Speaker 1: Stone River by Neoma, finn For the most part, all
Speaker 1: American towns are the same. That can be split into
Speaker 1: small villages and towns, medium sized cities, and large metropolis,
Speaker 1: But no matter how you slice them, the similarities are obvious.
Speaker 1: Each town, of course, has its own traditions or claim
Speaker 1: to fame that will make it unique in one way
Speaker 1: or another, But for the most part, all American towns
Speaker 1: are the same. Like most towns. Where I live, we
Speaker 1: have a carnival every spring, a fair each summer, and
Speaker 1: a harvest festival in the fall. They're no different and
Speaker 1: generally not as impressive as the carnivals, fairs, and festivals
Speaker 1: held in any of our neighboring towns. Every December of
Speaker 1: the mayor's office decorates main street with lights and glittery
Speaker 1: images of snow men, reindeer, and Santa Claus, and there
Speaker 1: is a Christmas parade. All of our neighboring towns do
Speaker 1: the same. When I was a kid, my parents would
Speaker 1: take me down to the town square so that we
Speaker 1: could walk from storefront to storefront looking at the animatronic elves,
Speaker 1: building toys and dioramas of Santa's workshop, or wintery images
Speaker 1: of forest animals decorating living Christmas trees in the woods.
Speaker 1: I would ooh and a, and the shop owners would
Speaker 1: give me a candy cane for my efforts with the
Speaker 1: advent of shopping malls in political correctness. Even in a
Speaker 1: town as isolated as ours, that is all now a
Speaker 1: thing of the past. The nearest shopping mall is thirty
Speaker 1: miles away, but people would rather go there than enjoy
Speaker 1: the small shops owned by locals. It isn't any of
Speaker 1: these things that make our town unique. Our town is
Speaker 1: unique because in Stone River we have rules. Don't leave
Speaker 1: the house alone after dark or before dawn. Lock all
Speaker 1: the doors and windows every night, never leave a window open,
Speaker 1: don't camp out. Farmers should always put livestock inside barns
Speaker 1: at night, never leave them to graze in the pasture.
Speaker 1: Travel in pairs, never alone, And before you leave home,
Speaker 1: call ahead to let them know you're coming, and when
Speaker 1: you get there, call home to let them know you've arrived.
Speaker 1: These rules, and the dozens of variations of them, are
Speaker 1: what we live by in Stone River. When the occasional
Speaker 1: stranger moves to town, here or she will inevitably break
Speaker 1: those rules out of ignorance, we have a welcoming committee
Speaker 1: here for the express purpose of letting the stranger know
Speaker 1: as soon as possible about our rules. But without a
Speaker 1: clear understanding of why we have such rules, they generally
Speaker 1: ignore them, sometimes until it's too late. We could tell
Speaker 1: them while we have rules. It's just that explaining our
Speaker 1: reasoning isn't as easy as it might seem. After all,
Speaker 1: how do you tell a stranger that monsters live in
Speaker 1: our woods and they have a preference for human flesh.
Speaker 1: I don't know when the rules began. I'm almost sixty
Speaker 1: three years old, and as far back as I can remember,
Speaker 1: those rules have existed. My grandmother, however, was fond of
Speaker 1: talking about a time before the rules. She was born
Speaker 1: in nineteen nineteen, and that means they were set in
Speaker 1: place sometime during the twentieth century. That isn't when the
Speaker 1: monsters first appeared. Local lore indicates that they were here
Speaker 1: long before Europeans arrived. The earliest tales came from the
Speaker 1: native people who lived here. They spoke of wolves that
Speaker 1: would come into their camps at night and steal away
Speaker 1: children and the elderly and the weak. In these stories,
Speaker 1: the wolves hunted in packs like other wolves, but on
Speaker 1: two legs like a man. That's how we know it's
Speaker 1: the same creature that hunts our woods. Today they're all
Speaker 1: on two legs, and they no longer hunt in packs.
Speaker 1: Maybe they've advanced beyond pack mentality. Maybe they've become so
Speaker 1: aggressive that they can't get along with each other, so
Speaker 1: they have to remain solitary. Or maybe there aren't enough
Speaker 1: of them left out there to form packs. That is
Speaker 1: our town's one great hope. Maybe they're dying out, going extinct.
Speaker 1: Maybe someday we'll be free of them until such a
Speaker 1: day as the two legged wolves disappear. Forever, we keep
Speaker 1: our rules. Every child born in Stone River knows them
Speaker 1: by heart before they enter school. Every newcomer is worn
Speaker 1: and prayed for, and every visitor is watched over. Even so,
Speaker 1: there are some who don't survive. My grandmother was fond
Speaker 1: of telling her stories. A favorite one was the story
Speaker 1: of the man who came through Stone Rivers shortly after
Speaker 1: World War II ended. It may have been before the rules.
Speaker 1: I couldn't say. He was a wealthy man and a
Speaker 1: bit full of himself, grandmother would tell us. She described
Speaker 1: him as a big dresser. Now, I used to imagine
Speaker 1: a man as a tall piece of bedroom furniture when
Speaker 1: I was little. It wasn't until I was fifteen or
Speaker 1: so that I realized that she meant that his clothes
Speaker 1: were fancy. His suits were clearly tailored to fit his
Speaker 1: broad physique, and his shoes were polished to a brilliant shine,
Speaker 1: and he wore a fedora cocked sideways on his head.
Speaker 1: In addition to this, he kept a cigar firmly gripped
Speaker 1: between his teeth at all times. No one ever forgot
Speaker 1: the man's name, because he walked around in town introducing
Speaker 1: himself constantly. His deep booming voice reverberated up and down
Speaker 1: the streets as he reached out a big hand and
Speaker 1: violently shook the unsuspecting hand of whomever he crossed paths with.
Speaker 1: How do you do? He'd say? Names, Parker, Everett, Gordon, Parker,
Speaker 1: Folks call me EG for short. The poor fool who
Speaker 1: allowed him to virtually shake an arm off would then
Speaker 1: be forced to listen while he regalled him or her
Speaker 1: with stories of a resort. He planned a bill outside
Speaker 1: the town. He assured everyone that it would bring wealth
Speaker 1: and prosperity to our little village, and everyone would thank
Speaker 1: him for it. Later E. G. Parker brought a small
Speaker 1: crew of men to look over the land shortly after
Speaker 1: he arrived. There were four of them. Two were surveyors,
Speaker 1: one was an engineer, and the other was from the
Speaker 1: bank that was helping to finance this magnificent resort. They
Speaker 1: all arrived on a Friday and checked into the local hotel.
Speaker 1: That night, they ate a big dinner at Belitera, a
Speaker 1: fancy little Italian restaurant down on Third. The next morning
Speaker 1: they got up and headed out to the woods. Grandma said,
Speaker 1: the men drove out of town in the kind of
Speaker 1: maroon station wagon with wood panel doors that people used
Speaker 1: to call woodies. When everyone saw the camping gear piled
Speaker 1: on the roof, they knew these men wouldn't be coming back. Well,
Speaker 1: why didn't anyone stop them? They used to ask at
Speaker 1: this point, But Grandma would shake her head mournfully and say,
Speaker 1: who would have believed them? A week later, some men
Speaker 1: decided to go out to the woods to try to
Speaker 1: find them. They found the campsite, They found the woody.
