knows when. We couldn't chastise him when we didn't know his return, and we didn't know his return, and we didn't. He just thought he was going through the usual issues a boy has aged us. So long as he took some mace and kept his phone on, we let him have his freedom. I see.

While parenting is a tough journey, and he was your first. You're bound to make errors in judgment, Marco. It's not your fault. I gave him a reassuring smile. He seemed like he wasn't the cause of Mikhail's downfall or his disappearance. That much was clear. He returned the smile with far less enthusiasm. And continued.

The night of his 18th birthday, he pecked his things and came down during movie night to speak to us. It was like the old Mikhail was back. He was practically glowing, and I was so shocked at this I didn't even question the positivity. When your son has barely said three words to you for a year and then suddenly wants to engage in long conversations, tell you he loves you and hug you? Well, you just take it for what it is. What a fool I was not noticing the signs. Mikhail waited until we were all asleep

before taking the car and driving to the national park. The car was parked up without issue and had no sign of Mikhail beyond entering the visitor's gate. The guard said he seemed like a normal. kid but with a determined look about him and a large backpack on his person. They never found a trace of him, detective. With that, Marco sank into the couch and wrung his hands full of shame. I knew that look, and I knew I had to ask the obvious, painful as it may be.

Marco, was Mikhail suicidal? Did he have any mental health problems? His eyes met mine, and the hurt in them was apparent. He'd been asked this before. Everyone has said the same thing to me. He must have been depressed, typical foreign family putting pressure on their bright boy to give them all an easy life. He was a shut-in, so it's no wonder he killed himself. Journalists, neighbors, teachers, state troopers and police all think the same way.

He slammed a fist down, his yonnas stared at him with tears in her eyes. My boy was loved. He was cherished. We never had any signs and we encouraged communication. We still do. We were a loving family. We talked things out and we did not shame our children for failing. He didn't.

He pressed his head into his hands and softly sobbed as Yonah comforted him. I'm sorry, Marco. We can discuss your other children another day if you'd prefer. I realize this must be painful for you. I had to ask in order to eliminate the possibilities. If they've already gone down that road, then I assure you I won't do the same. You have my word. I leaned forward and put a hand on his forearm, hoping it would help him.

He nodded and composed himself. So it went. Piotr, the second oldest, always looked up to Mikhail and idolized him. He was more artistically inclined and focused diligently on his poetry skills, wanting to be just as good in his craft as Mikhail was. The two found their respective differences fascinating. How one could be so focused on the creative arts and the other on science, both covering for the other's weaknesses.

I dare say they were more like twins than brothers at some points. Piotr worried for Mikhail during those dark days. But he kept the family together with movie nights, poetry recitals, and would leave small sticky notes around the house with these, fun messages to keep our spirits up. As Marco smiled, I looked around and saw the fridge, washing machine, kitchen door, and every other appliance still had these distinctive yellow sticky notes with small, carefully worded messages affixed to them.

But all that changed when Mikhail disappeared, I assume. I pressed, scribbling more notes down on my pad. He nodded and asked Yanna for a stiffer drink. She hesitantly obliged and walked to the kitchen. He became inconsolable, especially after the first few days of searching, he'll did nothing, and people very quickly drew conclusions of suicide. He was like me, you see, passionate and fiery. He refused to believe Mikhail would do anything of the sort

and would get into all manner of confrontations with anyone who suggested otherwise. Teachers would kick him out of classes for cussing out his peers, that when they made unkind comments, you see, and he would eventually get suspended for breaking the nose of a bully who mimicked the hanging notion when referencing Mikhail. After that, he began writing darker focused poems and placing them on his front door. They made us unsettled, but we let him express himself. I took them all down after he disappeared, though. That was too painful, except for...

He pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket, as Yonna placed a bottle of vodka on the table, and he poured himself a shot, downing it without hesitation as he read the note aloud. It calls to me from beyond the veil, a screaming, writhing, terrible whale. It hulls and cries in a language not meant for man, but I will search for it the way I only can. It lays in the grave of giants hidden from view. It bears the soul of my brother, suffering renewed. Do not fret, do not cry, for I will return. The hearts of my family no longer will they earn.

For the burden of the woods told me a tale. Keep my promise, and I will return from the veil. It's strange to admit, but I felt a bitter chill run through me as he finished. Was I really to believe a teenage kid wrote this? It sounded almost coded, like he'd read too many old Gothic whore novels, but something within it rang true, a message within a message, maybe. Marco gave it to me with shaking hands and continued. After that, he too left for the park.

He was never spotted by the guards and had gone on foot. A passerby said they saw him thraging in very loose clothing for the time of year he went missing. They were concerned he'd freeze, but said they felt uncomfortable approaching him, that it seemed he was in a trance of sorts, and they thought he may be on drugs. They reported it to the Ranger, but nothing came of it. Marco sighed and poured another shot. The second of my children went missing and my heart broke even more. Again, no trace.

But this time there was no conclusion of death. His case is still open. What a joke. A hollow laugh left his body before he downed the shot and wiped his lips. Apologies, but I need this to talk about what happened next. You understand. I do, but I hope you don't plan on getting too intoxicated. It'll make my job to find them harder.

Please, in moderation. I felt awkward telling a grown man stricken with grief what to do in his own home. But this was still a courtesy call, and I wouldn't get very far if he was plastered. He nodded grimly and signaled to Yanna to leave the room. Dad, I want to be here to help you, especially with mom being... She protested, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand and something in another language I didn't understand. He kissed her and sent her away after a few tense moments. She doesn't know the extent of the twins' issue.

