S22 Ep12: NoSleep Podcast S22E12

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They're calling.

The phone is ringing.

A message from an unknown caller.

A voice unrecognizable

audio messages from the shadows

But one message is clear

and it says

brace yourself for the no sleep podcast

Hello, you!

Cummings here, and I want to say hello to my beautiful little monsters.

Can I call you that?

My little monsters?

I think that's going to be my new nickname for you all.

It fits perfectly and

what's that?

Oh, I'm being told that little monsters is already being used by some singer.

Figures.

Ah, well, you're still beloved little creatures in my eyes.

Little devils, diabolical beings, dark entities...

Titties.

Whatever it is you are, I see you as creepy little creatures ready to slither into people's lives and cause them no end of mayhem and horror.

Oh, and of course I mean that quite affectionately.

And to that end, this episode is about things,

well, like you.

I'll elaborate on that in a moment, but I want to send out a huge shout-out and pat on the back style congratulations to friend of the show and longtime contributor, author Elias Withero.

Elias has written so many classic tales we've had the pleasure of adapting to audio, such as The House in the Field, The Tall Dog, and of course, Feed the Pig.

Elias has recently inked a deal which will see his tale, The Third Parent, adapted for the screen by the Walters Media Group.

It will be adapted and directed by David Michaels.

This is an exciting project, and we at the No Sleep podcast are thrilled that Elias is taking this next big step in his career.

Kudos to you, Elias.

Can't wait to see your story on the screen.

Check the show notes for a link to the big announcement.

Now, as I was saying, inhuman creatures are a staple of horror storytelling.

And on this episode, we have tales which present you with the kinds of things you don't want to find in your homes, in your lives, or in your way.

But if other people encounter them, well, that's just fine.

Because we can hear about them, and we can share in the horror they're confronted with.

So, you little monsters, sit back and settle in as we feature some creatures just like, I mean, just for you.

Now, do you dare pick up your phone and listen to the voices calling to you?

In our first tale, we meet that horrifying creature that exists in almost everyone's lives.

It's always there, always listening.

And it goes by many names.

Names like Alexa and Siri.

Yes, in this tale, shared with us by author Matt Scott, we meet a man who uses his virtual assistant when he's trying to fall asleep.

And alone in his dark room, all he wants are some soothing sleeping sounds.

Joining me for this tale are Jeff Clement, Ellie Hirschman, and Mary Murphy.

So remember, sometimes there are other things listening in the dark, even if all you wanted to do is start playing thunderstorm sounds.

He wasn't scared.

So what if the thing had whispered with its little computer voice?

Virtual assistants can do that sometimes, right?

He had asked it to play thunderstorm sounds to lull him to sleep, as always, and it had replied, like always.

Well, no, not exactly like always.

This time it whispered back to him, but the room remained silent afterwards.

So, maybe they can discern intent or deduce from the current time that it may be an occasion for inside voices.

But a whisper in the dark?

Whew, fucking creepy, man.

Still, no matter.

He wasn't scared.

Rory pulled the blankets up over his head, his hands grabbing fistfuls of fabric, tugging on the corners, anchoring them up over him so that they couldn't be pulled off easily.

He wiggled and wound deeper into his cocoon cocoon of woven throws and designer pillows.

His breath was hot against his face and smelled of pastrami and cheese.

It had been a great day.

After an especially hectic day, a productive one, to be sure, one filled with fun and good food, his belly full, his tanks depleted, He loved that feeling he got when just drifting off to sleep.

Ever since he was a kid, he loved to get cold, to be cold, to have goose flesh marching up and down the back of his spine right before he snuggled in to fall asleep.

It felt like melting.

But tonight he was having trouble falling asleep.

He couldn't put his finger on it, or maybe he could and just didn't want to admit it.

But the room felt off somehow.

Heavy, thick, stagnant, like cigarette smoke in the car.

He couldn't breathe right.

His heart raced.

He couldn't get comfy, even though this was his nightly routine.

Nothing had changed to make tonight any different.

He had lunch with his nephew, went to the Natural History Museum, and then walked around Weaver Greenway, a cute little park of just a few acres with two walking trails and a dog park.

nestled beside a small pond with cattails taller than the fence around it.

He had done all this before.

Once a month, in fact.

Lunch, something educational for the boy, and then something outside that's fun and healthy for both of them.

Rory wasn't getting any younger.

Sean was his sister's kid, and she had been gone three years now.

These sojourns were good for both of them.

especially now that the kid was in junior high.

He had been only nine when his mother died.

Now he was a seventh grader with questions and wants, needs.

Rory and Sean's dad, Oscar, just wanted to do right for the kid, team up as much as their schedules would allow.

Make sure the kid knew he was loved and had people in his corner.

It's important at that age, the formative years, to know that you're not alone.

even if sometimes that's all you feel.

But Rory didn't feel alone in the room tonight.

He felt something staring at him from outside his blankets.

Could feel it from the other side of the room, where the light from the window didn't quite reach when the moon was new.

It was dark there, the way he usually likes it, but not tonight.

Tonight, he wanted the lights on and the door open, maybe just a little.

That way, if he screamed, someone next door may hear him, may come to help him, to save him from whatever now hulked huddled against the wall in the far corner of the room.

Its breath gurgling.

Watery, like drowning.

Its mass was palpable.

He could feel it over there, sense its eyes on his hidden form, protected beneath the covers.

He cleared his throat.

And when he was sure the thing in his room was still over against the wall, he spoke loudly and clearly to the little black hockey puck sitting across the room on the dresser.

Play thunderstorm sounds, please.

Cutting thunderstorm sounds.

The thing in the corner gurgled.

whispering between wet, ragged coughs, wheezing like an old generator, like a a chainsaw that speaks.

