Speaker 1: Hello everyone. I am Mano Scaling, and I am here
Speaker 1: to help you to day. I know you use this
Speaker 1: video to fall asleep, so before that, please like the
Speaker 1: video and subscribe to the channel, and also tell me
Speaker 1: where you are from and what time you are watching. Now,
Speaker 1: get comfortable and relax. My name is Cassandra right. I'm
Speaker 1: thirty two years old. This happened in August of twenty
Speaker 1: twenty four. Some wounds never heal, not the physical ones,
Speaker 1: those eventually mend, leaving scabs and scars as proof that
Speaker 1: your body fought and survived. I'm talking about the other kind,
Speaker 1: the invisible gashes that tear through your soul when you
Speaker 1: witness something your mind wasn't built to comprehend. It's been
Speaker 1: nine months since that backpacking trip through Sage Creek Wilderness
Speaker 1: in bad Lands National Park, South Dakota. Nine months of therapy, medication,
Speaker 1: and nightmares that jolt me awake, wrenched in sweat, screaming
Speaker 1: into the darkness of my bedroom. My therapist suggested I
Speaker 1: write it all down, every horrific detail, as if putting
Speaker 1: these memories on paper might somehow exercise them from my mind.
Speaker 1: I doubt it will work, but I've tried everything else.
Speaker 1: The trip was supposed to be a celebration. My best
Speaker 1: friend Eliza had just finished her pH d in geology,
Speaker 1: and her boyfriend Marcus, suggested we take her on a
Speaker 1: wilderness adventure before she started her new research position at
Speaker 1: the University of Minnesota. Marcus invited his childhood friend Trent
Speaker 1: to round out our group. I'd never met Trent before,
Speaker 1: but Eliza assured me he was a little intense, but
Speaker 1: really dependable in the outdoors. I should mention that I
Speaker 1: wasn't an experienced hiker. Growing up in suburban Chicago didn't
Speaker 1: afford many opportunities to develop wilderness skills. But after my
Speaker 1: divorce from Kevin last year, I had promised myself I
Speaker 1: would start saying yes to new experiences, stop playing it safe.
Speaker 1: Kevin always said I was too cautious, too afraid to
Speaker 1: step outside my comfort zone. I wanted to prove him wrong,
Speaker 1: even if only to myself. So when Eliza called with
Speaker 1: the invitation, I agreed without hesitation. It'll be fun. She said.
Speaker 1: The bad lands have this eerie, almost other worldly beauty,
Speaker 1: and there's a section where you can back country camp
Speaker 1: for a few nights. No designated trails just wilderness. Looking back,
Speaker 1: I should have asked more questions. We met in Rapid
Speaker 1: City on August tenth. Marcus picked me up from the
Speaker 1: airport in his weathered Toyota Forerunner, Eliza beaming from the
Speaker 1: passenger seat. They looked so happy together, Eliza's wild red
Speaker 1: curls pulled back in a messy bun, her freckled face
Speaker 1: flushed with excitement, and Marcus tall and solid, with a
Speaker 1: kind of calm confidence that immediately put you at ease.
Speaker 1: Cass Eliza squealed, jumping out, hug me, you're really here.
Speaker 1: I can't believe you agreed to this new year, knew me,
Speaker 1: I laughed, hugging her back tightly. It had been almost
Speaker 1: a year since we'd seen each other in person, and
Speaker 1: I'd forgotten how much I missed her infectious energy. Trent's
Speaker 1: waiting at the camp site, Marcus explained, as he loaded
Speaker 1: my backpack into the trunk. He went ahead to secure
Speaker 1: a good spot before we head into the back country tomorrow.
Speaker 1: The drive to the park took about an hour, during
Speaker 1: which Eliza chattered excitedly about the geological formations we'd be seeing.
Speaker 1: The bad Lands are basically an enormous fossil bed. She explained,
Speaker 1: thirty seven million years of history just lying there in
Speaker 1: the rock layers. Ancient rhinos, camels, even saber toothed cats
Speaker 1: used to roam here. No dinosaurs, I asked, wrong time period,
Speaker 1: she laughed. But the Native Americans who lived here had
Speaker 1: plenty of legends about monsters in these lands. The Lakota
Speaker 1: called this place Makoska bad Lands for a reason. Marcus
Speaker 1: glanced at her in the rear view mirror. Maybe save
Speaker 1: the scary stories for the camp fire, babe. I remember
Speaker 1: watching the landscape change as we drove, becoming increasingly stark
Speaker 1: and alien, rolling prairie giving way to sharply eroded buttes,
Speaker 1: jagged spires, and deep ravines in shades of rust, cream
Speaker 1: and gray. It was beautiful in a desolate way, like
Speaker 1: looking at the skeleton of the earth itself. We reached
Speaker 1: the Cedar Past campground by late afternoon, where we found
Speaker 1: Trent sitting outside his already assembled tent, whittling a piece
Speaker 1: of wood with alarming precision. He stood as we approached,
Speaker 1: a wiry man in his early thirties with a closely
Speaker 1: cropped beard and piercing blue eyes that seemed to assess
Speaker 1: everything with military efficiency. You must be Cassandra, he said,
Speaker 1: extending a calloused hand. His grip was firm, almost challenging.
Speaker 1: Just cass is fine, I replied, trying to match his
Speaker 1: handshake strength. Trent's an ex park ranger, Marcus explained, worked
Speaker 1: here for five years before moving to Colorado. He knows
Speaker 1: these bad lands better than anyone. Trent's mouth twitched slightly.
Speaker 1: Not better than the locals, he said quietly, never better
Speaker 1: than them. There was something in his tone that gave
Speaker 1: me pause. But Eliza was already organizing our campsite, assigning
Speaker 1: tasks with her usual efficiency. We spent the evening setting
Speaker 1: up tents, preparing dinner on portable stoves, and discussing our
Speaker 1: route for the next day. Trent had mapped out a
Speaker 1: three day loop through Sage Creek Wilderness, a remote section
Speaker 1: of the park where we could truly disconnect, no trails,
Speaker 1: minimal signs of human presence, he explained, spreading a topographical
Speaker 1: map across our folding table. We'll follow the ridge lines
Speaker 1: here and here, then drop down into this basin where
Speaker 1: there's a reliable water. So from there we'll head north
Speaker 1: through deer Haven Valley and loop back around through Sage
Speaker 1: Creek basin. Any particular wildlife we should be concerned about,
Speaker 1: I asked, rattlesnakes mostly, Trent answered, without looking up, bison
Speaker 1: herds too, but they'll generally leave you alone if you
Speaker 1: give them space. Mountain lions are around, but rarely seen.
Speaker 1: What about other people, I pressed, Something about the isolation
Speaker 1: was starting to make me nervous. Trent finally looked up
Speaker 1: those blue eyes locking onto mine. That's why we're going there, Cassandra,
Speaker 1: to not see other people. Marcus must have sensed my discomfort.
Speaker 1: It'll be fine, cass Trent's done this route multiple times,
Speaker 1: and we'll have the satellite phone for emergencies. As darkness fell,
Speaker 1: we gathered around the campfire. The night air was cool,
Speaker 1: the sky impossibly vast and filled with more stars than
Speaker 1: I'd ever seen in my life. For a while, well,
Speaker 1: we just sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames dance
Speaker 1: and listening to the distant calls of coyotes. Then Eliza,
Speaker 1: never one to let a silence stretch too long, asked
Speaker 1: Trent if he had any good stories from his ranger days.
Speaker 1: His expression darkened slightly. Nothing suitable for a campfire. The
Speaker 1: night before a hike. Oh, come on, she prodded. We're
Speaker 1: all adults here, give us something good. Any rescues missing hikers.
Speaker 1: Trent took a long pull from his beer before responding.
Speaker 1: There was one incident five years ago. Family of four
Speaker 1: went missing in the area. Were heading two tomorrow, parents
Speaker 1: and two kids, ages seven and nine. Marcus shifted uncomfortably.
Speaker 1: Maybe we should No, I want to hear it, Eliza interrupted,
Speaker 1: her eyes gleaming with macob curiosity. Trent shrugged. Not much
Speaker 1: to tell. They were experienced hikers, had all the right gear.
Speaker 1: Father was actually a will and a survival instructor from Minnesota.
Speaker 1: They had permits for five days of backcountry camping. When
Speaker 1: they didn't check in at the end, search and rescue
Speaker 1: went out, and I prompted when he fell silent. We
Speaker 1: found their campsite. Everything was there, tents still set up,
Speaker 1: food properly stored, no signs of animal attack or struggle,
Speaker 1: but no people, not a trace. It was like they
Speaker 1: just vanished in the middle of whatever they were doing.
Speaker 1: Coffee pots still on the portable stove. That's impossible, I said.
Speaker 1: People don't just disappear in the bad lands. Some things
Speaker 1: don't follow rules, Trent replied cryptically, the Lakota believed there
Speaker 1: are thin places here where the barrier between our world
Speaker 1: and other worlds isn't as solid. Eliza snorted, now you
Speaker 1: sound like my crazy aunt Margaret. Next you'll be telling
Speaker 1: us about skin walkers and wendigoes. A muscle in Trent's jawed.
Speaker 1: The locals don't joke about such things. Do they ever
Speaker 1: joke about anything? Marcus laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Speaker 1: Come on, let's get some sleep early start tomorrow. As
Speaker 1: we dispersed to our tents, I caught Trent staring out
Speaker 1: into the darkness beyond our camp site, his body unnaturally still.
Speaker 1: He was listening for something, though I couldn't imagine what.
Speaker 1: That night, I dreamed of endless canyons and a voice
Speaker 1: calling my name from deep within the earth. Morning came,
Speaker 1: with merciful brightness, chasing away the lingering unease from Trent's story.
Speaker 1: We broke camp efficiently, redistributing the group gear among our packs.
Speaker 1: I was relieved to see that Trent seemed more relaxed
Speaker 1: in the daylight, methodically checking our supplies and going over
Speaker 1: the route one final time. Remember, he emphasized We're entering
Speaker 1: a part of the park with no cellular service and
Speaker 1: minimal trail markers. Stay together, conserve water, and speak up
Speaker 1: immediately if you're having any issues. The first few hours
Speaker 1: of hiking were exhilarating. We followed a faint trail that
Speaker 1: wound up and along a dramatic ridge line, offering spectacular
Speaker 1: views of the eroded landscape below. Eliza was in her element,
Speaker 1: pointing out different rock layers and occasionally stopping to examine
Speaker 1: interesting formations. See how these bands change color, she explained,
Speaker 1: running her hand along a section of striped rock. Each
Speaker 1: one represents a different period of deposition. The darker bands
Speaker 1: are ancient soils that formed during wetter periods. I was
Speaker 1: about to ask a question when Trent, who had been
Speaker 1: walking ahead, suddenly raised his hand in a sharp gesture
Speaker 1: that clearly meant stop. We froze bison, he said, quietly,
Speaker 1: pointing to a distant slope where several dark shapes were grazing.
Speaker 1: We need to give them a wide birth. We altered
Speaker 1: our course, adding an extra mile to our journey to
Speaker 1: avoid the animals. By midday, the temperature had risen considerably
Speaker 1: and the stark landscape offered little shade. My water supply
Speaker 1: was depleting faster than I anticipated, and despite the breathtaking scenery,
Speaker 1: I was beginning to question my decision to come on
Speaker 1: this trip. How much further to the water source? I
Speaker 1: asked during a brief rest, trying to keep the strain
Speaker 1: out of my voice. Trent consulted his map. Another three miles,
Speaker 1: but it's mainly downhill from here. We should reach it
Speaker 1: by mid afternoon. Marcus gave me an encouraging smile hanging
Speaker 1: in their cass Absolutely, I lied, not wanting to be
Speaker 1: the weak link. As we continued, the landscape became increasingly surreal.
Speaker 1: Wind sculpted spires rose like ancient monuments, and deep canyons
Speaker 1: cut through the earth like open wounds. Despite my fatigue,
Speaker 1: I couldn't help feeling a sense of awe and increasing
Speaker 1: smallness in this vast primeval world. We reached the promised
Speaker 1: water source around three p m, a clear stream winding
Speaker 1: through a protected canyon. While Marcus filtered water for our bottles,
Speaker 1: Eliza and I soaked our feet in the cool current,
Speaker 1: and Trent scouted the area for a suitable camp site.
Speaker 1: He returned looking troubled. What's wrong? Marcus asked, immediately, there's
Speaker 1: someone else out here. Trent said, his voice low. I
Speaker 1: found fresh footprints about half a mile up stream. Single person,
Speaker 1: heavy boot tread moving in the same direction were headed.
Speaker 1: Eliza shrugged. So it's a national park. Other people can
Speaker 1: hike here, Not many do, Trent countered, especially not solo
Speaker 1: hikers in this section. And there's something else, He hesitated.
Speaker 1: The stride length is unusual, inconsistent, like they're limping or
Speaker 1: not walking normally. Maybe they're injured, I suggested, shouldn't we
Speaker 1: try to find them. They might need help. Trent considered this.
Speaker 1: We'll set up camp here for tonight. If they're in trouble,
Speaker 1: they'll likely follow the water source and come to us.
Speaker 1: If not, he didn't finish the sentence. We established our
Speaker 1: campsite in a sheltered area near the stream, surrounded by
Speaker 1: steep canyon walls that offered protection from the wind. As
Speaker 1: dusk approached, Marcus and Trent gathered wood for a small fire,
Speaker 1: while Eliza and I prepared dinner freeze dried meals that
Speaker 1: tasted surprisingly good after a full day of hiking. So
Speaker 1: what do you think of, Trent? Eliza whispered as we worked.
Speaker 1: He's intense, I admitted, but I feel safe with him
Speaker 1: out here. He clearly knows what he's doing. She nodded.
Speaker 1: Marcus says he was in Special Forces before becoming a ranger,
Speaker 1: though tent never talks about it. Apparently something happened during
Speaker 1: his last year here that made him quit suddenly. What
Speaker 1: kind of something? No idea? Marcus tried asking once, and
Speaker 1: Trent shut down completely. Our conversation was interrupted by the
Speaker 1: men's return with armfuls of firewood. As darkness fell, we
Speaker 1: again found ourselves circled around the crackling flames, our faces
Speaker 1: illuminated in the dancing light. The canyon walls created strange acoustics,
Speaker 1: sometimes amplifying the fires snaps and pops, other times absorbing
Speaker 1: all sound in an eerie stillness. Anyone else notice how
Speaker 1: quiet it is? Marcus commented, No birds, no insects. They
Speaker 1: know better. Trent said cryptically. I was about to ask
Speaker 1: what he meant, when a sound echoed from somewhere up
Speaker 1: the canyon, a dull thud, followed by what might have
Speaker 1: been a voice too distant to make out words. We
Speaker 1: all turned toward the sound. The other hiker, Eliza, suggested,
Speaker 1: Trent stood, reaching for his flashlight. Maybe I'll check it out.
Speaker 1: You shouldn't go alone, Marcus protested, I'm not going far,
Speaker 1: just to the bend in the canyon. If it's someone
Speaker 1: in trouble, I'll signal with three flashes. He patted the
Speaker 1: holstered hunting knife at his hip and disappeared into the
Speaker 1: darkness beyond our fire's glow. Twenty minutes passed with no
Speaker 1: sign of him. This isn't right, Marcus finally said, standing,
Speaker 1: I'm going after him. No, I said firmly, surprising myself.
Speaker 1: We shouldn't split up more. Give him until the count
Speaker 1: of three hundred. If he's not back, we'll all go together.
Speaker 1: We counted silently, the tension building with each passing number.
Speaker 1: At two hundred and seventy four, a beam of light
Speaker 1: appeared at the canyon entrance and Trent emerged, his expression
Speaker 1: unreadable in the darkness. Well, Eliza prompted as he rejoined us. Nothing,
Speaker 1: he said, shortly. No sign of anyone. But we all
Speaker 1: heard something, I insisted. Sound carries strangely out here. Could
Speaker 1: have been a rock fall further up the canyon. None
Speaker 1: of us were entirely convinced, but exhaustion from the day's
Speaker 1: hike was setting in, and the warmth of the fire
Speaker 1: was making my eyelids heavy. We agreed to set watches
Speaker 1: through the night, a precaution Trent insisted on. I took
Speaker 1: the first shift, then Marcus, Eliza, and finally Trent for
Speaker 1: the pre dawn hours. My watch passed uneventfully, and I
Speaker 1: woke Marcus for his turn before crawling into my tent.
Speaker 1: Despite my fatigue, sleep came fitfully. I dreamed of footsteps
Speaker 1: circling our camp, of eyes watching from the canyon rim above.
Speaker 1: At one point I jerked awake, certain I'd heard my
Speaker 1: name being whispered just outside my tent, Cassandra. I lay
Speaker 1: perfectly still, listening intently, but heard only the gentle rustle
Speaker 1: of wind through the canyon. Morning revealed nothing amiss in
Speaker 1: our camp, though Trent seemed more on edge than before.
Speaker 1: As we packed up, I noticed him examining the ground
Speaker 1: around our tents with careful attention. Find anything, I asked,
Speaker 1: Approaching him. He straightened quickly. No, he said, too, sharply,
Speaker 1: then moderating his tone. No tracks, Let's get moving. I
Speaker 1: want to reach deer Haven by mid day. The day's
Speaker 1: hike took us out of the canyon and a cross
Speaker 1: more exposed to rain, a moonscape of eroded hoodoos and
Speaker 1: deep ravines that required careful navigation. The sun beat down mercilessly,
Speaker 1: and despite our early start, heat exhaustion became a real concern.
Speaker 1: Trent pushed a relentless pace, stopping only briefly for water
Speaker 1: and energy bars. Hey can we take five, Eliza finally
Speaker 1: called out her normally boundless energy flagging. I need to
Speaker 1: adjust my pack. Trent reluctantly agreed, and we all sank
Speaker 1: gratefully to the ground in the meager shade of a
Speaker 1: large rock formation. As I gulped water, I noticed Marcus
Speaker 1: studying the map with a furrowed brow. Everything okay, I asked.
Speaker 1: He lowered his voice. I think we're off course. We
Speaker 1: should have hit that distinctive butte by now. He pointed
Speaker 1: to a formation marked on the map. Before I could respond,
Speaker 1: a sound cut through the still air, a drawn out,
Speaker 1: keening wail that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere
Speaker 1: at once. It was unlike anything I'd ever heard, not
Speaker 1: quite human, not quite animal, rising and falling in pitch
Speaker 1: before abruptly cutting off. We all froze. What the hell
Speaker 1: was that, Marcus whispered. Trent's face had drained of color.
Speaker 1: Without answering, he pulled out his compass and swore under
Speaker 1: his breath what Eliza demanded. The compass is spinning, he said,
Speaker 1: his voice tight. It can't find nor that's impossible. She scoffed,
Speaker 1: reaching for it, but her expression changed as she watched
Speaker 1: the needle rotate aimlessly. There must be magnetic deposits in
Speaker 1: these rocks. My departmental field trips ran into this all
Speaker 1: the time, right, Trent said, but he didn't sound convinced.
Speaker 1: Everyone check your phones GPS. We all pulled out our devices.
Speaker 1: Mine was dead, despite having been fully charged that morning.
Speaker 1: Marcus and Eliza reported the same. This isn't normal, I said,
Speaker 1: a cold feeling settling in my stomach. We stick to
Speaker 1: the original plan, Trent decided, after a moment at North
Speaker 1: or what should be north, for another two miles will
Speaker 1: hit the valley or a recognizable landmark eventually. But as
Speaker 1: the afternoon wore on, nothing looked familiar, not even to Trent.
Speaker 1: The landscape seemed to shift around us, landmarks appearing and
Speaker 1: disappearing in ways that defied logic. The shadow lengthened at
Speaker 1: an accelerated rate, as if time itself was behaving strangely.
Speaker 1: Twice more we heard that chilling whale, each time closer
Speaker 1: than before. We need to find shelter before dark. Trent
Speaker 1: finally announced, there's a formation up ahead that might work.