I must confess, not all of them are missing. We know where one of them is. His deadpan, bitter response catches me off guard, and I sit forward, noticing something is off. All right, I'm listening. What happened? He visibly shudders before continuing, getting up and pacing the room as if anxious. Yulia and Tomash were twins. As you know, they were inseparable, and, like many twins, I'm told, they had their own habits and languages.

There were so many times where they felt disconnected from the rest of us, content to spend their days planning trips together or doing their own thing. But this time went by, they too began to become reclusive. Maybe that was always the way it was going to go, one sibling following the other. But even when you see a car crash coming, you can't help but be devastated by its impact. Marco shakes his head, perhaps trying to rid himself of the mixture of guilt and pain, if only for a moment. They began communicating exclusively with one another after Piotr left, becoming more and more hysterical in the lead up to their own disappearance. But this was different to the others.

I could see the morose expression grow from his face to his body language, and he grabbed something from the desk and tossed it in front of me, pouring another shot. We know where one of them ended up. He flatly added, as my eyes darted down to the paper from a few years ago. Local teen found dead in unusual circumstances, splashed across the front in gaudy font, a photo of a cordoned-off section of the park next to it. The already tense mood grew worse as the article hung in the air for a few moments, before Marco put his finger on a section of the map.

And for the first time since we met, I understood why other PIs had either turned this down or come up with nothing. Marco was pointing to a cave high up on the cliffside. Tomash was found inside there after people nearby complained of a foul smell and saw birds scavenging nearby. He'd been missing for two weeks by the time they found him. But he'd been dead less than that. A kid with no athletic ability, claiming equipment or survival skills, managed to stay. Stay alive and get himself up to such a high spot some six miles into the national park?

That is not possible, detective. My boy could not have done that on his own. Someone took him up there. So you think something has been luring your kids to the park for some reason? I pressed, trying not to sound insulting in my tone as I put the pen and paper down for a moment. He knocked back the shot and put another piece of paper onto the table. A map with directions and a piece of Peter's poetry. From the darkness he calls to me a cacophony of agony and impropriety.

To the old land the Baron beckons me forth. My twin dances beyond my gaze, her soul enraptured within the darkest maze. I am powerless to resist his siren's call, for he speaks in the voice of my brother, and I know not how to defy my heart. for it is broken like no other. The map showed directions to an area not marked on the forest trails. It was shoddy, hastily drawn, and with unusual markings that Marco pointed out were definitely the twin's own language. I stare for a moment as Marco says what I'm thinking.

Not something. Someone, detective. How did Thomas die? Where was Yulia? Exposure, so they say. I have never been able to even spend any time with the body beyond a rushed verification. Yulia was nowhere to be seen. Not a trace. Yana doesn't know we found Tomash.

She still thinks he's missing and I cannot bear to tell her otherwise. You may have noticed the mother is nowhere to be seen. This is because the grief broke her heart. I couldn't tell her what pushed her over the edge. You understand. I leaned back and took a breath, running through the information in my head. When did Jonas turn 18? Last week, he's already behaving strangely, and we've kept him in his room for now.

No matter how hard we try, they find a way to either lower our guard or leave when we're asleep. We have to sleep sometime, and Yanna is in no state to overpower her brother. I do not know what else to do, detective. Something is killing my family, and I... I don't know why. He puts his face in his hands and sobs as Yanna comes back in to comfort him. I decide this is a good moment to take a breather and head for the hallway.

The dusty smell of the house making me congested. He's wrong, you know. I spun around and saw Yana standing in the hall, a defiant look on her young face. What do you mean? Do you think it's something else? Mental illness. It runs in our family. I try to keep positive for dad's sake, to give him something to hold on to other than grief, but my family hasn't ever been tested for anything, and my father is convinced that there's some curse on the family from the old country. But I think they're just sick, detective. Please don't make a promise you can't keep. That's all I ask. I don't want to lose another family member. She walked back inside and left me to ponder my options.

I could leave a grief-stricken father in limbo and advise they see a doctor, or I looked up at the stairs, a single light on in the bedroom and a pang of guilt in my chest. Or I could commit to the job and see where it takes me. Call me a fool, but I said yes. I told Marco to let Jonas out and I'd tail him. Much as I wanted to know more about the kid, I couldn't risk him recognizing me and giving me the runaround. when I was following him. It only took a couple of nights for Jonas to find his way towards the park. The kid was fast, I'll give him that.

Tall and lanky with summer wear on made him adept at traversing the underbrush and trapezing along the trail, darting left and right as he made his way deeper and deeper into the forest. Eventually, I came to a clearing and damn near collapsed over myself in a heap. I weasped and took a minute to recuperate, hoping I could hear for something nearby to tell me where he was. and praying I didn't go back to the family empty-handed. Sure enough, after a few moments, something cracked in the direction to my left. Swinging around, I saw a figure that had been watching me scuttle off. Thinking it was Jonas, I chased after and called out, explaining I just wanted to help.

No reply, atypical. This time, I pushed through the stitches and the god-awful wheezing, cursed my love of Chinese food, and powered on to chase after Jonas until the trees over her head began blotting out the sky. Branches stretching over into a canopy that kept the warm moonlight glow from reaching me, turning the entire trail into darkness. I'd lost my way long before I decided to stop and look around, unsure of where I'd come in and where I was going.