Rory burrowed deeper into the blankets, making sure every part of him was covered, that no skin was exposed to the darkness, nor any fleshy parts felt air.

He was completely ensconced beneath the blankets and bedspreads, not knowing for sure if that was enough.

But he remembered.

It had been, right?

At one point, growing up, the covers saved you, right?

They kept the wolves at bay.

Nothing could get you beneath the blankets, right?

Right?

Play thunderstorm sounds.

Play thunderstorm sounds, damn it.

There was a silence then.

Deafening, maddening.

Nothing moved within the room.

Not matter, not space, not time, not a moat of dust, nor a wave of sound.

Nothing.

And then...

Playing thunderstorm sounds.

Rory let out a sigh as the room filled with raindrops and thunderclaps, high winds and the sound of trees rustling in the storm.

His shoulders lowered a bit.

and his grip on the blankets loosened somewhat.

He stretched out his legs beneath the blankets, carefully remaining covered the whole time.

He wasn't stupid, after all.

But he was getting hot, a little claustrophobic, and now, now that his anxiety attack was over, for he knew that's all it was, he could try to fall asleep with the soothing sounds of a gentle rain.

He uncovered his head and took a nice, cool breath of evening airing air.

thunderstorm

sounds

it was the last thing Rory

ever heard.

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It's a city with a famous arch, but we're not here to focus on that St.

Louis landmark.

There's another place that everyone knows about, but most people are smart enough to avoid.

You see, as we'll learn in this tale, shared with us by author M.J.

Pack, Dave and Nikki aren't so smart, because they're making their way down to the spot despite all the warnings to stay away.

Performing this tale are Kyle Akers, Graham Rowett, and Nicole Goodnight.

So if all the warnings aren't enough, the name alone should make you want to avoid Zombie Road.

It was supposed to take people to the train tracks by the river.

That's one of the only things I know for sure.

Supposedly, workers who died on the railroad would rise from their graves and wander around.

Or maybe it was the pioneer who lost his wife in a poker game and blew his brains out haunting the place.

Or maybe it was the mental patient who escaped an asylum only to be hit by a car and killed, leaving just his bloody hospital nightgown behind.

Or maybe it was the kids in the 70s.

The ones who played on the tracks until they were obliterated by a screaming train, scattering their ruined body parts for miles.

See, that's just it.

No one really knows why it's called what it is, or what makes the off-limits crumbling roadway so spooky, but anyone who grew up in St.

Louis has heard of Zombie Road.

It's one of our very own urban legends, like the guy with the hook for a hand, or the mysterious call coming from inside the house, but this one's special because it's a real place, and regardless of the stories, people really did die around here.

The Merrimack, the river the road takes you to, they call it the Bitter Spring.

They say it's the Native American word that means river of death.

Beside it, those train tracks have taken lives as far back as the 1950s.

The teens in the 70s, a mother and child in the 90s, a couple in their early 20s who slipped on the bluff overlooking the river and fell to their doom.

At least that's what they say.

They also say you're never supposed to go there.

So.

So what the fuck are we doing here?

We weren't even a few steps down the road before I felt it.

The prickling goosebumps on the nape of my neck.

That leftover instinct from our cave-dwelling ancestors that says something is very wrong.

Nikki swung his flashlight back towards me in an impatient, jittery arc.

Come on, man.

Don't be a pussy.

You said you'd always want to check this place out.

Want to back out now?

I looked at the high, craggy hills that surrounded us.

It was like the road had cut straight through the land.

Trees towered overhead, bare branches reaching like grabby fingers for the blue-black sky.

Whiskey had made me brave, but now both the buzz and the bravery had worn off.

Yeah, kinda.

Seriously?

Just like 15 minutes ago, you were running your mouth about how this place probably wasn't even scary.

Yeah, well, now I'm here.

I waved the beam of my own flashlight around, highlighting the tangle of woods.

And I've changed my mind.

It is scary.

Let's just go back to your place and drink more and order a pizza.

Doesn't pizza sound good?

Pussies don't deserve pizza.

Nikki set off down zombie road without me.

I stood there a moment, skin prickling with goosebumps.

Thinking about escaped inmates and undead railroad workers and reanimated body parts of teens from the 1970s.

And for that moment, I considered letting Nikki go alone.

Wait in the car until his fool self decided to turn back.

Then I thought about the next poker night with our buddies and how Nikki would never let me live it down.

How he'd be able to brag and laugh and say that I was a pussy and he explored Zombie Road while I pissed myself in the front seat of the Mustang.

I pointed my flashlight straight ahead and jogged up to kitchen.

The beam of light caught the back of Nikki's green hoodie and he turned toward me, grinning.

I knew you were no pussy, Dave.

Keep your voice down.

I was mad at him for goading me into this, and irritated at myself for bringing up Zombie Road in the first place.

There's probably nothing out here, but it's still private property, I think.

And you're definitely not supposed to be out here after dark.

We could, like, get a fine or something.

Nikki made a spooky, taunting gesture with his fingers.

Ooh, a fine or something.

Big brave Dave doesn't want to get a fine or something.

Jesus, maybe I was wrong after all.

No pizza for you.

I didn't respond.

I was pouting and scanning the tree line above us for movement.

It had occurred to me suddenly that Missouri might have cougars in the woods, but I didn't tell Nikki that.

It would have just given him more ammo.

We walked along in silence for a few minutes before Nikki turned towards me, walking backwards and blinding me with the beam of his flashlight.

How old were you when you heard about this place?

I shrugged, trying to keep an eye on both him and the tree-lined ledges.

Nikki had a mean streak in him.

Couldn't put it past him to screw with me while I wasn't looking.