Speaker 1: The formation turned out to be a shallow cave set
Speaker 1: into a cliff face, barely more than an indentation in
Speaker 1: the rock, but it would protect us from three sides,
Speaker 1: at least. As we approached, I noticed odd markings carved
Speaker 1: into the stone around the entrance, symbols I didn't recognize,
Speaker 1: arranged in a deliberate pattern. Are those petroglyphs? I asked, pointing.
Speaker 1: Trent examined them briefly. No, these are more recent. His
Speaker 1: jaw tightened. Let's find somewhere else. It's getting dark. Marcus protested,
Speaker 1: and those clouds don't look friendly. He was right. While
Speaker 1: we'd been hiking, storm clouds had gathered on the horizon
Speaker 1: and the wind was picking up, carrying the scent of rain. Fine.
Speaker 1: Trent relented, but we sleep in shifts again. No one
Speaker 1: goes anywhere alone. We set up camp with an efficiency
Speaker 1: born of growing unease. No one suggested a fire, though
Speaker 1: the temperature was dropping rapidly. Instead, we huddled together at
Speaker 1: the back of the shallow cave, sharing energy bars and
Speaker 1: beef jerky in lieu of a proper meal. None of
Speaker 1: us had much appetite anyway. Tomorrow we head straight back
Speaker 1: to where we started. Trent decided forget the loop. Something's
Speaker 1: not right here, you think, Eliza said sarcastically. Our phones
Speaker 1: are dead, compasses don't work, and we're being stalked by
Speaker 1: whatever's making that god awful noise. We're not being stalked,
Speaker 1: Marcus said firmly, though he didn't sound convinced. Actually, Trent
Speaker 1: said quietly, I think we are. We all stared at him,
Speaker 1: that's say, he began, then stopped abruptly as a distant
Speaker 1: rumble of thunder rolled across the landscape. I heard it
Speaker 1: once before, five years ago, right before that family disappeared.
Speaker 1: A chill ran through me that had nothing to do
Speaker 1: with the dropping temperature. What aren't you telling us, I demanded.
Speaker 1: Trent looked away, his profile sharp against the dimming light outside.
Speaker 1: The official report said the family was never found. That's
Speaker 1: not entirely accurate. We found the father three days later,
Speaker 1: wandering near sheep a mountain table forty miles from their campsite, alive,
Speaker 1: Eliza whispered technically, but he wasn't himself any more. He
Speaker 1: couldn't speak, couldn't tell us what happened or where his
Speaker 1: family was, just kept making this sound. Trent imitated a
Speaker 1: rhythmic clicking with his tongue. The medics sedated him for transport.
Speaker 1: I rode with him in the helicopter. Right before we landed,
Speaker 1: he grabbed my wrist strength like you wouldn't believe, and
Speaker 1: spoke the only coherent thing anyone ever got from him.
Speaker 1: Thunder crashed again, closer this time. In the brief silence
Speaker 1: that followed, Trent's words hung in the air, he said,
Speaker 1: it wears their faces. A flash of lightning illuminated the
Speaker 1: cave entrance, followed immediately by a deafening thunderclap. The storm
Speaker 1: was directly overhead. Now, rain began to lash down in sheets,
Speaker 1: creating a curtain of water across the cave opening. What
Speaker 1: happened to him? Marcus asked, his voice barely audible over
Speaker 1: the storm. Committed to a psychiatric facility in Rapid City,
Speaker 1: killed himself three weeks later, bit through his own wrists,
Speaker 1: Trent's face was grim. That's why I quit. Couldn't shake
Speaker 1: the feeling that we missed something, that we left something
Speaker 1: out there. The storm's ferocity increased, wind driving the rain
Speaker 1: sideways into our shelter. We had to move deeper into
Speaker 1: the cave, which seemed to extend further back than I
Speaker 1: had initially realized. Did anyone check how far this goes?
Speaker 1: I asked, suddenly concerned, it's just a shallow overhang, Trent
Speaker 1: assured me. I looked when we arrived, but as another
Speaker 1: lightning flash illuminated our surroundings, I could clearly see that
Speaker 1: the cave continued into darkness, a narrow passage leading deeper
Speaker 1: into the cliff. Trent, I said, carefully, that wasn't there before.
Speaker 1: He followed my gaze, his expression hardening. Everyone pack up.
Speaker 1: Now we're leaving in this storm, Eliza protested, will be
Speaker 1: soaked in seconds, better wet than He didn't finish the sentence,
Speaker 1: because at that moment we heard it again, that keening
Speaker 1: wail so close now it seemed to reverberate within the
Speaker 1: cave itself, and then, impossibly, a voice called from the
Speaker 1: darkness of the passage. Help, please, was a child's voice.
Speaker 1: Marcus jumped to his feet. There's someone back there. Trent
Speaker 1: grabbed his arm. That's not a child. We don't know that,
Speaker 1: Marcus argued, pulling free. It could be a lost kid
Speaker 1: caught in the same weird magnetic field or whatever is
Speaker 1: messing with our equipment. The voice called again, weaker, this time,
Speaker 1: please hurt. Before anyone could stop him, Marcus had grabbed
Speaker 1: his flashlight and was moving toward the passage. Eliza scrambled
Speaker 1: after him, leaving Trent and me staring at each other
Speaker 1: in horror. Stay here, he ordered, drawing his hunting knife.
Speaker 1: If I'm not back in five minutes, get out and
Speaker 1: head east. The storm will clear by morning. I'm not
Speaker 1: splitting up, I insisted, grabbing my own flashlight. We go together,
Speaker 1: or not at all. He looked like he wanted to argue,
Speaker 1: but nodded tersely. Together, we followed the bobbing lights of
Speaker 1: Marcus and Eliza into the passage. The narrow corridor twisted
Speaker 1: downward at a steep angle, the rough stone walls pressing
Speaker 1: in from both sides. The air grew noticeably colder, with
Speaker 1: a damp organic smell. That reminded me of mushrooms and decay.
Speaker 1: Our flashlight beams cut through darkness so complete it seemed
Speaker 1: to swallow the light. We caught up to Marcus and Eliza,
Speaker 1: where the passage opened into a larger chamber, their flashlight
Speaker 1: scanning the space. Frantically, I heard it right here, Marcus insisted,
Speaker 1: a child crying for help. Trent's light revealed crude drawings
Speaker 1: on the chamber walls, stick figures with elongated limbs, spirals,
Speaker 1: and more of those strange symbols we'd seen at the entrance.
Speaker 1: These aren't Lakota, Eliza murmured, her archaeologist's curiosity, momentarily overriding
Speaker 1: her fear. They don't match any indigenous art style I've studied.
Speaker 1: We need to leave, Trent said firmly. Now that's when
Speaker 1: we heard the shuffling footsteps behind us from the direction
Speaker 1: of the cave entrance. We turned as one, flashlights converging
Speaker 1: on the passage we just traversed. A figure stood there,
Speaker 1: human in general shape, but wrong in ways my mind
Speaker 1: initially couldn't process. It was tall, too tall for the
Speaker 1: low ceiling, forcing it to stoop unnaturally. Its limbs were
Speaker 1: disproportionately long and jointed in extra places. But worst of
Speaker 1: all was its face, or rather faces. The creature's head
Speaker 1: seemed to shift between different human visages, never settling on one,
Speaker 1: like a twisted slide show of stolen identities. Eliza screamed.
Speaker 1: The sound jolted us from our paralysis. Run. Trent shouted,
Speaker 1: pushing me toward a second passage I hadn't noticed before.
Speaker 1: Go go. We fled deeper into the cave system, blind
Speaker 1: with terror, our flashlights casting wild, jumping shadows. As we ran.
Speaker 1: Behind us, that terrible wailing cry echoed off the walls,
Speaker 1: joined now by the sound of too many limbs scuttling
Speaker 1: across stone. The passage split, then split again. We made
Speaker 1: random choices, no plan beyond getting away from the thing
Speaker 1: behind us. At some point I realized Eliza was no
Speaker 1: longer with us. Stop, I gasped, pulling at Marcus's sleeve, Eliza,
Speaker 1: we lost her. The three of us froze, listening nothing
Speaker 1: but our own ragged breathing and distant water trips. We
Speaker 1: have to go back, Marcus said, immediately, his face ashen. No.
Speaker 1: Trent grabbed him. It's suicide. She's my girlfriend, and that
Speaker 1: thing will be wearing her face if you go back there,
Speaker 1: Trent hissed, We need to find a way out first,
Speaker 1: then get help. Their argument was cut short by a scream,
Speaker 1: Eliza's voice unmistakable echoing from somewhere in the labyrinth. Then silence,
Speaker 1: more absolute than before. Marcus broke free from Trent's grasp
Speaker 1: and bolted back the way we'd come. Trent swore viciously,
Speaker 1: but didn't follow. We can't just leave them, I pleaded.
Speaker 1: We're not, he said grimly, But we need a better
Speaker 1: plan than running blindly. He swept his flashlight around the
Speaker 1: chamber we were in, revealing another narrow opening cave. Systems
Speaker 1: like this usually have multiple exits. Water flows out somewhere.
Speaker 1: We followed the new passage, which sloped gently downward. The
Speaker 1: sound of running water grew louder, giving us hope. After
Speaker 1: what seemed like hours but was probably minutes, we emerged
Speaker 1: into a larger cavern, with a small underground stream flowing
Speaker 1: across the floor and disappearing into a crevice too small
Speaker 1: for human to follow. See if you can get any
Speaker 1: signal on your phone, Trent suggested, Though we both knew
Speaker 1: it was futile, Still I pulled out my dead device
Speaker 1: and was shocked to see it power on. Trent, it's working,
Speaker 1: he was at my side instantly try calling nine one one.
Speaker 1: I did, but the call failed to connect. However, I
Speaker 1: did have enough signal to see a text message that
Speaker 1: had somehow come through from Eliza's number, sent just minutes ago.
Speaker 1: Help us cave behind waterfall Not what it seems, I
Speaker 1: showed Trent the message. His face paled. There's no waterfall
Speaker 1: in these caves, as if in response, we heard it
Speaker 1: then the distant rush of falling water coming from yet
Speaker 1: another passage leading off the chamber. Could she have found
Speaker 1: another way out? I asked, hopefully. Trent's expression was grim
Speaker 1: or something's using her phone to lure us deeper. We
Speaker 1: can't just abandon them, I insisted. After a moment's hesitation,
Speaker 1: he nodded, but we go carefully, and at the first
Speaker 1: sign of that thing, we run. Understand. The new passage
Speaker 1: was easier to navigate, Widening as we followed the same
Speaker 1: sound of rushing water, the air grew misty, confirming that
Speaker 1: we were approaching some kind of waterfall. Hope began to build.
Speaker 1: Perhaps there was indeed a way out the passage opened
Speaker 1: into a breath taking underground grotto. A shaft of daylight
Speaker 1: penetrated from some opening far above, illuminating a scene that
Speaker 1: might have been beautiful under other circumstances. A thin waterfall
Speaker 1: cascading from the ceiling into a clear pool below, surrounded
Speaker 1: by strange pale formations that resembled organic structures more than
Speaker 1: typical stalactites. And standing at the edge of the pool
Speaker 1: was Marcus, his back to us. Marcus, I called in relief.
Speaker 1: He turned slowly, too slowly. Even from a distance, I
Speaker 1: could see something was terribly wrong. His movements were jerky,
Speaker 1: puppet like, and his eyes, God, his eyes were black
Speaker 1: voids with pin pricks of light deep within, like distant
Speaker 1: stark cars run. Trent whispered so quietly I barely heard
Speaker 1: him naught. Marcus opened his mouth, and that keening wail emerged,
Speaker 1: echoing off the chamber walls from the pool. Disturbances appeared
Speaker 1: in the water, things rising from below. We ran behind us.
Speaker 1: Multiple sets of footsteps gave pursuit. The passages seemed different, now, narrower,
Speaker 1: twisting in impossible ways. Several times I was certain we'd
Speaker 1: made a wrong turn, but somehow we kept finding new roots,
Speaker 1: as if the cave itself was changing around us. There,
Speaker 1: Trent suddenly shouted, pointing ahead, where a faint grayish light
Speaker 1: indicated a potential exit. We burst out into the storm
Speaker 1: washed night, rains still falling, but less intensely than before.
Speaker 1: We were on a ledge, part way up a cliff face,
Speaker 1: the bad land stretching out below us in the darkness down.
Speaker 1: Trent commanded, already searching for a path. We need to
Speaker 1: get as far from here as possible before dawn. I
Speaker 1: followed him numbly as he picked his way down the
Speaker 1: treacherous slope, my mind still trying to process what I'd seen.
Speaker 1: Marcus's empty eyes, those things rising from the pool. Eliza
Speaker 1: absent but somehow able to text. Don found us miles away,
Speaker 1: huddled in the shelter of an eroded overhang as the
Speaker 1: storm finally broke. Neither of us had spoken for hours.
Speaker 1: What was there to say? Trent finally broke the silence.
Speaker 1: The rangers won't believe us. We have to try. We
Speaker 1: can't just leave them there. They're already gone, he said, flatly.
Speaker 1: Whatever was wearing Marcus's face, Your friends weren't there anymore.
Speaker 1: I wanted to argue, but deep down I knew he
Speaker 1: was right. Whatever had happened in that cave, Marcus and
Speaker 1: Eliza as we knew them were gone. It took us
Speaker 1: another full day of hiking to reach a ranger station.
Speaker 1: We told them sanitized version of events that we'd been
Speaker 1: separated from our friends in the storm, that they might
Speaker 1: be lost or injured in the Sage Creek area. Search
Speaker 1: and rescue operations began immediately, but I knew they wouldn't
Speaker 1: find anything, or worse, they would find something wearing our
Speaker 1: friends faces. Three days later, the search was officially suspended.
Speaker 1: No trace of Marcus or Eliza was ever found. Their
Speaker 1: families still call me sometimes, asking if I remember any
Speaker 1: other details, any clue that might help locate them. I've
Speaker 1: stopped answering their calls. What could I possibly say? Trent
Speaker 1: disappeared too, not physically, but in every other way. Last
Speaker 1: I heard, he'd gone deep into the mountains of Colorado,
Speaker 1: living off grid in some remote cabin, running from memories,
Speaker 1: just like me. I moved to Seattle after that, as
Speaker 1: far from the bad Lands as I could reasonably get.
Speaker 1: I changed my phone number, deleted my social media accounts,
Speaker 1: started therapy, tried to rebuild some semblance of a normal life.
Speaker 1: But normalcy is an illusion once you've glimpsed what lurks beneath.
Speaker 1: Last week, something happened that compelled me to finally write
Speaker 1: this account. I received a package at my apartment, no
Speaker 1: return address, no note inside, just a weathered, dirt stained
Speaker 1: journal that I immediately recognized as Eliza's, the one she'd
Speaker 1: been writing in during our trip, documenting the geological formations
Speaker 1: we encountered. I should have burned it, instead, I opened it.
Speaker 1: Most pages contained exactly what you'd expect, Eliza's neat handwriting,
Speaker 1: detailing rock compositions and formations, rough sketches of interesting features,
Speaker 1: time stamps, and coordinates. But the final entry, dated the
Speaker 1: night she disappeared, was different. The handwriting was erratic, the
Speaker 1: pressure so hard it tore through the paper in places.
Speaker 1: It's watching us, it's been watching since we arrived. Trent
Speaker 1: knows more than he's saying. The cave isn't a cave.
Speaker 1: It's a mouth. God help us. It's a mouth, and
Speaker 1: we're already inside it. If anyone finds this, stay away
Speaker 1: from Sage Creek. The things in the water aren't reflections,
Speaker 1: they're windows and he stands behind all of them, the
Speaker 1: one the Lakota called. The entry ended mid sentence with
Speaker 1: a violent stroke that dragged across the page. That night,
Speaker 1: for the first time since I moved to Seattle, I
Speaker 1: woke to the sound of my phone receiving a text message.
Speaker 1: And even though I know it's impossible, her phone was
Speaker 1: never recovered, her account closed. The notification showed the same name, Eliza.
Speaker 1: This time, my trembling finger opened it. Three words, come home, cass.
Speaker 1: Beneath it a image a perfect, untouched camp site in
Speaker 1: a familiar canyon, four tents, a coffee pot on a
Speaker 1: portable stove, and standing just at the edge of the frame,
Speaker 1: a figure with my face smiling too widely, blinking too little,
Speaker 1: staring directly at the camera. I burned the journal that night,
Speaker 1: destroyed my phone. Started writing this account because I know
Speaker 1: now why the searches never found our friends, why that
Speaker 1: family vanished years ago, why locals avoid certain areas after dark.
Speaker 1: There are thin places in this world, cracks where something
Speaker 1: else seeps through. The Lakota were right to name those
Speaker 1: lands Makosika bad lands. Indeed, and whatever came through has
Speaker 1: learned new tricks. It doesn't just wear their faces anymore.
Speaker 1: It wears their voices, their handwriting, their memories. It can
Speaker 1: reach across miles, across years. If you ever find yourself
Speaker 1: in Sage Creek Wilderness when the sun is setting and
Speaker 1: the shadows grow long, and you hear a voice calling
Speaker 1: for help voice, even when you recognize, run, run and
Speaker 1: don't look back, because it wears their faces. It knows
Speaker 1: their secrets, and it's patient, very very patient, and it's
Speaker 1: coming for me next. My name is Rebecca Warner. I'm
Speaker 1: thirty four years old. And this happened in August of
Speaker 1: twenty twenty three. It was supposed to be the perfect
Speaker 1: wilderness getaway, a chance for three overworked nurses to decompress
Speaker 1: after the hellish years of the pandemic. Just me, my
Speaker 1: colleague Jenehobrook, and our supervisor, Melissa Chen, hiking through the
Speaker 1: Black Hills of South Dakota, exploring territory none of us
Speaker 1: had seen before. We'd been planning it for months, pouring
Speaker 1: over maps of Custer State Park and the surrounding wilderness areas,
Speaker 1: plotting roots that would take us off the beaten path.
Speaker 1: We deserve this, Melissa had said, as we packed our
Speaker 1: gear the night before setting out. Melissa always collected, always
Speaker 1: in control. At forty two, she had more backcountry experience
Speaker 1: than either Jena or me, having grown up in Montana
Speaker 1: before moving east for nursing school. After everything we've been through,
Speaker 1: we need to remember what peace feels like. Jenna had
Speaker 1: nodded enthusiastically, her honey blonde ponytail bouncing. Just imagine no
Speaker 1: beeping monitors, no call buttons, no fluorescent lights, just trees
Speaker 1: and sky. At twenty nine, Jenna was the youngest of
Speaker 1: our trio, perpetually optimistic despite everything she'd witnessed in the ICU.
Speaker 1: I remember smiling, feeling a weight lifted from my shoulders
Speaker 1: at the mere thought of escaping our sterile hospital environment.
Speaker 1: After three years of death and disease and ppe that
Speaker 1: left permanent marks on our faces, the wilderness seemed like salvation.
Speaker 1: None of us could have imagined what waited for us
Speaker 1: in the those remote woods. We started our hike on
Speaker 1: a Tuesday morning in perfect weather, entering Custer State Park
Speaker 1: through a less traveled trailhead near the ghost town of Spokane.
Speaker 1: Our plan was to follow a loop that would take
Speaker 1: us deep into the wilderness area beyond the regular tourist paths,
Speaker 1: camping for four nights before returning to civilization. The first
Speaker 1: day was everything we'd hoped for. The late summer wildflowers
Speaker 1: painted the meadows and explosions of color, and the ponderosa
Speaker 1: pines created cathedral like spaces. As we climbed higher into
Speaker 1: the hills, we spotted deer, a distant bison heard, and
Speaker 1: even a red tailed hawk that swooped so close we
Speaker 1: could hear the whisper of its wings. This is just
Speaker 1: what the doctor ordered, Jenna said, spreading her arms wide
Speaker 1: at an overlook that revealed miles of undulating forest and
Speaker 1: distant rocky spires. Melissa took deep, deliberate breaths. Beside me,
Speaker 1: The air here is medicine, she agreed, her usually tense
Speaker 1: shoulders visibly relaxing. That night, we made camp in a
Speaker 1: small clearing surrounded by towering pines. As darkness fell, we
Speaker 1: built a fire, roasted marshmallows, and shared stories not of
Speaker 1: work or patience or trauma, but of childhood adventures and
Speaker 1: dreams deferred. For the first time in years, I felt
Speaker 1: completely present, unburdened by the past or anxious about the future.