Silence permeated the space around me. It was unnerving. I pulled out my phone and put the light on to find my way, and I swear to God if I had the ability to scream over the wheezing, I would have. It was Jonas, crouched behind me, staring up with wide, manic eyes and smiling at me. He was bouncing on his tiptoes like a child at a birthday party. We stood there for a few seconds before he leaned behind me and giggled, leaping back into the dark and chanting something that seemed to come from all directions.

From the blackest he calls with glee, a reunion for them, a reunion for thee. Brothers, sisters, and mothers attend. a time for broken hearts to mend. For they congregate in the grave of tusks, and so I too shall join them as dust. For the baron of the woods his debt is paid. The Baldoni bloodline has been slain. I turned and saw what he had been looking at. To this day, I have no earthly idea how something like this could be in the park,

let alone anywhere on this planet. I'd been standing on a small cliff edge over a little. looking a sparse pit strewn with bodies and bones, a mass grave known as an elephant pit. It was said that when elephants got to a certain age, they'd pare off from the herd and die in these vapid, open lands. Their bones all that remained after decades. But these were humans. Some were all preserved while others were nothing but bones. All of them still clothed and chucked carelessly into the unforgiving soil. Someone put them here. I breathed. turning around to look for Jonas, the chanting growing distant as I ran in the direction of his voice.

No sooner had I started running again did I catch something under my feet and stumble down, toppling head over feet until my head collided with something hard and I blacked out. When I came to, I was being attended to by the park rangers in a familiar area of the park. Jonas blanketed nearby and looking as if he was on death's door. What? What happened? I asked. The ranger furrowinged their brow as they stared into my eyes, their colleague coming over.

Concussion, he's not going to remember. They said quietly in the first ranger's ear. They nodded, and an air of concern returned to them. You went off the trail. We thought he'd stole from you or something. Found you both passed out at the bottom of a nasty dip. One false move and you'd have been lost a time. Looks like someone out there has your back.

Better think the baron when you can. smiled with a wink. Thank the Baron. What? I blinked. My skull felt as if it were splitting open and my head spun. He grinned again and everything faded to black. It was some time before I was able to make sense of the night's events.

Jonas was brought home and had no memory of ever going into the woods. Said he just felt compelled to go for a walk and that was it. Marco was overjoyed to have his son back and thanked me profusely, as did Yana. When I had a quiet moment, I asked him about a debt his family may have owed. He looked at me as if I'd awoken the devil, and his jaw grew slack. In the old country, when I was born, it was said I was a sickly boy. This was during the war, and my parents could not bear any more loss in bloodshed. My mother told me that my father took me into the ancient woods and asked the Lord there to bless me,

and that he'd pay whatever price was needed. I always thought it was just some old country folklore, but he shuddered and took a moment. I think deep down I knew that's what this was, but who would believe it? I couldn't bring myself to say I did, because I still don't know what I saw there that night. I didn't want to invite more troubles into this poor guy's life, so I left my card and told him to give me a call, if anything unusual popped up again. That was two months ago. I still have headaches on occasion, and I don't go into the park for fun walks anymore. It feels wrong now.

Sometimes, and only sometimes, I feel this unceasing desire to go off the beaten path and into the darker areas of the park. To seek out the truth of what I saw that night. And that feeling scares me to death. Oh, welcome back, friends. I'm glad to see that my last tale of the missing 411 in Rainbow Springs got some attention. It's good to know that when I'm gone, the tales of what these poor souls endured lives on. It kind of lets me feel like I'm leaving a legacy behind, you know? Well, I have a few more, especially since things are ramping up on my end, but we'll get to that in due time.

For now, I'll tell you about three more incidents on my journey across America. This time, we're stopping over in the state hosting the oldest park in the nation, Georgia. Indian Springs State Park was established back in 1925 and is located just by I-15. It's a 528-acre display of beauty with multiple springs that the natives used to heal their wounded, hence the name. It is also the sight of some more unusual and genuinely unsettling cases I've worked, proving one thing to me beyond all else. Sometimes, even in the kind of job where you follow people, your work follows. You. Case 3.

Born from the Earth, taken by the Earth. It was a hot July afternoon. I was trying to catch a siesta in my car, with the AC on full and a soothing death metal album on full blast when I got a text from my assistant. How far are you from Johala Creek? Bleary-eyed and sweating, I looked at my GPS. About 15 minutes? Why?

Client wants to see you, says it's urgent. Be there in 20. expecting you. I began to type back that I needed more notice than that, when her response interrupted me. It was four words that had me rushing into action. It's a park ranger. Fifteen minutes and a cold soda later, I sat in Yohole Creek Diner across from the slender woman in her late 30s. Red hair tied back into a neat bun and freckles shining in the spotlight. Her expression was grim. Nice to meet you. I'm Martha. You're willing. You're willing.

Wilson, right? Saw the incident over in Florida with the missing family? Heard the Rangers there gave you a hard time. Her smile doesn't meet her eyes, but it's disarming enough that I feel the need to qualify the statement, maybe even boast. I undo my tie ever so slightly in smile, hoping I'm not sweating more than I think. Yeah, there was a bit more going on than what they said publicly, but you'd probably not believe me. I hesitated. Her expression didn't change as I carried on. I saw a sort of elephant grave, missing people who shouldn't be there, all of them talking about... The Baron.

