A Story From the BlackGuard

April 14, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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Ah, Cyrus. From what I recall of him, he was quite the knowledgeable man, but had a most horrid sense of humor.

You see, the story I am about to tell you is rather… Confidential. Amongst the Mire we are known as Regiment 9. Throughout Regiment 9 we are known as the ‘BlackGuards’. But in the small circle of men and women who actually make up the organization, we call ourselves ‘the exterminators’. Led by the aforementioned Commander, Cyrus Fiendel, we were essentially tasked with getting rid of all the pests that Emperor Dravis didn’t want to deal with.

“Vampires and Werewolves are but fiction!” You cry in disbelief. Oh, but they are not, my friends! For we, the BlackGuard, are the ones who keep them from your eyes! Throughout all of training I was told it was a most important task, keeping these beasts and terrible creatures contained to Ares and not to touch the enigmatic planet known as ‘Earth’. But throughout the years, they got through. Those times were especially difficult, considering a team had to be sent to the planet itself in order to get rid of them.

Much to your dissatisfaction, I’m certain, I was not given the honor of partaking in a Hunt. Instead, I will tell you of the time we encountered a most ferocious beast of the night. A Shapeshifter!

It was but two short months after I had joined the Guard, and situated in the capital of Nation 9, it was a rather high class of living compared to the peasants below that Emperor Dravis had created. Not to speak of politics, because I tend to ramble, but our new Emperor was hardly an apt ruler. Many were dissatisfied with the state the Mire was in, and I have the distinct feeling Cyrus was one of them, as the first words he spoke to us that day were…
“Gentlemen, and women, the Emperor once again requires us to take out his trash!”
We all stood in a line in the hotel lobby, which had been cleared of all others not too long ago. Our obsidian uniforms certainly must have looked quite intimidating, covering our bodies from head to toe and lined with all manner of different pockets, many of which contained a vast assortment of weaponry. These uniforms were primarily created from hardened leather, strong enough to block shrapnel and perhaps a glancing blow from a blade while still allowing us the mobility that was so desperately needed. A little uncomfortable to be worn at first, but you grew used to them with time.
Cyrus wore much different attire. He had a particular fondness for dark clothing, bearing a inky black cloak with odd brownish crimson stripes up and down the torn up thing. Many of us theorized they were from the blood of his enemies, victory marks if you will. Indeed, it sounded a most sound assumption based on his reputation and appearance.

Our commander was immortal, you see. Not unkillable, no, but if he was left be for long enough, age could never claim him. For years and years he had the same dark red eyes and needly black hair that covered his head. The eyes tended to bore into you even with a passing glance. There was most definitely a difference between standard red eyes and those Cyrus had, but none of us could really explain it. Besides this, the man had a flair for the formal. Black dress pants, black dress shoes, and pale white skin to conflict it all. Quite an eccentric looking person, and to top it all off he was just shy of five foot ten, by the looks of it. Perhaps twenty five years of age was visible on him.

His tone was a harsh and authoritative one, quite fitting for someone in his position. None of us dared to disobey him.
“Right here in our capital lurks what is known as a ‘shapeshifter.’ We assume that it intends to reach the Scrye, and your duty and mine is to find and stop it!”
The Scrye, if you were unaware, was the entrance to Earth. An odd rift in time and space that had created a link between our worlds. There were many Scrye on Ares, and perhaps more on Earth, but cities tended to be built around them in order to make the implementation of Earthly technology a smoother process.

Typically, our missions tended to send us into the plains of Nation 3, or the tropics of Nation 5. But tonight, it was happening in my own home Nation! It made me feel a little patriotic, I admit. I was not about to let any nefarious beast tarnish the honor of my homelands!
“The creature was last seen at the Ferego hotel just across from here. Your mission will be to observe the scene, and track down the creature. I advise you all keep on your toes, as intel suggests it is very capable of taking different forms.” Cyrus continued, pacing up and down the polished marble below. “I will also warn you that the scene in question is quite disturbing. I trust you are prepared to see such a thing, however. With that in mind, you are now free to operate within proper protocol limits. If you wish to speak with me, I will be having a chat with the owner of the Ferego. Dismissed.”
We all raised an obedient salute and scattered after this. My hand immediately fell to my flintlock. Not just an ordinary Anti-Cambria flintlock, I will say, but an exquisite work of Imperial craftsmanship. It was furnished a dull grey from polished Golenwood, and bore golden steel at the muzzle, trigger and hammer areas. The weapon fired silver ammunition, as opposed to the standard ice, fire, acid and regular shot of Regimental flintlocks. Quite effective against monsters, I must say. We were also issued brilliant sabres, also bearing a thin coating of silver above the steel. The handle contained a spiraling golden grip and rounded handguard. Both of these weapons were designed more to fell creatures as opposed to a fellow man, but we were also issued a selection of grenades and knives just in case we ran into some pesky humans on the way.

In our missions, we most often utilized our knowledge of the Cambrian language to win the day. Enlisting in the BlackGuard meant going through extensive courses to learn the essential words, but they ended up being about as helpful as advertised. A burst of speed, a blast of fire, or a protective barrier were often far more useful than the pistol or sabre.

But even with all this in our arsenal, what we faced that night was far more terrifying and dangerous than we could ever have imagined. While most monsters were primal and animalistic, shapeshifters were by far the most intelligent… And deadly.

People soon began making their way out the automatic doors at the entrance. This also included me, of course, reassured by the flintlock my left hand grasped. It was quite muggy that evening, hardly hot in any sense, but certainly a most humid climate. Nation 9 is a semi-tropical one, you see, and this kind of weather I had come to expect from the outdoors. Palmettos and palm trees had been planted outside to provide a greater sense of that tropical atmosphere to those who vacationed here in their spare time, planted in rich brown soil. I always thought that many places on Earth looked quite the same, but we have our differences, of course.

For one, I could hardly imagine a night sky without two glowing moons! Something would just feel rather empty about that, wouldn’t you agree? Anyways, moving on with my story. I had gotten to know a few people on the BlackGuard quite well, and one of these included a rather chubby fellow with a bald head named ‘Sledge’. Or at least nicknamed that, since nobody actually knew his real name. Sledge was a blunt person in a conversation, but had a sort of charisma about him that made his rashness quite bearable. I had originally met the man during training, and we became fast friends after this, me and him, and I soon discerned that he was from a family of bakers in the countryside who had sent him to the BlackGuard in order to rake in the extra money needed to survive out there.

He never really complained about it, and from what I saw he enjoyed killing monsters. It may sound quite sadistic indeed, but I assure you that there is a sort of primitive joy to destroying the things you had nightmares of. The BlackGuard tended to thrive on this joy as a means of morale. And it worked, for the most part. Sledge began walking in sync with me on the pavement, keeping his face in front of him as he spoke.
“I’d say it’s best to stay together,” the man began in his deep voice, “shapeshifters are not to be trifled with one by one.”
I nodded in agreement, eyes gazing past the small street and taking in a most marvelous looking establishment.

A warm glow came from within the multitude of windows, and the building itself had been made from a mixture of golden decorations and marble. A most lavish hotel, especially compared to the one we had stayed in! The Regimental army lurked on the outside, and had set up a sort of blockade around all corners of the building. They held muskets, flintlocks and sabres and all seemed to be on edge for whatever reason. I suppose their bright blue uniforms would make them easier targets to prey upon, though. Cyrus was lingering back from now, but he was known to get wherever he wanted to go quite quickly, so I did not fret.

“It’s a real mess in there, folks.” A man in a black cap told us, scratching behind his neck uncomfortably. He was the unit leader, so both me and Sledge thought it appropriate to begin our investigation with him.
“Who was the one who was murdered?”
I asked, trying to sound as official as possible.
“A politician named Lauren Welsche. She had been travelling about the Nation for some time now, campaigning for a tax reduction for the lower class.”
I had pulled out a small notebook and clicked my pen open. Once the information had been recorded, I moved on.
“Cause of death?”
“Probably either from being torn apart or impalement through the left eye. Take your pick.”
A little fear arose in me as I jotted this down, I must say. I thanked the man and walked past the barricade of soldiers who were present, along with Sledge, who had remained silent during the previous conversation.