Speaker 1: They found all the camping tools and the surveying tools,
Speaker 1: in a good supply of food, most of which was
Speaker 1: never touched. They even found a chewed up cigar on
Speaker 1: the ground with a single tooth embedded in it, but E. G.
Speaker 1: Parker and the crew were gone. When they walked around
Speaker 1: to the far side of the tents, they discovered torn
Speaker 1: shreds like some kind of an animal had clawed its
Speaker 1: way in, dried blood stained the tattered edges of the canvas.
Speaker 1: Any other evidence of what might have happened was gone
Speaker 1: a race by rainstorm earlier in the week. Grandma said
Speaker 1: the old cor could still be found in the woods
Speaker 1: by anyone brave enough to venture out there. There aren't
Speaker 1: many who will go into the woods around our town
Speaker 1: each fall. There are a few determined deer hunters. In
Speaker 1: every spring at least two or three turkey hunters wander
Speaker 1: out there, but most of us are too afraid. I
Speaker 1: can still remember what happened back in the early nineteen
Speaker 1: seventies to Alan Finnegan and Lisa Tinsdale. Alan and Lisa
Speaker 1: were the darlings of Stone River High School. He was
Speaker 1: a star running back of the football team and a
Speaker 1: captain of the basketball team. He was a cheerleader and
Speaker 1: president of the Future Homemakers of America club. To No
Speaker 1: one's surprised they were crowned King and Queen of the Homecoming.
Speaker 1: It said that they would have been crowned King and
Speaker 1: Queen of Prom too if they had lived. Who knows
Speaker 1: what made them think that they would be okay to
Speaker 1: go parking in the woods that night. The general consensus
Speaker 1: is that they weren't parking at all, at least not intentionally.
Speaker 1: Lisa lived on a farm at the edge of the woods,
Speaker 1: and Allen lived in town. The popular theory indicates that
Speaker 1: they were most likely driving around and spending every last
Speaker 1: minute together that they could before Lisa had to be
Speaker 1: home for curfew. They probably didn't notice that the gas
Speaker 1: tank was nearly empty. The car was out of gas
Speaker 1: when they found it, but the ignition was on, so
Speaker 1: it might not have run out of gas until after
Speaker 1: they were gone. That's only speculation. The morning after the
Speaker 1: kids I didn't come home, both sets of parents called
Speaker 1: the police. A search party was formed to comb the
Speaker 1: town in all of the surrounding woods. It didn't take
Speaker 1: long to find them, less than a mile from Lisa's
Speaker 1: family's farm, on a narrow gravel road that cut through
Speaker 1: the woods down to the river. Allen's in nineteen sixty
Speaker 1: eight green Mustang Fastback sat alone. It looked as though
Speaker 1: the kids had parked it and decided to go for
Speaker 1: a stroll. Anywhere else on earth that might have been
Speaker 1: a consideration, but not in the Stone River. Children no
Speaker 1: more than five, no better than to get out of
Speaker 1: a car and walk through the woods at night in
Speaker 1: Stone River. Bob Dettweller, the deputy in charge, claimed to
Speaker 1: have nightmares about that day for the rest of his life.
Speaker 1: It was his group that first discovered the car, and
Speaker 1: when they walked around to the passenger side, it was
Speaker 1: clear that the window on that side was broken out.
Speaker 1: Little rivers of blood traced their way down shards of
Speaker 1: glass and dried in mid flow before reaching the bottom.
Speaker 1: Ted Brenner covered his nose and hissed at the acrid
Speaker 1: odor that drifted out of the vehicle. Smells like something
Speaker 1: marked it's turf here, he said, through a handkerchief that
Speaker 1: he pulled from his pocket. Everyone around him stopped and
Speaker 1: turned to look into the dense woods around them. Over there,
Speaker 1: Charlie Henderson cried, pointing at something that could have been
Speaker 1: nothing more than a pile of discarded clothing. The men
Speaker 1: walked the twenty five feet to the clothes and stared
Speaker 1: down at it. Bob Datweller knelt down on one knee
Speaker 1: and pushed at a piece of cloth. It flopped to
Speaker 1: the side, revealing Alan's sightless eye. Someone gasped, and someone
Speaker 1: else's gagged. Another person issued a horrified oh my God,
Speaker 1: and still another said what in the hell. Deputy debt
Speaker 1: Weller pulled the material back a little further and revealed
Speaker 1: what was left of Alan's face. His jaw had been
Speaker 1: partially ripped off, and the tip of his nose looked
Speaker 1: as though it had been bitten off, and his tongue
Speaker 1: was gone. When Bob poked around the materials some more
Speaker 1: and realized that only Alan's head was under this pile,
Speaker 1: he quickly looked around for more. Fifteen or twenty minutes later,
Speaker 1: and partially buried under some dried leaves, they found Alan's torso.
Speaker 1: It had been disemboweled. The autopsy report would indicate that
Speaker 1: all major organs were missing. His legs and arms were
Speaker 1: found scattered about the forest floor within one hundred feet
Speaker 1: of the torso. Debt Weller called in there fine and
Speaker 1: requested the corner, and then he looked around for the
Speaker 1: female body. When Lisa didn't immediately reveal herself on that
Speaker 1: side of the road, the men crossed over and began
Speaker 1: to search the woods on the opposite side, and that's
Speaker 1: where they found her. I was an adult before I
Speaker 1: learned the full details in the condition of her body,
Speaker 1: and to this day I can't bring myself to describe it.
Speaker 1: My eyes always glaze over when I think about it,
Speaker 1: and by all wells up in my belly and I
Speaker 1: have to stop. There's a corner's report on record at
Speaker 1: the courthouse. I'm told it includes photographs, and it isn't
Speaker 1: something that I want to see. The hunters who go
Speaker 1: into the woods sometimes don't come back, and those who
Speaker 1: do tell horrific tales of being stalked, or give descriptions
Speaker 1: of tall, wolf headed animals on two legs, howling and
Speaker 1: sometimes growling at them. Once in a while, a hunter
Speaker 1: will bring something out of the woods with him that
Speaker 1: will explain this disappearance or that. One man found a
Speaker 1: doll that belonged to a little girl who disappeared out
Speaker 1: of her backyard. Another brought out parts of a bicycle
Speaker 1: that looked like the one ridden by a teenage boy
Speaker 1: who had vanished. These are the reasons why we have
Speaker 1: rules in Stone River. It's just too bad that sometimes,
Speaker 1: and through no fault of our own, those rules have
Speaker 1: to be broken. I would never have broken any of
Speaker 1: them if I could have helped it, I certainly never
Speaker 1: meant to. It just happened. My grandson turned seven years
Speaker 1: old last year. He is the light of my existence.
Speaker 1: When my son and his wife decided to move away
Speaker 1: from here, I thought I'd die of loneliness until I
Speaker 1: realized that they wouldn't have rules where they moved to. However,
Speaker 1: in order to spend my grandson's birthdays with him, I
Speaker 1: have to drive sixteen hours. Last year, I went out
Speaker 1: on a Monday intent on spending the entire week with
Speaker 1: my grandson. We were going to visit the zoo, go fishing,
Speaker 1: and watch TV together. It was his week and anything
Speaker 1: he wanted was all right with me. On Thursday, I
Speaker 1: got a phone call that I would cut my visit short.