She finished my sentence for me and didn't break her gaze. Rangers talk. We know. Can't say why they wanted to keep it quiet. But that doesn't mean we don't hear about it. Specifically when that same Baron has been operating in our park. She slides a photo towards the desk. The sun glints off the top of the corner and adds a sort of mystique to the otherwise grim image. It's a Polaroid of a heavily pregnant, disheveled woman walking barefoot into the deeper part of the forest.

Her skin is covered in dirt, scratches, and bruises. Her t-shirt is ripped, and her pants look two sizes too small. But there is a determination in her face I had seen far too many times. She's going somewhere. She has a goal in mind. I breathed, looking at the photo closer. Who is she? Angela Daniels, 27 and from Bexer, Texas.

She fled up here after certain laws were enacted in the state. Martha's teeth gritted and her brow furrowed. This was personal to her. She came here at the request of something. Look, I don't want to politicize that... I started. My words catching in my throat the moment I said them. Knowing full well I was being stupid, Martha's eyes burned.

You got kids, Wilson? No, ma'am, I don't. Not fond of them myself. And it was that simple for you, huh? Just decide, nope, and walk away, right? I, yeah? I felt hot under my collar as she grilled me. She picked up the photo and shoved it towards me.

This is what happens when you do not get a choice in the matter to walk away. She simmers down and recomposes herself. Ain't no politicizing the issue. It's a person's life and right to choose. Simple as that. Things went silent for a while. I don't know why I took a cowardly stance on something like that. I never liked to ruffle feathers.

Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't been considerate. Sometimes my job, you try to separate things and be objective, but... I rubbed my neck, trying not to meet her gaze. Yeah, that's my bad. Sorry. I held out my hand, and she took it. Her gaze softening a little.

Nah, you're all right. I should be professional, too. It's just... This one hurts. She sighs and looks at the photo. We don't know how she got to the park, but she carved a message into a tree near the entrance, like she wanted people to see it. What was it? I asked, but I already knew the answer.

The Baron provides. She said simply a quiver in her lips like she knew the danger it brought by simply uttering it. I wanted to bring you in because of prior experience. I'm hoping you can find her and why she traveled to this part of the world. what she seeks there. It grew silent. My cold drink lay empty, and I was already desperate for another. She looked like she hadn't eaten or slept in days, so I indulged her.

Hey, let's get another cold one. You can give me some details, okay? She didn't protest as another round came to the table, the drinks clinging softly as we settled in and tried to diffuse the last of the tension. In my experience, people come to these places for some specific attraction or oddity. Can you think of any that may bring her in? She thought for a moment before pulling out a map and pointing a few acres into the woods at a small blotch of open area where a tree stood.

Here, our oldest oak tree is a nice rest spot for trailwalkers. Some say at night you can hear the spirits of the dead. Maybe she went to commune with them? Maybe, but why didn't any of you try to stop her? One heavily pregnant woman on the trail ain't exactly tough. Furthermore, why call me in if you know what she's got to? I couldn't help but ask, knowing that any other sane person would do the same given the information.

She sighed and rubbed her temple. Because despite what we know, none of us on rotation right now have dealt with the more unusual aspects of the job. We wanted someone who had. That's it. That's it. I stared, a little dumbfounded at the response. You brought me in because I had a run in with something odd and you know of the Baron?

Well, get the damn Ghostbusters then. You know where she is and that she's not a threat. I'm a PI, not a bounty hunter, Martha. I got up, ready to leave, and grabbing my hat as I headed for the door. Six campers have gone missing near that tree in the last two years. Most recent was a fortnight ago. We need to tell the family something. She blurred out.

She couldn't see my grin, but I was elated. Now I had something. After a bit of conversing, it was determined she'd lead me into the clearing and then leave me for a couple of hours before returning to collect me at sundown. She wanted to stay, but I explained the job got boring after a while, and that I worked better alone. I'm sure I'd have enjoyed her company just fine, but after our awkward exchange earlier, I just didn't want to piss her off further. Beyond that, I just couldn't shake the feeling something was off and didn't want to have too many foxes in the henhouse. Something in my gut stirred. I felt unease and tried to ignore it as I smiled and thanked her, trying to ignore the overwhelming

thought in my mind. This feels too routine. I felt something strike me as I recounted the rumors in my mind, my head bouncing off an errant branch, punishment for not looking where I was going. Pride wounded, but relatively unscathed, she helped me in my feet as we crossed the clearing. I pushed the concern to the side for a moment and did my job looking around. The clearing was about 100 feet in diameter, simple dirt occupying the space save for the gargantuan oak tree in the far corner, thick roots jutting out from the base and trailing over a small patch of land in front of it, like it was claiming territory. Anyone out here since Angela was spotted?

I called as I inspected the surrounding area. No. The experienced boy said it was barren territory, and they'd think of something. But they didn't say shit, and so it was left to me to close. clean the mess up. I can't look another goddamn family in the eyes and tell him we lost another one. Martha's voice quivered. This was personal. That thought rose back up once more, but I tried to move past it. We'll find her. Don't worry. You called me here for a reason, right? You can stay if you really want to. I teased, hoping to lighten the mood a tad, but walking back over to her, I was surprised by how terrified she seemed.

You know what? I don't want to go any further anyway. Martha breathed with her fist bawled. Being here just gives me the willies. Do what you got to do, and I'll circle back before sundown. If you have any issues, use this. She hands me a flare gun and stares me dead in the face. Usually for bears, but, well, we don't know what's around here.