From my previous briefing, I knew that everyone staying in the inn was forced to stay there for the investigation. A smart move in most cases, but with a shapeshifter on the loose? A little dangerous. I drew my sword with a metallic ring, and kept it at my side close at hand, just in case. And not because I was scared, I might add! The doors were rotating this time, and not the electric ones in the other hotel. They were coated in golden metal that I’m quite certain was not actual gold, and had a window-like portion on them as well. As the two of us passed through them, we both stopped to take in the beauty of the lobby before us. The carpet was a crimson red, and the walls made from the finest lavender materials I had seen in a long time. A miniature waterfall was mounted a little further in, and poured an endless supply of the liquid while being attached to what I now refer to as the ‘east wall’. There was plenty of black leather furniture, such as couches and seats, that sat towards the west hall, opposite a small fireplace.

Directly in front of us was the booking section, complete with a dark marble bar table and wooden key slots. A paranoid looking man with sweat running down his face stood behind this, and seemed to be infinitely more comfortable when he saw us walking towards him. Other members of the Guard were also questioning people outside, or spreading out through the lobby, but Sledge and I were the first ones to reach the man at the counter.
“Thank the Lord and Lady!” He exclaimed in what a resident of Earth may call a ‘French’ accent.
“You’re safe now, my good man. I will need you to answer a few questions, however.”
I responded casually, to be met by vigorous nods.
“Yes, sir. Whatever it is you want to ask me?”
“First off, where did the killing take place?”
“Room 135,” he responded in a suddenly subdued manner, “I saw the thing…”
“What did it look like?”

The worker looked from left to right quickly, as if he was afraid of being watched, but soon spoke.
“It is a horrible creature… White skin! Very white! But paler than normal white. Its eyes were massive, and completely black.”
“Anything else?”
He nodded again.
“More than six feet tall. Thin. It had a backbone that acted as a tail, and three taloned claws! The teeth were needles, sirs, but covered in blood. You must kill it!”
He plead desperately. Sledge and I looked to each other briefly, and I’m quite sure we both had the same look of slight worry on our faces. Regardless, we had both fought other creatures and for all we knew, this one was just another target.
“Trust me,” Sledge started, “we’ll kill it dead.”

The trip to room 135 was an uneventful one. The hallways had the same red velvet carpet and lavender walls, with lamps lighting the way through them. Oddly enough, the air had quite a musty smell to it that made me cringe in displeasure.
“How could such a well kept place smell so vile?”
I thought out loud.
“I’d say because someone was murdered, but yeah. It has a pretty ‘oldish’ scent to it.”
Sledge agreed in a monotone. Thankfully, the death had occurred upon the first floor, so we were able to steer clear of the elevator. When dealing with a shapeshifter, they would probably be quite dangerous locations.
The room was appropriately marked by a dark red splatter of crimson that had bled into the similar colored carpet… No pun intended there. Mahogany door was ajar, and the trail of blood led into the room in question. The two of us only hesitated long enough to ready our weapons, and entered the room using our training methods.

One of us stayed towards the back with a drawn flintlock while one either bashed down the door or simply entered, a sabre in hand. This all was done smoothly, and with two people was easy to execute. The blood continued aways, and led to a sprawled out corpse of a middle aged woman. A look of terror was across her face, and blood took up a good portion of it now… Leaking from her left eye. The room around her looked pretty standard, and as lavish as one could imagine a lavish room to appear. Blood had been thrown everywhere, so clearly this beast didn’t like making messy kills.
“Multiple chest punctures. She probably was still alive when the eye was hit, though.”
Sledge observed, coming from behind me and stooping over the lifeless body. I quickly prepared my Cambrian knowledge and uttered a spell to aid the investigation.
Two words was strong enough a combination to get the job done. ‘Spei’ meaning ‘see’ and ‘Luk’ meaning ‘all’. I put my palm out before me, and a yellow tinted, dusty wave fell across the body like fog from a fog machine rolling over terrain. As the dust cleared, a few choice bits glowed a bright red. I felt a little chill as some of my life energy left me in exchange for the spell, but two words was a trifling matter.

The first thing I noticed was a silver locket that was being clutched in the woman’s right hand. I quickly removed it and opened it up, knowing fingerprints of a shapeshifter were hardly useful.
“Seems like she was a married woman,” I sighed with a frown upon my face, “why would a shapeshifter be after her?”
“Its goal is to reach the Scrye,” replied Sledge, “at least that was what we were told. This woman must have been preventing it from getting there.”
The picture of her husband was a little blurry, and in black and white. I put the locket in my pocket and moved to the next glowing object, which was a piece of paper a few feet away. I began reading it, and quickly found the ink was faded, and paper even more so. Astonishingly, it appeared about a hundred years old.
“By sight the curse is given. By blindness removed.”
Cryptic to say the least, and neither Sledge nor I knew quite what to think of it.
“Keep searching for clues, I’ll take those two to the investigator in the meantime and see if we can get some more info.”
He said.
“That would be a most terrible idea,” I started, shaking my head, “We need to be together at all times when dealing with something like this.”
“Before I enter, the first thing I’ll say will be ‘Mayflower’. That way you’ll know it’s me.”

Looking back, I should have stopped him. But at the time, I felt that his plan was simple and effective. But there were things you just couldn’t account for, I suppose. I handed over the two artifacts and resumed my search. My eyes fell upon a purse, also glowing red, and upon opening it up I found there was only one item inside. A flintlock pistol of poor design, with wood that was rough to the touch and partially rusted metal components. I turned the weapon over in my hands, and looked through the purse again only to find nothing. Was the gun loaded? I pulled back the metal slider on the side and found an odd bullet lodged within the chamber. Most flintlock bullets were color coded, red being incendiary, whitish blue being ice, green being acid, and black a regular bullet. This one was a transparent yellow color in everywhere but the rear, which was still yellow but not see through. Upon closer inspection, an orange tinted liquid bubbled within the upper end incessantly. What could that possibly be?

Needless to say, I also pocketed this and just as I was about to do likewise with the pistol I heard the familiar voice of Sledge just outside.
I opened the door, half expecting to see some kind of beast, but to my relief all I saw was the face of my comrade. “Found anything else?”
“Yeah. This crappy pistol and a-.”
“-Say no more, I’ll take this back to the investigator and you can tell me the rest when I get back.”
He snatched the weapon from my hands quite quickly, and I couldn’t help but think it rude that he would do such a thing. I made my displeasure known with a sour face, but Sledge tended to do these kinds of things regularly so it was hardly an unnatural occurrence.

As Sledge left, the door slammed shut behind him rather violently. Was he angry at me or something? I sure hoped not, and tried thinking of what I could have possibly done in order to upset him like this. But no sooner had these thoughts entered my head, when I heard his voice once again just thirty seconds later.
I opened the door, and allowed him in again. Sledge sighed, and leaned against the wall beside the door frame.
“They’re analyzing the locket and note. It’ll be about a half hour. People are splitting into groups now, and we’re in charge of collecting clues I guess.”
He didn’t sound put off at all, and I raised a suspicious eyebrow.
“You forgot to take this bullet with you.”
I spoke, holding it out to him between my thumb and pointer finger.
“Where did you find that?”
My look of bewilderment only increased.
“… The gun.”
“What gun?”

A chill ran down my spine.

Needless to say, we both were quite rattled by what had happened. My blood ran cold, and I fished for any excuse possible to get out of the room.
“Let’s uh… Let’s talk to the man in the lobby again.”
Sledge readily agreed, and we departed within the minute. We both had weapons drawn as we made our way through the hallway, and only relaxed when we re-entered it and found Cyrus speaking with a thin man in a suit and tie towards the center area. We were unsure of whether or not to interrupt their conversation, but eventually decided to do so upon finding an opportunity.
“-And they expect me to give them money for a murder?! It is preposterous!”
The hotel manager exclaimed, voice tinged with annoyance.
“Shouldn’t be necessary. If our investigation doesn’t turn anything else up, no payment will be required.”
Cyrus replied formally. I chose the brief pause after this to speak.
“We have investigated the murder, sir.”
The commander turned his whole body to look at us, face looking quite unamused.
“… And?”
Those two ruby orbs were like lasers. I quickly evaded making eye contact and replied.
“Well… I believe we found the shapeshifter, sir.”
“… And?”
“He took something. A flintlock sir.”
“Well, Sledge here was bringing some evidence in and…”
“-Very well, resume your investigation, Mr. Cedric.”
He interrupted, face briefly lightening up and turning back to the manager to resume his talk. Both Sledge and I slowly turned to look at each other, and we both appeared petrified to be going back in so soon.