Speaker 1: But as the fire died down, and Melissa and Jenna
Speaker 1: drifted off to sleep in their tents. I remained awake,
Speaker 1: staring up at the stars visible through the mesh of
Speaker 1: my tent roof. Something felt off, not wrong exactly, but unsettled,
Speaker 1: like the paws before a thunderclap. I attributed it to
Speaker 1: being unused to the profound silence of the wilderness. In
Speaker 1: the hospital, there was always noise, machines, humming, intercoms, paging,
Speaker 1: feet shuffling on linoleum. Here, the silence had way and
Speaker 1: presence until it was broken by a sound I couldn't
Speaker 1: immediately identify. It was distant, but distinctive, erythmic tapping like
Speaker 1: wood against wood. Talk talk talk, then silence, then again,
Speaker 1: talk talk talk. I sat up, straining to hear. It
Speaker 1: wasn't an animal sound that I recognized, too regular, too deliberate,
Speaker 1: talk talk talk closer now, or was that my imagination?
Speaker 1: I unzipped my tent as quietly as possible and peered
Speaker 1: out The embers of our fire cast just enough light
Speaker 1: to make out the shapes of the other tents, But
Speaker 1: beyond our small clearing was absolute darkness. I fumbled for
Speaker 1: my head lamp and switched it on. Scanning the tree line,
Speaker 1: nothing moved in the feeble beam of light, but the
Speaker 1: tapping continued, now seeming to come from a different direction.
Speaker 1: Talk talk talk. I slipped out of my tent and stood,
Speaker 1: turning slowly, trying to pinpoint the source. Hello, I called, softly,
Speaker 1: not wanting to wake my friends. If this was nothing,
Speaker 1: The tapping stopped abruptly. Then came a new sound, a low,
Speaker 1: melodic humming. A woman's voice, but distant and strange, the
Speaker 1: tune unfamiliar yet somehow disquieting. It rose and fell in
Speaker 1: a pattern that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Speaker 1: Is someone there? I called louder. This time, the humming stopped.
Speaker 1: The forest fell silent again, but now it was a
Speaker 1: charged silence, expectant Rebecca. Melissa's voice came from her tent.
Speaker 1: What's going on? I heard something, I said, still scanning
Speaker 1: the darkness beyond our camp, someone tapping, then humming. Did
Speaker 1: you hear it? Melissa emerged from her tent, her own
Speaker 1: head lamp creating bizarre shadows as she moved. Probably just
Speaker 1: a hiker passed by, she said, but she sounded uncertain.
Speaker 1: At this hour, miles from any marked trail, Melissa shrugged.
Speaker 1: Sound carries strangely out here. Could be someone camping by
Speaker 1: the creek down there. We both knew there was no
Speaker 1: creek near by, but I didn't press the point. Maybe
Speaker 1: you're right, I conceded. We stood listening for a few
Speaker 1: more minutes, but the forest remained silent. Eventually, Melissa patted
Speaker 1: my shoulder. Try to get some sleep. We've got a
Speaker 1: tough climb tomorrow. I nodded and returned to my tent,
Speaker 1: but sleep eluded me. I lay awake for hours, listening,
Speaker 1: waiting for the tapping to return. It didn't, but just
Speaker 1: as dawn began to lighten the sky, I heard something else,
Speaker 1: A whisper so close it could have been inside my tent. Rebecca,
Speaker 1: I bolted upright heart, hammering, who's there? I hissed silence.
Speaker 1: I unzipped the tent and looked out. The clearing was
Speaker 1: empty except for our tents. Melissa and Jenna still appeared
Speaker 1: to be sleeping. I told myself i'd dreamed it, that
Speaker 1: the stress of the past years had followed me into
Speaker 1: the wilderness. But deep down I knew better. Something had
Speaker 1: called my name. When I mentioned it over breakfast, both
Speaker 1: Melissa and Jenna looked concerned. You didn't sleep well, Jenna suggested,
Speaker 1: first night in a strange place. Your brain plays tricks.
Speaker 1: I know what I heard, I insisted. Melissa frowned, stirring
Speaker 1: her instant coffee. Was it a man's voice or a
Speaker 1: woman's The question caught me off guard. A woman's, I said, why.
Speaker 1: Melissa hesitated, then shook her head. No reason, just curious.
Speaker 1: But there was something in her expression, a flicker of
Speaker 1: recognition quickly suppressed, that made me uneasy. Melissa, do you
Speaker 1: know something about this area? Just old stories, she said, dismissively.
Speaker 1: Every forest has them. We should break camp if we
Speaker 1: want to reach Harney Lake by sunset. I wanted to
Speaker 1: press her further, but Jenna was already packing up her tent,
Speaker 1: and Melissa made it clear the conversation was over. We
Speaker 1: set off under a cloudless sky, following a faint game
Speaker 1: trail that wound deeper into the hills. The hiking was
Speaker 1: more strenuous than the previous day, with steep climbs and
Speaker 1: descents that tested our endurance. By midday, we had traveled
Speaker 1: several miles from our first campsite, ascending into an area
Speaker 1: of the Black Hills that felt increasingly remote. The forest
Speaker 1: changed character as we climbed, the trees more gnarled, the
Speaker 1: undergrowth denser. Fewer wild flowers brightened, the landscape, replaced by
Speaker 1: twisted shrubs and pale fungi that clustered on rotting logs.
Speaker 1: Are we still on the right track, Jenna asked during
Speaker 1: a water break. She was studying our map with a
Speaker 1: furrowed brow. I don't see this riche we're on. Melissa
Speaker 1: took the map from her. We should be here, she said,
Speaker 1: pointing to a contour line. Harney Lake should be just
Speaker 1: beyond that next peak. I peered at the map. Something
Speaker 1: didn't add up. The terrain around us didn't match what
Speaker 1: was depicted. Maybe we took a wrong turn at that
Speaker 1: last junction. No, Melissa said firmly, I know exactly where
Speaker 1: we are. The map is just old, and these game
Speaker 1: trails shift over time. We continued climbing, but my unease
Speaker 1: grew with each step. The forest had fallen strangely silent,
Speaker 1: no birds calling, no squirrels chattering, not even the buzz
Speaker 1: of insects, and the air had changed too, becoming heavy
Speaker 1: and still with an underlying scent. I couldn't identify something
Speaker 1: earthy and organic, like decaying vegetation, but with a sharper
Speaker 1: note beneath it. We rounded a bend in the tree
Speaker 1: and stopped short Before us stood a massive dead tree,
Speaker 1: unlike any I'd seen before. Its trunk was gnarled and split,
Speaker 1: forming what eerily resembled a hunched human figure. Hanging from
Speaker 1: its twisted branches were dozens of small objects that clattered
Speaker 1: gently in the faint breeze. What the hell is that,
Speaker 1: Jenna whispered. We approached cautiously. The hanging objects were revealed
Speaker 1: to be small animal bones, feathers, and smooth rocks, each
Speaker 1: with strange symbols carved into them. At the base of
Speaker 1: the tree lay a circle of larger stones arranged in
Speaker 1: a pattern. It's a marker, Melissa said quietly, or a warning,
Speaker 1: A warning for what I asked. Melissa didn't answer directly.
Speaker 1: We should go around, she said, give it a wide berth.
Speaker 1: Is this some kind of blare witch thing? Jenna asked,
Speaker 1: trying for levity but failing to hide her nervousness. Someone's
Speaker 1: idea a prank. It's not a prank, Melissa said, flatly.
Speaker 1: Let's keep moving Harney Lake can't be far now. We
Speaker 1: skirted around the dead tree, careful not to disturb any
Speaker 1: of the hanging ornaments. As we passed, I could have
Speaker 1: sworn I heard that soft tapping sound again, talk talk talk,
Speaker 1: coming from the tree itself, though nothing visibly moved. The
Speaker 1: trail beyond the tree grew fainter more difficult to follow.
Speaker 1: The landscape became increasingly disorienting, with rock formations that seemed
Speaker 1: to shift in my peripheral vision and trees that bent
Speaker 1: at impossible angles. The sun, which had been directly overhead,
Speaker 1: now appeared to be west of us, then south, then
Speaker 1: west again, as if the compass points themselves were rotating.
Speaker 1: Does anyone else feel like we're walking in circles? Jenna asked,
Speaker 1: her voice tight with anxiety. I checked my phone's GPS,
Speaker 1: but the screen showed only a flash, no signal message
Speaker 1: where the map should have been. Even more concerning, my
Speaker 1: fully charged battery was now at seventeen percent. My phone's dying.
Speaker 1: I reported, how's yours? Jenna pulled hers out dead completely.
Speaker 1: That's weird. I charged it last night. Melissa didn't even
Speaker 1: check hers. Let's focus on finding water. We can figure
Speaker 1: out our exact location. Once we're settled for the night.
Speaker 1: But hours passed and we found no lake. The forest
Speaker 1: grew denser, the light dimmer as the sun began to
Speaker 1: set behind the hills. We had been hiking for over
Speaker 1: eight hours, covering what should have been only a five
Speaker 1: hour journey. We need to make camp, I finally insisted,
Speaker 1: as dusk gathered around us. It's not safe to keep
Speaker 1: hiking in the dark. Reluctantly, Melissa agreed. We found a
Speaker 1: small clearing, smaller than ideal, hemmed in closely by looming pines,
Speaker 1: but it would have to do. As we set up
Speaker 1: our tents, I noticed Melissa scanning the surrounding forest with
Speaker 1: an intensity that heightened my unease. Melissa, I said quietly,
Speaker 1: while Jenna was occupied with her tent, what aren't you
Speaker 1: telling us about this place? She met my eyes for
Speaker 1: a long moment. There are stories about this part of
Speaker 1: the Black Hills, she finally said, old stories from the
Speaker 1: Lakota and newer ones from settlers about a woman who
Speaker 1: lives deep in the woods, a woman I remembered the
Speaker 1: humming the whisper of my name. Melissa nodded. They call
Speaker 1: her Agnes Whitewood. Supposedly She was a settler's wife back
Speaker 1: in the eighteen eighties. Her husband was a trapper who
Speaker 1: built a cabin in these hills, far from any one else.
Speaker 1: The story goes that one harsh winter, he didn't return
Speaker 1: from checking his trap lines. Agnes waited and waited, slowly,
Speaker 1: running out of food. When they found her in the spring,
Speaker 1: she was still alive, but changed changed how Melissa lowered
Speaker 1: her voice further. They say she had survived by making
Speaker 1: a deal with something that lived in these woods, something
Speaker 1: older than the hills themselves. She learned its secrets, its magic,
Speaker 1: became something other than human. A chill ran through me
Speaker 1: despite the warm evening, and people still see her after
Speaker 1: all this time. Hikers report encounters a woman in old
Speaker 1: fashioned clothes, singing or humming, strange arrangements of stones and bones,
Speaker 1: people who stray off the main trails and get disoriented,
Speaker 1: walking for hours without reaching their destination. Melissa glanced around
Speaker 1: the darkening forest most of the stories, and with people
Speaker 1: finding their way out eventually, but not all of them.
Speaker 1: I finished for her, not all of them, she agreed, Hey,
Speaker 1: what are you too? Whispering about? Jenna called as she
Speaker 1: finished securing her tent, just discussing tomorrow's route, Melissa answered smoothly,
Speaker 1: let's get a fire going before it's completely dark. But
Speaker 1: despite our best efforts, the fire refused to catch properly.
Speaker 1: The flames struggled weakly, casting barely enough light to see
Speaker 1: each other's faces. Despite the dry kindling and Melissa's expertise
Speaker 1: and the smoke, it didn't rise naturally, but seemed to
Speaker 1: hang in the air, forming shapes that my mind kept
Speaker 1: trying to resolve into a human figure. We ate a
Speaker 1: cold dinner and retreated to our tents earlier than the
Speaker 1: night before. Despite my exhaustion, sleep once again eluded me.
Speaker 1: The forest was too quiet, too still. No owls hooted,
Speaker 1: no nighttime creatures rustled in the undergrowth, just a profound,
Speaker 1: waiting silence until the tapping began again. Talk Talk Talk.
Speaker 1: I lay rigid in my sleeping bag, listening as the
Speaker 1: sound moved around our camp, circling slowly, Talk talk talk
Speaker 1: near Melissa's tent, Talk Talk talk by the dead fire,
Speaker 1: Talk talk talk just outside my own tent. Then the
Speaker 1: humming started, the same eerie melody i'd heard the night before,
Speaker 1: but closer, now clear enough that I could almost make
Speaker 1: out words woven into the tune. I wanted to call
Speaker 1: out to Melissa or Jenna to see if they heard
Speaker 1: it too, but fear froze my voice in my throat.
Speaker 1: The humming grew louder, more insistent, and with it came
Speaker 1: a smell that seeped through the fabric of my tent,
Speaker 1: the same decay and something else older I'd noticed earlier,
Speaker 1: but stronger, now overwhelming. Then silence fell again, so abruptly
Speaker 1: it felt like a physical pressure. I held my breath,
Speaker 1: straining to hear. Rebecca, came the whisper directly above me.
Speaker 1: I've been waiting for you, I screamed. Then a raw
Speaker 1: sound that tore from my chest. In an instant, headlamp
Speaker 1: beams cut through the darkness as Melissa and Jenna emerged
Speaker 1: from their tents. Rebecca, what is it? Melissa demanded, rushing
Speaker 1: to my tent and unzipping it from outside. I scrambled out,
Speaker 1: nearly knocking her over. Some one was here right outside
Speaker 1: my tent, she said, my name. Jenna swept her light
Speaker 1: across our camp site. There's no one here, Beck, she
Speaker 1: was here, I insisted, my voice breaking. I heard her.
Speaker 1: She knew my name. Melissa gripped my shoulders, her face
Speaker 1: grave in the harsh light of the head lamps. What
Speaker 1: exactly did you hear? I told them about the tapping,
Speaker 1: the humming, the whisper. As I spoke, Jenna's eyes widened,
Speaker 1: but Melissa's expression hardened into something like resignation. We need
Speaker 1: to leave, she said, first light, we pack up and
Speaker 1: head back the way we came. But what about the
Speaker 1: rest of our trip, Jenna asked. It's not safe, Melissa
Speaker 1: said flatly. I should never have brought us here. I
Speaker 1: thought the stories were just stories. None of us slept
Speaker 1: much that night. We sat huddled together by our meager fire,
Speaker 1: taking turns, keeping watch. Nothing more happened, no tapping, no humming,
Speaker 1: no whispers, but the feeling of being observed never left.
Speaker 1: Morning came with a heavy mist that clung to the
Speaker 1: trees and reduced visibility to mere yards. We packed quickly,
Speaker 1: eager to put this place behind us, But when we
Speaker 1: tried to retrace our steps, we found that the trail
Speaker 1: we'd followed was no longer visible. This doesn't make sense,
Speaker 1: Jenna said, panic edging into her voice. We came from
Speaker 1: that direction, through that stand of pines, but where there
Speaker 1: should have been a gap between trees. There was now
Speaker 1: only dense underbrush, as if no one had passed that
Speaker 1: way in years. Let's check the compass, I suggested. Melissa
Speaker 1: pulled out her compass and frowned. The needles spun lazily,
Speaker 1: refusing to settle on any direction. That's impossible, she muttered.
Speaker 1: We picked a direction that seemed right and started walking,
Speaker 1: but the forest around us grew only more unfamiliar. Twisted
Speaker 1: trees gave way to strange rock formations. The mist thickened
Speaker 1: until we could barely see each other, though we stayed
Speaker 1: close together, linked by our shared fear. Hours passed, our
Speaker 1: water ran low, The terrain grew steadily more difficult, steep slopes,
Speaker 1: hidden drop offs, tangles of thorny brush that tore at
Speaker 1: our clothing and skin. We need to stop and assess,
Speaker 1: Melissa finally said, as we emerged into a small rocky clearing.
Speaker 1: This isn't working. We're just getting more law. We sank
Speaker 1: down on a fallen log, exhaustion and dread weighing heavily
Speaker 1: on us. The mist swirled around us, occasionally parting to
Speaker 1: reveal glimpses of unfamiliar landscape. Could we be near a road,
Speaker 1: Jenna asked, hopefully, if we just pick a direction and
Speaker 1: stick to it, we have to hit civilization eventually. Right
Speaker 1: in theory, Melissa agreed, But this fog, it's disorienting, and
Speaker 1: these hills are vast. We could walk for days without
Speaker 1: hitting a road. I took a sip from my nearly
Speaker 1: empty water bottle, trying to think rationally. We need water soon.
Speaker 1: Maybe we should try to find higher ground, get above
Speaker 1: this mist and see if we can spot any landmarks.
Speaker 1: Melissa nodded slowly. That makes sense if we can. A
Speaker 1: sharp crack interrupted her, the unmistakable sound of a branch
Speaker 1: breaking nearby. We froze, listening talk look, Talk Talk. The
Speaker 1: sound came from the mist shrouded trees to our left,
Speaker 1: then again from our right, talk Talk Talk Hello, Jenna called,
Speaker 1: her voice trembling. Is someone there? The humming began, now,
Speaker 1: coming from all around us, as if multiple voices were
Speaker 1: singing the same eerie melody from different directions. We need
Speaker 1: to move, Melissa said urgently. Now. We grabbed our packs
Speaker 1: and started to run, choosing a direction at random. The
Speaker 1: mist swirled and eddied around us, sometimes thinning enough to
Speaker 1: see a few yards ahead. Sometimes thickening until I could
Speaker 1: barely make out Jenna's form right in front of me.
Speaker 1: The humming followed us, always just behind, sometimes seeming to
Speaker 1: come from directly overhead. My lungs burned, my legs ached,
Speaker 1: but terror drove me forward. Then Jenna screamed. Her form
Speaker 1: disappeared from in front of me. Jenna, I called, skidding
Speaker 1: to a stop at the edge of what I now
Speaker 1: saw was a steep ravine below, perhaps fifteen feet down.
Speaker 1: Jenna lay on her back, her leg bent at an
Speaker 1: unnatural angle. I can't move, she called, up, her voice,
Speaker 1: tight with pain. My leg. I think it's broken. Melissa
Speaker 1: and I scrambled down to her, sending small avalanches of
Speaker 1: loose rock cascading around us. Up close, the injury was
Speaker 1: clearly severe, a compound fracture, the bone, visibly distorting the
Speaker 1: fabric of her hiking pants. We need to splint this,
Speaker 1: Melissa said, immediately, shifting into nurse mode. Then figure out
Speaker 1: how to get her out of here. We worked quickly,
Speaker 1: using trekking poles and strips torn from a spare shirt
Speaker 1: to create a makeshift splint. Jenna bit her lip until
Speaker 1: it bled, stifling her cries. As we manipulated her injured leg.
Speaker 1: How are we going to get her up that slope,
Speaker 1: I whispered to Melissa. As we finished, Melissa surveyed the ravine.
Speaker 1: I don't think we can not without making the injury worse.
Speaker 1: We need to follow the ravine, see if there's an
Speaker 1: easier way out somewhere down stream. The light was already
Speaker 1: beginning to fade, another day almost gone. The thought of
Speaker 1: spending another night in these woods now with Jenna injured,
Speaker 1: filled me with dread. Let's try to find shelter for
Speaker 1: the night, Melissa suggested. We can reassess in the morning.
Speaker 1: We helped Jenna to her feet or foot rather, and
Speaker 1: supported her between us as we picked our way carefully
Speaker 1: along the bottom of the ravine. The walls rose steep
Speaker 1: on either side, and the sky above had turned a
Speaker 1: threatening gray. It's going to rain, Jenna said, through gritted teeth.
Speaker 1: We need to find cover. We had gone perhaps a
Speaker 1: quarter mile when the ravine widened, and there, nestled against
Speaker 1: the far wall stood a cabin. It was old, built
Speaker 1: of rough hewn logs, darkened by time and weather. A
Speaker 1: small porch sagged across cross the front, and a stone
Speaker 1: chimney rose from the far end. No light showed from
Speaker 1: the single visible window, no smoke from the chimney. That
Speaker 1: can't be real, I whispered. It's real, Melissa said grimly,
Speaker 1: and it's our only option right now. Rain began to
Speaker 1: fall as we approached the cabin, fat drops quickly turning
Speaker 1: to a steady downpour. By the time we reached the porch,
Speaker 1: we were soaked through and shivering. The door was unlatched
Speaker 1: and swung open at Melissa's touch, revealing a single room interior.