Good luck, Wilson. With that, she left the way she came, and I stood there, processing the information I had. had and dreading what I had to do next. Inspect the base of the roots. It looked as if, while the clearing had some activity and old footprints belonging to various campers, the ten-foot radius surrounding the tree was untouched, eerily so. Venturing closer, I began to notice the branches swaying almost rhythmically, and my eyes almost felt bewitched by them.

Before I knew it, I had stumbled over an errant branch and fell face first in the dirt, a foot away from an opening at the base of the tree. I could see down into the darkness and felt my blood run cold as something began calling out from the depths. It was a crying baby. Eyes flicker for a moment, and a sharp pang of fear rushes through me as I instinctively reach through the gap and try to grab at the baby I cannot see. Instead, I feel my arm being clawed at by something as a cackling rips through my ears and the sensation of being violently pulled gives away to total darkness. I don't know how long I was out for, but when I came to, eyes dazed and head throbbing, I caught the distinct scent of iron, petrachore, and sulfur.

A sobbing accompanied the wailing of a child, and I craned my damaged neck ever so slightly to locate the source. It was Angela, covered in blood, and filthier than she'd been just a day and a half prior, folding her baby in her arms as it wailed. But not protectively, she was holding it out to something. Wait! I croaked, hoping to change her mind, to save her. The scene shifted as I made myself known.

Angela's head snapped towards me, abject fear in her eyes, and a look of incredulity plastered across her face, avoiding looking at her baby. Instinctively, I pulled my flare gun and fired it above me to get a better look at what was going on, to see if there was any imminent threat. Foolhardy, I know. The bundle in her arms thrashed and kicked, the crying and wailing distorting until what is in her arms is no longer a baby.

Pale, scabby limbs stretch out and eyes bulge from their sockets. When what little light caught the baby's reflection, my stomach turned and I could do nothing but watch. It wasn't a baby. It was a parasite. As Angela's bloody hands held the creature up, a distinctive mantra permeated the cavern and rang in my ears, with a new verse added. The Baron provides.

born from the earth, taken by the earth, the baron provides. It happened too fast. Something emerged from the darkness at the base of the roots and reached out with arms coated in tar, bubbling and steaming on the ground where it fell off the trunk-like appendages. Burning into the soil, the ear-splitting whales were quickly drowned out by the tar filling the parasite's mouth and coating it in the same viscous substance. Angela simply stood with wide eyes before slumping to the ground as the bulls, body was taken from her. The looming figure of the bear in gazing at me as my vision too began to

blur, and I hit the ground hard as the voice sent me into silence. A new duke from the thrall. The family grows. When I awoke, Ranger Martha was tending to me at the nearby station. A few colleagues gathered around a work desk in the next room, with frustrated looks on their faces and a grim air hanging around them. The taller one shook his head as the portlier one's side, radioing in something imperceptible and taking a few documents away to be shredded. Hey, Wilson, you back with us? Martha smiled, but it didn't reach her tired eyes. She knew the moment mine met hers that I'd seen him, the Baron. What did he do? What happened? Why don't she ask Angela? I crook.

my mouth feeling like it had soil and sand compacted into it. Martha sighed, handing me a glass of water as she shook her head. I would if Angela was here, but it's just you. We found you face down with your head caught in the roots of the tree. Almost like you'd been trapped there. You're going to have some burns around your neck and a weak voice for a while. She snuck a glance towards the station, where one of her colleagues was watching Shrek 2, laughing and not even trying to hide his lack of responsibility.

They don't believe me. Us. They think you ate some bad mushrooms and tripped your ass off, said Angela likely fell, got taken away by nature or a beast. But I was the first one who got to you, Wilson. I know you saw something. I paused, making sure nobody else was in earshot. He took the baby. Well, not baby, said he was adding it to his family, like a duke.

Angela went white and passed out. I did soon after. That's it. I took a deep breath, steadied myself. I guess Angela had something else growing inside of her after all. Hopefully she got away safely. Something inside Marcia bristled and that same smile that didn't reach her eyes returned, but with a twitch behind it.

I knew that look all too well. But you said she wasn't here. I began. Martha's smile fading as she realized I caught on. I did. She's not in this world with us, Wilson. We found her gutted and disemboweled half a mile from your location. Her mouth and eyes filled with soil.

A blood trail led from her body to a cave ways out from any known campsites. Like I said, Rangers think it was a beast that took her and her baby, but... Her eyes widened. I guess he's getting bolder. We sat in silence for a while as I recuperated, before I felt well enough to check into a hospital and say I had a bad fall. As I grabbed my jacket and put my earphones in, hitting shuffle on my iPod, Martha hit me with a poignant question to close out in otherwise mentally scarring day.

It looks like the Baron has plans for you, Wilson. I don't want to see you hurt. What will you do now? Simple. I'll go find the rest of his family, one tree branch at a time. Case four. The king and the empty three. Before we move on with the main thread of the Baron, I think it's important to let you know

that not all weird jobs involve the parks. In fact, one of the weirdest my career came from the middle of a suburban area in an unassuming house with a relatively boring start to the case. My wife was going into this weird bar and refuses to talk or do anything for days on end when she gets back. She then acts like she never went to the bar and only to do it again on specific nights. I'm on my witsam with this. What can you do to help?

The man sitting across from me was exhausted, tears in his eyes and legs shaking, a wreck of a husband. This was clearly his last straw. You sure she's not cheating? I responded blankly. This was the usual answer to a lot of my jobs. And while the poor guy was struggling, I had to ask it and gauge his response. No, no, I swear to God, I'm not an idiot. I'd look for signs and changes in her behavior like that.