Cyrus clearly knew what was going on, and since this was a training mission he wouldn’t provide assistance unless absolutely necessary… Even if it meant our lives. A few other members of the Guard were skulking about the lobby, and I began wondering if I should just try and do as they were without attempting to find the shapeshifter that had so recently paid me a visit.
“So what now?”
Asked Sledge, face returning to its normally firm and tough looking one. I rightly didn’t know, but decided talking with the worker from before would be a decent idea.
I stated my plan to my companion, and we were off. But when we approached the counter, we found nobody there. Leaving where you were told to be during a BlackGuard investigation is a most terrible offence, and it also raised the question of how the good commander had not noticed his departure.

“Our options appear to be quite limited,” I began with concern written upon my countenance, “from now on we mustn’t leave each other!”
Perhaps I was stating the obvious, but I didn’t want to risk having another encounter with the creature again while it posed as my friend. That was for certain. At least we knew the general area the thing was in, and that was closeby.
“How’s about we search for that worker. I think he knows more than he told us.”
Sledge suggested with a shrug. Not having any other ideas in mind, I obliged and soon we were skulking through the hallways once again. I found it a little odd that out of the twenty Guardsmen who had been on this mission, I hadn’t been seeing too many of them around. But I assumed that was because they were searching the other floors, which was quite a logical conclusion. In about a half hour I was also thinking of seeing the results of the testing on the items I had found previously, hoping they would give us some more valuable hints later down the road.

As Sledge and I approached a staircase that led to the second floor, both of us stopped upon hearing an odd noise… A hollow noise that seemed to be coming from the very walls themselves. It was a rough scratching sound that paused every couple of seconds and then resumed in an almost methodical way. It only took place for about twenty seconds before ceasing permanently.
“What the devil…”
I muttered. The two of us quickly turned our attention to this new development, and began looking into finding a way to where the sound was coming from. From what I had gathered, it was a little ways into the wall and perhaps occurring from below… The basement, of course!

Our short trip took us down a hallway opposite the staircase, and soon we came upon a thin wooden door with a plaque reading ‘basement’ next to it. The door was locked, but I soon fixed this with a quick uttering.
I spoke, hand upon the doorknob. There was a click, and the knob turned without protest afterwards. Out of the two of us, Sledge was stronger in a physical sense, but I was more able to use Cambria. Another chill ran down me upon the use of the spell, but I ignored it and began walking down a flight of stairs. Our weapons were drawn similarly to how they were before as we descended into a murky abyss, and I couldn’t spy a light nearby. This forced me to utter yet another two words.
There was a brief flash, and the room was lit as it would be if proper lights had been installed apart from the solitary bulb that hung towards the center. I stumbled a little, the chill growing greater. My palms were beginning to get that feeling one experiences when awaking after sleeping on their arm.
“You okay?”
I answered, adjusting myself and hoping I wouldn’t have to utilize any more Words tonight.

Our surroundings were all comprised of thick concrete. A dull grey, including the debris laden ground beneath me. It was far colder down here as well, and I’m quite sure it wasn’t because I had used three spells tonight. To our surprise, we weren’t alone here either.
“… Hello.”
The voice of an old woman rang out. Sledge and I traced the source to a figure standing stiffly just below the lightbulb at the room’s center.
“Hello. We are looking for the source of a scratching noise, madam.”
I replied before Sledge had his opportunity to make an insult in the form of a question. She looked us over, an unsettling grin on her wrinkly, warty face.
“Scratching? Back room. Is in back room hehe.”
Her hand pointed to her right and another door located there. We were both quite suspicious of this seemingly random old lady as we approached the door she told us of.
“Maintenance room… Do not touch!”
We nodded, keeping our eyes on her as Sledge opened the door. The old woman grunted and walked towards one on the opposite wall as if nothing happened.

The first thing I remember from entering this room was the unholy smell. It was vile, rank and frankly disgusting. In fact, it had a similar odor to the musty smell from before. Except stronger…
“Holy shit…”
Mused Sledge, staring at something on the floor blankly. I hesitated to gaze at whatever it was, but curiosity got the better of me. My eyes widened as the corpse of the accented man from before appeared on the ground. A similar look of fear was on his face, left eye once again being punctured and bearing nearly identical wounds when compared to the previous victim. So that explained where he had gone off to, at least, but the small amount of fear inside me was beginning to build upon itself.

The kill looked fresh, probably occurring just ten minutes prior to our arrival, and it was likely that the scratching noise was his body being dragged there by someone… Or something. I was about to begin searching the room for further clues, when a deafening crack sounded from above. It was followed by muffled screams and the shuffling of feet.

More shots rang out, and before we knew it Sledge and I were sprinting towards the staircase and past the oblivious old woman who was still fumbling at the door. We both flew out the door and down the hallway, turning left to find a most terrible sight before us. Bodies had been thrown across the ground haphazardly. All impaled in the chest multiple times, and all bearing a puncture through their left eyes. Blood stained the floor and walls, and it appeared nobody was alive within the area. We both cringed upon looking at the scene, and we quickly came to the conclusion that a patrol had encountered the beast… And ended up being dispatched. Their flintlocks were either scattered around or still in their crimson stained hands. More fear on their faces.

But I suppose the most frightening detail there was amongst this carnage was the fact both of our names had been scrawled messily upon the floor, in a dark red.

We knew too much, despite knowing hardly anything at all.

Both Sledge and I knew that we had a lot to deduce if we were to make it through this alive.

First, and perhaps most obvious, was that we had to watch our backs to stop from being ambushed by this creature… Which was probably keeping us alive either for its amusement or some other reason that I couldn’t quite put a finger on. A few other members of the Guard arrived about a minute later, and looked upon the scene with the same fear we had upon our faces when we discovered it. Cyrus was called in, and he showed no signs of realizing that three people had just been brutally killed, walking past them and standing before me with crossed arms.
“Your names are on the ground…”
He stated plainly. Everyone around us was watching in anticipation for what would happen next. I nodded at the commander.
“We don’t know why, sir. We were in the basement when we heard this terrible ruckus, and ran upstairs to investigate!”
“Yes, and I was in the lobby having a lovely conversation about fine wine when I heard the terrible ruckus. I want to know why you think your names are on the ground right now in blood.”
“Like I said, sir,” I started with a lost shake of my head, “We do not know.”

Cyrus scoffed and turned around, hands upon his hips and face awash with frustration.
“Someone get the bodies outside, we’ll have to make the arrangements concerning the burial after this mission concludes. And you two wait for the evidence you found to be analyzed outside. Hopefully this thing will stop killing my men if you aren’t near it.”
A bit too much to expect, but we didn’t complain. As we walked back towards the lobby, faces ghostly white, I pondered that this shapeshifter was moving and attacking with frightening speed. As if it had something planned out ahead of time. Adding to our apprehension was the fact it could take the form of anyone and impersonate them with ease. That woman in the basement was suspicious, but must not have been the monster if she was trying to open a door as we went to investigate. We could never know for sure where it was.

Outside, more and more soldiers were beginning to show up. As if an army was inside that building we had just been in. The man with the black cap from before was the one Sledge had gone too, according to what he told me on the way out, and we approached him without hesitation.
“Have you found out anything else about the items?”
Sledge asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. There was a note inside the locket, and that old piece of paper actually originated from Nation 4.”
I asked to see the note they had found, and was led to a small plastic table that a young looking woman sat behind, staring through a microscope and observing the ancient paper with the cryptic message. Beside the scope was a thin bit of parchment beside the locket, and I promptly picked it up. The writing was messy, but I was able to tell what the words said.
“Bullet to break the curse. If I fail, shoot it with bullet. It watches from the dark. Good luck.”

With this new information, I removed the yellow projectile from my pocket and looked it over again. I knew what had to be done, and also took out my flintlock.
“What are you doing?!”
Asked Sledge. I could tell he knew what I was doing, but was just surprised that I was willing to believe what was on the note.
“We’re killing this thing. And this bullet must be the reason we’re not dead yet.”
It had been afraid of the bullet it had forgotten to take with the gun. This was why it had not killed us. Why it had not killed me in the room of the crime scene was still unknown to me, but I now knew that I had a huge advantage.