Speaker 1: My little brother was in the hospital and he was
Speaker 1: barely hanging on to life. He had apparently had a
Speaker 1: heart attack. And even though we have never been especially close,
Speaker 1: he's eight years younger than I am. He was my
Speaker 1: little brother when we were younger. Despite our age difference,
Speaker 1: we were close. However, his wife never approved of me.
Speaker 1: She's better educated and probably a great deal more intelligent.
Speaker 1: His job with the city was a lot more impressive
Speaker 1: than mine at the factory. Well, none of that mattered now.
Speaker 1: My sole thought was to get home and to be
Speaker 1: with him. I was nearly all the way there when
Speaker 1: my sister in law phoned to let me know that
Speaker 1: he didn't make it. I was too late. We spoke
Speaker 1: for quite a while. It was a close she and
Speaker 1: I had ever come to having a real conversation. She
Speaker 1: expressed her plans for his funeral and burial, and I
Speaker 1: told her that I would do whatever I could do
Speaker 1: to help. Well. She thanked me and asked me if
Speaker 1: I thought our church would be willing to host the
Speaker 1: dinner afterward. I said I was sure it would, and
Speaker 1: that I would contact our pastor in the morning. We
Speaker 1: hung up and I pulled over for a minute. I
Speaker 1: tried not to cry. I'm old fashioned that way. Men
Speaker 1: don't cry. I cried that night. Once I was in
Speaker 1: control of myself again, I got back on the road
Speaker 1: and headed home. I knew I would have to call
Speaker 1: my son in the morning. For now, I simply wanted
Speaker 1: to go to bed. My phone beeped a short, high toned,
Speaker 1: ringing sound. I picked it up and stared at the screen.
Speaker 1: It didn't appear that there was any reason for it
Speaker 1: to do that. Another ten miles and I would be
Speaker 1: off the interstate, and then it would be seven miles
Speaker 1: to town, three or four minutes to cross it in
Speaker 1: two more miles to my house on the other side.
Speaker 1: My phone made that strange beeping sound again, and I
Speaker 1: picked it up, and I stared at the screen, and
Speaker 1: again there didn't seem to be a reason for it
Speaker 1: to do that. I was off the interstate and on
Speaker 1: the highway to town when my phone made that strange
Speaker 1: sound again, and once again there was nothing to indicate
Speaker 1: what that sound meant. It occurred to me that I
Speaker 1: had heard it making that sound once or twice while
Speaker 1: I was speaking with my sister in law. The last
Speaker 1: thing I needed was for my phone to give out
Speaker 1: on me. Now. I didn't want to make the forty
Speaker 1: mile drive to Springfield to get it fixed or to
Speaker 1: buy a new one. And for the love of Pete,
Speaker 1: why why now? Irrational anger was taking over when that
Speaker 1: sound happened one last time before my truck died for
Speaker 1: the first time in hours. I glanced down at the
Speaker 1: dashboard and I coasted to a star as my eyes
Speaker 1: fixed on the little red gas indicator. It wasn't my
Speaker 1: phone that had been beeping at me. It was my
Speaker 1: truck telling me that I hadn't put gas in it
Speaker 1: for some three hundred and fifty miles. How could I
Speaker 1: have been so stupid? As late as it was, I
Speaker 1: knew there wouldn't be any open gas stations in town.
Speaker 1: We have rules in Stone River. Even if there were
Speaker 1: an open gas station, how was I going to get there?
Speaker 1: Walk alone at night? Not in Stone River. I ran
Speaker 1: through the list of rules that had regulated my entire
Speaker 1: existence since birth. What should I do? My mind was
Speaker 1: mired in a fog of exhaustion from the long driving,
Speaker 1: sorrow from my loss. I couldn't seem to remember what
Speaker 1: I should do, So I decided the best thing for
Speaker 1: me to do would be to sit still. Certainly the
Speaker 1: police would be out on patrol. My phone told me
Speaker 1: it was eleven thirty PM. I sat it down on
Speaker 1: the seat beside me and took a deep breath and
Speaker 1: exhaled slowly. Why couldn't I focus enough to know what
Speaker 1: to do. Minutes later, it occurred to me that I
Speaker 1: should use my phone to call the police if I
Speaker 1: needed further proof of my mental exhaustion. Not thinking to
Speaker 1: make a simple phone call would have been it. I
Speaker 1: reached down to pick it up, and of course I
Speaker 1: knocked it onto the floorboard. It's sixty one. The thought
Speaker 1: of squirming around in my seat to reach down and
Speaker 1: pick up made my bones hurt, so before doing so,
Speaker 1: I reached up and flipped on the interior light so
Speaker 1: I could see it. It had slid all the way
Speaker 1: across the passenger door. I sighed, and I lifted my
Speaker 1: arm rest out of the way and bent over and
Speaker 1: stretched out my arm. My fingers barely touched the phone,
Speaker 1: and little by little I managed to work it toward
Speaker 1: me until I could get a good grasp on it. Now,
Speaker 1: the blood had rushed to my face, and my lungs
Speaker 1: felt deprived of oxygen, and a muscle on my left
Speaker 1: side was threatening to cramp. I sat up and flipped
Speaker 1: off the overhead light and stared at the wolf that
Speaker 1: was now standing at the front of my truck, staring
Speaker 1: back at me. The ridiculous image of bugs Bunny doing
Speaker 1: battle with the big bad wolf flashed through my mind.
Speaker 1: It was everything I had ever imagined. It was large
Speaker 1: and had upright ears and red glowing eyes and a
Speaker 1: mouthful of sharp, jagged teeth, and it was standing on
Speaker 1: two legs like a man. There was something malevolent in
Speaker 1: that creature's expression. Even more frightening was the level of
Speaker 1: intelligence that I could see. White hot anger permeated the
Speaker 1: air around it in the form of steam that rose
Speaker 1: off its heavy muscle fur covered body and swirled in
Speaker 1: the beams of my headlights. Our eye eyes were locked
Speaker 1: in a silent battle. The physical fight would be useless.
Speaker 1: Somewhere deep inside my conscious mind, I felt some primal
Speaker 1: voice screaming for flight. That too, would end badly. I
Speaker 1: wasn't going to outrun this thing at the height of
Speaker 1: my youth, when my body was at its finest. I
Speaker 1: would not have outrun this monster at my current age.
Speaker 1: I wasn't sure that I could even slide to the
Speaker 1: other side of the truck. My hand ran along the
Speaker 1: arm rest on the door to find the lock button,
Speaker 1: and I hit it and then jumped. When that thing
Speaker 1: reacted to the clicking sound with deliberate movements that I
Speaker 1: was sure were meant to instill absolute terror in me.
Speaker 1: It turned and began to make its way around the
Speaker 1: side of my truck. Oh my god, it was coming
Speaker 1: to the driver's window. I remembered that Lisa's car window
Speaker 1: had been shattered all those years ago. The screeching sound
Speaker 1: one of the long claws being dragged along the side
Speaker 1: of my truck rang in my ears, and I realized
Speaker 1: then that my heart was beating against my ribs, like
Speaker 1: a moth against a screen window. No, I yelled, but
Speaker 1: I'm not sure if I did so out loud. Somewhere
Speaker 1: in the back of my mind, A voice was calmly saying,
Speaker 1: call the police. Your phone is in your hand, Call
Speaker 1: the police. And my hands obeyed, even when my mind
Speaker 1: could not nine one one. What is your emergency? A
Speaker 1: voice said, I'm broke down on Highwaii nineteen. I answered,
Speaker 1: there's a I suddenly didn't know what to call it.