I don't know, like ten.

About the time you start hearing the local scary shit.

But none of it adds up.

It's not like Limp Mansion, where there's one story and that's it.

Everybody tells you something different.

Yeah?

Like.

Nikki's light suddenly faltered.

He cut himself off and went down, hard, with a yell.

I broke into a run.

When I caught up to him, Nikki was on his ass, one foot sunk deep into what appeared to be a pile of mud.

His flashlight had rolled several feet away and cast a ghostly beam towards the continuation of the road behind him.

What the fuck is that?

Nikki tugged at his foot with both hands around the ankle.

No dice.

It stayed put.

I don't know.

It's like a fucking mud puddle or something.

Shit, it's thick, man.

He pulled again.

That sensation spread across the back of my neck again.

It hadn't rained in like a month, right?

Who gives a fuck?

I don't want to lose my shoe, man.

Help me out.

It took us about five minutes to get his foot out of the mud puddle.

Now that I think about it, maybe it was more like quicksand.

And we finally succeeded.

With a great, wet, sucking sound, Nikki pulled free.

Minus one shoe.

Fuck!

He stuck his right arm into the puddle.

I feel like that's a bad idea.

My eyes returned to the trees.

It seemed like it had gotten darker since we started walking.

I could barely see anything beyond them without the help of my flashlight.

What?

Like somebody's gonna bite my arm off or something?

Nikki twisted to look at me.

Grow up.

There's nothing out.

And for the second time that night, he cut himself off.

What?

I turned behind me to look further down zombie road where Nikki's eyes were fixed.

In the beam of his flashlight sat a huge owl.

If I remember right, from all those trips to the zoo, it was a great horned owl, to be exact.

Its yellow eyes shone eerily.

It was just fucking sitting there in the middle of the road, staring at us.

Is that an owl?

Nikki was still up to his elbow in in mud.

Before I could answer him, a quick scampering movement made us both shriek like girls.

We shut up when we realized it was just a mouse.

To be fair, it cast a huge shadow as it scurried past the flashlight.

But what happened next made us catch our breath in our throats.

The owl sat there, staring intently both at us and through us.

The mouse kept scuttling straight toward it, like it had no idea what danger it was in.

The mouse stopped calmly when it was about two inches away from the owl.

The owl, never moving its gaze, calmly reached out with one hooked claw and pierced the mouse with its talons.

In one unnaturally smooth motion, it swallowed the mouse whole.

Then it just sat there.

The fuck?

Before I could agree with this sentiment, another movement caught my attention.

Behind the trees above us.

This one was no mouse.

I swung my flashlight slowly up towards the tree line surrounding us and my guts went cold.

Nikki,

we should go.

I couldn't see what he was doing, but I heard the sloopy, slurping sound of what must have been him retrieving his lost shoe.

The owl is gone, man.

But I didn't give a shit about the owl anymore.

Nikki, we need to go.

Now.

What are you talking about?

Then he saw them, too.

On either side of the craggy hills that surrounded us, threaded through the trees in stark silhouette against the night sky, were the shadows of people.

Maybe there was twenty, maybe there was fifty, I don't know.

They lined the hills.

They stared down at us.

That's not real.

A chorus of high, childlike giggles broke out, echoed through the woods.

Put your fucking shoe on and let's go.

I was already walking slowly in the direction that we'd come from.

I kept my flashlight trained at the shadow figures as I did so.

There was a squelching noise as Nikki did as I asked, putting his shoe back on, and a series of more squelches when he began to follow me.

The farther we walked, slow as to not urge any of the figures into action, the more of them we saw.

They didn't seem to end, there were so many of them.

We just needed to get to the spot where the ledges fell away and opened into the vacant gravel lot where we parked.

We could make make a break for it then.

I was thinking how it seemed like it should have happened already.

We hadn't really walked that far, and suddenly an unholy shriek cut through the still night air.

A fox, my panicked brain insisted.

A lady fox.

They do that all the time.

They make those screamy sounds sometimes.

But I knew it wasn't a fox.

Just like I'd known from the beginning that we shouldn't have gone down this road.

I whirled, jabbing my flashlight around the road to make sure nothing was near us, before realizing that I'd taken my eyes off the shadows above.

When I couldn't see anything nearby, I jerked the light back towards the tree line.

They were all gone.

My mouth tastes funny.

I turned to look at Nikki.

He was a mess.

Thick black mud on both hands, covering his right arm and right leg.

And there was something on his face.

When I swept the the light back over to him, his face lit in brilliant clarity.

I saw that he had blood pouring from both nostrils.

Jesus, Nikki.

I could say no more because behind him, out of the darkness, came lumbering something with long, spindly limbs.

It was on all fours and it was moving fast.

Nikki didn't hear it.

He was swaying like a drunk.

Run!

I don't know if Nikki did, because then it was gone.

Legs pumping, flashlights stuttering back and forth like strobe lights in a rave.

I ran for much longer than I should have.

I ran until my chest burned, and my legs ached.

We'd walked less than a mile, I was sure of it, but I kept running because I could hear that thing behind me, breathing heavy, snorting and snarling.

Occasionally I'd hear the laughter again, or the fox scream, or a low muttering rumble of conversation.

Sometimes a train whistle.

Once I heard my name wavering through the trees.

I think that was the worst part.

The fact that something knew my name.

It wasn't until dawn's first shreds of light began to touch the edges of the sky that I caught a break.

Something about lifting the darkness a little, maybe.

Suddenly the road didn't seem endless.

I could see the clearing.

And as I tumbled out of the forest forest into the lot, I thought I felt something brush against the back of my neck.

And then...

Then the next thing I remember is the police officers, who woke me up.