My hand removed the whitish blue ice bullet from the chamber and replaced it with the yellow one, closing the chamber and cocking the hammer.
“Let’s go, before someone else dies.”
We walked into that hotel again feeling much more confident, and I had to refrain from leaking a smile as my boots took root on the scarlet carpet within the revolving doors again. I had deduced something else from the note we had found, and I think it answered the question regarding how it could get around so fast. It was the vents. The scratching noise we had heard from within the walls was from the vents, and not the basement all along. It lurked in the shadows, watching and waiting for an opportunity to strike. Just thinking about it made me feel uncomfortable, as it was probably watching our every move from within the vents ever since we had arrived.

The manager was standing towards the center of the room, back to us. We approached him and spoke out without any delay.
“Hello, sir.”
He jerked, and turned to face us with a sour expression.
“What do you want?”
“I would greatly appreciate it if you could turn up the heat in the ventilation system… By a lot.”

We quickly explained our reasoning and watched as he moved to a panel on the western lobby wall. He quickly input a combination, and tapped a small screen a few times and soon the whole building rumbled for a moment as the heating systems came to life. My nerves returned to me upon realizing that the shapeshifter would be forced to leave its home and wander the hallways in just minutes. When that happened one of two things would take place.

Either it took on the form of someone else and kept to the shadows, or it went in guns ablazing… At us.

We spent the time making sure all are weapons and gear were ready, and I removed a test tube filled with blue liquid from a coat pocket and downed it. The substance tasted foul, but I felt an invigorating surge of strength just a minute later. This state-of-the-art liquid could restore one’s Cambria in seconds, and I wanted to be ready if push came to shove. Which I knew it would.
“If we don’t leave here alive, I want you to know that your potato salad sucks ass.”
Sledge grumbled. I chuckled a little at the comment.
“Never was much of a cook, but you never were much of a thinking man.”
“Fair enough.”
The manager began walking towards the doorway after a while, stating that he wasn’t about to die in his own establishment. I couldn’t blame him for doing so, and I just hoped my plan would be enough to kill the monster.

The five minutes after that were excruciatingly long, but soon there was an unearthly roar from the distance and a fearsome thumping taking place from inside the walls. We readied our weapons, but that was when the worst possible thing happened.

Every light in the entire building went out, and we became engulfed in pitch black.

We knew we had reached a big turning point when the lights went out. There was no going back from here.

Cyrus would probably be quite angry at us for causing this to happen so suddenly, but it was a gambit we were willing to take to make sure this nightmare was ended before it began. Little did we know, we were in the epicenter of it already.

There was a faint shuffling in the west hall, and I knew it would be best to start our hunt there.
An orb of orange light shined above our heads when I cast the spell. It may have made us a more noticeable target, but we would need visibility to be good if we were to stand a chance of killing the creature. We pressed on, beginning to sweat both from nerves and the heat beginning to spill into the area from the ventilation. My eyes darted all around me as we walked, and every shadow no matter how big or small, looked like a figure at first glance. Nothing really happened until we reached the staircase and heard heavy footfalls from just above us on the second floor… Thump… Thump… Thump… And they stopped. The stairs went up aways and then turned so that they continued facing the opposite direction. For all we knew, the shapeshifter would be awaiting us as soon as we turned to reach the second floor.
“We should have brought some Regimentals in,” whispered Sledge, “they’d make good distractions.”
“I don’t want any more people to die. And if we wait any longer, it will adjust.”
Sledge sighed, shaking his head.
“Let’s go. Put a bullet in that thing, and I’ll distract it.”
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and clearing my mind of fear. To kill the beast now would leave a lot of unanswered questions, but I didn’t care. It was time to press what little advantage we had.

“You go first. I’ll be right behind you.”
Sledge nodded, and with little hesitation dashed up the stairs, sabre drawn. As promised, I followed behind him with my flintlock and as soon as we crested the second flight of stairs we saw someone standing there. Completely motionless. It was the woman from the basement, dressed in tattered rags and bearing a look of surprise on her face.
“Shoot her!”
Demanded Sledge, but I did no such thing.
“Wait, Sledge!”
My ally came to a halt, blade just about to dig into the woman’s flesh. To his surprise, she seemed more frightened than anything.
“How did you get here? Why are you here?”
I asked, keeping my gun aimed at her all the while. My blood was pumping fiercely now as I stared her down, watching for the slightest movement.
“I am the janitor,” she replied nervously, “what is it you want?”
“Why should I believe you?”
“What do you mean?”

I didn’t know what to do. Judging by the ruse the shapeshifter pulled before, it was safe to assume it could emulate natural activity very well. But if I killed this woman and she wasn’t the creature I’d have innocent blood on my hands. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
“We’re looking for a shapeshifter,” I started, voice calming a little, “have you seen anything, or anyone suspicious lately?”
“The nice man who works the front desk just came by and said hello. But apart from that, nothing.”
“Where did he go?!”
She appeared flustered but pointed to a room just a little ways ahead. My heart rate increased as we approached the door, hoping against hope she wasn’t the Shapeshifter. If she was, there would be no surviving this…

I suppose the fact I’m writing this account is proof enough she was not the creature. But when we kicked the door in, what we saw in the room confirmed what the old woman said.
“Sirs, what are you doing here?”
Spoke the accented man we had met within the very same hour. He was standing there as if it was completely normal, not a scratch on him. Both Sledge and I were terrified at how… Human it looked. Every single detail, from the trim suit to his olive green eyes were the exact same.
“Shoot it.”
Whispered Sledge, who stood in front of me with a drawn sabre. Hands shaking, I slowly raised my pistol and took aim. The thing must have known we had discovered the body, because its face contorted into a look of unspeakable malice and evil. A frown stretched across its face, mouth stretched to impossible proportions. The eyes faded to ones that were completely black, reflecting the light of the orb above us within them. It was hellish, and horrible to look at, but before I pulled the trigger I noticed what it was standing in front of.

Behind it was an open suitcase. Within it was the flintlock it had taken from earlier, and what appeared to be some kind of official paper.

I couldn’t get a good look at it, because the creature suddenly threw itself towards Sledge at impossible speeds. Incredibly, my friend managed to bring his blade to bear upon its torso sideways on. An odd sort of steam flew out from the cut and the thing let out a terrible screech as the area was enveloped by the gas. I couldn’t see anything, and I was hardly prepared to waste my shot now.
“Run, Sledge!”
We needed to get to a better position. Fighting this monster here would be suicide. I bolted out of the room, and was thankfully followed by my comrade. Both of us began sprinting down the hallway and past the now quite horrified old woman. There was a roar from the room we fled from, and when I looked behind me I could see it flying towards us. It looked much more different than the thing we had seen in the last room. It was just like the man at the front desk said it looked like, standing far taller than either Sledge or I. Its body was thin, with the ribs sticking out of its completely pale flesh and its eyes were huge voids that invoked some sort of primitive fear within my very being.
It was more a mess of bones and skin than anything, with a head that reminded me of an oversized lizard’s, and needles protruding from both the top and bottom portions of its mouth. Not even its hands or feet were normal, and took the form of claws and talons. Savage things that looked to be capable of shredding humans like paper.

It was pursuing us, and being sure to make itself a much more difficult target to hit, leaping from wall to ceiling and back to the floor again, hardly ever stopping to maneuver like a human would. It hit the floor with a resounding thump, the walls with a hollow crash and the ceiling with a thump, all the while deftly maneuvering to each with sporadic leaps and bounds. I kept my pistol facing in its direction, and I’m quite sure it knew I had the special round loaded. Even so, it didn’t show the slightest sign of relenting in its pursuit. Sledge reached an elevator and started hitting the down button as hard as he could over and over again, occasionally glancing back to see the thing almost upon us. I stopped along with him, and drew my sabre, an idea coming to me.