Speaker 1: What did we call them in Stone River? It occurred
Speaker 1: to me that no one had ever given them a name.
Speaker 1: These days, people would say dog man. I didn't remember
Speaker 1: anyone in Stone River ever using that word. It was
Speaker 1: now staring at me through the driver's side window. What
Speaker 1: are you, I ask in a small, pathetic voice. At
Speaker 1: any other moment, under any other circumstances, I would have
Speaker 1: laughed at myself for being so ludicrous, Sir. The voice
Speaker 1: on the other end of the phone asked, is someone
Speaker 1: else there? Yes, I said meekly. Is that person threatening you?
Speaker 1: She asked, yes, No, yes, it's not a person, I stuttered,
Speaker 1: not a person. The panic I was already fighting increased
Speaker 1: exponentially with the realization that I might not have connected
Speaker 1: with a local nine to one one operator. A local
Speaker 1: operator would not have sounded quite so shocked at the
Speaker 1: words not a person. It's a I tried to say.
Speaker 1: It growled fogging the thin sheet of glassed between us. Oh,
Speaker 1: she said when she heard the sound. Thank god it
Speaker 1: was a local operator. She knew what I was dealing with.
Speaker 1: Help me, I said, shaking. It's right outside my window.
Speaker 1: Can you get away? She asked, Now, my vehicle's out
Speaker 1: of gas. Do you know what my marker your own?
Speaker 1: I don't. Looking around, I tried to find a landmark
Speaker 1: to indicate how far I was from town. The world
Speaker 1: around me was nothing but black, dense woods to my
Speaker 1: right and an empty corn fill to my left. Maybe
Speaker 1: I'm three or four miles out of town, I offered,
Speaker 1: never mind, she said, I pinged your cell phone. There's
Speaker 1: a patrol car minutes from you. Help us on the way.
Speaker 1: The loud pop of breaking glass shocked me out of
Speaker 1: a microsecond of relief that I felt. I saw a
Speaker 1: spider web of cracks, behind which I was sure that
Speaker 1: face was laughing in victory. I slid as far from
Speaker 1: the window as I could, and I turned to reach
Speaker 1: for the opposite door. Was I really going to jump
Speaker 1: out of this truck? Beside me? I heard another loud
Speaker 1: pop and felt the force of more glass begin to shadow.
Speaker 1: Oh Lord, help me. I began to pray as I
Speaker 1: crawled across the seat like a frightened toddler. Behind me,
Speaker 1: an arm reached in and grabbed my leg. I felt
Speaker 1: the searing pain of its claws sinking into my flesh,
Speaker 1: and I felt the hot blood soak my pant leg,
Speaker 1: and I felt my bladder release. No, this time, I knew.
Speaker 1: I said it out loud, and I spun around hard
Speaker 1: and began to kick at the beast. It swiped back,
Speaker 1: opening another set of wounds, but it failed to get
Speaker 1: a firm grasp on me. A siren rang in the distance.
Speaker 1: I kicked harder and screamed louder. I was not going
Speaker 1: to give up without a fight. And again and again
Speaker 1: I kicked at this thing. Again and again. I felt
Speaker 1: my flesh tear away in its claws, and then I
Speaker 1: felt its hand wrap around my ankle. It had me.
Speaker 1: I reached out to grab anything to keep it from
Speaker 1: pulling me out of my truck. There wasn't much but
Speaker 1: what I could find I held on to as tightly
Speaker 1: as I could. My free leg made contact with its face,
Speaker 1: and it released a furious howl. Dear God, help me,
Speaker 1: I screamed. Don't let this thing get me. Flashing lights
Speaker 1: lit up the road ahead of me. I don't want
Speaker 1: to die, I screamed. It managed to get me back
Speaker 1: across the cab to the window. Now I was fighting
Speaker 1: to keep it from pulling me all the way out
Speaker 1: of the vehicle. I screamed and cussed at it. My
Speaker 1: free leg kicked and my arms flailed. Everything inside me
Speaker 1: fought to survive. Glass ripped through my back as it
Speaker 1: hauled me across the broken window, and the world turned
Speaker 1: upside down as it lifted me by my ankle into
Speaker 1: the air. With its free hand, it was trying to
Speaker 1: get a hold of my head so it could turn
Speaker 1: me over. I wasn't done fighting the My other foot
Speaker 1: planted itself into the thing's face, and it howled again.
Speaker 1: I knew I was losing the fight. I knew I
Speaker 1: wasn't going to survive this night. I knew that I
Speaker 1: would be with my brother soon. But in defiance of
Speaker 1: this knowledge, my body twisted and writhed to keep the
Speaker 1: end from coming. The creature's free hand wrapped itself around
Speaker 1: my neck. It dropped my leg and lifted me high
Speaker 1: into the air with its teeth bared as it opened
Speaker 1: its mouth wide to clamp down on my throat. I
Speaker 1: knew I was going to die. I don't know where
Speaker 1: the deputy aimed his gun when he fired. I assumed
Speaker 1: that he fired into the air. How could he do
Speaker 1: otherwise without the risk of hitting me. But the next
Speaker 1: thing I knew I was being thrown aside. My body
Speaker 1: was literally thrown six feet into the road. More gunshots
Speaker 1: filled the air as it turned and moved toward the
Speaker 1: squad car. I was struggling to get to my feet
Speaker 1: when I heard someone yell stay down, so I obeyed.
Speaker 1: I was too weak to get up anyway. How long
Speaker 1: I lay there while they shot at the beast, I
Speaker 1: don't know. Time has a way of slowing to a
Speaker 1: crawl in moments like this. I couldn't count the bullets.
Speaker 1: The headlights of the patrol car blinded me from seeing
Speaker 1: much more than shadows and silhouettes. And I heard it howling,
Speaker 1: and I saw well enough to know that it suddenly
Speaker 1: turned and jumped into the woods. An arm reached out
Speaker 1: from the haze of light and pulled me to my feet.
Speaker 1: That same arm went around me and allowed me to
Speaker 1: sack against it. I was walked to the squad car
Speaker 1: and pushed into the back seat. The siren rang out
Speaker 1: again as I slipped into unconsciousness. When I woke up,
Speaker 1: it was a day later. My body was covered in bandages,
Speaker 1: and I later learned that I had over five hundred
Speaker 1: stitches in my legs and back. There had been two
Speaker 1: cops in that squad car. If there had only been one,
Speaker 1: I doubt either of us would have survived. I should
Speaker 1: have known that a primary rule in Stone River is
Speaker 1: to never go out alone. I was fortunate to be
Speaker 1: released from the hospital in time for my brother's funeral.
Speaker 1: My sister in law was surprisingly forgiving of my inability
Speaker 1: to help with the plans. It could have been compassion
Speaker 1: on her part, or maybe it was all After all,
Speaker 1: I'm now the only person in the history of Stone
Speaker 1: River to have been attacked by one of those things
Speaker 1: and survive. The Binding Watch by Greg Ballin. I was
Speaker 1: fourteen years old that summer afternoon in nineteen seventy two.