I'd been found face down in the gravel, my spent flashlight lying dead next to me.

They had to take me home in a squad car because I didn't have the keys to Nikki's car.

And Nikki...

Well,

I never found Nikki.

I did research after that night, lots of it.

But it doesn't help.

There aren't any answers.

Some people say they saw an owl, too.

Or got stuck in the mud.

Or were surrounded by the shadow people.

What good does that do in the end?

We'll never know why Zombie Road is the way it is.

If it was just one instance of death, or scores, or if it's just the land itself.

But

I can tell you this:

if you're ever in St.

Louis, you should never go to Zombie Road.

Ever.

That I know for sure.

We've been telling you horror stories for almost 14 years.

And by now, you should have learned this lesson.

Going camping in the forest isn't always the most relaxing experience.

Just ask Adam and Jonathan.

Or let's let author Emily E.

Jones explain their story.

Because their little camping trip to get away from things for a while turns into an ordeal far removed from any relaxation.

Performing this tale are Jesse Cornette, Mike Delgadio, and Graham Rowett.

So, when life is weighing on you and you need to lighten your burden, you could consider making the offering.

Jonathan kept a steady pace.

A little slow for me, but I didn't mind.

It reminded me to take time to soak in the fall colors, although there wasn't a lot of that in this section of pine forest.

We trekked single file along the trail, making our way down to the river at the bottom of the mountain, the turnaround point.

Today would be an easy five miles to camp and then a more strenuous five miles back up the mountain to our cars tomorrow.

It wasn't the kind of hike you brag about, but it was perfect for two old friends looking to reconnect, and it had been hard fought.

Ever since I was promoted to sales floor manager at the sporting goods store, I was pulling 60-hour shifts on the regular.

The strip mall was dying around us, a graveyard, empty save our light burning in the darkness at night.

The promotion to manager came with an extra 10 grand a year and an endless commitment to cover any empty shifts as sales associates jumped ship.

Why didn't I jump ship?

Was it because I wanted management on my resume for as many months as I could eke out before we inevitably closed?

Or was it something else?

The crippling paralysis that had washed over me when I bombed my first real job job interview after college, perhaps?

I had worked my way through college at the store, and sure, it wasn't the field of employment one would hope for with a degree in tech, but the devil, you know?

Right?

And so, I stayed.

I realized Jonathan had been talking to me, and I flushed, the cool breeze stinging against my cheeks.

I felt a bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

I was still doing it, ruining this moment by thinking about work.

Jonathan looked over his shoulder at me, a smile lighting his bright blue eyes.

With the sleeve of his flannel shirt, he wiped a thin stream of mucus running down his nose and over his upper lip.

So, what could it hurt?

I stumbled to a halt.

What?

How could what hurt?

He chuckled and shook his head, taking the moment to stop and drink from his water bladder.

You, calling my office, you're almost 30, man.

If you want to retire someday, you got to start planning now.

I shook my head.

Financial advisors are for people with money.

His face lit with enthusiasm.

A true convert.

That's where you're wrong, man.

Financial advisors are for anyone who wants to have money.

You should call my office.

Consultation is free.

Like I said, what could it hurt?

Christ.

He sounded exactly like his dad.

What would his teenage self think of this company, man?

What would my teenage self think of me?

Hmm.

I shuddered.

Besides, it would definitely hurt my pride to divulge to my friend my debt.

A souvenir from a bad relationship that had ended when my credit card couldn't qualify her for any more loans.

I'll think about it.

I lied.

No more talk about work on this trip, though, okay?

I need a break from it.

A flash of concern darkened his face.

Is everything okay, Adam?

Yeah.

It's just been a big adjustment, management.

I just need a break from life, you know?

Jonathan nodded amiably.

Totally get it, man.

No more business for the rest of the trip.

He took one more drink.

Okay, let's go.

I nodded my head and fell back in line behind him.

The trail was well maintained with plenty of blue diamond trail markers to reassure us we were on the right path.

There was only one side trail that we hit along the path, but it was overgrown and a blue diamond off in the distance led away from it.

We made it to the river by 4 p.m.

We had about three hours before sunset, plenty of time to set up camp.

And we had been passed by another group of hikers, a gaggle of younger guys who drowned out the melody of the forest with their incessant banter.

It was a relief when their voices had finally faded away, but it had put a little pit in my stomach that we were going to be neighbors for the night.

My worries were unfounded.

The shelter house was empty, and no tents were anywhere within sight.

There was no sign of them.

We set up our tent on a bed of pine needles within sight of the shelter.

Even when the shelters were empty, I didn't like sleeping in them.

We were close enough to the river that I could hear its steady roar, and I vowed to check it out once we were settled.

I spent considerable time gathering firewood.

I would never admit it to anyone, but ever since I was a kid, I had been uneasy in the woods at night.

I always felt there was something out there just beyond my vision, about to pounce.

I made myself camp despite my fears, but there was nothing wrong with proactively fighting the anxiety.

The fire gave me a measure of security against the big bad dark.

Tired and dirty, I returned with one final load of firewood.

Jonathan was nowhere to be seen.

I called out for him:

Jonathan!

Jonathan!

No answer.

On instinct, I followed the trail past the shelter and down to the river.

And there he was, standing on the bank, watching the water split around the rocks and the riverbed.

Jonathan must have sensed me behind him.

He turned, giving me such a broad smile that I returned without thinking about it.

It's beautiful, isn't it?

I nodded.

You hungry?

His brows drew together in mock seriousness.

Starving.

But don't worry, man.

I got a gourmet dinner for us.

Chicken and rice with mushrooms.

My stomach rumbled at the thought.

We had met up at a diner not far from the trailhead for an enormous lunch, but that was many hours and five miles ago.