As soon as I brought up my weapon, the thing attacked with a pounce, swatting my sword aside with just one of its claws and forcing me to use all the strength I could muster to keep its teeth from tearing into my face. I dodged back and regained a defensive stance, while Sledge took note of this and came at it from the side with his own blade. This probably saved my life, as the Shapeshifter was forced to divert its attention in order to shift its whole body in an instant to knock the weapon away with its claw. And as soon as my comrade was unable to guard his midsection, it lunged in and delivered a slash with its exposed talons that was enough to tear clean through the hardened leather of his uniform and open three jagged cuts across his torso.

Thankfully they weren’t too deep, as the armor at least padded him from the blow. Even so, Sledge was thrown against a nearby wall, bleeding profusely. All of this had taken place as I raised my pistol to bear and took aim. I wasn’t lucky enough to have a clean shot, however, as the beast was sure to see me coming. It leapt into the air before I could fire and used the ceiling itself as a bounce pad to propel itself towards me at a seemingly impossible angle. Both its claws flashed in what light was present, and I did the only thing I could think of doing and threw my palm in its direction.
I shouted, calling upon a condensed bolt of lightning that instantaneously struck the shapeshifter in its mouth with a sound of thunder appropriate to its small size. This bolt shone with a brilliant blue, with miniature threads of energy coursing around it. My opponent was thrown off guard by the flash and I was able to jump back as it hit the ground, steam filling the air once again. Its scream was even louder this time, ringing throughout my very being in an unearthly and hellish manner. I resisted the urge to cover my ears, and slowly backed away down the hall with my pistol drawn. But knowing my plan would fail if I fled, my decision quickly shifted to a more aggressive one as I threw out my palm once again.
A gigantic blast of focused air dispersed all the steam and threw the shapeshifter a good ways down the hall before it could even recover. Wisps of grey still hung about, but were also starting to fade. The sound of the spell was similar to what could be heard if a hundred whips were cracked at once and the area was shaken with the its raw power.

But there was no time to waste, and I hastily grabbed Sledge and threw both myself and he into the elevator, which had opened a few seconds prior. I am happy to say that the face of the monster didn’t appear before us as the doors closed. I found it a little ironic that the thing Sledge said would be dangerous to enter ended up saving our lives that night, as we heard footsteps running towards us as we descended.
I removed another tube containing the Cambria revitalization substance and poured it down my throat, nearly gagging on it in my struggle to breathe after my brief fight. I also removed a tube containing red liquid and poured it over my friend’s wound. The substance hissed when it made contact with his blood, but the torn sinews and flesh began mending themselves at an alarming rate. This was a regenerator, which could repair damaged tissue with incredible speed.

The elevator halted, and sweaty and tired, we both stumbled into the hallway on the first floor. The heat from the ventilation was beginning to become more curse than blessing, and slowed our pace to a walk. A fellow member of the Blackguard saw us as we entered the lobby and looked as if he was looking upon ghosts.
“I didn’t think anyone survived!”
He exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow and halted.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, from what I heard the Shapeshifter killed just about everybody when we first spread out. Cyrus is pretty upset.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
The boy looked to be more afraid than we were.
“I’m lookin’ for survivors.”
I nodded and turned my attention to a weary Sledge, whose face was covered in his own blood. He was in no condition to fight, and I told him to go with the young soldier. The man reluctantly agreed, but I wasn’t about to let the shapeshifter off so easily.
“What are you doing?!”
The boy called out to me as I walked back into the hallway I had just emerged from.
“My job.”
I replied nonchalantly.
Everything around me sounded like the creature, from the sounds of the air conditioning system to the creaking of the floor underneath my feet. I turned down another shadowy corner and towards the staircase I had ascended just a few minutes ago. I hadn’t felt so afraid in a long time, being completely alone and knowing that thing could pounce on me at any second. I knew my two spells from earlier hadn’t killed it, that was for sure. The only reassuring thing to make me feel even a little bit safe was my flintlock loaded with the enigmatic bullet, which I pointed around in sporadic motions as to be ready for an attack.
I began walking up the stairs to get to where I had last seen the thing, and began thinking of a spell powerful enough to make it hold still. Most likely a combination of four words, and a four word spell was often enough to knock people out cold from their usage. I had trained heavily with the Language, however, and was confident in my ability to hang on long enough to squeeze off a shot.

My footsteps sounded louder than ever, making a clunking noise as my boots hit the ground. Upon reaching the second floor once again, the heating was worse than ever. Even so, I had an orb of orange illumination still overhead. I could see into the darkness well enough.

In the distant recesses of the hall, where this light didn’t reach, I heard a screech that was followed by thumping. It was coming right towards me, but at a pace that was horrifyingly quick. Thump thump thump thump thump, all in rapid succession until, at the very edge of my light, I saw it again. It was clawing itself towards me on all fours with a savage look on what I suppose could be called its face. The thing was running so fast that I barely had time to even say my spell.
It was similar to what I had used before, but with ‘zah’ which meant ‘amplified’, the pure power was enough to engulf the entire area in an incredible surge of electricity that coursed through the entire building from a huge stream of energy that struck my target in the torso area, and continued coursing through its body in a brilliant blue. The blast was so powerful that the hall lights began flickering overhead at random intervals, and all the while the Shapeshifter slowly continued stomping forward with lightning flowing through it. Its abnormal skeleton flashed when the lights were out as it continued its gradual pace towards me with bared teeth. I was still directing lightning in its direction with my palm, knowing it was the only thing preventing it from closing the last few feet and tearing me apart.

My body began growing numb as I continued the spell for longer and longer, the deafening crackle of it making my ears ring. The lights overhead shattered, throwing shards of glass all over the area from being overloaded, and even so the shapeshifter stomped forwards with pure rage in its eyes. At last, I poured almost all of my life energy into one final burst of electricity that flew down the entire length of the corridor and scorched the walls and floor a pitch black. The building shuddered in protest, but with the last of my strength I raised my pistol to face the creature and fired.
By now all the lights, including the one from my spell, had been cut. And the little spark from the hammer igniting the flintlock charge was the only thing that allowed me to see the momentary look of defeat in the monster’s eyes as a streak of orange plunged directly into its head. The bullet hit with a ‘thwip’ and was followed by a hiss as the wound glowed a cherry red within my opponent’s skull. At first I recoiled in horror as it clutched its face, alive but in agony. But then it let out a cry of pain as something within the bullet ignited and embers began spreading around its face in odd, diagonal patterns. They appeared a dark orange and bits of burned flesh were gently floating to the ground from its face as the fire spread more and more, until the entire head of the creature was burning.

It began speaking in a number of tongues, all different voices. All shouting screams of agony and pain in a horrible mixture. Some sounded accented, and I even recognized one as the voice of the worker who greeted us at the desk. The creature was clutching its whole face with both talons and stumbled into a wall with a thud, still screaming louder and louder. Numb all over, I used the opposite wall as a support and removed a ice bullet from my coat, and loaded my flintlock again. I let loose another shot, which was tinted a light blue, and struck the torso. Since its Cambrian energy had been diminished so much, it couldn’t stop the spread of icy crystals that began to form around its body as it retched. They began forming in chunks, and within a period of five seconds, they had spread across the entire body like a contagious disease, freezing the thing solid.

The mystery bullet had drained its Cambrian energy, making it open to attack. The edges of my vision were blurring, but I managed to load a standard high impact round and raise my gun once again, closing my right eye and aiming the little sights at the neck. I squeezed the trigger and what followed was what one would hear if a window had shattered, as the bullet hit the ice and caused the entire neck area to fracture. What remained of the beast now were hundreds of chunks of partially frozen flesh upon the ground.

Not feeling too keen on blacking out, I drank my last Cambria restorative and nearly vomited from the buildup of the liquid. The reason we were limited to three was to prevent an overdose, which could be deadly. The numbness subsided and, marveling at the completely obliterated hallway in front of me for a moment, I turned around and made my way downstairs.

I slept well that night, waking the following morning to a slew of different information that changed my perspective on my escapade greatly.

From what investigators had deduced, the creature had indeed been using the vents to pick of members of the Guard one by one. Its talons apparently could extend long enough to the length of blades, which allowed it to cut apart people with ease and explained the gouged out eyes. The woman who claimed to be the manager had been innocent after all, and I breathed a sigh of relief upon being told this. But what began making the whole situation make sense was that the woman who had been murdered that night was carrying access papers to the Scrye. Clearly, the creature had been stalking her for some time and just as she was about to escape she was killed.