But when she forgets she ever went? She's back to the sweet, loving woman I married ten years ago. I even followed her to this bar once before, but... He trails off, looking at his feet. The cat clock in my office ticks incessantly as the eyes shirk from left to right. Outside, a storm is brewing. But... I usher him to continue.

I think it's better you see for yourself. You won't believe me otherwise. Please, I'll pay your full fee up front, and if you find nothing after the first few observations, I'll trust my wife. Hale hit the windows as he finished his plea. I took it as a sign. All right, let's go over the details. The man's name was Victor Cubler, and his wife was Lily. Both were 35, in good health and had a strong marriage, until Lily.

had a near-death experience when she was 32. She got into a car wreck and afterwards claimed she saw something while she was being revived. She'd technically been dead for six minutes and would routinely be withdrawn and reserved following her recovery. It was around a year ago that she began visiting this bar, and those same withdrawn behaviors became more pronounced, leading us to the present day. I asked for a direction to this place, and Victor told me it was located in a suburban area under the name The Empty Throne.

First night was just strict observation, watching from afar once the husband confirmed she'd left her home in a trance and hadn't stated where she was going, taking his car and near midnight. I took up residence in my car by someone's driveway. I paid them in the form of a couple of pizzas, and assured them I'd cause no trouble. Then I waited.

The bar was supposed to be nestled between a sandwich-making shop called Choose Your Chia Bata and a disused carpet store. But from my vantage point, there was nothing there, save for the thinnest of alleyways. Not fit for a person to sidle through comfortably, but it was doable. Sure enough, our Lady of the Hour rolled up and mechanically walked towards the street. For a moment, I was certain the bar was inside the disused carpet store, but Lily stretched and moved her arms around rhythmically before twisting them behind her in order to fit down the alleyway.

I can't say she was in pain, but I damn sure couldn't do that. that with my bulky frame in T-Rex arms, that's for sure. Once I knew she was out of sight, I took a quick beat around the area to get a good understanding of the layout. It seemed there may be a way through the connecting carpet store. I certainly wouldn't make it there any other way. I walked until the sun was nearly peeking over the horizon and spied Lily, now disheveled and out of breath, forcing her way through the narrow crevice with none of the grace she'd shown before. She was wide-eyed, frantic, and threw up all over the pavement before quickly wiping her mouth and vaulting over the hood of her car to get in and drive off in a panic. At that moment, I assumed it was a sorted drug den or something equally shady that they were adamant to cover up from the rest of the world.

I called Victor to tell him as such. Did you go inside? Did you see the bar? He pressed, unconvinced in my theory. No, but I... Mr. Wilson, you need to get into that bar. You won't understand why I'm worried until you do. Have you seen it, Victor?

A long pause and shuddering in his voice as he took a deep breath. Once. Lily and I had a fight about her trips and she was adamant she didn't go. Stormed off saying she needed to think. I drank myself to sleep and when I woke up, I was in the car being driven somewhere by Lily. I don't know if I drank too much or she did something to the wine, but I wasn't able to move. She helped me towards the bar, and he need to get in there, Mr. Wilson.

I'm worried that they're doing something to her. If what I saw was true, you need to help her. That was enough to pique my interest, so I soldiered on and created a plan for the next excursion Lily would take. It turned out to be three weeks later. Victor said he could tell it was going to happen, and I made. my preparations. I got there around dusk after asking around, managed to procure the keys to the old carpet store. Damn place stank of mold, mothballs, and sweat, but it was sprawling and most definitely had windows that connected past the narrow alley. It was a large bay window

that seemed to view out onto a vacant lot. Nothing remarkable at all in the enclosed space, just unforgiving concrete in every direction, and a single faded yellow door atop a large stoop. Bingo. This time I sat in the store and waited for the telltale signs of Lily, making her way through the alleyway. After a few tentative minutes, she scurried through and practically fell to her knees in the lot, the clear moonlight casting a looming shadow around the building. Her limbs shook as she scraped against the concrete. She stayed here for a couple of minutes, muttering something under her breath that continued as she walked toward the stoop. A rhythmic knock on the metallic yellow door followed by the distinct sound of nails scratching against the frame, eventually allowed the door

to yield and let her in, an imperceptible darkness shrouding everything after that moment. I waited for a while before trying my luck, doing the usual, if I'm not in touch within 30 minutes, this is where I am, to my assistant when I felt uncertain about my situation, then imitating Lily's knock. Two things overcame me as I stood in front of that door, a strong sense of foreboding, not dissimilar to that of a bear watching you in the woods without you immediately catching on, and the volume of heat coming from the other side of the door. It was like someone had an oven pressed against the other side. Sure enough, however, the door swung open, and I was permitted entrance into the humid property.

Pitch black, the smell of ginsing and herbs overwhelming my nostrils as a pair of hands steered me forward. You come to us broken, destitute, directionless. We smell the trepidation on you, and we wish to correct it. We will correct it. Simply clear your mind. Breathe deep the scent of the great one and sit in front of the empty throne. I couldn't move. The hand steered me aggressively further in, eyes watering from the overwhelming,

pungent scent of earth, wrought and eucalyptus. Things swirling in the darkness as I strained to make. out noises that may have tipped me to where Lily was. It would turn out, I didn't need to worry. I was being led right to her. The hand shoved me into a large circular room, with every single person twisted into various positions around a large obsidian throne in the center. I didn't even get time to see much more before I felt my body pulled towards a vacant spot

in front, legs splitting apart to a degree I hadn't experienced since I was much younger. Splayed out to support my weight and head turned back. I felt my body burn with searing heat as my eyes remained the only thing I had control over, casting them around the room until I saw Lily. That poor woman was contorted. There was no way her bones weren't broken as she writhed in front of the throne. The whites of her eyes glistening as she mouthed something indecipherable. Some of those around her weren't even moving a great deal, just minor twitches, death rattles.