Thank God.

I'm a terrible cook.

Yeah, I know.

We headed back to camp, and Jonathan began making our meal.

I started the fire for warmth.

Now that I was hiking, every gust of autumn wind wormed its way through my layers.

I grabbed our flasks from my bag and brought Jonathan his before unscrewing the camp of mine and taking a good long draught of cinnamon whiskey.

It burned all the way down, and I gave a murmur of approval.

It was the perfect antidote to chill the air.

I went back to tending the fire, taking occasional sips, feeling the warmth start to spread from the inside out.

It was a familiar, comforting routine.

Jonathan and I had been camping buddies since we were 16.

We started talking at lunch one day about how great it would be to go camping without our annoying families, and a mutual hobby was born.

I didn't know about Jonathan, but I never would have had the balls to face the wilderness by myself.

That ever-impending sense of doom when the sun disappeared would be too much to bear alone.

But with Jonathan, I could manage.

The whiskey didn't hurt either, a tradition that began long before either of us had turned 21, thanks thanks to Jonathan's older brother.

Dinner was delicious.

I ate my entire portion.

I would say nothing tastes better than camp food, but I've had my own.

Nothing tastes better than Jonathan's camp food.

I washed dishes in the river, my trade-off for Jonathan's meal.

The icy water stung my hands as I washed.

By the time I was done, they were bright red and burning.

Unable to take it anymore, I wrapped my hands in the folds of my sweatshirt.

I sat back on my knees and looked across the river at the dark forest line on the other side, praying that my hands would warm up so that the pain would subside.

I froze.

Something moved in the woods on the other side.

It was large, a dark blob weaving in and out of the camouflage of trees and shadows.

I couldn't quite make it out, but it was some distance from the river, and it looked like,

yes, it was moving away from me.

I realized I was holding my breath and let out a puff of air.

Reminding myself to breathe slowly, I tore my eyes away from the distant tree line.

I could no longer see the figure.

We were in bear country.

Of course, it was possible that I would see a bear, but we knew that.

We planned for that as much as you could.

Black bears were not normally aggressive, but if one decided to break with reputation, we had bear spray.

Now by the time I returned, the camp was awash in the murky gray of twilight.

I didn't mention what I might have seen.

I don't know why.

I just felt like it had worried me, even if just for a moment.

And I didn't see any reason to worry Jonathan.

Just to be safe, I suggested we hang the food bag sooner rather than later.

No reason to tempt fate.

With all the camp chores complete, Jonathan and I were free to enjoy the stars and the spirits next to the blazing fire.

It was heaven.

We only occasionally broke the silence to make some observation about the world or share an update about a shared acquaintance, but mostly, it was silence.

The way I liked it.

When my flask was halfway gone, I decided it was time to take a piss and get to bed.

The temperature had dropped to the point that even with the alcohol in the fire, I was still cold.

I shambled a short distance from the tent to relieve myself.

It was a little too close to camp to be polite, but I was drunk.

Walking was hard on the uneven forest floor.

Besides, it was really fucking dark.

I managed to get myself in the tent and get in my sleeping bag.

Jonathan had already gotten into his.

He mumbled a groggy goodnight, but I didn't respond.

It was taking all my concentration to zip up the damn tent.

My fingers were cold and clumsy, but I managed to get it closed and bury myself as deeply in my sleeping bag as I could.

I left my flask of sweet-smelling liquor next to the log outside our tent, as I would discover in the morning.

Maybe

that's what attracted it.

Jonathan and I are walking in the woods.

He's scared.

His mouth is distended in a silent scream.

What is what's wrong?

I think,

but I can't say it.

My mouth won't work.

And with dawning horror, I realize the rest of my body is no more obedient than my mouth.

I am paralyzed.

And then

I see it.

Oh God, I see it.

As large as a grizzly with smoking red eyes.

The elongated jaw is full of the sharp, gleaming teeth of a carnivore.

Its body is covered with thick, black matted fur.

Waves of rot roll off the steaming body, choking my nostrils and propelling me into action.

I run.

I lose track, Jonathan.

I am flinching and trying to shield my face as I run through the brush, desperate to get away.

I can hear it behind me.

My eyes beg for a look, but I know if I do, I'm lost.

The panting of its pursuit is soon drowned out by the pounding of my heart.

But that only intensifies my fear.

How am I know when it will be on me?

Surely it's just a matter of time.

Before I have time to reflect any more on the futility of my situation, the beast is on me and its claws tearing into my back.

Its full weight hits me and I'm driven down to the ground.

Like I weigh nothing, it flips me over and some part of me knows that's because it wants me to see what it's going to do to my body.

That's part of the fun.

A wicked grin slashes across its long, toothy maw.

The creature gives me one long, almost tender look

before it slashes my stomach open,

spilling my entrails into the dirt.

I woke up sitting straight up.

My sleeping bag tangled around me.

My clothes were drenched in sweat, and for a moment, I thought maybe I had wet myself.

Taking stock of the situation, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was pretty sure it was all sweat.

Gasping, I fought to push away the remnants of the nightmare.

I looked over to see if Jonathan was witness to my panic.

He wasn't.

Sunlight streamed over his empty sleeping bag.

I struggled free of my own bag and hastily unzipped the tent.

I needed to reassure myself that Jonathan was just outside cooking breakfast.

I stepped out into the early morning light, wincing as the wind lit up a patchwork of misery against my wet clothes.

I regretted not taking the time to change, but I had to see him.

Make sure everything was normal, like a child sneaking into my parents' bedroom to verify everything was okay.

I couldn't find him anywhere around the camp.

I waited for a few moments in case he had just went somewhere private to relieve himself, but as time passed, he didn't return.