Oddly enough, the suitcase we claimed to have seen on the second floor was never recovered, leading to an investigation that essentially turned up nothing. Out of the many who had entered the building that night, just five emerged. Including me, Cyrus, Sledge and the boy who we met in the lobby after our brief fight. I am happy to inform you that Sledge and I were given promotions for our work, and that we continue to serve in the Guard to this day.

But as I walk through the Imperial courts amongst a lavish surroundings of a party, I can’t help but feel disturbed at how, according to a Scrye guard, a Mrs. Lauren Welsche was seen entering the rift the same night, only after stating both of our names with a sly smile on her face.

Credit To – hexo67

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The Grove

April 12, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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I was always a the type of guy that enjoyed a good mystery. Mysteries like UFO sightings or those TV shows about paranormal investigators that stay a night in a haunted house always sparked my imagination as a child and on into adulthood. Some of those shows kept me awake at night, but that was all part of the fun. I never bought too much into crazy theories, but I do pay attention to anything that really makes you question what really goes on.
One documentary in particular set my mind racing. It was one of those History Channel shows that explore various mysteries over the course of the hour. This episode talked about the Bohemian Grove.
For those of you who don’t know, the Bohemian Grove is a camping ground in the Redwood Forests of California that hosts a two-week retreat in the middle of July for the world’s most powerful men. It is here that they may form a sort of think tank. This has led to some believing that the two-week getaway is actually a meeting for the New World Order.
I don’t particularly subscribe to the whole NWO theory, in fact it is one of my least favorite conspiracy theories. However, Bohemian Grove was only a few hours drive from my home in Red Bluff so I somehow resolved that a trip down to the Redwoods would be some good fun. I figured June was almost over so if I head down in a few weeks I might even be lucky enough to see some VIPs.
I called up some buddies of mine and asked if they would be down to do a little backpacking and if they knew what the Grove was. They told me that they had heard of it and a change of scenery would be good. So over the next couple of weeks we threw together some equipment and gear for the trip and headed on down.
My friends, Taylor and Joe, read just as far into the Bohemian Grove as I had so we were on the same page as far as what to expect when we got there. As such, we decided the best time to get to the Grove was a little after dark, so as to avoid any sort of security that, undoubtedly, be present.
According to our map, the best way into the Grove was to follow Smith Creek east from Russian River, and then fork due south. The trip itself would take almost a full day of just trucking through the hike, but we wanted to take our time and enjoy being away from Red Bluff. So instead, we’d go halfway and camp a night. That way, we could hike the rest during the day and roll into the Grove after sunset.
After a few hours, some restroom stops, and lunch, we’d arrived at Monte Rio where we’d found a pretty isolated spot to park the car. As we unloaded our gear, we took in the cool, moist air that the shade of the Redwoods provided for us. It was a sunny day and the clouds were sparse. The birds were chirping and singing high in the trees. The day began as the most peaceful display of nature I had ever known.
We heard the dancing waters of Russian River, locked down the car, and headed towards our starting point. It was then, among the tallest living things in the world, that I knew this place went beyond a simple meeting place for the elite. It was even beyond a force of hidden agendas and conspiracy. This place was mystical. The very air tasted purified like spring water and smelled of rich soil. Perhaps it was the age of the forest that made it that way, an aged man that settled in for his twilight years.
Our first day went great. The weather had been perfect all day. Even navigating our rather nonexistent trail proved a fun challenge. Once the sun started sinking, we set up camp and ate some of the rations we had packed. Since we were in no hurry to burn the forest down, we didn’t even bother with a fire. It was only an hour or two after nightfall that we had all settled in to our tents.
The forest’s nocturnal denizens were not as peaceful as their daytime counterparts. I was awoken by my tent rattling and bouncing around. I heard the flutter of wings and the panicked squeaks of some small creature that failed to take refuge under my tent. I figured I had to take a piss so I might as well see what the commotion was. I emerged from the tent with my headlamp and saw nothing, initially. So I walked a good twenty feet from the campsite and began to relieve myself when I looked up to see a pair of intensely glowing yellow eyes. I jumped in fright as whatever it was had caught me at an inconvenient moment. My eyes adjusted to reveal that it was a good-sized owl perched on a boulder. As I finished emptying myself while still in eye-lock with this creature, it did something I had not expected. The owl flew down from the boulder and onto the ground directly in front of me. There was something menacing, even insidious, in its gaze. Not once did it break eye contact. That is, until it let out a chilling screech I had only ever heard from a barn owl and flew off into the night.
The screech seemed to trigger the rest of the forest into action. Mice scurried along the ground. A family of deer high-tailed it to the north. I could hear a large pack of coyotes baying in the distance as if on the hunt. Needless to say, I hurried back to my tent and did not sleep very well. I could still feel that owl watching us from somewhere above.
The forest had calmed down after about ten minutes, but I had not. It was that look. The look of hatred I had never seen in an animal before. There was just something so un-animal about it, nearing a semblance of expression. The look of a man drunk with hate. A killer through the eyes of the victim. Something purely dark.
Right when I had began to doze off, I heard something that guaranteed I wasn’t going to sleep that night. It began soft, almost in the realm of hallucination. The sobbing of a child. It grew louder. Then it took on the form of a baby’s pained screams. I wasn’t the only one that heard suspicious noises this time.
“Hey, Taylor.” It was Joe speaking in a half whisper.
“Yeah, I hear it,” Taylor replied with a shaky voice.
“Man, what the fuck is that?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s freakin’ me the hell out.”
“Why does it sound like a baby crying?” I chimed in equally as frightened.
“It sounds like it’s moving,” Joe said a bit louder. And indeed the sound was getting louder.
“How does a baby end up miles away from any road by itself?” Taylor asked as if to dismiss it as a dream. His question was something we had all secretly known and held from our minds in denial. A denial that I’d break with two words.
“It doesn’t,” I said.
The veil of panic set in as the wailing reached its climax. The deafening sound came from all angles at once. I clasped my hands over my ears, but still the cries burrowed through. I began to feel dizzy. The very ground seemed to spin at the sound of the child’s pain and despair. My head was pounding and my vision began to blur.
“Oh, I’m gonna fucking puke,” I heard from one of the other tents. I could no longer recognize their voices over all the commotion.
The cries slowly began to taper off. They eventually faded back into a plausible hallucination and on into silence. I emerged from my tent to find Joe kneeling over a puddle of vomit and coughing out the last drops. Taylor was already out as well, disoriented by the screams. I checked my watch to see if it was even worth trying to salvage a few hours of sleep. 3:23 a.m. It was probably enough time to try.
“What’s going on out here, man?” Taylor asked as an open question.
“This…is a…pretty sick joke…if that’s what you…brought us out here for,” Joe coughed out at me followed by a gaseous burp and a slight recovery.
“You think I wanted to do that to myself, too?” I retorted.
“That wasn’t any of us,” Taylor began, “None of us brought anything that could make noise like that, much less would any of us want to listen to that ourselves. Our best idea would be to try to go back to sleep and talk about it in the daylight where our minds won’t play so many tricks on us.”
We all agreed. Taylor had, in fact, always been the wisest and most level-headed of the three of us. But this truth was something we couldn’t consciously believe. Our minds couldn’t grasp it, like it had heard some strain of hideously vulgar language.
Before I retired back to my tent, I chanced a look up at the forest ceiling. I saw my headlamp’s beam climb the giant’s trunk and into the sky. It was here that I saw the clear night, the moon’s crescent glow among the stars. Along with a pair of intense, yellow eyes. A skulking stalker; waiting and watching.
I know I dreamed that night. For the life of me, I can’t remember what it was. I know I woke up terrified, instantly remembering and reliving the past night. I do remember that it was one of those nightmares you can’t willingly wake up from. It was the kind that even if your thoughts reject everything you see, you still can’t revive from sleep. A prison inside the only place that knows exactly what you fear.