A low hum permeated around the room, and my gaze was eventually drawn back to the throne, as I heard a powerful chant. The king, the king, the king fills the empty throne. The lights dimmed further, and I found even my own voice betraying me, chanting along with them as all of us twisted to get a better look at the throne, desperate to see the eponymous king fill the black jagged chair. I remember feeling part of myself slip away. more of this vapid, empty feeling filling me.

Was that what Lily felt? Does she come here to get away from whatever she saw in those minutes she was dead? I don't know what happened next. I blacked out, and when I awoke I was outside the bar in the vacant lot. My body aching all over and a sense of dread encompassing me. I tried calling Victor, but the line was disconnected. The money had been deposited into my account, but there was nobody at their address. No lily either.

Best of all, the empty throne building I'd gone to. Nothing. Simply a blank wall with a yellow door and an empty throne drawn behind it. Someone had wanted me to meet the king, but as for why, I don't know. Case 5. The Mayors. This one isn't as long as the others, but given the pattern forming here, I figured you'd want to hear this.

After the incident in our first case, it would take a couple of the first case. would take a couple of months in recovering and keeping simple jobs, like tailing a cheating spouse, watching someone embezzle funds from a dog food company, and exposing a hacker as a sex offender. Eventually, I got the message from my assistant I'd been waiting for. An old PI buddy of mine by the name of Dixon got in contact after hearing what I'd been through and told me he knew some people who could help with the worst kept secret in the national parks. He said to lay low and avoid any tall trees while he did some digging. But sure enough, he got in touch with a simple text.

I've got one. The boy's name was Merson. He'd been an impressionable young boy who had gotten in with a bad crowd, and, after a prolonged period of gradually spending more time with them, eventually cut his parents off and permanently stayed in the forest with them. The group's name? The mares. Named as such for the horseheads they wore over their faces.

Weirdos. Let's get that boy home, eh, Wilson? Dixon chimed. He was gung-ho as ever, and dedicated nonetheless. Kind of a throwback to the old-school P.I.'s. I liked that about him. We agreed to meet at the park itself. Dixon had already been in touch with the staff,

and they had no desire to dirty their hands in what was being described as a disturbing gathering at the heart of their forest. The family had, of course, spoken to the authorities, and under the now-expected weird stuff goes to the rangers' rules, the park rangers handled it. Apparently, it had gotten so bad last time one of them intervened that the guy was terrified into submission, beaten terribly, and left the job without disclosing where he'd seen the gathering, who was there, or what they'd done.

When a larger group ventured out to find them, they got nothing but the remains of the gathering, multiple animal carcasses, bloodstains across the trees, and viscera piled in the center. A simple warning had been left for the remaining rangers that the last employee shakily left as she grabbed her things. The mares take care of the woods now. Your services are no longer required. So, knowing our experiences, we were called in.

Dixon knew the area much better than I, so I trailed behind him, taking notes of the terrain and keeping an eye for the supposed border that the mares had set up. He's got a unique story of his own, but we'll get to that another time. For now, think of him as the eccentric uncle you wish you had in place of your alcoholic riddled one. Little boss has got seen venturing into the local town for supplies. One of them was bold enough to keep the attire on in public.

Spooked the locals naturally. But when they tried to approach the three members, they just ignored everyone. They paid with cash and left as quick as they came. One guy trailed them in, thinking he was slick and out of sight. Caught him in the middle of something. Dixon trailed off, biding. his lip as his push-broom mustache bristled.

They sent him back, barely conscious as a warning. Nobody will testify out of fear, and it's not reached the higher-ups yet. They're hoping we can fix it. Do you think we can? I called, wheezing as I hauled a worn-down body up steep inclines and over thick logs. Dixon held up a hand and motioned it forward as we reached the top of a particular hill, hunkering down and hiding in a thicket between some trees. Some 200 feet below, down an identical incline we just climbed, was a peculiar fire pit adorned

with the trappings of what can only be described as organized chaos, red ribbon decorations strewn across branches and tied together in complex knots. Skulls of various creatures placed atop stumps, attached to clothes, and used as utensils. Everywhere you look was another macabre decoration until your eyes fell upon the small stone archway leading to a cave that seemed to have been built into the foundation around them. Did they do this? I breathed, scanning for any potential information to help and keeping an eye out for the members. The site seemed to be deserted and the forest was quiet, save for the natural sounds of the undergrowth.

Dixon shook his head, keeping his voice low. No, that's likely an ancient tomb they've repurposed. But I've heard about what's inside, though if we're to see that, He struck his head, turning to me. We have to wait until nightfall. Catch them together and make the call to the Rangers. They could swarm in, encircle them and take them away if they're strength in numbers. But it might mean we have to take a calculated risk.

One rule you'll need to follow. All right, I'm game. You don't do this job as long as I have without some of those. What's the risk? If they bring someone back. No matter how long it takes, You don't intervene. We are just two people.