I ducked back into the tent to change out of my wet clothes and go on a proper search.

Relieved to be in dry, clean clothes, I walked down the path past the shelter in search of Jonathan.

I found him at the river again, staring off at the far bank.

I felt a twinge of unease at the direction of his gaze.

I walked up beside him, but he didn't acknowledge me.

And as I took a closer look at his face, my heart dropped.

It wasn't the face of my jovial, easygoing friend.

There was a terror marring his features, his complexion gray.

It was eerily similar to the expression he had worn in my nightmare, except his mouth wasn't open, so wide that it looked comical.

Not that it seemed funny at the time.

Jonathan,

he didn't respond.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Jonathan

This time, he jumped and looked over at me, clearly surprised that I was there.

Huh?

Oh, Adam.

He trailed off as if he might say more.

I waited.

Finally, I pressed on.

Jonathan, are you okay?

He paused to consider the question, mouth still hanging slightly agape.

Then, he pressed his lips together with some internal resolve.

Yeah,

I'm fine.

I just

wanted to see the river before breakfast.

He smiled,

but it didn't reach his eyes.

Yeah, okay.

I said, desperate to get the trip back on track.

Why don't we have some breakfast?

Huh?

And that seemed to brighten Jonathan up.

Yeah, breakfast.

I packed us oatmeal and granola.

Breakfast to champions.

I smiled back,

but my stomach turned.

I was still reeling internally from my nightmare, and I didn't have quite an appetite yet.

But I nodded.

Right.

Sounds great.

We walked back to our bag of food, or at least where our bag of food should have been.

We found the bright blue rope tangled around the bottom of the pine.

It wasn't cut or torn.

It had been untied.

I held up the rope and looked at Jonathan in confusion.

Um, did you maybe already get the bag this morning and forget?

His face darkened.

Words clipped short with irritation.

Of course not.

How could I forget I had gotten the bag?

He looked around the area as if he was going to spot it lying nearby.

I followed suit, even though I already had a feeling it was long gone.

Nope.

No bag.

His eyes suddenly focused on mine, lit with understanding.

You know what?

It was those 19-year-old assholes from yesterday.

They did this.

I frowned.

What?

They forded the river and slept on the other side.

Jonathan nodded emphatically, running both hands through his dirty blonde hair, a little dirtier than than usual from camping in the woods.

They must have.

We didn't see him head back, right?

They must have gotten an early start and taken our bag to fuck with us.

That could explain the shadow I had seen moving on the opposite side of the bank last night.

Maybe

we should get back to camping in case they're still around, watching us.

I nodded, heart in my throat.

All of our stuff was laying around unprotected.

I followed his lead, and we jogged back to camp, a tense silence hanging over us.

It wasn't the loss of oatmeal and power bars that weighed on us, although those things would have been nice.

It was the sense that we were under attack.

It turned out there was no need for the hectic pace.

When we returned to camp, puffing and out of breath, everything was as we had left it.

I checked my pack.

Wallet and keys were still there.

I let out a sigh of relief.

Behind me, Jonathan was already in the tent, rolling up his bag.

Come on, let's go.

I left my stuff and helped him pack up camp.

We were quick and efficient, hitting the trail within the half

The prank had spoiled the mood, and the walk back up the mountain was bereft of yesterday's casual back and forth.

We kept a fast pace, and although it was a relatively slight incline, we were both out of breath.

Jonathan stopped and turned to look at me, sweat running down the sides of his face.

All right, wait, stop.

I need a break.

He peeled off his backpack, and I did the same, grateful to shed the weight, if only for a few moments.

I took off my jacket and packed it in my bag.

The sun was almost straight above us, and the day had warmed considerably.

Man, how far does your watch say we've gone?

I tapped a button on my watch and gasped.

Half a mile.

What?

That's impossible.

We've been walking for almost three hours.

It's only five miles back.

Should have been there by now.

Your watch is wrong.

I nodded.

I know.

I agree.

I don't know what to tell you.

The watch is wrong, but also.

But what?

My stomach twisted in knots from anxiety and hunger.

I met his angry, defiant eyes.

If we're almost back, why haven't we passed where the trail splits?

We didn't notice.

What do you mean we didn't notice it?

I would have noticed it.

I said,

much calmer than I felt.

We started putting our bags back on.

And thank God that we did, or we would have lost all our stuff.

Movement caught my eye, and I searched the forest to my left for the source.

There it was.

The nightmare from last night.

In the sunlight, hues of browns and reds peppered the black, shaggy coat.

Our eyes met, and it bared its teeth in a snarl.

Or

was that a grin?

Run!

I took off.

I didn't look back to see if Jonathan was following, but I could hear his labored breathing behind me.

I stuck to the trail.

Running in the woods was hell.

I envisioned my car just around the bend.

We had to be so close.

I felt a rush of air, and suddenly Jonathan's weight was crashing into me.

I lost my balance and toppled to the earth.

Struggling free of Jonathan's mass, I wildly looked around for the creature.

It was to our right, muscles tensed, ready to pounce.

Saliva pooled and ran down the sides of its mouth.

This time, Jonathan beat me to it.

He ran off the trail away from the monster.

I followed, keenly aware that it was now the monster panting behind me rather than Jonathan.

My mind tortured me as I fought to keep my footing, imagining the huge claws digging into my tender flesh.

I tried to steal myself for the pain, but it was Jonathan who yelped, going down in an ungainly heap.

I kept running, and then I passed him.

I kept going until I heard the screaming.

I stopped.

Bear spray.

Jonathan had insisted.

I looked back.

The thing had Jonathan's shoulder and its jaws, shaking him like a ragdoll.