Speaker 1: I was fishing in a small lagoon below the Monkey
Speaker 1: Bridge with few friends. The Monkey Bridge is simply three old,
Speaker 1: rusty pieces of cabling strung across two telephone poles, with
Speaker 1: some scattered old wood every few feet, fastened with rusty bolts.
Speaker 1: One had to be either part monkey or part insane
Speaker 1: to attempt crossing such a rickety structure. This bridge hung
Speaker 1: ominous over a lagoon inlet, home to the best fishing
Speaker 1: along the Chaws River. I was hoping to hook into
Speaker 1: some serious action and pass another summer day free from
Speaker 1: chores and schoolwork. My third cast snacks some deep bottom weeds,
Speaker 1: and after ten minutes of a struggle, I was able
Speaker 1: to reel in five pounds of muck weeds and lagoon bottom.
Speaker 1: My friends enjoyed a good life at the large circle
Speaker 1: of crap i'd captured. Now, I began the messy task
Speaker 1: of locating and freeing my favorite lure from the mess.
Speaker 1: In the minutest of foraging through the gunk, my fingers
Speaker 1: found a solid, round to object. I tugged on it
Speaker 1: a bit and managed to pull the encrusted thing free.
Speaker 1: I rinsed it in the water and was surprised to
Speaker 1: see an old watch emerged from the filth. The timepiece
Speaker 1: was remarkably preserved, but the leather belt loop was half
Speaker 1: rotted and soggy. The once polished chain was pitted and
Speaker 1: rust covered, and as my friends hooked into fish after fish,
Speaker 1: I continued to clean my treasure with a wet nap
Speaker 1: I had in my backpack. My friends glanced wide eyed
Speaker 1: at my treasure as I tucked it into my jeans
Speaker 1: and went back to fishing. We cast our lines for
Speaker 1: another hour, but the fish stopped biting as suddenly as
Speaker 1: they had started. The afternoon sun dipped below the treeline,
Speaker 1: casting long shadows across the black water. We packed our
Speaker 1: gear ready for the mild trek through the woods toward
Speaker 1: our neighborhood, and as we made our way through the
Speaker 1: thick canopy of oaks and elm forest. The ground behind
Speaker 1: us crunched with faint footfalls. Nearby branches rustled with no
Speaker 1: errant breeze. On more than one occasion, I'd glanced back,
Speaker 1: expecting to see deer or some other woodland creature disturbed
Speaker 1: by our passing. My friends also peeked back every so often,
Speaker 1: or they'd glance up at the canopy of branches. We
Speaker 1: heard something, but none of us felt the need to
Speaker 1: share that observation. I'd never felt comfortable in the woods
Speaker 1: behind my house, but I was relieved to finally see
Speaker 1: the main trail heading back to our neighborhood. After dinner,
Speaker 1: I showed my prize to my father and my grandfather,
Speaker 1: and my grandfather studied the watch. Gray eyes went in
Speaker 1: behind heavy glasses. He said the watch was made by
Speaker 1: a company back in eighteen seventy one. He said these
Speaker 1: watches were carried by the upper class of that era.
Speaker 1: Graps wound the mechanism and his jaw dropped watch began
Speaker 1: to tick and the second hand moved. After several years
Speaker 1: being in that lagoon, he took the watch to his
Speaker 1: bedroom and was gone for several minutes while I wolfed
Speaker 1: down my dessert, and as I finished the last bite,
Speaker 1: my grandfather presented me the watch, with a new leather
Speaker 1: loop and a silver carry chain. He had polished the
Speaker 1: timepiece and the glass casing, making it look almost good
Speaker 1: as new. The metal had some tarnish and the glass
Speaker 1: still had a few deep scratches, but it was mine.
Speaker 1: I felt drawn to this timepiece, something old and valuable.
Speaker 1: I'd rescued from oblivion with one cast of my fishing pole.
Speaker 1: That night, I put the watch on my dresser and
Speaker 1: happily went to bed, looking forward to more adventures with
Speaker 1: my friends. I don't remember falling asleep. I was back
Speaker 1: at the lagoon, but it seemed different. The monkey bridge
Speaker 1: was there, only in much better shape. I was climbing
Speaker 1: the metal pegs in a large pole, carefully making my
Speaker 1: way to the top, where thin wooden cross pieces formed
Speaker 1: the first part of the bridge. Unbridled waves of fear
Speaker 1: crashed through my body as I glanced down into the lagoon.
Speaker 1: Several of my friends shouted encouraging me. At least I
Speaker 1: thought they were my friends. I scarcely recognized a single
Speaker 1: soul urging me out on that swinging bridge of horror.
Speaker 1: I tried to stop myself from stepping on that first cable,
Speaker 1: but I couldn't control my legs. My arms stretched for
Speaker 1: the nearest cable to pull myself up. I placed my
Speaker 1: foot on the lower cable. The arrangement of wooden steel
Speaker 1: shimmied side to side like a rodeo bull. Both of
Speaker 1: my hands gripped the top cable, and my knuckles white
Speaker 1: from such a firm clasp. I eased my way over
Speaker 1: the lagoon, inch by inch, sliding each foot along the
Speaker 1: separate steel wire, only finding a solid foothole where a
Speaker 1: section of old planking remained unbroken. Rhythmic thumping grew louder
Speaker 1: and faster. It was the sound of my heart beating,
Speaker 1: fueled to this frenzy by my own fear. I tried
Speaker 1: to turn around, but had no control of my body.
Speaker 1: I kept inching forward until I was out in the
Speaker 1: middle of the lagoon. The bridge swayed and bowed under
Speaker 1: my weight, threatening to toss me like a man would
Speaker 1: do to an errant fly or a mosquito. My eyes
Speaker 1: fell upon the watch. It looked brand new, not a
Speaker 1: scratch or mark on it. As I took the next step,
Speaker 1: my right foot slipped, and in my angst I lost
Speaker 1: my grip on the cable. My head cracked on something
Speaker 1: as I fell backward, and my body plunged into the
Speaker 1: ice cold water. The dark lagoon swallowed me into its
Speaker 1: murky depths. I tried to swim and force my limbs
Speaker 1: to move, but they failed to respond, and my lamp
Speaker 1: body settled on the lagoon bottom. Wet clothing clung, encasing
Speaker 1: me like a mummy. I came to rest on a
Speaker 1: sunken section of treefall, and my left wrist was entangled
Speaker 1: in a network of branches. Swam damn it, I screamed
Speaker 1: in my head, but all I could feel was the
Speaker 1: icy cold water and the cold muck of the lagoon
Speaker 1: as it claimed me. The black water blanketed me, scorching
Speaker 1: my lungs as I inhale the fetid liquid. I woke
Speaker 1: screaming in terror. My head shot from my pillow as
Speaker 1: if fired from a cannon. The dark lagoon water gave
Speaker 1: way to the darkness of my basement bedroom. My head tingled,
Speaker 1: and the hair on my arms and neck stood up.
Speaker 1: Standing at the foot of my bed was a boy
Speaker 1: my age. He was reaching out to me. Vacant, hollow
Speaker 1: eyes studied me. I could see through his body. I
Speaker 1: opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out, a
Speaker 1: muted gasp of silent terror. The boy was reaching to me.
Speaker 1: He was pointing, help me. The words weren't mine, but
Speaker 1: they came from my mouth. The voice wasn't me either.
Speaker 1: I could smell the musty, dank odor of Briar's Lagoon.