Speaker 1: It was sparsely furnished, a rough wooden table with a
Speaker 1: single chair, a narrow bed in one corner, a stone
Speaker 1: fireplace with an iron cooking pot hanging from a hook.
Speaker 1: Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, but
Speaker 1: otherwise the cabin appeared to have been abandoned only recently,
Speaker 1: not a century ago. This has to be a ranger
Speaker 1: cabin or something, Jenna said, as we helped her to
Speaker 1: the bed, some kind of emerging and shelter. But I
Speaker 1: knew better. The construction was too old, the furnishings too antiquated.
Speaker 1: No electric lights, no modern conveniences of any kind, and
Speaker 1: on the table barely visible beneath the dust lay a
Speaker 1: set of small animal bones arranged in a pattern identical
Speaker 1: to what we'd seen hanging from the dead tree. We
Speaker 1: shouldn't be here, I said. We don't have a choice,
Speaker 1: Melissa replied, already kneeling at the fireplace, Jenna needs warmth
Speaker 1: and rest, and we're all exhausted. She managed to get
Speaker 1: a fire going, which cast wavering light across the cabin's interior.
Speaker 1: In its illumination, I noticed more details, a shelf of
Speaker 1: glass jars containing unidentifiable substances, bundles of dried herbs hanging
Speaker 1: from the rafters, and scratched into the logs of the
Speaker 1: far wall, a symbol that matched one of the carvings
Speaker 1: on the bones at the tree. Melissa, I said, quietly,
Speaker 1: This is her cabin, isn't it Agnes Whitewood's. Melissa didn't
Speaker 1: answer immediately, but her silence was confirmation enough. Who's Agnes Whitewood?
Speaker 1: Jenna asked from the bed, her face pale with pain
Speaker 1: and fear. I explained what Melissa had told me the
Speaker 1: night before, watching Jenna's expression shift from skepticism to horror.
Speaker 1: So you're saying we're trapped in some kind of witch's cabin,
Speaker 1: she asked, when I'd finished. That's insane. I don't know
Speaker 1: what she was, Melissa said, poking at the fire. But
Speaker 1: this area has always had a reputation. I just never
Speaker 1: believed it was real until now. Then, why did you
Speaker 1: bring us here, I demanded, anger suddenly flaring through my fear.
Speaker 1: Melissa looked up, her face haggard in the firelight. I
Speaker 1: didn't know we'd end up here specifically. I wanted to
Speaker 1: see the area. Yes, I've been fascinated by the story
Speaker 1: since I was a kid, but I never thought I
Speaker 1: never believed. Her voice trailed off as a new sound
Speaker 1: cut through the drumming of rain on the roof, the
Speaker 1: now familiar talk Talk Talk, this time coming from directly overhead.
Speaker 1: We all looked up again, Talk talk Talk, Then a
Speaker 1: scraping sound, as if something was being dragged across the roof.
Speaker 1: It's just a branch, Jenna said, without conviction, the wind.
Speaker 1: But there was no wind, and the sound was too regular,
Speaker 1: too deliberate, to be anything natural. It moved across the roof,
Speaker 1: then down the wall, circling the cabin. Talk Talk talk
Speaker 1: on one wall, talk talk talk on another, then silence.
Speaker 1: We stared at the door, barely breathing. The fire crackled,
Speaker 1: sending sparks up the chimney. Rain pattered on the roof,
Speaker 1: but otherwise there was only silence until footsteps creaked on
Speaker 1: the porch, slow heavy steps approaching the door. The latch
Speaker 1: lifted on its own, and the door swung open to
Speaker 1: reveal a figure silhouetted against the night. She was tall
Speaker 1: and gaunt, dressed in a long skirt and high necked
Speaker 1: blouse of a style not worn for over a century.
Speaker 1: Her gray hair hung loose around a face that was
Speaker 1: deeply lined yet strangely ageless. In one hand, she carried
Speaker 1: a gnarled walking stick that ended in a knot of wood,
Speaker 1: the source of the tapping sound. You've come at last,
Speaker 1: she said, her voice like dry leaves rustling. I've been
Speaker 1: waiting so long. She stepped into the cabin, and the
Speaker 1: door swung shut behind her without her touching it. Water
Speaker 1: dripped from her clothes, but she appeared unbothered by the
Speaker 1: rain or cold. Who are you, Melissa asked, though we
Speaker 1: all knew the answer. You know who I am, the
Speaker 1: woman replied, her pale eyes fixing on Melissa. You've been
Speaker 1: speaking my name, calling to me, Agnes Whitewood. Melissa whispered
Speaker 1: the woman. Agnes smile, revealing teeth that were too sharp,
Speaker 1: too numerous to be human. Yes, and you are Melissa
Speaker 1: Chen and Rebecca Warner and Jenna Holbrook. She gestured to
Speaker 1: each of us in turn. I know all your names.
Speaker 1: I've known them for a very long time. What do
Speaker 1: you want from us? I managed to ask. Agnes moved
Speaker 1: to the table and set down her walking stick. Want nothing.
Speaker 1: You haven't already offered your curiosity, your fear, your companionship.
Speaker 1: She looked directly at me. It gets so lonely in
Speaker 1: these woods. We didn't offer anything, Jenna protested from the bed.
Speaker 1: We were just hiking. We got lost, Agnes laughed, a
Speaker 1: sound like bones rattling. No one gets lost in my
Speaker 1: woods by accident. You were called here, She turned to Melissa,
Speaker 1: Especially you. You've been listening to my call for years,
Speaker 1: haven't you, even before you brought your friends to me.
Speaker 1: Melissa shook her head, but her denial lacked conviction. I
Speaker 1: just heard stories, stories I made sure would reach you,
Speaker 1: Agnes said, little breadcrumbs to lead you home. A horrible
Speaker 1: suspicion dawned on me, Melissa, I said, slowly. Did you
Speaker 1: know did you bring us here on purpose? No, Melissa protested,
Speaker 1: but her eyes slid away from mine. I mean, I
Speaker 1: wanted to see if the stories were true, but I
Speaker 1: never thought you never thought I was real. Agnes finished
Speaker 1: for her. You do until they're standing before me. But
Speaker 1: you hoped, didn't you? Deep down? You hoped. She moved
Speaker 1: closer to Melissa, reaching out one long fingered hand to
Speaker 1: touch her cheek. You've always felt it that you don't
Speaker 1: quite belong in the world of men, that you're meant
Speaker 1: for something older. Melissa didn't pull away from the touch. Instead,
Speaker 1: to my horror, she leaned into it, her eyes closing momentarily.
Speaker 1: Don't listen to her, Melissa, I urged. Whatever she's promising,
Speaker 1: it's a lie. Agnes's head snapped toward me, her movements
Speaker 1: unnaturally quick. I never lie, Rebecca Warner, unlike your friend here,
Speaker 1: who brought you into my woods, knowing the legends, knowing
Speaker 1: the risks. Is that true? Jenna asked, struggling to sit
Speaker 1: up straighter on the bed. Did you know what might happen?
Speaker 1: Melissa's face crumpled. I didn't believe it, she insisted, not really.
Speaker 1: I thought they were just stories, ghost stories to scare tourists.
Speaker 1: But you wanted them to be true, Agnes said softly.
Speaker 1: Part of you has always wanted that. Why else have
Speaker 1: you been dreaming of me since you were a child,
Speaker 1: Why else do you recognize my song? To demonstrate, Agnes
Speaker 1: began to hum the same eerie melody we'd been hearing
Speaker 1: in the woods, and to my shock and horror, Melissa
Speaker 1: began to hum along, her voice blending with Agneses in
Speaker 1: perfect harmony. Stop it, I shouted, breaking the spell. Melissa
Speaker 1: blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance. What's happening
Speaker 1: to me, she whispered. Agnes smiled again, cruel and knowing.
Speaker 1: You're remembering who you really are. What blood runs in
Speaker 1: your veins? What is she talking about? I demanded. Melissa
Speaker 1: looked at me with tears in her eyes. My grandmother,
Speaker 1: she was from here, from the Black Hills. She used
Speaker 1: to tell me stories about a woman in the woods
Speaker 1: who taught her mother secrets. I always thought they were
Speaker 1: just family legends, but but they weren't, Agnes finished. Your
Speaker 1: great grandmother was one of my students. She strayed back
Speaker 1: to the world of men. But the blood remains, the
Speaker 1: connection remains. She turned back to me and Jenna, as
Speaker 1: for you two. Every teacher needs students, every family needs
Speaker 1: new blood. The implication of her words sent ice through
Speaker 1: my veins. We're not staying here, I said firmly. As
Speaker 1: soon as its light, We're leaving, all three of us.
Speaker 1: Agnes laughed again. No one leaves my woods without my permission,
Speaker 1: and I'm not inclined to give it. She tapped her
Speaker 1: walking stick on the floor, toktoktok, and the fire suddenly flared,
Speaker 1: sending shadows dancing across the walls. In those shadows, I
Speaker 1: could have sworn I saw figures moving, writhing, reaching. What
Speaker 1: will you do, Jenna asked, voice quavering, kill us, kill you.
Speaker 1: Agnes looked genuinely surprised. Why would I kill what I've
Speaker 1: worked so hard to bring here. She moved to the
Speaker 1: shelf of glass jars and selected one, holding it up
Speaker 1: to the firelight. Inside was a dark liquid that seemed
Speaker 1: to move of its own accord. I have much greater
Speaker 1: plan for you, she approached Jenna, uncorking the jar, starting
Speaker 1: with you, my injured bird. That leg must be so painful.
Speaker 1: Let me help don't touch her, I warned, stepping between them.
Speaker 1: Agnes regarded me with something like amusement. Brave Rebecca, she said,
Speaker 1: always protecting others, But who protects you? I wonder. Before
Speaker 1: I could react, Melissa grabbed my arm, pulling me aside
Speaker 1: with unexpected strength. Let her help, Rebecca, she said, her
Speaker 1: voice oddly flat, Jenna's in pain. I stared at Melissa
Speaker 1: in disbelief. Her eyes had changed, the pupils expanded until
Speaker 1: almost no iris was visible, and her face held an
Speaker 1: expression of serene certainty that was utterly unlike her. Melissa.
Speaker 1: Snap out of it, I shouted, shaking her by the shoulders,
Speaker 1: but her only response was to grab my other arm,
Speaker 1: holding me in place. As Agnes approached Jenna with the
Speaker 1: open jar, No, Jenna, don't. I struggled against Melissa's grip,
Speaker 1: but she was unnaturally strong. Now. Jenna pressed herself against
Speaker 1: the wall, trying to get away from Agnes, but with
Speaker 1: her broken leg, she had nowhere to go. Please, she begged,
Speaker 1: I don't want this. What you want doesn't matter anymore,
Speaker 1: Agnes said, gently, dipping two fingers into the jar. Only
Speaker 1: what you need, only what you'll become. She pressed her
Speaker 1: wet fingers to Jenna's forehead, leaving a dark smear that
Speaker 1: seemed to sink into her skin. Jenna gasped, her eyes
Speaker 1: flying wide, then her entire body went rigid. What are
Speaker 1: you doing to her? I cried, still struggling against Melissa's hold.
Speaker 1: Helping her, Agnes replied, changing her, making her one of us.
Speaker 1: Jenna's back arched, her mouth opening in a silent scream.
Speaker 1: The darkness from Agnes's touch was spreading visible beneath her skin,
Speaker 1: like black veins crawling down her neck her arms. Stop it,
Speaker 1: I pleaded, you're killing her. No, Agnes said, calmly, quite
Speaker 1: the opposite. As I watched in horror, Jenna's leg, the
Speaker 1: broken one, began to straighten, the unnatural angle, correcting itself.
Speaker 1: She let out a long, shuddering breath, and when she
Speaker 1: opened her eyes again, they were like Melissa's, all pupil,
Speaker 1: no iris there, Agnes said, Satisfied better now, isn't it?
Speaker 1: Jenna nodded slowly. I can feel, she paused, seeming to
Speaker 1: search for words, everything, the earth beneath the cabin, the
Speaker 1: trees breathing, the stars watching. She smiled a strange, dreamy expression.
Speaker 1: It's beautiful. This isn't happening, I whispered, ceasing my struggle
Speaker 1: as shock overwhelmed me. This can't be real. It's very real,
Speaker 1: Agnes assured me, as real as life and death and
Speaker 1: the old powers that govern both. She set down the
Speaker 1: jar and selected another, and now for you, Rebecca. Fear
Speaker 1: jolted me back to action. I twisted violently in Melissa's
Speaker 1: grasp and managed to break free, stumbling backward toward the door.
Speaker 1: You can't run, Agnes said, mildly. Where would you go
Speaker 1: into the night the storm, my woods, I'm everywhere out there,
Speaker 1: but I had to try. I lunged for the door,
Speaker 1: yanking it open and throwing myself out into the driving rain.
Speaker 1: Behind me, I heard Agnes laugh, a sound that seemed
Speaker 1: to come from the storm itself rather than a human throat.
Speaker 1: I ran blindly through the ravine, slipping on wet stones,
Speaker 1: crashing through underbrush. Lightning flashed momentarily illuminating the narrow passage ahead,
Speaker 1: followed immediately by deafening thunder. The rain fell in sheets,
Speaker 1: soaking me instantly, plastering my hair to my face and neck.
Speaker 1: I had no plan beyond putting distance between myself and
Speaker 1: that cabin, between myself and whatever Agnes was doing to
Speaker 1: my friends, friends who were no longer themselves, who had
Speaker 1: been transformed into something other. Behind me came the sound
Speaker 1: of pursuit, not running footsteps, but that rhythmic tapping talktoc
Speaker 1: took impossibly keeping pace with me despite my headlong flight
Speaker 1: talk talk tuk. The humming began again, carried on the
Speaker 1: wind and rain, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
Speaker 1: Not just Agnes's voice now, but Melissa's and Jenna's joined
Speaker 1: with it, the three voices twining together in that eerily
Speaker 1: beautiful melody. I stumbled over a fallen branch, crashed to
Speaker 1: my knees, then scrambled up again, ignoring the pain. The
Speaker 1: ravine was narrowing, the walls squeezing in on either side. Ahead,
Speaker 1: in a flash of lightning, I glimpsed what appeared to
Speaker 1: be a dead end, a sheer rock face blocking any
Speaker 1: further progress. I was trapped. Desperate, I began searching for
Speaker 1: hand holds away to climb out of the ravine. The
Speaker 1: rock was slick with rain, but I managed to pull
Speaker 1: myself up a few feet before slipping and falling hard
Speaker 1: onto the stony ground below. Pain shot through my ankle
Speaker 1: as I landed awkwardly. Tok tok, tok. Closer, now much closer.
Speaker 1: I dragged myself into a small recess in the rock wall,
Speaker 1: hoping the darkness would hide me. Through the curtain of rain,
Speaker 1: I could make out a figure approaching, tall and impossibly thin,
Speaker 1: gliding rather than walking, the walking stick tapping a counterpoint
Speaker 1: to the thunder, Agnes. She stopped several yards away, her
Speaker 1: head tilting as she scanned the ravine. Rebecca, she called,
Speaker 1: her voice carrying easily over the storm. This is foolish.
Speaker 1: You're only making things harder for yourself. I pressed deeper
Speaker 1: into my inadequate hiding place, trying to control my breathing,
Speaker 1: trying not to whimper from the pain in my ankle.
Speaker 1: I can feel your fear, Agnes continued, taking another step forward.
Speaker 1: I can hear your heart beating. I can smell your blood.
Speaker 1: She inhaled deeply. You're injured. Let me help you. As
Speaker 1: I helped Jenna stay away from me, I whispered, though
Speaker 1: I knew she couldn't hear me over the storm. Yet
Speaker 1: she turned directly toward my hiding spot, smiling that too
Speaker 1: many teeth smile, there you are. I broke a cover,
Speaker 1: limping as fast as my injured ankle would allow, angling
Speaker 1: toward a narrow crevice in the rock face that I'd
Speaker 1: spotted during another lightning flash. It looked barely wide enough
Speaker 1: for a person to squeeze through, but it was my
Speaker 1: only chance. Agnes didn't hurry after me. She didn't need to.
Speaker 1: She simply continued her measured approach, tapping her stick talk
Speaker 1: talk talk. I reached the crevice and found it was
Speaker 1: indeed narrow, painfully so I turned sideways and began forcing
Speaker 1: myself into the gap, feeling the rough stone scrape against
Speaker 1: my back and chest. My backpack made it almost impossible,
Speaker 1: but I couldn't spare the time to remove it. Rebecca,
Speaker 1: Agnes called again, now just yards away. Don't you want
Speaker 1: to know what I offered your friends? What I can
Speaker 1: offer you. I continued squeezing through the crevice, feeling my
Speaker 1: clothes tear, feeling skin abraid from my palms and elbows.
Speaker 1: The gap narrowed further, and for a terrifying moment, I
Speaker 1: thought I was stuck, wedged permanently in the stone. Immortality,
Speaker 1: Agnes said, her voice. Now just on the other side
Speaker 1: of the rock, knowledge of the old ways, power beyond
Speaker 1: human understanding. I offered them an end to pain, an
Speaker 1: end to fear, a pause, an end to being alone.
Speaker 1: I gave a final desperate push and broke through to
Speaker 1: the other side of the crevice, Falling onto a muddy
Speaker 1: slope beyond. Without pausing, I scrambled up and ran, heedless
Speaker 1: of direction, driven purely by the need to escape. The
Speaker 1: terrain changed around me, the ravine giving way to dense
Speaker 1: forest once more. The trees loomed, their branches twisting in
Speaker 1: the wind like reaching arms. Roots seemed to rise from
Speaker 1: the ground specifically to trip me, and more than once
Speaker 1: I fell, each time taking longer to rise again. My
Speaker 1: lungs burned, my ankle throbbed, my whole body trembled with
Speaker 1: exhaustion and cold and fear. But I kept going, pushing
Speaker 1: deeper into the woods, hoping to lose agnes in the
Speaker 1: vastness of the forest. How long I ran, I couldn't say.
Speaker 1: Time seemed to stretch and press in strange ways. Eventually
Speaker 1: I collapsed against the trunk of a massive pine, unable
Speaker 1: to go any further. The rain had lessened to a
Speaker 1: steady drizzle, and the thunder had moved off into the distance.
Speaker 1: I sat there, shivering, trying to think through my options.
Speaker 1: My friends were lost to me, transformed by Agnes into
Speaker 1: something inhuman. I was alone, injured, without supplies, hopelessly lost
Speaker 1: in a wilderness that seemed to obey Agnes's will rather
Speaker 1: than the laws of nature. My only hope was to
Speaker 1: find my way back to civilization, to a trail, a road,
Speaker 1: any sign of human presence. But I had no compass,
Speaker 1: no map, no idea which direction to take. My phone
Speaker 1: was long dead, and even if I picked a direction
Speaker 1: and started walking, I had no guarantee that Agnes's woods
Speaker 1: would let me leave. As if in response to my thoughts,
Speaker 1: the humming began again, distant but unmistad three voices in
Speaker 1: perfect inhuman harmony. They were hunting me. With a groan,
Speaker 1: I pulled myself to my feet and started moving again,
Speaker 1: choosing a direction purely at random. The forest had grown darker,
Speaker 1: if that was possible, The spaces between trees filled with
Speaker 1: a blackness that seemed almost solid. The path ahead twisted
Speaker 1: and turned unpredictably, forcing me to constantly change direction. I
Speaker 1: became aware of shapes moving in my peripheral vision, darting
Speaker 1: from tree to tree, always just out of direct sight.
Speaker 1: The humming continued, sometimes fading almost to inaudibility, sometimes swelling,
Speaker 1: until it seemed to come from directly behind me. Then
Speaker 1: I saw a light. At first I thought it was
Speaker 1: another lightning flash, but it remained steady, A warm yellow
Speaker 1: glow shining through the trees ahead. Hope surged through me.