Fingers shaking from adrenaline, I freed the canister from my pack and charged.

The creature raised its head to look at me, muzzle slick with blood.

I sprayed the entire canister into its face, unfortunately getting some on Jonathan as well.

But it was the best I could do.

The monster gnashed its teeth and howled, swinging its massive head back and forth.

It gave me one last baleful look before melting back into the forest.

I was frozen in place, holding the canister, straining to hear over Jonathan's whimpers.

I tried to look everywhere at once, not believing it was over.

Adam,

help me.

I looked down at my injured friend.

Blood darkened the left shoulder of his blue t-shirt.

The side of his face and neck were red and irritated from the bear spray.

I did what I could with my little first aid pack.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get us walking again, searching for the trail.

We didn't find it.

I don't know how long we walked.

My watch confirmed itself to be useless for tracking miles or telling time.

It had stopped working entirely.

Same with my phone.

Our pace was slow and stilted.

Jonathan had a twisted ankle on top of the blood loss.

Neither of us could stand the thought of sleeping another night out there, so we kept walking until shadows stretched across the forest floor.

Jonathan was beginning to stumble more frequently, and his breathing was quick and shallow.

I hated to say it, but finally I did.

Jonathan,

we need to make camp.

His face was solemn.

He nodded, but said nothing.

We set up the tent and crawled into our sleeping bags.

Like a child drawing the blankets up for protection, I took comfort in the nylon fabric of the tent between us and whatever it was out there.

Rolling onto my side, I placed a mini-battery-operated lantern down between us.

Jonathan's face was pale and ghoulish in the light.

There's a gun in the glove box of my car.

If we can get to the car,

we can get a weapon.

I had been thinking about it ever since the attack, furious with myself that I hadn't brought it.

I hadn't wanted to freak out Jonathan with a gun, and I didn't think there would be a need.

Why do you have a gun?

Well, the strip mall where I work is dying.

There are a lot of shady deals that go down in the parking lot.

I got it for protection.

It's not gonna do any good.

If we can make it to the car, we could get the hell out of here.

We are going to make it back.

How?

We don't need the trail to know which way is down the mountain.

Tomorrow, we'll walk down until we hit the river.

Then,

we'll follow the river back to the trail.

His expression was doubtful, but he nodded.

Okay.

He turned to face away from me,

and I flicked off the light, my stomach dropping as I was suddenly blind.

Despite the dropping temperatures, hunger, and fear,

I fell asleep.

We're in the clearing, Jonathan and I, and it's such a relief.

Isn't this what we came for?

Jonathan is bending over the stone slab of the altar.

fingering the leather restraints encased in the rock.

It needs a sacrifice.

One little sacrifice,

and I can go home.

The revelation elates me.

Of course, that's all it wants.

It doesn't need both of us.

Only one.

I can feel my face stretch into a smile, but it doesn't feel like it belongs to me.

Deep inside, I can feel myself screaming in revulsion as my body starts moving without my consent.

I pick up a rock, feeling the coarse, grainy texture against my hand.

Still smiling,

I creep up behind Jonathan.

His head turns to face me, and I bring my arm down

again

and again

smashing the rock into his face.

His cheekbones crumple and blood sprays from his nose.

But I keep hitting until his face has no distinguishable features.

He isn't moving anymore.

but I'm not done yet.

No,

there's still work to do

gently.

I fasten the straps,

binding him to the altar.

I did it.

I'm

free.

I woke to the frigid bite of the morning air against my wet cheeks.

I was crying,

shivering in my sleeping bag.

I scrubbed at my face and looked around for Jonathan.

He was still huddled on the floor next to me.

Jonathan?

Shame and guilt were threatening to drown me, and I had to keep reminding myself that I hadn't done it.

I would never,

could never.

Still,

we had to get out of here.

Jonathan,

he shuffled around in his sleeping bag before pulling down the fabric to look at me.

Pain was etched on his features.

What?

It's light out.

We need to go.

Need to get moving.

He stared at me blankly, then turned to face the other way.

Ignoring his lack of response, I got up and started rolling my sleeping bag.

Eventually, he got up as well and helped me with a tent.

We made our way down the mountain towards the river.

For three days, we walked in search of the river.

I couldn't give up on it.

We were going the right way.

We had to be.

We were lucky enough to find the occasional mountain stream to fill our water bladders, but we had no food, and the hunger became more intolerable with every passing day.

Fall wasn't the best season for foraging, and besides, even though I loved camping, I had never spent time learning about what was edible.

It was a quiet walk,

but not the easy, friendly kind.

We hardly spoke.

When we did, we didn't fight, but it would have been hard for an outsider to tell we had ever been friends.

Jonathan's tongue was sometimes sharp,

but most often, his words were robotic and flat.

I never dreamed of the monster anymore.

Only the clearing.

When we found it on that third day, I'm ashamed to say I was elated rather than horrified.

If it was real, then maybe there was a way out of this.

I watched Jonathan carefully as we stepped into the clearing, checking his reaction.

Was he having dreams too?

Was he picturing my body on the altar?

I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

His face betrayed nothing as he approached the altar, fingering the leather straps.

So like the dream.

I looked around for the jagged rock laying on the ground.

It wasn't there.

I didn't have to do this.

Let's go.

I don't like this place.

Jonathan turned to look at me, a small smile on his lips, as if he had just heard a good joke.

Okay.

I felt a shiver pass through me,

but I pushed it aside.

We kept walking.

That night, when I checked Jonathan's bite,

it was infected and oozing pus.

I did what I could to clean it up.

We walked for two more days.

somehow ending up back at the clearing each time.

After that first day,

I insisted we walk around it.

I didn't want to be anywhere near that cursed altar, but on it went.