These are nut jobs who have already proven their capabilities and outnumber us significantly. The sooner we radio him for help when we know they're gathered, the better. Understand, 80's action hero, we do not intervene. I bit my lip and nodded. Knowing full well he was right to admonish me

and that I was absolutely going to go against those suggestions if my instincts took over. We sat at our vantage point and waited for two more hours as the sun set, and with the darkness came in anticipation in the air that was inescapable. It hung around us and made our lungs feel heavy. Bloodlust. We spotted the torches first, a line of over a dozen coming down a small trail, each one dancing without sight of its owner in the distance.

A soft chanting steadily grew in volume until the group encircled the pit. The clacking of their ornaments catching my attention and my eyes focusing on their unusual shape. They were bleached bone white, carvings across the sides, and held by brown rope. It was obvious they were bones, and before I could ascertain if they were human or not, I heard their leader speak up. His horse mask matched the bleached whiteness of the bones, the eyes red, and the man a jet black with flecks of gray. Mars, we have another successful feast behind us, and an often.

in front of us. The Viscount is waiting with eyes opened and jaw agape. We must provide him and accept his divine protection from the outsiders. The group clacked in approval. The bones held up like instruments to smash together before the leader held up his arms to silence them. We shall not delay. Under the clear night sky and with a feast in our bellies, let us grant the offering an audience with the Viscount. Light the ceremonial ornaments. Three of the members ran around setting fire to the hanging decorations. The bright light of the flame confirming what the ranger had said. They were human remains.

Intestines going up in flames as small fireballs erupted almost in rhythmic fashion, illuminating something from the cave. As we watched, I tried to understand if there was a method to the madness, but Dixon figured it out first. They poked holes in the decorations. They're using it like a signal with the thing in the cave. It must be how they know it's safe. Before I could ask further, I saw them drop a small sack on the ground,

something writhing inside of it and screeching like a banshee as the leader stepped forward. A child. It was a child no older than ten. The baron provides, but the Viscount feeds. He hissed, holding his hand up high and chanting with the group. The circle closing in on the poor child. as they forced it closer to the cave entrance. The light growing brighter has a dull hum emitted from its depths. Dixon!

I hissed, feeling the sweat dripped from my brow as he shook his head. Not taking his eyes off the scene below, the group getting closer. Not yet. He shuffled and changed his positioning, never taking his eyes off them. They're going to kill the kid! We have to do something! I tried standing up, but a firm grip held me down. Dixon's brow furrowing.

as his right hand grabbed something. You need to work on your patience, Wilson. He breathed, pulling out a flare gun and firing it above the fire pit, alerting the rangers. Every single one of them turned and looked up, the bright red flare reflecting in their black, milky eyes. All but the leader, who, undeterred, threw the child into the cave. An unholy sound erupted from the cave, guttural, low, ripping off the walls and bursting out to the forest, rattling my bones and burning my ear.

It was the sound of hunger, insidious intent, and rage wrapped into one. I took Dixon's flare gun without thinking. I had to know what lurked in that cave as I stood up and ran down the hill, brandishing it like a madman as the other mayor members had already begun to get out of Dodge. Once I reached the foot of the hill, Dixon's cries of... What are you doing? I fired a single shot towards the cave, towards the leader. He leapt out of the way as the tunnel was illuminated in a deep crimson.

and for a second, I saw it, I saw its blind, dead eyes, the mouth that stretched out horizontally so far from the rest of its head, the protruding dead tongue and flat oblong teeth, the child's tear-streaked face as it clawed at the dirt, trying to get out from under a single sharp nail. The light must have pissed it off something fierce, because the roar changed from low and guttural to a horrific shriek. The child somehow getting free as the ground. around a shook. I was not going to lose someone else, so I took their hand on instinct and made a beeline for the hill. My mind mercifully pushing the images of the viscount to the back of my mind long enough to survive and think about it when safe. I turned just once on my way back to

the incredulous Dixon as the slew of rangers closed in on the fire pit, catching one glimpse of the leader, hands behind his head as he was led to the ground. And I swear I saw something leaking out the fake red eyes on his mask. I don't know what happened with the leader of the group or the boy. Not like I'd get many answers if I tried to ask too many questions. I got reprimanded hard by the Rangers and Dixon for getting too overzealous, but they were happy we'd gotten a rare win in the job that oftentimes does not give out many. The tunnel was filled in with concrete and sealed off,

though campers can still hear unusual noises in the night should they stay too close to the grounds. There's still a lot more stories to tell across the vast expanse of unforgiving beauty that is our national parks. Many stories left to tell. But I'll let you be the judge of if they're worth sharing. I'll leave you with one piece of closing information on the third case, one that caused Dixon and I no small amount of restless nights following its discovery. Following the disillusion of the mares, Rainbow Springs fell into a lull of peace and

tranquility. But in the following weeks, multiple unusual groups began congregating across various national parks, one among them getting all our focus. The ranger station near the park had been utterly decimated, as if a tornado had ripped through the foundations of the building and tore everyone inside to shreds. But there were no weather anomalies in the days leading up to the discovery. Something had done this to them, and only the nearby firewatch operator would be able to tell us in the aftermath. The local story was a pack of bears ravaged the station, but that's not what our operators saw. That place? Devil's Den in Arkansas. The message? Written in the blood and viscera of the park rangers. The time draws near. Come to the Devil's Den. King's court will be in session,

and we shall feast again.