Speaker 1: A camp sight, a cabin, some sign of normal human presence.
Speaker 1: I altered my course toward the light, moving as quickly
Speaker 1: as my injured ankle would allow. As I drew closer,
Speaker 1: I saw that it was indeed a cabin, but not Agnes's.
Speaker 1: This one was larger, more modern, with a metal roof
Speaker 1: rather than wood shingles, and a proper porch with chairs,
Speaker 1: a ranger station perhaps, or a hunting lodge. Whatever it was,
Speaker 1: it represented safety. I stumbled the last few yards to
Speaker 1: the porch and pounded on the door, HULLO, please, I
Speaker 1: need help, let me in. No response came from within,
Speaker 1: but the door swung open at my touch, just as
Speaker 1: Agneses had. I hesitated on the threshold, suddenly wary, but
Speaker 1: the humming was growing louder behind me, and I could
Speaker 1: see shapes moving among the trees at the edge of
Speaker 1: the small clearing. I had no choice. I entered the
Speaker 1: cabin and quickly shut the door behind me, growing the
Speaker 1: dead bolt. The interior was warmly lit by several kerosene
Speaker 1: lanterns and a cheerful fire in a stone fireplace, much
Speaker 1: like the one in Agnes's cabin, but unlike her sparse dwelling,
Speaker 1: this place was comfortably furnished, with a sofa, rocking chairs,
Speaker 1: a large wooden dining table, and shelves lined with books.
Speaker 1: A doorway led to what appeared to be a kitchen,
Speaker 1: and another to what I assumed was a bedroom. Hello,
Speaker 1: I called again, is anyone here? No answer came. The
Speaker 1: cabin appeared empty of people, though it showed every sign
Speaker 1: of current habitation. A book lay open on the sofa,
Speaker 1: a half eaten meal on the table, the fire burning strong.
Speaker 1: I moved to the window, peering out into the darkness.
Speaker 1: The humming had stopped. No shapes moved among the trees.
Speaker 1: For the moment, at least, I seemed to be safe.
Speaker 1: I sank onto the sofa, the adrenaline draining from my system,
Speaker 1: leaving me shaky and nauseated. My ankle had swollen to
Speaker 1: nearly twice its normal size, and various cuts and scrapes
Speaker 1: from my desperate flight stung fiercely. Whoever owned this cabin
Speaker 1: would surely return soon. I told myself all I had
Speaker 1: to do was wait, explain my situation, ask for help.
Speaker 1: In the meantime, I needed to tend to my injuries.
Speaker 1: I found a bathroom off the kitchen, complete with a
Speaker 1: medicine cabinet containing basic first aid supplies. I cleaned and
Speaker 1: bandaged the worst of my cuts, then wrapped my ankle
Speaker 1: as best I could with an elastic bandage. I found
Speaker 1: the pain ebbed somewhat, but I knew I wouldn't be
Speaker 1: running again anytime soon. Returning to the main room, I
Speaker 1: finally allowed myself to really look at my surroundings. The
Speaker 1: books on the shelves caught my eye first, leather bound
Speaker 1: volumes with titles and languages I didn't recognize. Interspersed with
Speaker 1: them were jars containing herbs, crystals, and other substances. My
Speaker 1: unease growing, I moved to the dining table and examined
Speaker 1: the half eaten meal. The plate contained what looked like
Speaker 1: ordinary stew, but beside it lay a small bowl of
Speaker 1: what appeared to be the same dark, viscous liquid Agnes
Speaker 1: it used on Jenna. With mounting horror, I looked more
Speaker 1: closely at the seemingly normal cabin. The fireplace stones were
Speaker 1: arranged in patterns similar to those at the base of
Speaker 1: the dead tree. The beams of the ceiling were carved
Speaker 1: with the same symbols I had seen on Agnes's wall,
Speaker 1: and hanging above the mantel was an old photograph in
Speaker 1: an ornate frame, a photograph of Agnes Whitewood, looking exactly
Speaker 1: as she had appeared to me, though the picture had
Speaker 1: to be well over a century old. This wasn't a refuge.
Speaker 1: This was another of Agnes's places, perhaps her real home,
Speaker 1: while the crude cabin in the ravine was meant for
Speaker 1: you other purposes. I had walked right into her web
Speaker 1: as if on que. I heard the now familiar sound
Speaker 1: outside the door, talk talk talk, Panic flooded through me.
Speaker 1: I looked frantically for a weapon, Grabbing a heavy iron
Speaker 1: poker from beside the fireplace, I backed toward the bedroom door,
Speaker 1: hoping to find another exit. The dead bolt slid open
Speaker 1: on its own and the door swung wide, but it
Speaker 1: wasn't Agnes who stood there. It was Melissa. She looked
Speaker 1: almost like her old self, except for her eyes still
Speaker 1: those expanded pupils that seemed to absorb light rather than
Speaker 1: reflect it. She wore dry clothes that must have come
Speaker 1: from the cabin, her hair neatly brushed, her expression serene.
Speaker 1: There you are, she said, her voice both familiar and
Speaker 1: somehow not. We've been so worried about you, Rebecca. Stay back,
Speaker 1: I warned, brandishing the poker. You're not Melissa any more.
Speaker 1: I don't know what you are, but you're not my friend.
Speaker 1: Melissa smiled sadly. I'm more myself than i've ever been,
Speaker 1: she said, Stepping into the cabin. Behind her, came Jenna,
Speaker 1: similarly transformed similarly calm, Where is she? I demanded? Where's Agnes?
Speaker 1: She'll be here soon, Melissa replied. She's giving us time
Speaker 1: to talk to you first. She thought you might listen
Speaker 1: to us more easily than to her. There's nothing to
Speaker 1: talk about, I insisted, though my voice trembled. I'm not
Speaker 1: letting her do to me what she did to you.
Speaker 1: Jenna laughed softly. You think this was done to us?
Speaker 1: This was a gift, Rebecca. One we accepted willingly. She
Speaker 1: moved with fluid grace, no sign of her broken leg,
Speaker 1: except a slight tear in her pant leg where the
Speaker 1: bone had pierced the fabric. Willingly. You were terrified, Jenna,
Speaker 1: you begged her to stop. I was afraid of the unknown,
Speaker 1: Jenna admitted. But now I understand, and so will you.
Speaker 1: They were advancing on me, slowly moving to either side,
Speaker 1: trying to flank me. I backed further into the bedroom,
Speaker 1: searching desperately for an exit. There was a window, but
Speaker 1: it was small and appeared to be sealed shut. What
Speaker 1: did she do to you? I asked, partly out of
Speaker 1: genuine horror, partly to buy time. What are you now?
Speaker 1: We're what we were always meant to be, Melissa said,
Speaker 1: what all humans once were, before they forgot the old ways,
Speaker 1: the old powers, before they cut themselves off from the
Speaker 1: earth and sky and the spaces between. You're talking nonsense,
Speaker 1: I said, am I. Melissa gestured, and one of the
Speaker 1: kerosene lamps floated from its place on a side table,
Speaker 1: drifting through the air to hover between us. Does this
Speaker 1: seem like nonsense to you? I stared in disbelief as
Speaker 1: the lamp hung in mid air, defying gravity. That's that's
Speaker 1: not possible. All things are possible, Jenna said, when you
Speaker 1: understand the true nature of reality. Agnes has shown us
Speaker 1: just the beginning. There's so much more to learn, Rebecca,
Speaker 1: so much more to become. I was cornered now, backed
Speaker 1: against the bedroom wall. The poker in my hands suddenly
Speaker 1: seemed pathetically inadequate. Let me ask you something, Melissa said,
Speaker 1: taking another step toward me. What are you fighting so
Speaker 1: hard to return to a world of pain and loss,
Speaker 1: of meaningless routine, of slow decline into old age and death.
Speaker 1: We spent years watching people die, Rebecca, young, old, deserving, undeserving.
Speaker 1: Death took them all, but it doesn't have to take us.
Speaker 1: Her words stirred something in me, a deep exhaustion, a
Speaker 1: recognition of the truth in what she said. We had
Speaker 1: seen so much death in our careers, so much suffering,
Speaker 1: and for what to delay the inevitable by days, weeks,
Speaker 1: years at most? But I pushed the thought away. Whatever
Speaker 1: she's offering, there's a price, I insisted, There always is.
Speaker 1: Of course, there's a price. Jenna agreed readily. Everything worth
Speaker 1: while has a cost, but it's one we're willing to pay.
Speaker 1: She gestured to herself to Melissa, look at us, Rebecca, really,
Speaker 1: look are we suffering? Are we diminished? They weren't. That
Speaker 1: was the terrible thing. They looked more alive, more vibrant
Speaker 1: than I'd ever seen them. Jenna's face, usually pinched with anxiety,
Speaker 1: was smooth and confident. Melissa, who had carried the weight
Speaker 1: of her responsibilities like a physical burden, stood straight and strong,
Speaker 1: radiating a calm power. The price is your humanity, I said, finally,
Speaker 1: your soul. Melissa laughed. Such small thinking, such limited understanding.
Speaker 1: Humanity is just one way of being, Rebecca, We've evolved
Speaker 1: beyond it. And souls, she shook her head. Souls are
Speaker 1: not lost in this transformation. They're expanded, connected to something greater.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to listen any more. Their words were
Speaker 1: like a drug seeping into my mind, making terrible sense.
Speaker 1: I had to act with a sudden movement. I lunged forward,
Speaker 1: swinging the poker at the floating lamp. It shattered, spraying
Speaker 1: kerosene and burning oil across the floor and walls. Flames
Speaker 1: erupted instantly, racing along the wooden floorboards. Melissa and Jenna
Speaker 1: jumped back momentarily surprised by my action, I used their
Speaker 1: distraction to push past them back into the main room
Speaker 1: of the cabin, but Agnes stood there, blocking my path
Speaker 1: to the door. That was unwise, she said, her pale
Speaker 1: eyes reflecting the rapidly spreading fire around us. The cabin
Speaker 1: was beginning to burn in earnest, the dry timber catching quickly.
Speaker 1: Smoke billowed, making my eyes water and my lungs burn.
Speaker 1: Let me go, I demanded, still clutching the poker, or
Speaker 1: we all burn. Agnes smiled, unperturbed by the flames that
Speaker 1: were now licking at the ceiling. Fire cannot harm me, child,
Speaker 1: I've survived much worse in my long years, she gestured,
Speaker 1: and the flames nearest her retreated, creating a circle of
Speaker 1: calm around her. But you, you're still mortal, still fragile.
Speaker 1: The fire will consume you if you stay. She was right.
Speaker 1: Already the heat was becoming unbearable, the smoke thickening. I
Speaker 1: could hear Melissa and Jenna behind me, apparently as unconcerned
Speaker 1: by the inferno as Agnes. Then let me leave, I pleaded,
Speaker 1: Just let me go. I can't do that, Agnes said,
Speaker 1: with what sounded like genuine regret. You know too much now,
Speaker 1: and you're part of this, whether you accept it or not.
Speaker 1: You were called here just as your friends were, just
Speaker 1: as all my children are. I'm not your child. I spat,
Speaker 1: not yet Agnes agreed. But you will be. Through fire
Speaker 1: or water, through pain or love, through acceptance or force,
Speaker 1: you will be transformed. The only choice you have is
Speaker 1: how difficult you make the process. The flames had reached
Speaker 1: the bedroom now, and I could feel the scorching heat
Speaker 1: on my back. I couldn't go backward, and Agnes blocked
Speaker 1: the way forward. I was truly trapped. Then I remembered
Speaker 1: the kitchen. There had to be another door, a back entrance.
Speaker 1: I darted sideways, racing through the doorway i'd seen earlier
Speaker 1: behind me. I heard Agnes call out, but I didn't stop.
Speaker 1: The kitchen was already filling with smoke. But I spotted
Speaker 1: what I was looking for, a door in the far wall.
Speaker 1: I reached it in three strides and yanked it open,
Speaker 1: expecting to find myself outside once more. Instead, I found
Speaker 1: myself staring into Agnes's ravine cabin. Impossible. The two buildings
Speaker 1: had been nowhere near each other, and yet there it
Speaker 1: was the single room with its stone fireplace and narrow bed,
Speaker 1: exactly as I'd left it. The doors in my domain
Speaker 1: do not always lead where you expect, Agnes said from
Speaker 1: directly behind me. I whirled to face her, finding her
Speaker 1: standing calmly amid the smoke and flames of the burning kitchen.
Speaker 1: Space bends to my will here, as does time. You
Speaker 1: cannot escape what is meant to be? Rebecca. She extended
Speaker 1: her hand, holding a small clay cup filled with the
Speaker 1: same dark liquid she'd used on jenna drink. She commanded,
Speaker 1: accept my gift willingly, and the transformation will be painless.
Speaker 1: Fight and it will be agony beyond imagination. The smoke
Speaker 1: was choking me now, making it impossible to think clearly.
Speaker 1: My lungs burned, my eyes streamed, the heat was blistering
Speaker 1: against my skin, and before me stood a creature who
Speaker 1: offered escape from all of it, from pain, from mortality itself.
Speaker 1: For a moment, just a moment, I was tempted to
Speaker 1: give in, to join Melissa and Jenna in whatever they
Speaker 1: had become, to never again feared death or suffering. But
Speaker 1: some last spark of defiance flared within me. No, I
Speaker 1: croaked through my smoke, raw throat. I choose to remain human,
Speaker 1: whatever that means, whatever it costs. Agnes's face hardened, so
Speaker 1: be it. She lunged toward me with inhuman speed, the
Speaker 1: cup still extended. I reacted purely on instinct. Swinging the
Speaker 1: poker I still clutched it connected solidly with her arm,
Speaker 1: knocking the cup from her grasp. The dark liquid splashed
Speaker 1: across the burning floor, where it sizzled and bubbled like acid.
Speaker 1: Agnes hissed in pain or rage, I couldn't tell which,
Speaker 1: and lunged again. This time I was ready, ducking under
Speaker 1: her outstretched arms and darting through the door that still
Speaker 1: stood open, leading impossibly back to her original cabin. I
Speaker 1: slammed the door shut behind me and frantically looked for
Speaker 1: something to barricade it with. The single chair would have
Speaker 1: to do. I wedged it under the doorknob, just as
Speaker 1: something heavy slammed against the other side, making the wooden
Speaker 1: frame creak ominously. The ravine cabin was as I remembered it,
Speaker 1: a single room with a fireplace, a bed, and little else.
Speaker 1: The front door stood open, rain still visible beyond it.
Speaker 1: Freedom if I could reach it. Another impact shook the
Speaker 1: door I'd barricaded. The chair, legs scraped a few inches
Speaker 1: across the floor. It wouldn't hold for long. I limped
Speaker 1: toward the front door as quickly as my injured ankle
Speaker 1: would allow. Behind me, wood splintered as a third impact
Speaker 1: hit the barricaded door. I was half way across the
Speaker 1: cabin when a figure appeared in the open doorway, silhouetted
Speaker 1: against the night, Jenna. Her transformed eyes gleamed in the
Speaker 1: darkness as she blocked my escape. Don't make this harder
Speaker 1: than it needs to be, she said, you can't win
Speaker 1: against what we've become. The barricaded door finally gave way
Speaker 1: with a crash. I turned to see Agnes standing in
Speaker 1: the doorway, with Melissa right behind her. We were all
Speaker 1: once more in the small ravine cabin, as if the
Speaker 1: burning lodge had never existed. By was surrounded. It ends here, Rebecca,
Speaker 1: Agnes said, advancing slowly. Your resistance, your fear, your limited existence,
Speaker 1: all of it ends tonight. I backed away until I
Speaker 1: hit the edge of the bed. There was nowhere left
Speaker 1: to go, no more tricks to try. My friends, the
Speaker 1: people I had trusted most in the world, were now
Speaker 1: Agnes's creatures strange and unknowable, and I was about to
Speaker 1: join them. Agnes reached into her pocket and produced another
Speaker 1: small cup, identical to the one I'd knocked away. The
Speaker 1: dark liquid inside seemed to absorb what little light there
Speaker 1: was in the cabin, creating a void in the shape
Speaker 1: of a cup. Last chance, she said, willingly or unwillingly,
Speaker 1: the result is the same. But one path is pain,
Speaker 1: the other is transcendence. I looked from Agnes to Melissa
Speaker 1: to Jenna, searching for any hint of the women they
Speaker 1: had been. There was nothing human left in their eyes,
Speaker 1: nothing I recognized. That's when I noticed the fireplace, specifically
Speaker 1: the iron cooking pot that hung from a hook above
Speaker 1: the cold hearth. In the back of my nurse's mind,
Speaker 1: something clicked the dark liquid, the way Agnes had applied
Speaker 1: it to Jenna's forehead, the way it had spread beneath
Speaker 1: her skin like a living thing. It wasn't magic. It
Speaker 1: was something organic, something that could be destroyed. With my
Speaker 1: last burst of strength, I lunged past Agnes toward the fireplace.
Speaker 1: I grabbed the heavy iron pot and swung it with
Speaker 1: all my might at the cup in Agnes's hand. The
Speaker 1: impact sent the dark liquid flying, not onto the floor
Speaker 1: this time, but directly into Agnes's face. She screamed a
Speaker 1: sound unlike anything I'd ever heard, more animal than human.
Speaker 1: The liquid seemed to cling to her skin like tar,
Speaker 1: spreading rapidly across her features. She clawed at her face,
Speaker 1: but only succeeded in spreading it further. What have you done,
Speaker 1: she shrieked, What have you done? The liquid was moving
Speaker 1: with purpose, now flowing into her eyes, her nose, her mouth,
Speaker 1: Wherever it touched her skin began to wither, to age,
Speaker 1: to decay, years, decades, centuries of suspended time catching up
Speaker 1: in seconds. Melissa and Jenna stood frozen in shock, watching
Speaker 1: as their mistress writhed in agony. Then, to my amazement,
Speaker 1: the black veins that had spread beneath Jenna's skin began
Speaker 1: to recede, Her eyes cleared, the unnatural darkness draining away
Speaker 1: beside her. Melissa underwent a similar transformation, Gasping as if
Speaker 1: waking from a dream. Agnes fell to her knees, still
Speaker 1: clawing at her rapidly aging face. My children, she rasped,
Speaker 1: reaching toward Melissa and Jenna helped me, but they stared
Speaker 1: at her with growing horror and recognition, backing away from
Speaker 1: her grasping hands. What did she do to us, Jenna whispered,
Speaker 1: looking down at her heeled leg, as if seeing it
Speaker 1: for the first time. I don't know, Melissa answered, her
Speaker 1: voice shaking. But it's wearing off whatever hold she had
Speaker 1: its breaking. Agnes gave one final terrible cry, and then
Speaker 1: her body seemed to collapse in on itself, aging centuries
Speaker 1: in moments, until all that remained was a pile of
Speaker 1: dust and ancient cloth on the cabin floor. Her walking stick,
Speaker 1: the source of that terrible tapping, rolled away, coming to
Speaker 1: rest against the fireplaced stones. For a long moment, none
Speaker 1: of us moved or spoke. The only sound was the
Speaker 1: rain still falling steadily outside. Then Jenna began to sob
Speaker 1: deep racking cries that shook her entire body. Melissa went
Speaker 1: to her, wrapping her arms around her, though she too
Speaker 1: was trembling violently. Is she is it over? I finally
Speaker 1: managed to ask. Melissa looked at the pile of dust,
Speaker 1: then at me. I think so, she said. I can
Speaker 1: feel her influence fading. The things she showed me, the
Speaker 1: things she made me believe, they're becoming like dreams hard
Speaker 1: to hold on to. We need to leave, I said, now,
Speaker 1: before anything else happens. No one argued. We gathered what
Speaker 1: supplies remained and stumbled out into the night. The rain
Speaker 1: had stopped, and breaks in the clouds revealed a sky
Speaker 1: brilliant with stars. For the first time since we'd entered
Speaker 1: these woods, the air felt clean, the silence natural rather
Speaker 1: than watchful. We made our way slowly back up the ravine,
Speaker 1: supporting each other over the difficult terrain. My ankle throbbed
Speaker 1: with each step, but the pain was almost welcome, a
Speaker 1: reminder that I was still human, still myself. I'm so sorry,
Speaker 1: Melissa said, as we paused to rest. I should never
Speaker 1: have brought us here. I should have known the stories
Speaker 1: were real. You couldn't have known, I said, Though part
Speaker 1: of me wanted to blame her, to be angry at
Speaker 1: the danger she'd put us in. I think I did
Speaker 1: know on some level, she admitted, I've been drawn to
Speaker 1: these hills my whole life, to the stories about Agnes.