I don't know how many days we had been out there when Jonathan came down with the fever.

We were wrapped up in our sleeping bags, lying in the dark when he spoke.

through chattering teeth.

The sound of his ragged voice startled me.

I had become accustomed to his silence.

We both know what it wants.

Tomorrow, when we get to the clearing, so let it be me.

Please.

His voice broke, and I could hear him weeping quietly.

Please.

My heart started pounding.

So

he had been having the dreams, too.

You don't know what you're saying.

You're delirious.

No!

Only one of us is getting out of here.

You know it, too.

Admit it.

It.

I hesitated.

Wants an offering.

He sighed with what sounded like relief.

So let's give it one.

I'll be the offering.

No!

I hissed, a perverse joy bubbling in my stomach.

Yes,

my mind whispered.

Please, Adam, you gotta help me.

I can't do this by myself.

He was crying again.

I turned away from him.

Just be quiet and go to sleep.

You'll feel better in the morning.

It came out harsher than I meant.

I wasn't angry with him.

I was angry with myself

for being so damned excited.

When the morning came,

I checked Jonathan's wounds.

And it was clear from the bright red lines snaking out from the torn flesh that he was not feeling better.

Neither of us mentioned the smell as I bandaged it back up with the remaining gauze.

He didn't say anything about our conversation from the previous night.

We did what had become so routine.

We walked.

Our pace was slow, the slowest yet.

I had found a walking stick for Jonathan the day before, but it was doing little to help.

He staggered through the woods as if he were drunk.

Still, we made it to the clearing in record time.

Greedy bastard.

Jonathan, where are you going?

I tried to call him away, but Jonathan made a beeline straight to the rock slab that had haunted my dreams for what felt like forever now.

He sank to his knees next to it and bowed his head as if he were praying.

I drew closer.

Please

help

me.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

No,

I can't.

Yes, you can.

I can't keep going.

Let me do this for you.

I looked off across the clearing.

He was right.

We couldn't both go home.

That was the rule of the game.

Finally, I spoke, hating myself as I said it.

Lay down.

He looked up at me, eyes wet and shining with gratitude.

Thank you.

I didn't respond.

Retreating deep within myself, I went into autopilot, fastening the restraints on Jonathan's wrists and ankles.

It felt like someone else was doing it.

I stood back from my handiwork.

Maybe it was the fever, but there was a glow to Jonathan's face,

almost angelic.

He looked up at me with a small smile.

Hey,

I meant what I said earlier.

What's that?

When you get out of here, you gotta find yourself a good financial advisor.

I didn't smile back,

but I got down next to him and slid my hand into his.

We didn't have to wait long.

It slipped out of the woods into the clearing, sauntering towards us at a casual pace, savoring the moment.

Jonathan squeezed my hand hard,

but I slipped free and backed away.

The thin manic sheen of bravado broke and his face twisted in terror.

Adam!

Adam!

I kept backing away.

I turned so that I couldn't see them and I sank to the ground.

Jonathan's pleading turned to screams.

Between the wails, I could hear the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones.

It went on like that for what felt like forever.

I had no idea it could take so long to die.

The screams fell silent.

All I could hear was wet crunching and ripping.

I made the mistake of looking over my shoulder.

Jonathan's abdominal cavity had been ripped open.

The jagged edges of broken ribs gleamed in the sunlight.

Bile shot up my throat and spilled out my nose and mouth, stinging my sinuses and bringing fresh tears to my eyes.

When I finished wretching, I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and froze.

Goosebumps popped up all along my arms.

It was right behind me.

I struggled to get off my knees, but an iron hand gripped back of my hair, holding me in place.

I could feel hot breath against my ear.

Well done, my faithful servant.

Now,

my gift to you.

Jerking me around so that we nose to nose, the pale, nearly human face studied me with its black eyes.

I let out a panicked yelp, unable to move, even when the dark purple lips smeared with fresh blood pressed

against mine.

I opened my mouth to scream,

and my mouth was filled with a wave of death and decay.

The taste of rotten meat coated my tongue.

I gagged

and it let me go

In my mind's eye, I saw it all.

The death toll soaring, pits of bodies burning, dark bloated corpses covered in boils.

And

it all starts

with me.

Was I the plague now?

It was in me!

Death!

The thing rose to its full height, over seven feet.

It licked its lips and gave a satisfied sigh.

Then,

bending down,

it gently stroked my cheek before disappearing.

The place where it had touched me was cold and I rubbed it my cheek.

Still in shock, I left the clearing.

I left

Jonathan.

I can't remember much of the walk back.

But I did reach the parking lot.

Only Jonathan's car and my car were in the lot.

By then, it was starting to hit me.

All of it.

My hands shook as I fished my keys out of my bag.

I unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel, instantly locking the doors again.

I needed a barrier between me and everything else.

My eyes fastened on a protein bar in the cup holder between the front seats.

I tore into it, nearly choking in my rush to get it down into my aching stomach.

I searched the interior for more food, all the while shooting furtive looks out the windows.

I wasn't sure if I was afraid of seeing the monster or another human.

maybe both

i wasn't prepared for either

i could still feel it twisting through my guts

the sickness

i opened the glove box

and pulled out the gun

holding it in my hand as if I was seeing it for the first time.

After a few moments,

I placed it carefully on the seat next to me.

Slipping the keys into the ignition,

I brought the engine to life

and with one last look at Jonathan's SUV,

I pulled out of the parking lot,

turning onto the service road that led back to civilization.

not

ready yet,

I told myself

not yet.

Maybe later.

Our phone lines have been cut.

The cell signals are lost.

But we will return to delve into your darkest hang-ups when the calls will be coming from inside your house.

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