I rolled out of my tent at around eight o’clock. It was an extremely foggy morning. I knew this particular ecosystem was renown for fog, but this was far beyond my imagining. The forest itself was calm, thankfully, but in a way that was eerily so. There were no birds singing in the early morning. No deer or elk roamed the woods. In fact, it was totally still. And totally silent. But I took this as a pleasant change of pace compared to the prior, hellish night.
Joe was the second to wake up and open his tent. He had the same restless look in his eyes that I imagine I also had in mine. He got a couple packs of trail mix out of his pack and threw one my way. My failed attempt to catch the snack was trailed by our first talk of the day.
“I don’t want to talk about anything until we start walking,” Joe stated as a matter of fact.
“I second that notion,” I replied, looking around the forest suspiciously.
“And I third,” said a voice in Taylor’s tent. It had startled Joe and I before we figured out Taylor had awoken and begun packing.
It didn’t take long to take down the campsite. Breaking down tents and stuffing sleeping bags was something we’d done many times before. But none of us spoke a word while we did it. It was an appropriate reflection of the forest’s own silence. I left out the map and a compass to finish orienteering to the Grove; the three of us donned our packs; and without much more than a glance at each other, we continued south. Figuring we had come all this way already, we trudged headlong into the unknown we had caught a brief glimpse of a few hours earlier.
The sun was high in the sky as the fog cleared and evaporated. It was soothing to hear birds chirping once again and to smell the same purity in the air as the day before. We still had several miles left until the Grove, so we might as well enjoy it.
“At least it turned out to be an alright day.” Taylor was the first to speak.
“Yeah, but what about last night?” Joe asked with a slightly worried tone.
“What about it?” I asked rhetorically, begging to not relive it in memory.
“That cry, dude,” Joe began, “I’ve never been that scared in my life. How did it get out here? Like you said, it couldn’t have made it out here on its own. Something had to carry it, or someone. Whatever it was didn’t seem to be in a huge hurry to shut it up. Furthermore, that cry got loud. Like it walked straight through camp.” Joe’s perceived paranoia was scratching at the walls of questions we all had but knew we couldn’t bear the answer to.
“I saw something when I got out of my tent last night.” Taylor had chimed in now, and he had captured our full attention. “Before the cries completely vanished, I saw two lights fading into the woods. They were bouncing as if carried by someone walking very slowly through the woods. They were as small as candles and burned as bright, as well. I didn’t want to say anything then to alarm you guys further.”
“Which way were they going?” I asked and immediately regretted doing so.
Taylor paused a moment and I could see him working it out in his head. His eyes shot down to his feet to watch his step and then back up to the woods. “I- I don’t know,” he stated after hesitation.
But I knew. I knew he had remembered which way his tent was facing. I knew he had remembered which way he was looking relative to his tent. It was the type of thing he had typically taken note of. I knew he knew exactly which way they had gone. And I knew we must be following them.
“Aside from all this crazy-talk,” Joe said to try to shrug off the conversation, “What are we gonna do tonight when we actually get to Bohemian Grove?”
“Well,” I had thought this part out well, “We all have binoculars, right?”
They nodded in agreement
“I was thinking we’d post up on a nearby clearing. It needs to be somewhere we won’t have our view limited by the trees and a place high enough to have a good view of whatever’s going on. I looked at the satellite pictures of the areas around the Grove and our path should lead us somewhere that may work for us. Don’t know what we’ll see, but we oughtta at least see some VIPs and some of the facilities.”
“I just hope this whole trip wasn’t for a bad view of a place we know nothing about,” said Joe begrudgingly.
We took great comfort in the remaining daylight, even partially recovered from the terror of the night. As twilight set in and we came upon our clearing, the daylight had already become sorely missed. We set our packs down in front of us and used them to prop up our chests, making the extended use of binoculars a bit more comfortable.
I peered through the scopes to see only distant Redwoods still visible in the fading twilight. As I panned around I began seeing cabins and tents. They were small, almost miserly shacks. Not a place I’d expect to see visiting dignitaries. I lowered my binoculars to see what my cohorts were looking at.
“Some hive for the rich and wealthy,” said Taylor who had apparently seen and thought the same as I had.
“What’s that?” Joe lowered his binoculars and pointed toward a small body of water.
I raised mine back up in the direction of the water. It almost looked like an amphitheater. A small pond giving rise to stone steps filled my sight. I followed the stairs up to what appeared to be a two-tiered stone stage separated by another set of steps arranged in a semi-circle. At the center of the semi-circle was what appeared to be a stone fire pit of some sort with a strangely shaped monolith behind it, towering over the amphitheater.
As I stared at this strange sight I had ascertained what the monolith was. It was a statue of a large, winged creature. An owl, to be certain. My mind raced back to the vicious owl at the campsite. I tried to dismiss it by thinking it a bizarre coincidence. But the whole thing made me feel uneasy.
“Looks like a kind of theater,” said Taylor. “That’s probably gonna be what we wanna watch tonight.”
We all agreed and used the day’s last light to set up our tents. Thankfully, our tents blended well with the environment. This would help us avoid being discovered by the security that was surely present with such high-profile individuals about. No lights were to be used all night and we rarely spoke above a whisper. Our dinners consisted of beef jerky and peanuts, a true backpacker’s delicacy. It seemed that the purple glow of twilight gave way to utter darkness in mere minutes and the nightly silence followed.
The moon hung in the sky as a resolute watcher of the night as the stars joined in with us as secret audiences of Bohemian Grove. The three of us posted back up on our packs with our binoculars glued to our faces. The Grove was dimly lit by candles and lanterns posted along the roads. This was our first sign of actual life down there. We could see vague forms and figures migrating toward the amphitheater. Taylor had chosen the right spot to watch.
It was hard to tell what these figures were wearing in the dim. The only thought that came to my mind was the robes worn by a choir. Except these robes were mostly black, broken up by some blues, grays, dark greens, and only two reds from what I could tell. Their faces were all shielded by hoods. The vast majority of black robes gathered on the north side of the small pond, closest to us, and a faint hum of conversation permeated the crowd of about fifty. All colored robes took places on the stone stage and carried candles. I chanced a look over at Taylor to see what he may be thinking. All I could see was a lump forming in his throat. I peered back down the scopes.
One of the blue robes stood center stage. He held what appeared to be an unlit torch aloft. The buzz of talk among the audience silenced. At first it was difficult to discern what the figure was saying. Eventually, my ears had tuned in to the man’s baritone voice.
“…on this, the first night of this year’s encampment, we welcome all into our domain of shared wisdom and brotherhood. I will be the Old Guard residing over tonight’s communion and, indeed, Bohemian Grove itself. Let us begin with a word of prayer to Moloch.” The man lowered the torch and raised his right hand toward the owl monolith. The crowd and the bystanders on stage mimicked the action. “Greatest Moloch, we humble servants of your way ask for close guidance these next few weeks to carry us through the rest of the year before we convene here once again to bask in your sight and take shelter in your mighty wings. We seek the wisdom and knowledge to best lead our people into your divine talons so they may be carried on the winds of enlightenment.”
The crowd followed by speaking a verse in the form of a chant. I couldn’t distinguish but a single word from it but it was no longer than a short sentence beginning with the word “Wisdom” and fading into indistinguishable babble. Owls had often been associated with knowledge and wisdom in many cultures so it made sense to ask this “Moloch” for such a thing.
The blue-robed man continued, “It is not out of charity we ask these things. We have prepared for you a seed that would surely grow as mighty as these trees you have made your dwelling in. Please watch, dear Moloch, as we prepare for you our offering.” He lowered his hand back to his side and lifted the torch back up.
The crowds lowered their hands as four grey robes flanked the blue with candles pointed forward. They raised their small fires to ignite the torch into a blaze of its own. Once lit, the four returned the candles to chest-level and retreated to their spots.
“The lighting of the torch symbolizes the four Songbirds that fly the Void,” the blue robe continued, “singing their Unheard Lullaby to Camazotz. Moloch is the Songbird of Knowledge. As such, he is tasked with remembering the song should the other three forget or the song end.” The man turned and walked toward the stone fire pit and lit the kindling inside.
The fire began small and smoky, but eventually was able to outshine all other lights when coupled with the reflection made by the pond. I, nearly blinded by the inferno, took my eyes out of their respective lenses and looked to my two friends.