Speaker 1: Something in me recognized something in her. She shuddered. If
Speaker 1: you hadn't been so strong, Rebecca, we'd all be whatever
Speaker 1: she was making us into. Was she Jenna asked, her
Speaker 1: voice small, What did she want with us? I don't
Speaker 1: think we'll ever know for sure, I said, But she
Speaker 1: was lonely. She wanted a family, disciples. She'd been alone
Speaker 1: in these woods for so long. We fell silent, each
Speaker 1: lost in our own thoughts. By the time dawn broke,
Speaker 1: we had reached the ridge where we'd first encountered the
Speaker 1: dead tree with its hanging ornaments. It still stood, twisted
Speaker 1: and ominous, but as we watched, the bones and feathers
Speaker 1: and carved stones that hung from its branches began to fall,
Speaker 1: one by one, clattering to the ground, as if cut
Speaker 1: by invisible hands. The forest was reclaiming itself, shedding Agnes's influence.
Speaker 1: We found our way back to the main trail by
Speaker 1: mid morning, exhausted but alive. Jenna's leg showed no sign
Speaker 1: of having been broken, though she walked with a slight limp,
Speaker 1: a psychosomatic reminder of trot rather than physical injury. Melissa's
Speaker 1: eyes were clear again, but haunted, and I knew mine
Speaker 1: must look the same. None of us spoke much on
Speaker 1: the long hike back to our car. What was there
Speaker 1: to say? We had glimpsed something beyond human understanding, something
Speaker 1: ancient and terrible and almost seductive in its power, and
Speaker 1: we had rejected it, chosen humanity with all its frailty
Speaker 1: and limitation. But sometimes in my dreams I still hear it.
Speaker 1: Talk took took, And sometimes just before waking, I catch
Speaker 1: myself humming a melody I shouldn't remember, with words in
Speaker 1: a language I've never learned. And on those mornings I
Speaker 1: wake with the taste of earth and copper on my tongue,
Speaker 1: and the certainty that something of Agnes Whitewood still exists
Speaker 1: in the dark woods of the Black Hills, waiting for
Speaker 1: someone else to hear her call, waiting for me to return.
Speaker 1: My name is Eli Morgan. I'm thirty four years old.
Speaker 1: This happened in September twenty twenty four. The thing about
Speaker 1: spending your entire life in cities is that you forget
Speaker 1: what true silence sounds like. That's what Maggie always said. Anyway,
Speaker 1: my girlfriend had been trying to convince me to disconnect
Speaker 1: for years, claiming that a week end without cell service
Speaker 1: would somehow reset our brains and save our relationship. I
Speaker 1: always found excuses, deadlines, meetings, family obligations, until I ran
Speaker 1: out of them. So there we were, driving our rented
Speaker 1: SUV through the winding roads of bad Lands National Park
Speaker 1: in South Dakota, windows down, breathing in the crisp autumn air.
Speaker 1: Maggie's auburn hair whipped around her face as she leaned
Speaker 1: out the window, pointing excitedly at the stark limestone formations
Speaker 1: rising like ancient monuments against the sky. She'd planned everything,
Speaker 1: our three day hike through Sage Creek Wilderness Area, one
Speaker 1: of the most remote parts of the park. No one
Speaker 1: else will be out there this time of year, she said,
Speaker 1: her green eyes gleaming with excitement, just us in the buffalo.
Speaker 1: I forced a smile, but my stomach nodded. I'd always
Speaker 1: been a city guy, Manhattan born and raised. The most
Speaker 1: wilderness I'd experienced with Central Park. But Maggie, with her
Speaker 1: outdoor education background and spirit for adventure, had been planning
Speaker 1: this trip for months. It was her last attempt to
Speaker 1: inject some life into our failing relationship, though neither of
Speaker 1: us had said those words out loud. We arrived at
Speaker 1: the ranger station mid afternoon. Inside A tall man with
Speaker 1: leathery skin and a gray mustache looked up from his desk,
Speaker 1: You folks headed into Sage Creek. Ranger Matthews, according to
Speaker 1: his name tag, asked, eyeing our expensive gear with skepticism. Yes,
Speaker 1: Maggie answered, confidently. We've got our backcountry permit all set up,
Speaker 1: three nights hiking from Deerhaven to the northwest section. The
Speaker 1: ranger frowned. That's mighty isolated territory. Haven't had many hikers
Speaker 1: out that way lately. That's the idea, Maggie said, with
Speaker 1: a smile. As the ranger reviewed our permits, a younger
Speaker 1: man in a similar uniform entered, dropping a stack of
Speaker 1: papers on the counter. He had a deep scar running
Speaker 1: from his left eye to his jaw. Oh, Jim, Matthew said,
Speaker 1: these folks are heading to Sage Creek. Didn't you say
Speaker 1: something about strange tracks out that way? The younger ranger, Jim,
Speaker 1: glanced at us, his expression darkening. Yeah, found some odd
Speaker 1: prints last week, probably just a mountain lion, though his
Speaker 1: eyes lingered on me. You two experienced hikers, I am,
Speaker 1: Maggie said, Eli, here's a beginner, but I've been leading
Speaker 1: wilderness trips for years. Jim nodded slowly. Just stick to
Speaker 1: the mark to trails, and if you see anything unusual,
Speaker 1: head back this way. Self service is non existent out there.
Speaker 1: Unusual like what I asked. Jim and Matthew's exchanged glances.
Speaker 1: Just wild life, Matthew said, dismissively. Buffalo can be dangerous
Speaker 1: if you get too close, and there's been reports of
Speaker 1: a drifter in the area. Nothing to worry about, but
Speaker 1: best to be cautious. As we walked back to our car,
Speaker 1: I caught Maggie's arm a drifter. Maybe we should pick
Speaker 1: somewhere else, she laughed. Don't tell me you're scared. The
Speaker 1: rangers have to warn everyone about every little thing for
Speaker 1: liability reasons. Trust me, the biggest danger out there is
Speaker 1: forgetting the bug spray. If only she'd been right. We
Speaker 1: left our car at the designated trailhead and set off
Speaker 1: with our backpacks. Within an hour, the world had changed
Speaker 1: around us. The formations of the bad Lands looked like
Speaker 1: something from another planet, Spires and buttes and shades of red,
Speaker 1: orange and white carved by millions of years of wind
Speaker 1: and water. Prairie grasses swayed in the breeze, and the
Speaker 1: vast blue sky stretched endlessly above. Maggie walked ahead of me,
Speaker 1: her stride, confident she'd dressed the part in her hiking pants,
Speaker 1: moisture wicking shirt, and wide brimmed hat. I followed in
Speaker 1: my brand new boots that were already giving me blisters.
Speaker 1: Isn't this glorious? She called over her shoulder. No emails,
Speaker 1: no texts, no social media, just us and nature. Glorious,
Speaker 1: I echoed, not entirely convinced, as I swatted away a mosquito.
Speaker 1: By sunset, we'd hiked about eight miles into the wilderness.
Speaker 1: Maggie found a flat area protected by rock formations for
Speaker 1: our campsite. As she expertly set up our tent, I
Speaker 1: tempted to start a fire with the fancy waterproof matches
Speaker 1: i'd purchased for the trip. You need smaller kindling, Maggie instructed,
Speaker 1: taking over after watching me struggle. Within minutes, she had
Speaker 1: a crackling fire going. We ate freeze dried beef stew
Speaker 1: for dinner, which tasted better than I expected after hours
Speaker 1: of hiking. As darkness fell, the temperature dropped dramatically. We
Speaker 1: huddled near the fire and Maggie pointed out constellations I'd
Speaker 1: never been able to see through New York's light pollution. See,
Speaker 1: this is what we've been missing, she said, leaning her
Speaker 1: head on my shoulder. I had to admit it was beautiful.
Speaker 1: The stars looked like someone had spilled diamond dust across
Speaker 1: black velvet. The silence was profound. No car horns, no sirens,
Speaker 1: no neighbors arguing through thin apartment walls, just the occasional
Speaker 1: rustle of wind through grass and the soft crackling of
Speaker 1: our fire. That's when we heard it, a long, low
Speaker 1: howl that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Speaker 1: Maggie sat up straight. Wolf. No, there shouldn't be wolves
Speaker 1: in this part of the bad lands. Coyote, I suggested, maybe,
Speaker 1: she said, but she sounded uncertain. It sounded bigger. The
Speaker 1: howl came again, closer. This time, it didn't sound like
Speaker 1: any animal I'd ever heard, more like a human voice
Speaker 1: trying to imitate an animal, but getting it wrong in
Speaker 1: some fundamental way. Let's get in the tent, Maggie said,
Speaker 1: kicking dirt onto the fire. Inside our tent, we zipped
Speaker 1: our sleeping bags together and lay close. Despite the strangeness
Speaker 1: of the howl, Exhaustion from the day's hike soon pulled
Speaker 1: me towards sleep. Just before I drifted off, Maggie whispered,
Speaker 1: did you hear that? I listened footsteps circling our tent.
Speaker 1: Too heavy for a coyote, too deliberate for a buffalo,
Speaker 1: Probably just deer, I whispered back, though I didn't believe it.
Speaker 1: Maggie unzipped her side of the sleep keeping bag and
Speaker 1: reached for the flashlight. What are you doing, I hissed,
Speaker 1: I'm going to check. Are you crazy? Stay here? But
Speaker 1: Maggie had already unzipped the tent flap and stepped outside,
Speaker 1: flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. I counted to ten,
Speaker 1: waiting for her to return or call out. When she didn't,
Speaker 1: I scrambled out after her. The moonlight bathed the landscape
Speaker 1: in an eerie silver glow. Our campsite looked untouched, no
Speaker 1: signs of animals or intruders, and no sign of Maggie. Maggie,
Speaker 1: I called, my voice, sounding small in the vast silence. Nothing, Maggie,
Speaker 1: I shouted, panic rising in my chest over here. I
Speaker 1: turned toward her voice. She stood about twenty yards away
Speaker 1: at the edge of a drop off, her back to me.
Speaker 1: What is it? Did you see something? I asked, walking
Speaker 1: toward her. When I reached her side, I saw she
Speaker 1: was staring down into a narrow ravine. Her flashlight illuminated
Speaker 1: something at the bottom what looked like a pile of bones,
Speaker 1: animal carcass. She said, recent something's been eating out here. Great,
Speaker 1: I muttered, let's get back to the tent. As we
Speaker 1: turned to go, Maggie's flashlight caught something else. A symbol
Speaker 1: scratched into the rock face beside us. It looked like
Speaker 1: a crude stick figure with too many limbs, surrounded by
Speaker 1: smaller figures that might have been animals native American petroglyph,
Speaker 1: I suggested. Maggie shook her head. No, this is fresh.
Speaker 1: See how the scratch marks are still light colored. This
Speaker 1: was done recently. An uneasy feeling crept up my spine.
Speaker 1: Kids playing pranks. We're fifteen miles from the nearest road.
Speaker 1: Eli back in the tent, neither of us slept well.
Speaker 1: Every sound, the wind, distant animal calls, the fabric of
Speaker 1: our tent moving sent my heart racing. Sometime near dawn,
Speaker 1: I finally drifted off, only to be jolted awake by
Speaker 1: Maggie's scream. I sat up, disoriented. Morning light filtered through
Speaker 1: the tent walls. Maggie was sitting up, staring at her phone.
Speaker 1: What what is it? She turned to me, her face pale.
Speaker 1: My photos from yesterday, they're all gone. Maybe you accidentally
Speaker 1: deleted them. No, they've been replaced. Look. She handed me
Speaker 1: her phone. Where there should have been pictures of landscapes
Speaker 1: and selfies of us on the trail, there were now dark,
Speaker 1: blurry images that looked like they'd been taken at night.
Speaker 1: In one, I could make out what seemed to be
Speaker 1: our tent from outside. In another, what looked disturbingly like
Speaker 1: a sleeping figure. Me. This isn't funny, Eli, It wasn't me.
Speaker 1: How could I have taken these? She grabbed the phone back,
Speaker 1: checking the time stamps. These were taken at three seventeen
Speaker 1: a m. We were both asleep, I felt, despite the
Speaker 1: warming tent. Maybe your phone glitched or someone hacked it remotely.
Speaker 1: There's no signal out here, remember that was the whole point.
Speaker 1: She scrolled through more photos, then suddenly stopped her breath
Speaker 1: catching Eli, she showed me the last photo. It was
Speaker 1: clearer than the others, a close up of what appeared
Speaker 1: to be a face, but not quite human. The proportions
Speaker 1: were wrong somehow, the eyes too large and widely spaced,
Speaker 1: the mouth stretched in an impossible grin, with teeth that
Speaker 1: looked filed to points. The skin had a grayish cast
Speaker 1: and seemed to be peeling in places. This has to
Speaker 1: be some kind of joke, I said, my mouth dry.
Speaker 1: Someone messing with us. Maggie deleted all the photos with
Speaker 1: shaking hands. Let's pack up. I don't want to stay
Speaker 1: here anymore, I agreed wholeheartedly. As we emerged from the tent,
Speaker 1: I noticed something that hadn't been there the night before.
Speaker 1: A circle of small stones placed around our campsite, each
Speaker 1: one topped with what looked like tufts of animal fur.
Speaker 1: Did you do this, Maggie asked, her voice tight. I
Speaker 1: shook my head. Maybe it was animals, pack rats, or something.
Speaker 1: Even as I said it, I knew it was ridiculous.
Speaker 1: No animal would create such a deliberate pattern. We packed quickly,
Speaker 1: barely speaking. As Maggie rolled up the tent, she suddenly stopped. ELI,
Speaker 1: come look at this. On the outside of the rain fly.
Speaker 1: Someone had drawn the same stick figure symbol we'd seen
Speaker 1: on the rock face. We need to get out of
Speaker 1: here now, I shouldered my pack, not bothering to organize
Speaker 1: it properly. Maggie checked her GPS device. If we head southeast,
Speaker 1: we can cut across a sheep mountain table. There's a
Speaker 1: ranger station there. It's only about ten miles lead the way.
Speaker 1: We set off at a brisk pace, both of us
Speaker 1: glancing over our shoulders every few minutes. The beautiful landscape
Speaker 1: now seemed menacing, too many places for someone to hide
Speaker 1: watching us. After about two hours of hiking, Maggie stopped abruptly.
Speaker 1: This isn't right, she said, checking her GPS. We should
Speaker 1: have hit a marked trail by now. She frowned at
Speaker 1: the screen. That's weird. According to this, we've been walking
Speaker 1: in circles. How is that possible? We've been walking straight?
Speaker 1: I don't know. She tapped the device. Maybe it's malfunctioning.
Speaker 1: She pulled out her paper map and compass. After a
Speaker 1: few minutes of comparing landmarks to the map, her frown deepened.
Speaker 1: This doesn't make any sense. According to the map, that
Speaker 1: formation over there is a castle butte, which means we've
Speaker 1: somehow gone northwest instead of southeast. I looked up at
Speaker 1: the sun. That's impossible. The sun rises in the east.
Speaker 1: We've been heading toward it all morning. Maggie looked at
Speaker 1: me strangely. Eli, it's almost noon. The sun is overhead.
Speaker 1: I checked my watch. It read eight seventeen a m.
Speaker 1: Maggie's watch said eleven forty three. A M. Something's wrong
Speaker 1: with your watch, I said, or yours? She looked around,
Speaker 1: anxiety clear on her face. Let's try again. The ranger
Speaker 1: station at Sheep Mountain should be that way, she pointed.
Speaker 1: We'll lame for it directly and check the compass every
Speaker 1: few minutes. We walked for another hour, stopping frequently to
Speaker 1: confirm our direction. Despite our best efforts, we somehow ended
Speaker 1: up back at our original campsite, a circle of stones
Speaker 1: still in place. This is impossible, Maggie whispered. Are we
Speaker 1: losing our minds? A twig snapped behind us. We both
Speaker 1: whirled around. A man stood about thirty yards away, watching us.
Speaker 1: He was tall and aunt, dressed in dirty jeans and
Speaker 1: a flannel shirt. Despite the warm day. Even from this distance,
Speaker 1: I could see his eyes were unnaturally pale. Hello, there,
Speaker 1: he called, his voice, oddly cheerful. You folks lost. Maggie
Speaker 1: and I exchanged glances, part of me was relieved to
Speaker 1: see another human being, but something about the man set
Speaker 1: off alarm bells. We're fine, Maggie called back, just taking
Speaker 1: a break before heading out. The man approached, his movements
Speaker 1: fluid but somehow wrong, as if his joints worked differently
Speaker 1: than they should. Names Jeremiah Blackwood, he said as he
Speaker 1: drew closer. His smile revealed yellowed teeth. I live out
Speaker 1: these ways, don't get many visitors. You live out here,
Speaker 1: I asked, In the national park? He gestured vaguely behind him.
Speaker 1: Got a cabin a few miles that way. Been in
Speaker 1: my family for generations before this was a park. You
Speaker 1: understand it didn't sound right. The bad Lands had been
Speaker 1: a National Park since the nineteen thirties. Well, nice to
Speaker 1: meet you, Maggie said, clearly, trying to end the conversation.
Speaker 1: We should get going. Where you headed, Jeremiah asked sheep
Speaker 1: Mountain Ranger station, I said. Jeremiah's smile flickered for just
Speaker 1: an instant. You don't want to go that way. Trails
Speaker 1: washed out from the spring floods dangerous. I can show
Speaker 1: you a better route, he pointed, in the opposite direction
Speaker 1: from where we'd been trying to go. Thanks, but we
Speaker 1: have a GPS, Maggie said, patting her pocket where the
Speaker 1: device was stored. Jeremiah chuckled. Technology doesn't work right out here.
Speaker 1: Something about the minerals in the soil plays havoc with
Speaker 1: compasses too, He tapped his temple. Better to trust someone
Speaker 1: who knows the land. I glanced at Maggie, who gave
Speaker 1: an almost imperceptible shake of her head. We appreciate the offer,
Speaker 1: I said, but we'll stick to our route. Jeremiah eye
Speaker 1: as a friendly demeanor changed instantly, his pale eyes hardened
Speaker 1: and his mouth twisted into a grimace. Suit yourselves, he said, coldly.
Speaker 1: But these lands don't take kindly to outsiders who don't
Speaker 1: listen to advice. He turned and walked away, disappearing behind
Speaker 1: a rock formation. Okay, that was creepy as hell, I whispered,
Speaker 1: once he was out of earshot. He's trying to lead
Speaker 1: us away from the ranger station, Maggie said. There's no
Speaker 1: cabin out here. The whole park is federal land. Do
Speaker 1: you think he's the drifter the rangers mentioned? Maybe or
Speaker 1: a poacher? She hesitated, But how did he know we
Speaker 1: were using a compass and what he said about technology
Speaker 1: not working coincidence, I said, though I didn't believe it.
Speaker 1: Let's go and keep an eye out for him. We
Speaker 1: set off again, this time using only natural landmarks for navigation.
Speaker 1: If we kept the distinctive formation called the castle to
Speaker 1: a right and headed toward the tallest butte visible to
Speaker 1: the east, we should eventually hit a marked trail. The
Speaker 1: sun beat down mercilessly as we hiked across the rugged terrain.
Speaker 1: Despite drinking regularly from our water bottles, I felt increasingly thirsty.
Speaker 1: My new boots had rubbed raw spots on both heels,
Speaker 1: and each step was becoming painful. Need a break, Maggie asked,
Speaker 1: noticing my limp. I'm fine, I lied. She stopped anyway,
Speaker 1: pulling out the first aid kit to give me some
Speaker 1: moleskin for my blisters. As she knelt to help me
Speaker 1: apply it, she suddenly grabbed my arm, her fingers digging
Speaker 1: in painfully. Don't move, she whispered. I followed her gaze.