Speaker 1: The scent of the river water was all over my body,
Speaker 1: embedded in the very sweat pouring from me like a fountain,
Speaker 1: and something warm ran down my thighs. I just wet myself.
Speaker 1: The embarrassment of suling myself shook me off the terror,
Speaker 1: and I felt the growing stain of pea in my pajamas.
Speaker 1: And I blinked once, and the boy was gone. Between shivers,
Speaker 1: I managed to turn on my nightstand lamp, dispersing the
Speaker 1: darkness with a sixty white bulb. I glanced over at
Speaker 1: the dresser and saw my watch. It was shiny but worn.
Speaker 1: I reached over from my prize possession and the second
Speaker 1: hand had stopped, and the time read four eighteen. I
Speaker 1: stared at the glowing amber hands on my alarm clock.
Speaker 1: It was just before one in the morning. This can't
Speaker 1: be right. The watch was working fine before I went
Speaker 1: to bed. The methodical ticking helped me drift off into
Speaker 1: a slumber. How could it be reading this time? Now?
Speaker 1: General ticking broke the silence. A fresh wave of goosebumps
Speaker 1: raised up my spine and down my arms, and the
Speaker 1: hairs on the nape of my neck stood as I shivered.
Speaker 1: My watch now read twelve forty five, and it was
Speaker 1: running again. What just happened? Had I really seen someone
Speaker 1: in my room and did the watch stop? I must
Speaker 1: have still been dreaming. I began the process of changing
Speaker 1: my underwear and pajama bottoms, thinking fate that my mattress
Speaker 1: and bedding were dry. The embarrassment of telling my mom
Speaker 1: I went to bed would have been too much. I
Speaker 1: stared at the lamp from the comfort of my mattress,
Speaker 1: wondering if the darkness would again summoned the boy specter.
Speaker 1: It had to just be part of a dream. My
Speaker 1: hand trembled, reaching for the lamp cord, hesitating as my
Speaker 1: fingertips rested on the small string. It was a dream.
Speaker 1: I pulled a cord. Darkness surrounded me. I put my
Speaker 1: head on a pillow and curled up in a ball
Speaker 1: and did my best to dismiss the terror as a
Speaker 1: simple nightmare from eating too much pepperoni pizza. I woke
Speaker 1: early the next morning. Last night's episode was forgotten. I
Speaker 1: had no luck fishing yesterday, but today would be different.
Speaker 1: I bring in a string of keepers. I ate my
Speaker 1: breakfast quickly and rushed to gather my fishing tackle, and
Speaker 1: I walked the mile of woodland paths, alarmed at the
Speaker 1: unusual silence. The normal background noise of birds and squirrels
Speaker 1: and grass was missing. But through the silence, a set
Speaker 1: of footsteps followed me, loud yet annoying and untraceable. The
Speaker 1: tingling and goosebumps soared through my body, and I picked
Speaker 1: up a fair sized rock and patted the fishing knife
Speaker 1: hanging off my belt. If that's you, Mike, it's not funny,
Speaker 1: I shouted into the silent woods, hoping my friend would
Speaker 1: materialize from behind one of the many large oak trees,
Speaker 1: laughing at my discomfort. Silence was my only answer. I
Speaker 1: took several stealthy steps and was rewarded with more nothing.
Speaker 1: I gave up and headed back for the lagoon. The
Speaker 1: comforting sound of bird song and the annoying whine of
Speaker 1: horseflies returned. The annoying buzz around my head replaced the
Speaker 1: eerie silence. These flying pests became welcome company. I assumed
Speaker 1: a code was nearby looking for its breakfast, and the
Speaker 1: large predator so close accounted for the eerie silence and
Speaker 1: the footsteps shadowing me. Obviously, I wasn't a rabbit or
Speaker 1: a deer, so the canine quickly lost interest and moved on.
Speaker 1: I approached the lagoon, my eyes transfixed on the monkey bridge.
Speaker 1: I looked up at the rusted and weathered death trap,
Speaker 1: recalling the vivid images from my dream. A force compelled
Speaker 1: me to walk over to that large support pole. I
Speaker 1: found myself standing at the base of the main support post,
Speaker 1: looking thirty feet up at the wooden cross pieces. The
Speaker 1: rusted pegs invited me to ascend and embark on the
Speaker 1: journey of my dream. Faint echoes of voices surrounded me,
Speaker 1: urging me on, daring me to across the lagoon. I
Speaker 1: reached for the first rusted peg. The voices around me
Speaker 1: grew louder, faint wisps of shapes darting back and forth
Speaker 1: compelled me. I placed my foot on a peg, hefted
Speaker 1: myself off the ground. Mother hand grasped a higher peg
Speaker 1: while my legs stretched upward and found a solid foothold,
Speaker 1: and I slowly climbed to the top of the thirty
Speaker 1: foot pole, gazing up at the lower cross support of
Speaker 1: the monkey bridge, just as I had done in my dream.
Speaker 1: The wood was green with mold, and I could see
Speaker 1: the visible rot engulfing the age structure. Still, I reached
Speaker 1: up to the highest peg and I pulled my body
Speaker 1: up the last five feet with one strong jerk. A
Speaker 1: chill surrounded me. My breath a white vapor as I exhaled.
Speaker 1: It was mid July. This kind of cold was impossible.
Speaker 1: He appeared from a mist, a boy my age, standing
Speaker 1: directly in front of me. I looked again, and he
Speaker 1: was transparent. I could see through his body, as if
Speaker 1: he wasn't really there, and the whispers I heard were
Speaker 1: now clear. There were loud chants. I could see the
Speaker 1: other boys, just like in my dream, But these boys
Speaker 1: weren't cheering. They were mocking him, daring him to do
Speaker 1: this foolish feat. The names they shouted were cruel and vile.
Speaker 1: His fear and shame coursed through me, pulsing in my veins,
Speaker 1: just like a dream. No don't, I whispered, shaking my head,
Speaker 1: you'll fall in. The boy looked at me and his
Speaker 1: face was filled with terror. He turned back toward the
Speaker 1: bridge and took a step out, and then another step in.
Speaker 1: Another come back, you'll fall please, But the phantom boy
Speaker 1: didn't hear me. The bridge changed, as did the world
Speaker 1: around me. I was reliving my dream, only I could
Speaker 1: have sworn I was awake. The bridge looked newer as
Speaker 1: it had in my dream, and the boys on the
Speaker 1: ground were no longer boys. There were dark specters, the
Speaker 1: denisen of gloom and despair. These phanfasms were urging him on,
Speaker 1: playing on his ego, hoping he'd go on and fail.
Speaker 1: And I shouted again, pleading with the boy to come back.
Speaker 1: One of the things on the ground looked up at
Speaker 1: me as if it saw me for the first time.