Speaker 1: About fifty yards ahead of us, partially hidden behind a
Speaker 1: rock out cropping was Jeremiah. He appeared to be talking
Speaker 1: to someone else, a smaller figure I couldn't make out clearly.
Speaker 1: How did he get ahead of us, I whispered, I
Speaker 1: don't know, but let's change direction. Veered west, hoping to
Speaker 1: circle around without being spotted. For the next hour, we
Speaker 1: picked our way carefully through the landscape, staying low and
Speaker 1: using the natural features for cover. Just as I was
Speaker 1: beginning to think we'd lost him, we crested a small
Speaker 1: rise and found ourselves looking down into a shallow valley.
Speaker 1: In the center stood a small, dilapidated cabin that looked
Speaker 1: like it had been there for a century. Smoke rose
Speaker 1: from a crooked stone chimney. That's impossible, Maggie said, there
Speaker 1: are no private residences in this part of the park.
Speaker 1: Yet there it was, and outside, hanging from a clothing
Speaker 1: line were pieces of fabric that looked disturbingly like hiking clothes,
Speaker 1: similar to what we were wearing. Let's go back, I said,
Speaker 1: try another direction. Before Maggie could respond, a sound reached us, singing.
Speaker 1: A woman's voice, high and clear, singing a melody that
Speaker 1: made my skin crawl. It seemed to be coming from
Speaker 1: the care cabin. Hello, A voice called Jeremiah's voice. I
Speaker 1: see you up there, Come on down and meet the missus.
Speaker 1: I grabbed Maggie's arm run. We turned and fled back
Speaker 1: the way we'd come, Scrambling over rocks and through patches
Speaker 1: of prairie grass. We ran until our lungs burned, then
Speaker 1: finally stopped in the shelter of a large rock formation.
Speaker 1: Did he follow us, Maggie gasped. I peered back the
Speaker 1: way we'd come. No sign of pursuit. I don't think
Speaker 1: so that cabin, Maggie said, it can't be there. I
Speaker 1: studied the maps for weeks. There are no structures in
Speaker 1: this part of the park. Obviously your maps are outdated,
Speaker 1: I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
Speaker 1: And those clothes on the line, I didn't want to
Speaker 1: think about what they might mean that we weren't the
Speaker 1: first hikers to encounter Jeremiah. Let's just focus on finding
Speaker 1: our way out, I said. The sun will be setting
Speaker 1: in a few hours. We consulted the map again, trying
Speaker 1: a new approach. If we headed directly south, we would
Speaker 1: eventually hit the park road no matter what. As we walked,
Speaker 1: I couldn't shake the feeling we were being watched. Occasionally,
Speaker 1: I thought I caught glimpses of movement from the corner
Speaker 1: of my eye, but when I turned to look, nothing
Speaker 1: was there. The light was beginning to fade when Maggie
Speaker 1: suddenly stopped listen. She said, at first I heard nothing.
Speaker 1: Then I caught it. The woman's singing again, But now
Speaker 1: it seemed to be coming from ahead of us instead
Speaker 1: of behind. How is that possible, I whispered, before Maggie
Speaker 1: could answer. Another sound cut through the air, A scream,
Speaker 1: high and desperate. Abruptly cut off. Someone's in trouble, Maggie said,
Speaker 1: already moving toward the sound. Wait, I grabbed her arm.
Speaker 1: It could be a trap, she shook me off. Or
Speaker 1: it could be another hiker. We can't just ignore it.
Speaker 1: She was right, of course, but everything in me screamed
Speaker 1: that we should run in the opposite direction. Reluctantly, I
Speaker 1: followed as Maggie moved cautiously toward where the scream had
Speaker 1: come from. We crested another rise and found ourselves looking
Speaker 1: down at impossibly the same cabin we'd seen earlier. This
Speaker 1: can't be happening, Maggie whispered. We've been walking south. That
Speaker 1: cabin was north of us. As we watched, the door
Speaker 1: of the cabin opened, a woman stepped out rail thin,
Speaker 1: with long gray hair hanging in matted clumps around a
Speaker 1: face that was deeply lined. She wore a dress that
Speaker 1: might once have been white but was now a dingy gray.
Speaker 1: In her hand she carried what looked like a large
Speaker 1: hunting knife. Martha Jeremiah's voice called from inside the cabin.
Speaker 1: We got company coming. The woman Martha looked up directly
Speaker 1: at our position, though we were well hidden. A smile
Speaker 1: spread across her face, revealing gaps where teeth should have been.
Speaker 1: I see them, she called back, her voice, the same
Speaker 1: one we'd heard, singing two of them, just like you said.
Speaker 1: My blood ran cold. There was no way she could
Speaker 1: see us from that distance, hidden as we were behind rocks.
Speaker 1: We need to go, I whispered to Maggie. Now. For once,
Speaker 1: she didn't argue. We backed away slowly, then turned and ran.
Speaker 1: Once we were out of sight of the cabin. The
Speaker 1: sun was setting rapidly, now, casting long shadows that seemed
Speaker 1: to reach for us like grasping hands. We ran until
Speaker 1: we couldn't any more, then walked quickly, changing direction frequently
Speaker 1: in hopes of throwing off any pursuit. Darkness fell completely,
Speaker 1: and we were forced to use our flashlights. We found
Speaker 1: a small cave like opening in a rock face and
Speaker 1: decided to take shelter for the night. We'll rest for
Speaker 1: a few hours, Maggie said, her voice steady despite everything.
Speaker 1: Then start again before dawn. If we keep heading south,
Speaker 1: we have to hit the road. Eventually, I nodded, too
Speaker 1: exhausted to speak. We didn't bother setting up the tent,
Speaker 1: just unrolled our sleeping bags at the mouth of the
Speaker 1: small cave. Neither of us suggested a fire. The less
Speaker 1: attention we drew to ourselves, the better we ate energy
Speaker 1: bars in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Finally,
Speaker 1: Maggie spoke, this doesn't make any sense. That cabin can't
Speaker 1: be in two places at once. Maybe there are two
Speaker 1: cabins twins. Even as I suggested it, I knew how
Speaker 1: ridiculous it sounded, and that woman knew where we were
Speaker 1: without seeing us. Maggie continued, ignoring my comment. And how
Speaker 1: did Jeremiah get ahead of us this morning? I don't know.
Speaker 1: I took her hand, but we'll figure it out in
Speaker 1: the morning. For now, let's try to get some sleep.
Speaker 1: We decided to take turns keeping watch. Maggie took the
Speaker 1: first shift while I tried to sleep, but rest wouldn't come.
Speaker 1: Every sound from outside, the wind, the occasional call of
Speaker 1: a night bird sent my heart racing. When it was
Speaker 1: my turn to watch, Maggie fell into an uneasy sleep.
Speaker 1: Beside me. I sat at the mouth of our small shelter,
Speaker 1: staring out into the darkness, my flashlight off to preserve
Speaker 1: the batteries, but close at hand, the night was clear,
Speaker 1: Stars scattered like dust across the sky. Under different circumstances,
Speaker 1: it would have been beautiful. Now, it just made me
Speaker 1: feel exposed around what I guessed was midnight. I heard
Speaker 1: it footsteps approaching our shelter, slow deliberate steps that no
Speaker 1: animal would make. I shook Maggie awake, pressing my hand
Speaker 1: over her mouth to keep her quiet. Her eyes flew open,
Speaker 1: instantly alert. I pointed outside and mouthed, some one's coming.
Speaker 1: We press ourselves against the back wall of the small cave,
Speaker 1: hoping that darkness would hide us. The footsteps stopped just outside.
Speaker 1: I know you're in there, came Jeremiah's voice, silky and amused.
Speaker 1: No sense in hiding. Neither of us moved or made
Speaker 1: a sound. The Missus has dinner almost ready venisons. Do
Speaker 1: you two must be hungry after all that running around today.
Speaker 1: When we still didn't respond, he sighed loudly, have it
Speaker 1: your way, But these lands play tricks on those who
Speaker 1: don't know them. You'll never find your way out without help.
Speaker 1: The Blackwoods have lived here for generations. We know the secrets.
Speaker 1: A pause, then we'll be waiting when you change your minds.
Speaker 1: The footsteps retreated, and soon the night was silent again,
Speaker 1: save for the pounding of my heart. How did he
Speaker 1: find us, Maggie whispered, when enough time had passed. I
Speaker 1: don't know, but we we need to leave now. We
Speaker 1: packed our few belongings and slipped out of the cave.
Speaker 1: The night was still and clear, the moon providing just
Speaker 1: enough light to see by which way I asked? Maggie
Speaker 1: pointed south, Always south. We walked through the night, stumbling
Speaker 1: over unseen obstacles, picking our way across the alien landscape.
Speaker 1: Neither of us suggested using our flashlights, better to risk
Speaker 1: a twisted ankle than alert Jeremiah to our location. As
Speaker 1: dawn approached, an eerie fog rolled in, reducing visibility to
Speaker 1: a few feet. The air felt unnaturally cold and damp
Speaker 1: for the bad lands, which were typically dry even in
Speaker 1: the early morning. This isn't right, Maggie murmured. Fog like
Speaker 1: this is rare out here, especially this time of year.
Speaker 1: We pressed on, using the compass to maintain our southerly direction.
Speaker 1: The fog seemed to deaden all sound, creating a cocoon
Speaker 1: of silence around us us. It was disorienting, like walking
Speaker 1: through a dream. That's when we heard the singing again,
Speaker 1: Martha's voice, somehow coming from all directions at once, in
Speaker 1: that eerie, a tonal melody that set my teeth on edge.
Speaker 1: Just keep walking, Maggie said, gripping my hand tightly. Don't stop.
Speaker 1: The singing grew louder, and now I could make out
Speaker 1: words an old folk song about death and burial. As
Speaker 1: we walked, dark shapes appeared in the fog, just at
Speaker 1: the edge of visibility, tall thin figures that might have
Speaker 1: been trees or rocks, or people standing perfectly still watching
Speaker 1: us pass. The fog began to thin as the sun
Speaker 1: rose higher, revealing that we were walking through a section
Speaker 1: of bad lands I hadn't seen before. A forest of
Speaker 1: stone pillars rising like petrified trees from the earth. The
Speaker 1: door of hell Maggie whispered, checking the map. That's what
Speaker 1: this area is called comforting, I muttered. As the last
Speaker 1: of the fog burned away. I saw something that made
Speaker 1: my heart sink, the now familiar shape of Jeremiah's cabin
Speaker 1: sitting in a small clearing ahead of us. How is
Speaker 1: this possible, I said, stopping in my tracks. We've been
Speaker 1: walking south all night. Maggie looked as bewildered as I felt.
Speaker 1: I don't know. The compass can't be wrong unless she
Speaker 1: looked up at the sun, then down at her compass again.
Speaker 1: Unless south isn't south anymore? What does that even mean?
Speaker 1: Before she could answer, the cabin door opened, Martha stepped out,
Speaker 1: waving cheerfully as if we were expected guests arriving for
Speaker 1: Sunday dinner. There you are, she called. Breakfast is almost ready, run,
Speaker 1: I said, turning away from the cabin, but Maggie caught
Speaker 1: my arm. Wait. Look, I followed her gaze. In the distance.
Speaker 1: Be behind the cabin, clearly visible in the morning light
Speaker 1: was a road and what looked like the ranger station
Speaker 1: at Sheep Mountain table. We've been going in the right direction,
Speaker 1: after all, Maggie said. The ranger station is just beyond
Speaker 1: the cabin. So we what walk straight past the cabin
Speaker 1: of the creepy people who've been stalking us? Do you
Speaker 1: have a better idea? We can't keep wandering in circles.
Speaker 1: We're running out of water and food. She was right.
Speaker 1: My water bottle was nearly empty and we had only
Speaker 1: a few energy bars left between us. Fine, but we
Speaker 1: stay together and we don't stop for anything. We approached cautiously.
Speaker 1: Martha remained on the porch, still smiling that gap toothed smile.
Speaker 1: As we drew closer, I noticed something I hadn't been
Speaker 1: able to see from a distance. Her eyes were the
Speaker 1: same unnatural pale color as Jeremiah's, almost white. Don't be shy,
Speaker 1: she called. We don't get many visitors, do Jeremiah. Jeremiah
Speaker 1: appeared in the doorway behind her. Not many that stay
Speaker 1: for dinner, at least, he said, then laughed as if
Speaker 1: he'd made a joke. We kept walking, aiming to pass
Speaker 1: the cabin at a safe distance. Now, don't be like that,
Speaker 1: Martha called, We're just being neighborly. Ain't no cell service
Speaker 1: out here, and the rangers don't come this way much.
Speaker 1: Folks need to look out for each other. We were
Speaker 1: almost past the cabin when I noticed something hanging from
Speaker 1: a hook on the porch, A familiar looking red backpack,
Speaker 1: identical to the one Maggie was carrying. Maggie saw it too.
Speaker 1: Her step faltered. Keep going, I whispered, But that's I know.
Speaker 1: Keep walking. We were just past the cabin when Jeremiah
Speaker 1: called out, you left something behind last time, Margaret. Maggie froze.
Speaker 1: I hadn't told him her name. She turned slowly. What
Speaker 1: did you say? Jeremiah grinned, revealing those he bellowed teeth, said,
Speaker 1: you left something behind when you were here before. Your
Speaker 1: journal got some real interesting writings in it. I've never
Speaker 1: been here before, Maggie said, but her voice wavered. Sure
Speaker 1: you have, don't you remember? You and that fellow what
Speaker 1: was his name? Martha? David? Martha supplied, nice boy, didn't
Speaker 1: scream much. A cold horror washed over me. David had
Speaker 1: been Maggie's boyfriend before me, the one who had disappeared
Speaker 1: during a solo camping trip two years ago. You're lying,
Speaker 1: Maggie said, but there were tears in her eyes. Jeremiah
Speaker 1: disappeared into the cabin and returned holding a small leather
Speaker 1: bound book. Even from this distance, I recognized it Maggie's journal,
Speaker 1: the one she'd been devastated to lose around the time
Speaker 1: David vanished. Come and get it, Jeremiah said, waving the journal.
Speaker 1: It's got some mighty personal things in here. Wouldn't want
Speaker 1: just an anyone reading it. Maggie took a step toward
Speaker 1: the cabin. Don't, I said, grabbing her arm. It's a trick.
Speaker 1: She shook me off. That's my journal. It disappeared with
Speaker 1: David exactly. They're admitting they did something to David. But
Speaker 1: Maggie was already walking toward the cabin, as if pulled
Speaker 1: by an invisible string. Maggie stop. I ran after her.
Speaker 1: She was halfway to the porch when Martha disappeared inside
Speaker 1: the cabin and came back holding something else, a knife,
Speaker 1: the blade crusted with what looked like dried blood. I
Speaker 1: caught up to Maggie and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her
Speaker 1: to look at me. We need to go now. Something
Speaker 1: moved in the windows of the cabin, faces pressing against
Speaker 1: the glass, pale gaunt faces with those same strange eyes.
Speaker 1: How many people are in there? I whispered, five six.
Speaker 1: Maggie's voice was distant, her gaze still fixed on the
Speaker 1: journal in Eremia's hand. Too many come on? I tugged
Speaker 1: her arm, and this time she came with me. We
Speaker 1: backed away from the cabin, then turned and ran toward
Speaker 1: where we'd seen the ranger station behind us. Martha's singing
Speaker 1: started again, louder, now almost celebratory. We ran until the
Speaker 1: cabin was out of sight, then slowed to a jog,
Speaker 1: both of us gasping for breath. That was my journal,
Speaker 1: Maggie said, between breaths, the one I lost when David
Speaker 1: I know, I said, which means they probably had something
Speaker 1: to do with his disappearance. We need to get to
Speaker 1: the rangers, tell them about the cabin. We continued toward
Speaker 1: where we'd seen the ranger station, moving as quickly as
Speaker 1: our exhausted bodies would allow. The terrain became steeper, the
Speaker 1: path winding up toward a plateau. Just as we crested
Speaker 1: the rise, I heard a voice behind us, leaving so
Speaker 1: soon I whirled around. Jeremiah stood about twenty feet away.
Speaker 1: Though I hadn't heard him approach, he still held Maggie's journal.
Speaker 1: How did you? I began, told you Jeremiah said, with
Speaker 1: that unsettling grin. These lands played tricks, especially on outsiders.
Speaker 1: Stay back, I warned, picking up a rock. It was
Speaker 1: a pathetic weapon, but it was all I had. Jeremiah laughed,
Speaker 1: No need for that. Just wanted to return something to
Speaker 1: the lady. He tossed the journal to the ground between us.
Speaker 1: Maggie stared at it but didn't move. Go ahead, Jeremiah urged,
Speaker 1: it's yours, ain't it. Don't touch it, I said, smart boy,
Speaker 1: Jeremiah said, still smiling, Smarter than the last one. He
Speaker 1: never figured it out. He took a step closer. You
Speaker 1: know what we are, don't you. Something about the way
Speaker 1: he said it sent ice through my veins. I'd been
Speaker 1: assumed they were some kind of backwoods killers, people who
Speaker 1: lived off the grid and preyed on hikers. But the
Speaker 1: way things didn't add up. The cabin appearing in different places,
Speaker 1: the confusion with directions, the unnatural fog. You're not human,
Speaker 1: I said, the words, sounding ridiculous even as they left
Speaker 1: my mouth. Jeremiah's grin widened, showing too many teeth, not anymore.
Speaker 1: A wind picked up, hot and dry, carrying with it
Speaker 1: a smell like rotting meat. Jeremiah's form seemed to flicker,
Speaker 1: like bad reception on an old TV. For just an instant,
Speaker 1: I saw something else standing where he was, something tall
Speaker 1: and gaunt, with two long limbs and a face that
Speaker 1: was mostly mouth run. I screamed, Grabbing Maggie's hand, we
Speaker 1: fled up the path toward the ranger station behind us.
Speaker 1: Jeremiah's laughter turned into something else, a howl like the
Speaker 1: one we'd heard that first night, but now I recognized
Speaker 1: it for what it was, hunger. The ranger station came
Speaker 1: into view, a small building with a flagpole out front.
Speaker 1: A park Service truck was parked outside. Hope surged through me.
Speaker 1: We made it, I gasped, pulling Maggie toward the building,
Speaker 1: but something was wrong. The closer we got, the more
Speaker 1: details seemed off. The flag hung limp in the windless air.
Speaker 1: The truck was covered in a fine layer of dust,
Speaker 1: as if it hadn't been moved in weeks, and no
Speaker 1: one responded to our shouts. We reached the station door.
Speaker 1: It was unlocked. I pushed it open, calling out hello,
Speaker 1: park Service. Silence. The interior was dim illuminated only by
Speaker 1: what sunlight filtered through dusty windows. The place looked abandoned.
Speaker 1: Papers scattered across the floor, a chair overturned, a half
Speaker 1: empty coffee mug on the desk with a film of
Speaker 1: green mold on the surface. What happened here, Maggie whispered.
Speaker 1: I moved toward the desk, looking for a radio or phone,
Speaker 1: anything to call for help. The land line was dead,
Speaker 1: the radio nothing but static. On the wall, a large
Speaker 1: map of the park was marked with red pins. Several
Speaker 1: were clustered in the area where we'd been hiking. Beneath
Speaker 1: the map, scrawled in what looked like marker on the
Speaker 1: wall itself, Blackwood Territory. Do not enter, Eli, Maggie called
Speaker 1: from across the room. Look at this. She stood by
Speaker 1: a bulletin board covered with missing persons flyers. There were
Speaker 1: dozens of them, going back years, young hikers, mostly couples.
Speaker 1: Some of the faces looked vaguely familiar, people whose disappearances
Speaker 1: had made the national news briefly before being forgotten. And
Speaker 1: there in the center a face I knew well, David,
Speaker 1: Maggie's ex boyfriend, smiling in the photo. No idea what
Speaker 1: awaited him? They've been doing this for years, Maggie said,
Speaker 1: her voice hollow. How has no one stopped them? A
Speaker 1: thought occurred to me, A terrible one. What if the
Speaker 1: rangers know? What if they can't stop them? That's ridiculous.
Speaker 1: They're park rangers, not supernatural experts. I looked around at
Speaker 1: the abandoned station. Then where are they? Why did they
Speaker 1: warn us about a drifter but not about the Blackwoods.
Speaker 1: Maybe they didn't know, I pointed to the writing on
Speaker 1: the wall. They knew something. A sound from outside caught
Speaker 1: our attention. A vehicle approaching. We rushed to the window.
Speaker 1: A park service jeep was pulling up, a uniformed ranger
Speaker 1: at the wheel. Thank god, Maggie breathed. We hurried outside,
Speaker 1: waving our arms. The ranger, a middle aged woman with
Speaker 1: short gray hair, looked surprised to see us. What are
Speaker 1: you folks doing out here, she asked, climbing out of
Speaker 1: the jeep. Her name tag read Collins. We need help,
Speaker 1: I said, there are people in the park, the Blackwoods.
Speaker 1: They're dangerous. Ranger Collins's expression changed, her eyebrows drawing together.
Speaker 1: Where did you hear that name? We met them? Maggie said,
Speaker 1: they have a cabin. They've been following us, stalking us.
Speaker 1: I think they killed my ex boyfriend two years ago.
Speaker 1: The ranger's hand moved to the gun at her hip.
Speaker 1: Get in the vehicle now, we didn't argue, Climbing into
Speaker 1: the back of the jeep. Collin's got on her radio.
Speaker 1: This is Collins at Sheep Mountain. I've got two hikers here.
Speaker 1: Say they encountered the Blackwoods, requesting immediate evacuation static. Then
Speaker 1: a voice copy that stay put back up on route.
Speaker 1: Collins turned to us, When exactly did you see them?
Speaker 1: First time was yesterday afternoon, I said, But they've been
Speaker 1: stalking us ever since. Their cabin keeps moving. Collin's nodded,
Speaker 1: as if this made perfect sense. The cabin doesn't move
Speaker 1: the land does. What does that mean, Maggie asked. Colin's sighed,
Speaker 1: the Blackwoods are. Well, we don't know exactly what they are.
Speaker 1: They've been in this area since before it was a park,
Speaker 1: before white settlers. Even the local tribes had stories about them,
Speaker 1: people who weren't people any more. When it goes, I suggested,
Speaker 1: remembering something I'd read about Native American folklore, something like
Speaker 1: that the tribes avoided this whole area, called it the
Speaker 1: thin place where the barrier between Worlds was weak, and
Speaker 1: the Park Service just lets them exist here, killing people.
Speaker 1: Maggie's voice rose in anger. It's not that simple, Colin said,
Speaker 1: We've tried removing them multiple times over the decades. They
Speaker 1: always come back. The best we can do is warn
Speaker 1: people away from that sector of the park, which is
Speaker 1: why I'm surprised you were there. That area is supposed
Speaker 1: to be close to the public. Our permits were for
Speaker 1: Sage Creek. I said, we met a ranger named Matthews
Speaker 1: who approved them. Collin's frowned. There's no ranger Matthews in
Speaker 1: this park. A chill ran through me. Tall guy, gray mustache,
Speaker 1: had a younger ranger with him named Jim. No rangers
Speaker 1: by those names here. Colin's hand moved back to her gun.
Speaker 1: What exactly did these rangers look like? As I described them?
Speaker 1: Colin's face grew increasingly grim. The scar on Jim's face,
Speaker 1: she said, from eye to jaw. I nodded, that wasn't
Speaker 1: a ranger. That was Jeremiah Blackwood, the younger one, but
Speaker 1: we saw him at the cabin. Maggie protested, much older.
Speaker 1: They appear differently to different people. Colin said, they show
Speaker 1: you what they think will gain your trust or fear.
Speaker 1: So Jeremiah was at the ranger station. That's impossible. We
Speaker 1: left him at the cabin, I said. Collins shook her head.
Speaker 1: There's more than one of them, a whole family, or
Speaker 1: what looks like a family. How many, Maggie asked, We
Speaker 1: don't know for sure. At least six that we've documented,
Speaker 1: but they can split themselves somehow, be in multiple places
Speaker 1: at once. This was too much to process. But what
Speaker 1: do they want? I asked. Collins didn't answer immediately. When
Speaker 1: she did, her voice was flat. Food. The word hung
Speaker 1: in the air between us. I remember to Jeremiah's comment
Speaker 1: about dinner, Martha's remark about David not screaming much. The
Speaker 1: missing hikers, Maggie said, quietly, that's why there are so many.
Speaker 1: Collins nodded. We've tried to keep people out of that area,
Speaker 1: but somehow permits keep getting approved, Records get altered, maps
Speaker 1: show trails where there aren't any. So they have someone
Speaker 1: on the inside, I asked, Not exactly. It's more like
Speaker 1: they influence things, bend reality a bit, make you see
Speaker 1: what they want you to see. She gestured at the radio.
Speaker 1: Backup should be here soon. We'll get you safely out
Speaker 1: of the park. We sat in tense silence for several minutes.
Speaker 1: I kept scanning the surroundings, half expecting to see Jeremiah
Speaker 1: or Martha materialize from behind a rock. Finally, the radio
Speaker 1: crackled to life Collins, this is Peters, We're about five
Speaker 1: minutes out. Over copy that, Collins replied, be advised. Subjects
Speaker 1: appear unharmed but disoriented. May have been in Blackwood territory
Speaker 1: for over twenty four hours. Understood bringing medical out. Collins
Speaker 1: turned to us. Just to be safe, We're going to
Speaker 1: have you checked out at the hospital and wall. We're fine,
Speaker 1: Maggie and said, just tired and dehydrated, standard procedure, Colins said,
Speaker 1: not meeting our eyes. People who interact with the Blackwoods
Speaker 1: sometimes developed symptoms later, symptoms of what I asked. Before
Speaker 1: Collins could answer, the sound of approaching vehicles reached us.
Speaker 1: Two park service SUVs pulled up, followed by an ambulance.
Speaker 1: A balding ranger with a thick beard approached our jeep. Peters.
Speaker 1: He introduced himself, Let's get you folks out of here.
Speaker 1: Everything happened quickly after that. We were ushered into one
Speaker 1: of the SUV's given water and energy bars. A paramedic
Speaker 1: did a quick check of our vital signs. Asked if
Speaker 1: we'd experienced any unusual symptoms, hallucinations, lost time, inexplicable wounds,
Speaker 1: just confusion with directions. Maggie told him no, matter which
Speaker 1: way we walked, we kept ending up back at the cabin.
Speaker 1: The paramedic nodded, as if this was a common complaint.
Speaker 1: Classic Blackwood tactics. They disorient their prey, wear them down, pray,
Speaker 1: I repeated, The word left a sour taste in my mouth.
Speaker 1: Poor choice of words, the paramedic said quickly. Victims not
Speaker 1: much better. As we prepared to leave, I noticed Collins
Speaker 1: in deep conversation with Peters, both of them glancing our
Speaker 1: way periodically. They're worried about us, Maggie said, following my gaze,
Speaker 1: or about something we might do. I said the thought
Speaker 1: had been forming in my mind for the past few
Speaker 1: minutes that the rangers seemed almost as concerned about containing
Speaker 1: us as they were about rescuing us. What do you mean,
Speaker 1: I'm not sure, but they know more than their telling us.
Speaker 1: The SUV's engine started and we began the journey out
Speaker 1: of the park. I watched through the window as the
Speaker 1: stark landscape rolled by. It was beautiful in its alien way,
Speaker 1: but now all I saw were hiding places, ambush points,
Speaker 1: the suggestion of watching eyes in every shadow. We'd been
Speaker 1: driving for about fifteen minutes when the ranger at the wheel,
Speaker 1: a young woman named Garcia, suddenly breaked hard. What the hell,
Speaker 1: she muttered. Ahead a figure stood in the middle of
Speaker 1: the road, Martha Blackwood, still in her grimy gray dress,
Speaker 1: still smiling that gap toothed smile. Drive around her, Peters
Speaker 1: commanded from the passenger seat. Garcia shifted to steer wide
Speaker 1: of Martha, but as she did, more figures appeared at
Speaker 1: the roadside. Jeremiah, the fake ranger, Matthews, the fake Jim,
Speaker 1: and others I hadn't seen before, all with those same pale,
Speaker 1: almost white eyes. Don't stop, Peter said, drawing his side arm.
Speaker 1: No matter what, Garcia accelerated, giving Martha a wide berth.
Speaker 1: As we passed. Martha turned, still smiling and spoke directly
Speaker 1: to me through the closed window. See you soon, Eli, Morgan.
Speaker 1: Then we were past her, the Blackwoods growing smaller in
Speaker 1: the rear view mirror. No one spoke for several minutes. Finally,
Speaker 1: Peters holstered his weapon and radioed the vehicles behind us
Speaker 1: be advised, we have blackwood activity on the main road.
Speaker 1: Proceed with caution static. Then Colin's voice copy that we
Speaker 1: see them too. That's unusual, Garcia said quietly to Peters.
Speaker 1: They don't typically show themselves so openly. They're getting bolder,
Speaker 1: Peters replied, or desperate. Why would they be desperate? I asked.
Speaker 1: The rangers exchanged glances, food shortage. Peters said bluntly, they
Speaker 1: typically take a couple of hikers a year, but the
Speaker 1: drought has driven away a lot of the wild life
Speaker 1: they supplement with, and last year's search for those missing
Speaker 1: boy scouts put that whole area under scrutiny. They couldn't
Speaker 1: hunt without being noticed, so they're hungry, Maggie said, her
Speaker 1: voice hollow. Peters nodded, and you two wandered right into
Speaker 1: their territory because someone gave us permits for that area,
Speaker 1: I said, anger, rising someone who looked like a park ranger.
Speaker 1: We'll investigate that, Peters assured us. Check the records, see
Speaker 1: how this happened. But I could tell from his tone
Speaker 1: that he expected to find nothing or worse to find
Speaker 1: records that wouldn't match what we remembered, the Blackwoods bending
Speaker 1: reality again, covering their tracks. We drove in silence after that,
Speaker 1: each lost in our own thoughts. I kept replaying the
Speaker 1: events of the past two days, trying to make sense
Speaker 1: of them. The cabin appearing in different places, the confusion
Speaker 1: with directions, Martha knowing Maggie's name. Something still didn't add up.
Speaker 1: The rest of the journey passed without incident. We reached
Speaker 1: the parkhead quarters, where we were debriefed by more rangers
Speaker 1: and asked to provide detailed statements about our encounters with
Speaker 1: the Blackwoods. Everyone treated us with a mixture of sympathy
Speaker 1: and clinical detachment, like we were simultaneously victims and specimens.
Speaker 1: Throughout it all, Maggie remained unusually quiet. When I caught
Speaker 1: her eye, she'd smile reassuringly, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Speaker 1: Something was bothering her beyond the obvious trauma of our experience. Finally,
Speaker 1: as we waited for transport to take us to the
Speaker 1: hospital and wall for a more thorough examination, I pulled
Speaker 1: her aside. What is it? I asked, There's something you're
Speaker 1: not saying. She hesitated, glancing around to make sure no
Speaker 1: rangers were within earshot. David, she said, Finally, when he disappeared,
Speaker 1: I wasn't entirely truthful about what happened. My stomach nodded,
Speaker 1: what do you mean he didn't go hiking alone. I
Speaker 1: was with him in the bad lands. I stared at her,
Speaker 1: But you said, I know what I said. She cut
Speaker 1: me off, her voice tight. I said he went alone
Speaker 1: because I didn't want to be investigated. I didn't want
Speaker 1: to explain why I came back and he didn't. What happened,
Speaker 1: I asked, though part of me didn't want to know.
Speaker 1: Maggie took a shuddering breath. We got lost, like we
Speaker 1: did yesterday, kept going in circles, ending up at the
Speaker 1: same spots, no matter which direction we walked. Then we
Speaker 1: found the cabin. A cold feeling settled over me. You've
Speaker 1: seen the blackwoods before, she nodded. They invited us in,
Speaker 1: said they'd show us the way back to the trail.
Speaker 1: David wanted to go with them. I didn't, we argued.
Speaker 1: He went with them and I her voice faltered. I
Speaker 1: ran just left him there because you sensed something was wrong,
Speaker 1: I said, trying to understand yes, but I should have
Speaker 1: tried harder to stop him, or gone for help immediately. Instead,
Speaker 1: I panicked, hiked out on my own and told every
Speaker 1: one he'd gone missing during a solo trip. Tears welled
Speaker 1: in her eyes. I've been living with that guilt for
Speaker 1: two years. That's why I wanted to come back here
Speaker 1: to face it, to try to find out what happened
Speaker 1: to him, And you brought me into it, I said,
Speaker 1: the realization dawning without telling me the danger, I'm sorry,
Speaker 1: she whispered. I didn't think they'd still be here, or
Speaker 1: that they'd remember me. I felt a surge of anger,
Speaker 1: but it faded quickly. Looking at Maggie's tear streaked face.
Speaker 1: I couldn't bring myself to add to her guilt. We survived,
Speaker 1: I said, Finally, that's what matters. She nodded, gratefully, wiping
Speaker 1: her eyes. Arranger approached Collins from the Sheep Mountain Station.
Speaker 1: Transport's ready, she said, we'll take you to Wall Medical Center.
Speaker 1: Have you checked out, then you can make arrangements to
Speaker 1: get home. What about our car, I asked, it's still
Speaker 1: at the trailhead. We'll have it brought to you, Collin's assured,
Speaker 1: us all your belongings too. As we followed her outside
Speaker 1: to a waiting van, I asked, what's going to happen
Speaker 1: about the Blackwoods? They're still out there. Colin's expression hardened.
Speaker 1: We'll increase patrols close that entire section of the park
Speaker 1: if necessary, but honestly, they'll probably just go quiet for
Speaker 1: a while, then resurface when attention dies down. It's a
Speaker 1: cycle we've seen before, and you just accept that. People
Speaker 1: disappearing in a national park. The anger I hadn't directed
Speaker 1: at Maggie found a new target. Colin stopped, turning to
Speaker 1: face me. We do everything we can with the resources
Speaker 1: we have, but we're park rangers, not an army, and
Speaker 1: the Blackwoods they're not something you can fight with conventional methods.
Speaker 1: Then what are they, Maggie asked, really. Collins hesitated, then
Speaker 1: said there's a Lakota word for them, joachinyan sappa, the
Speaker 1: black spirits, beings that were once human but chose to
Speaker 1: feed on their own kind and became something else. The
Speaker 1: land itself protects them now, or maybe they've become part
Speaker 1: of it. Either way, they've been here a lot longer
Speaker 1: than we have, and they'll probably be here long after
Speaker 1: We're gone. With that sobering thought, we were loaded into
Speaker 1: the van and driven to wall. The medical check revealed
Speaker 1: nothing unusual, just dehydration, minor scrapes and blisters from my
Speaker 1: new boots. We were given something to help us sleep
Speaker 1: and a referral for counseling to deal with the trauma.
Speaker 1: Our car was delivered as promised, along with our belongings.
Speaker 1: Everything seemed untouched, though I couldn't shake the feeling something
Speaker 1: was different. We spent one night in a local motel,
Speaker 1: then began the long drive back to Manhattan the following morning.
Speaker 1: We didn't speak much during the ja ernie. What was
Speaker 1: there to say. Our relationship, already strained before the trip,
Speaker 1: had been fundamentally altered by what we'd experienced. Not broken exactly,
Speaker 1: but changed into something neither of us fully recognized yet.
Speaker 1: As South Dakota fell away behind us, I thought about
Speaker 1: the Blackwoods, their two wide smiles, their hunger, the way
Speaker 1: they bent reality around them. I wondered how many other
Speaker 1: hikers would encounter them in the years to come, lured
Speaker 1: by falsified permits or manipulated maps into that pocket of
Speaker 1: twisted space the locals called a thin place. On our
Speaker 1: second night on the road, we stopped at a motel
Speaker 1: in Ohio. As I was unpacking my bag, I found
Speaker 1: something I didn't recognize, A small, leather bound journal tucked
Speaker 1: between my clothes, Maggie's journal, the one Jeremiah had been
Speaker 1: holding with trembling hands. I opened it. Most of the
Speaker 1: pages were filled with Maggie's familiar handwriting, trip plans, personal reflections,
Speaker 1: sketches of plants and animals. But the last entry was different.
Speaker 1: The handwriting was spidery and unfamiliar. See you next time,
Speaker 1: he lie, Morgan. The land remembers, and so do we.
Speaker 1: I closed the journal and set it aside, my hands shaking.
Speaker 1: I didn't show it to Maggie. She'd been through enough.
Speaker 1: We reached New York three days after escaping the bad Lands.
Speaker 1: Maggie moved out of our shared department a week later.
Speaker 1: We both needed space, she said, time to process what
Speaker 1: had happened. I didn't argue. Sometimes at night I dream
Speaker 1: of the bad Lands, those alien spires and buttes, the
Speaker 1: vast silence, the circle of stones around our tent. And
Speaker 1: in the dreams, I'm always walking, walking, trying to find
Speaker 1: my way out, while behind me Martha's singing drifts on
Speaker 1: the wind, and sometimes just as I wake, I catch
Speaker 1: a glimpse of pale eyes watching me from the corner
Speaker 1: of my bedroom, or hear a soft chuckle that sounds
Speaker 1: like Jeremiah. The doctors call it PTSD. They've given me
Speaker 1: medication that helps most of the time. But occasionally I'll
Speaker 1: find small stones arranged in a circle on my window sill,
Speaker 1: or catch the scent of prairie grass in a Manhattan
Speaker 1: apartment where no such plants exist. And I know that
Speaker 1: Collins was right about one thing. The blackwoods have become
Speaker 1: part of the land, and the land remembers. It remembers,
Speaker 1: and it waits, and sometimes when you're not looking, it
Speaker 1: follows you home. My name is Eli Morgan. I'm thirty
Speaker 1: four years old, and I'm never going hiking again. My
Speaker 1: name is Marcus Thorne. I'm thirty four years old. This
Speaker 1: happened in October twenty twenty three, and I still struggled
Speaker 1: to sleep through the night. Looking back, I should have
Speaker 1: seen the warning signs. The way Eliza's dog, Rusty, refused
Speaker 1: to leave the car when we arrived at the trailhead,
Speaker 1: the strange silence in the forest not a single bird
Speaker 1: call or insect chirp. The subtle unease that settled over
Speaker 1: our group like a fine mist as we ventured deeper
Speaker 1: into the Black Hills wilderness of South Dakota. We're almost
Speaker 1: to the lookout point, I said, consulting the trail map
Speaker 1: should be another mile or so. Our hiking group consisted
Speaker 1: of four co workers from the marketing agency where we
Speaker 1: all worked in Minneapolis, myself, my girlfriend Eliza Chen thirty two,
Speaker 1: creative director and owner of an overly protective Australian shepherd
Speaker 1: named Rusty. Devon Wallace twenty nine, our social media specialist
Speaker 1: and self proclaimed survival expert, and Naomi Blackwell, thirty five,
Speaker 1: account manager and the one who'd suggested this particular trail
Speaker 1: in the first place. Are you sure this is the
Speaker 1: right way, Eliza asked, brushing her dark hair from her
Speaker 1: face as she squinted at the increasingly narrow path ahead.
Speaker 1: Rusty whined softly at her side, pressing against her leg.
Speaker 1: The trail markers stopped a while back. I checked the
Speaker 1: GPS on my phone, signals weak, but yeah, this should
Speaker 1: be it. Custard peak trail. Devon adjusted his backpack straps
Speaker 1: well the map says there's a gorgeous view at the summit,
Speaker 1: and we've already hiked four miles. I'm not turning back now.
Speaker 1: He'd always been stubborn that way. Once Devin set his
Speaker 1: mind on something, there was no changing it. His confidence
Speaker 1: could be reassuring, but sometimes it veered into recklessness. I've
Speaker 1: hiked these hills before, Naomi said, though something in her
Speaker 1: voice sounded off, but not this specific trail. The ranger
Speaker 1: at the station said it was less traveled, but worth
Speaker 1: it for the views. The early all right,