Speaker 1: It was then that I saw its true form, blood
Speaker 1: red eyes, charcoal flesh, and pearl white horns. It was
Speaker 1: something dark and foul. But to the boy on the bridge,
Speaker 1: it was one of his so called friends, urging him
Speaker 1: to his death. I shouted again for the boy to return,
Speaker 1: and the dark beast hissed a sound so evil and
Speaker 1: foul that I trembled in fear. My arms wrapped around
Speaker 1: the pole, terrified hands clung to rusty pegs and a cable,
Speaker 1: and fingers pale white from my death grip. Too terrified
Speaker 1: to move a muscle, I watched in horror as the
Speaker 1: boy slept as I had, I slipped in my dream,
Speaker 1: and he fell backward and his head slammed into one
Speaker 1: of the cross members. I watched helpless as his lamp
Speaker 1: body slipped below the surface of the lagoon. The dark
Speaker 1: things laughed and giggled. Demonic cackles tore through my body,
Speaker 1: sapping my strength and will. My stomach wretched and turned,
Speaker 1: and I felt myself vomiting, uncontrollably, clinging to the rotted pole,
Speaker 1: and they danced together in a circle, chanting and laughing
Speaker 1: a ghoulish cackle. My flesh trembled, my whole body shook
Speaker 1: with fear. As I heaved the last of my breakfast,
Speaker 1: and before the poor boy was completely swallowed by the
Speaker 1: dark waters, I noticed the expensive silver watch clutched in
Speaker 1: his right hand. It was the same watch I had
Speaker 1: looped around my pants securely tucked in my pocket. I
Speaker 1: saw an image of another young boy crossing a fast
Speaker 1: moving creek on the opposite end of the rapid torrents
Speaker 1: of water. Were these the same two grimlins, urging the
Speaker 1: boy further and further into danger. The boy had a
Speaker 1: silver pocket watch, my watch. I was sickened as he
Speaker 1: slipped and his skull fractured against a nearby stone, and
Speaker 1: the scene repeated over and over again, each time a
Speaker 1: different victim. How many lives have been claimed by this trinket?
Speaker 1: I was crying and praying these horrid visions would stop.
Speaker 1: This watch killed whoever was unlucky enough to find it,
Speaker 1: and the watch always seemed to be found by another
Speaker 1: young boy, another innocent victim of these two things. I
Speaker 1: hadn't been lucky to find this watch. I had been cursed.
Speaker 1: I was the next in line of boys to be
Speaker 1: claimed by these creatures. I hid my eyes for several
Speaker 1: seconds in the chill finally passed, and I found the
Speaker 1: courage to look up. The woods were calm and tranquil.
Speaker 1: A sparrow chirped, flying over the lagoon, chasing a horse fly.
Speaker 1: The monkey bridge was back to being old and rusted
Speaker 1: and tattered. I looked down by my fishing gear and
Speaker 1: I saw my pals, Mike and Gary exhaled a great
Speaker 1: sigh of relief. Did they see the ghuls or the boy?
Speaker 1: I was desperate to seek comfort from my friends. Go on,
Speaker 1: you big whoosy, we know you're afraid to cross it.
Speaker 1: Gary shouted, you, big wamp, go on. Michael laughed a
Speaker 1: sick cackle, rolling his eyes at me. You were always
Speaker 1: a coward. Shame washed over me. The words cut into
Speaker 1: my boyish pride, and my muscles tensed, forcing down the panic.
Speaker 1: A stubborn determination filled my body. I was no wamp.
Speaker 1: I could do this. I reached for the top cable
Speaker 1: with my right arm. The watch fell from my pocket,
Speaker 1: glistening in the sunlight. Dangling from the heavy silver chain
Speaker 1: struck my eyes, blinding me for an instant. Opened my
Speaker 1: eyes and blinked a few times as more emotion welled
Speaker 1: up inside me. Only a fool would try to cross
Speaker 1: this bridge. I didn't want to do this. An unknown
Speaker 1: power was pushing me forward, praying on my insecurity. I
Speaker 1: glanced down at my friends and they seemed different. They
Speaker 1: were different. They were the grimlins fishing for their next victim,
Speaker 1: and I was falling into their trap. I closed my eyes,
Speaker 1: forcing the voices out of my head. Go away, I
Speaker 1: screamed with all of my remaining strength, leave me alone.
Speaker 1: Opened my eyes and forced myself to look at the shoreline.
Speaker 1: The gremlins were gone. I glanced down at the watch
Speaker 1: and then it stopped at four eighteen. I knew that
Speaker 1: was the exact time of death of the boy who
Speaker 1: died here so many years ago. I managed to climb
Speaker 1: down on the pole without an incident, unsheathing my fishing knife,
Speaker 1: not really knowing what a tiny blade could do against
Speaker 1: such creatures. I looked back up at the monkey bridge
Speaker 1: and I could see the shadow respecter of the boy
Speaker 1: that fell to his death, and he looked down at me.
Speaker 1: His expression was one of grief and sorrow. That boy's
Speaker 1: spirit was chained to the spot, bound to the watch
Speaker 1: that hung from my belt loop. How many lives had
Speaker 1: this watch claimed? How many unwilling, innocent victims were tricked
Speaker 1: into terrible deaths? I was next on the list. I
Speaker 1: wanted to fling the watch back into the lagoon and
Speaker 1: part with it forever, but throwing it away helped me. Now,
Speaker 1: had I been chosen just by freeing the cursed thing?
Speaker 1: What could I do? Who could I tell? No one
Speaker 1: would believe my tale. I arrived home and saw my grandfather.
Speaker 1: The old man knew something was wrong because I never
Speaker 1: came home early in the summer unless it was raining
Speaker 1: or I'd gotten in trouble. He asked me what I'd
Speaker 1: done wrong, assuming the worst, and I started crying. I
Speaker 1: don't know why, I just couldn't stop myself. I told
Speaker 1: him of the terrors I'd witnessed, perched thirty feet up
Speaker 1: on that pole on the monkey bridge. My grandfather helped
Speaker 1: me as I perched my grief, and he studied the
Speaker 1: watch he'd so meticulously restored. The time still read four eighteen.
Speaker 1: He motioned me to follow him into his room, and
Speaker 1: he took the warm, rotted strapping and rusty links he'd
Speaker 1: removed yesterday and placed the fragments in a cloth bag
Speaker 1: along with the watch. He sat down in his rocker
Speaker 1: and he told me a story of a boy my
Speaker 1: age named Timothy Burns. Timothy came from a wealthy family
Speaker 1: and would have worn a watch like the one I found.
Speaker 1: Timothy Burns drowned in Briar's Lagoon over thirty years ago.
Speaker 1: His death was a very big mystery. My grandfather got
Speaker 1: up and gestured for me to follow him. We went
Speaker 1: to the local library and he began wading through several
Speaker 1: pieces of microfish that contained years of newspaper archives. He
Speaker 1: called me over and pointed to a particular picture. It
Speaker 1: was a cover of a society page of the Sunday Globe.
Speaker 1: I saw an extravagant family portrait of people that radiated
Speaker 1: wealth in high society. Now recognized the boy from my
Speaker 1: dream and earlier that day. That's him, the boy from
Speaker 1: the bridge in my room. My flesh crawled as I
Speaker 1: spotted the watch he was holding. Gramps nodded. He looked
Speaker 1: through a few more papers and then motioned me along
Speaker 1: to another library aisle. He told me to wait while
Speaker 1: he thumbed through a dusty old book. Come here, Grap's
Speaker 1: motion toward me as he placed the large book on
Speaker 1: a table. Is this what you saw at the lagoon?
Speaker 1: I followed his pointed finger to the very large yellowed page.
Speaker 1: There were two ghouls drawn in black ink, performing that
Speaker 1: same horrid dance over the hastily sketched body of a soldier.
Speaker 1: My skin crawled and I shivered just looking at the picture.
Speaker 1: I held my gramps shaking, yes, tears of fears streamed
Speaker 1: down my cheek. This was really happening. Monsters did exist.
Speaker 1: Gramps slammed the book shut, his face grimaced in seam,
Speaker 1: set in stone. What are they, Gramps? You act like
Speaker 1: you know them personally, he shook his head. No, sun,
Speaker 1: not personally. I've seen them in war, after particularly gruesome battles.
Speaker 1: They filled some soldiers into getting themselves shot up. We
Speaker 1: were warned about them, but nothing prepares you for that
Speaker 1: kind of encounter. Handballed into a fist. So this is
Speaker 1: what they do in between wars for kicks. Gramps eyes narrowed.
Speaker 1: I don't want to die, Gramps. What am I gonna do?
Speaker 1: You're not going to do anything but what I tell you.
Speaker 1: I'm gonna put young Master Burns and countless other souls
Speaker 1: to rest and in this string of torment. Hopefully. We
Speaker 1: climbed back into his car and made a forty minute
Speaker 1: drive to a remote cemetery. What are we doing here?
Speaker 1: Gramps been over and looked directly into my eyes. I
Speaker 1: need you to be very brave right now and do
Speaker 1: exactly as I tell you. Can you do that? Son?
Speaker 1: I swallowed hard and I nodded. I followed my grandfather
Speaker 1: as he walked toward a rather large headstone. The name
Speaker 1: Burns was etched on the marker. The temperature dropped noticeably
Speaker 1: as we approached. Talk to him. He'll hear you and
Speaker 1: be compelled to come. The watch binds you to him
Speaker 1: and other victims. I didn't know what to say to
Speaker 1: a dead person, and I simply looked at the grave.
Speaker 1: There's not much time, so unhurry, he urged Tim. I whispered,
Speaker 1: I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve to die that way.
Speaker 1: I hope you can finally rest after Gramps does whatever
Speaker 1: it is he's going to do. A chilling wind struck us.
Speaker 1: As I finished, we were being watched. Two dark shadows
Speaker 1: hovered in the distance. My grandfather saw them, but there
Speaker 1: was no fear in him. He seemed made of the
Speaker 1: strongest steal. At this moment, I could hear those vile
Speaker 1: things talking to him and threatening him with untold torments
Speaker 1: and horrors. Gramps never flinched or wavered. He shot the
Speaker 1: ghuls of look that even to this day, I'll never
Speaker 1: forget the look of a man protecting his grandson, a
Speaker 1: mighty lion protecting his pride. Look of love and compassion
Speaker 1: against the face of evil. You chose wrong this time.
Speaker 1: You can't have my grandson tell the devil that I
Speaker 1: sent you. His voice was loud and powerful, and it
Speaker 1: echoed off the gravestones, trumpeting over the threats and hisses.
Speaker 1: Gramps looked over at me and he smiled. His total
Speaker 1: like of fear gave me strength. I watched spellbound as
Speaker 1: he took out the small cloth sack that contained the
Speaker 1: watch and the original loop and chain go back to Hell.
Speaker 1: Gramps smashed the object against the granite headstone. A moaning
Speaker 1: wail that must have echoed for miles shattered the silent cemetery.
Speaker 1: The two dark shadows withered and melted away, their screams
Speaker 1: of despair echoing behind them. He doused the sack with
Speaker 1: lighter flood, and he set it ablaze, and the flames
Speaker 1: were a sick, unearthly hue of red and purple. Watch
Speaker 1: fragments hissed angrily as they were consumed. My grandfather whispered
Speaker 1: a silent blessing over the flames, and they seemed to
Speaker 1: waver and then burn more like a natural fire. After
Speaker 1: five brief minutes, the flames sputtered and died. I stared,
Speaker 1: stunned as he buried the watch ashes and the charred
Speaker 1: fragments next to the grave. You can rest now, Master Timothy,
Speaker 1: be with God, he whispered, struggling to his feet. We
Speaker 1: both looked up and saw the spirit of Timothy Burns,
Speaker 1: along with other boys, approach a glowing vortex. Timothy turned
Speaker 1: toward my grandfather and me, and he smiled. He simply
Speaker 1: waved back, and we watched him pass on to his
Speaker 1: final resting place. I looked at my grandfather with a
Speaker 1: sense of pride and awe. My dad told me stories
Speaker 1: about him before he moved in with us, how he'd
Speaker 1: been through two wars, and about how brave and courageous
Speaker 1: he was. I saw the medals and the ribbons on
Speaker 1: his dresser, but I never understood their meaning. I never
Speaker 1: saw that part of him until today. I just knew
Speaker 1: Gramps was the silent man who moved in with us
Speaker 1: last year, not the hero of two wars or the
Speaker 1: twenty year beat cop. I don't know what I would
Speaker 1: have done without him there to help me. I looked
Speaker 1: up at him, amazed at his courage and iron will,
Speaker 1: and he stared down the face of evil and mocked
Speaker 1: the denizens of darkness as they threatened his life. Is
Speaker 1: it over, Gramps, Are they really gone? He looked down
Speaker 1: at me, gently placing his hand on my shoulder for
Speaker 1: you and I, Yes, it's over, he pointed toward the car.
Speaker 1: But the war goes on, young man, Graham sighed. His
Speaker 1: face was sad for a second as he walked together.
Speaker 1: The war always rages on. I am an old man now,
Speaker 1: a veteran of two wars plus multiple police actions, and
Speaker 1: a proud grandfather of a fine young boy. I too,
Speaker 1: live with my son in a small corner bedroom of
Speaker 1: his house. I am the silent old man, and I
Speaker 1: keep a constant vigil, hoping the boy never brings home
Speaker 1: any strange objects, and I always let him bend my
Speaker 1: ear for any reason. I realized during my first taste
Speaker 1: of combat that there were more grimlins in the world.
Speaker 1: I fought them on the battlefield as they stole the
Speaker 1: lives of both friend and foe. Evil doesn't care about
Speaker 1: the moral calls or the mortal conflict. Evil only cares
Speaker 1: about killing, indifferent to what uniform you wear. We live
Speaker 1: in an age of scientific marvels, computers, phones, accomplished things
Speaker 1: I've never imagined possible. Within this technology, evil has found
Speaker 1: a home. The boys aren't drawn to shiny watches anymore,
Speaker 1: drawn to the dark web and the cyber underworld. In
Speaker 1: this age of new fangal technology, evil comes in several
Speaker 1: appealing packages. Only those who have experienced the horror of
Speaker 1: war know about the soul gremlins, and we don't speak
Speaker 1: of it even amongst ourselves. We're old men who watch
Speaker 1: in silence, as my grandfather did so many years ago.
Speaker 1: Darkness never rests or sleeps, not when there are so
Speaker 1: many victims right for the taking. The war does rage on,
Speaker 1: not fought on a battlefield, but wage through the computer
Speaker 1: or handheld device. The prize is still the same. The
Speaker 1: souls are the innocent, but the tactics are far more
Speaker 1: subtle and perverse in this age of expanding darkness. All
Speaker 1: I can do is stand fast and be a beacon
Speaker 1: of light. From my grandson, That's all any man can do.
Speaker 1: Be a beacon of light and hope and serve as
Speaker 1: an example of good, and pray that our kids have
Speaker 1: the gilded cyber net cast into the electronic ocean. The
Speaker 1: war rages on, always,