“So this is what they do when we don’t see them on TV,” whispered Joe mockingly. He and Taylor were still peering through their binoculars so I raised mine back up to my head.
The blue-robed man spoke again. “This ceremony is called the Cremation of Care, and it is our longest held tradition.” For the rest of this “ritual” he spoke exclusively in an undefined language. It sounded like it may have been close to Hebrew, but I was no linguist. He spoke quickly in his almost-haunting beretone voice. Every few sentences, he would stop to allow the crowd to respond with a chant in the same twisted language.
“I don’t feel too good about this,” whispered Taylor.
“Yeah, man,” I spoke in hushed, shaky tones, “Everything about this feels wrong…wait, what are the two red ones doing?”
The two red-robed figures standing on either side of the owl turned and walked slowly, as if calculating every step, behind the monolith. Moments later, they returned carrying either side of a dresser-drawer sized wicker basket. Its contents were obscured by our angle. The two continued their snail-paced walk to the front of the the fire pit. They set the basket down and returned to their posts.
The blue robe continued his obscured sermon and turned to point at the two red robes. His rant had carried on, but this was not what held our attention. The two figures in red raised their hands to the sides of the hoods. They slowly and simultaneously lowered them to reveal a hideous sight. Two pale bald heads emerged from the hoods, each lacking eyebrows and facial hair as well. Perhaps the strangest of things were their eyes, each with heavy cataracts that gave the irises a ghostly appearance that was enhanced by a slight jaundice. Theses men had been stricken blind.
“We…we need to leave,” said Taylor slightly above a whisper.
But Joe and I were nearly entranced. We would be witnesses to something the world did not know of. It was this ability to wield forbidden knowledge that held our attention stronger than the sheer terror.
“Guys,” Taylor was speaking at conversation volume now, “You don’t get it, guys. We need to leave. Now. Before we see something that will drive us insane.”
“Taylor,” Joe began speaking as loud as Taylor now, “You’re freaking out about nothing. These guys are harmless.”
“Well you can keep your head up your ass, but I refuse to sit and watch any longer.”
“Both of you keep it down,” I whispered loudly. They ceased their bickering. I knew Taylor may have figured something out, but I could not stop watching what was unfolding below. “Nobody’s making you stay, Taylor. If you don’t wanna watch go in your fuckin’ tent.”
Taylor stared at me for a second with a look of shock in his eyes before walking back to his tent. I couldn’t be bothered by his cautionary advice. What I was seeing took greater precedence.
As I once again donned my binoculars I could see the blue robe walk over to the basket at the foot of the fire pit. He was still speaking in tongues as he pulled a bread loaf-sized clump of rags out of it. But the rags started to unfurl. He cradled the remainder in his left arm. With his right hand he reached into the clump and raised, as though unsheathing a sword, an infant child and held it high in the air by its leg. He paraded the now-wailing child around the stage like brandishing a trophy.
Chills shot through my whole body. Bumps formed on my arms. My heart was a racing engine. Whatever was about to happen could only be a sinister act. An act of dark obsession and evil motives. My stomach churned as the same ear-piercing cry of the baby in the forest shot out from the Grove. Had this been the same baby? Had the two figures in red robes carried it right through our camp, blind to their surroundings? What about that damned owl? We were in the midst of no mere sermon, but of an unholy communion. A sacrificial rite.
I froze. Unblinking. Unable to react to what I was seeing. Unable to run. Taylor had been right, yet again. I could hear him beginning to cry in his tent, not capable of leaving the friends that defied him. A cold sweat began rolling down my forehead.
The man in the blue robe put his left hand on the child’s forehead and recited, loudly and clearly, words from some arcane ritual written in the mutilated Jewish tongue. He removed his left hand and walked toward the fire. He reached the baby over the blaze and released it. The child was devoured by the charring depths of the sacrificial furnace. Some monstrous, sickening deed had been done in the name of this malign deity. The cries grew in intensity, reaching a new level of agony and suffering. The blaze shot up, reaching the height of the monolith before being completely extinguished in an instant. A silence hung in the air that suggested the poor child now knew a sleep it was far too young to meet.
My eyes adjusted to the dark after moments. Candles and lanterns were now the primary light. The forest seemed to shiver after what it had seen. The moon abandoned its nightly watch and the stars turned their backs.
“The seed is fed to the fire, as the ancient rite goes,” said the blue robe bowing to the owl statue. “Hear us and reply, Lord Moloch. Share the wisdom of ages.”
I could hear what sounded like distant thunder rolling through the forest. Once it passed overhead, it was followed by a cold wind. If my bones had not already been chilled the wind would have surely done it. My eyes suddenly started burning fiercely. With no explanation as to what had caused it, I glanced toward Joe. He had gone pale and looked sickly. He was crying blood. Thinking I might have been doing the same, I rubbed my eyes and looked at my hands. They were a dark shade of crimson.
“We gotta get the fuck outta here,” said Joe on the verge of vomiting.
“Tell Taylor he was right. I’ll start breaking down the tents.”
We packed the camp up in mere seconds, though at the time it felt like a grim eternity. The wind picked up as we left our precipice. The sky was now shrouded in cloud and it was not long before rain was falling. Whatever monster the Grove had been calling to had definitely answered. With our headlamps on and our hearts in a panic, we set off in a dead run through the forest.
The wind was causing the trees to sway and flex. It cut in between them, making a ghastly moaning noise. Taylor led the way with Joe and I trailing closely behind. Lightning flashed, giving us a brief, lighted glimpse of the forest. The thunder clapped in the distance and began growing louder. It felt like that thunder was chasing us. As it rolled overhead, our headlamps began to flicker. The flickering was mild at first, dimming and occasionally blinking. This progressed until the lamp was nothing more than a paperweight with a head strap.
Once my light went out, I ripped it off my head and tossed it aside. This run was miserable. Every breath filled my lungs with freezing air. I could not tell if my eyes burned because the rain or the blood that still trailed from them. I could feel the weight of my pack dig in to the muddy ground with every step.
With a flash of lightning, I could see something falling onto Taylor. The impact took him to the ground. Immediately following, Joe tripped over Taylor with me nearly going over as well. I saw Joe roll over in the dirt and recover to his feet. Taylor fell on his side and was shielding his face with his arm. Another flash of lightning revealed what Taylor was shielding his face from. I knew what it was in that very instant by the tell-tale sign of a pair of burning, yellow eyes.
The owl tore at Taylor’s flesh with its talons. It nabbed at his eyes with its beak. Though Taylor flailed around in a desperate act to escape, the nocturnal bird did not let up its onslaught.
“Oh God! Please, God, help me!” Taylor screamed in terror.
I dropped my pack and delivered a swift kick to the owl’s chest. It landed about three feet away on its side. I waited a moment to see if the owl would get back up. It sat lifeless on the ground for a moment before recovering to its feet. Its sulfurous gaze cut through to my very soul and ailed my already weary body. With a hideous shriek and a flutter of wings, the owl flew off into the wicked night.
Taylor had been knocked unconscious. He had deep lacerations all over his arms, prompting heavy blood flow. His eyes were swollen shut. Deep purple bruises covered his face. Aside from still breathing, he looked dead.
Joe and I broke out our first-aid kits and went to work. We applied disinfectant and heavy gauze to his carved-up forearms and hands and tied tourniquets to his upper arms to slow the blood loss.
“We need to get this guy to a hospital,” said Joe, still a bit rattled by the assault.
I nodded. We strapped Taylor’s pack to his chest to keep his weight forward and his possibly concussed head resting on the bag’s frame. Together, Joe and I scooped him up and slung each of Taylor’s bloody arms around our necks and began dragging him out of the accursed forest. No matter how our bodies had already been battered, we now had a life in our hands. The life of a friend. Adrenaline took hold and we summoned the strength to trudge on with our northerly route.
Minutes of walking passed. Followed by what seemed several hours. The sky began to brighten as the rain let up. As if to signal some small salvation, we heard the running waters of Smith Creek. Our weary bodies saw the light at the end of the tunnel and began to shut down. Our legs quaked with the fatigue delivered by every step. All we needed to do now was follow the creek west and to the car.
The familiar sounds of the morning birds filled the air. They sounded so joyous, so blissful, so unaware of the atrocity that occurred. The sin that dejected nature and broke the order, the very substance that defines conscience and sanity. Or perhaps these creatures lived in an ignorant awareness to the annual unholy sacrament in the heart of the forest. An odd sort of pact with this Moloch, for animals, too, fall prey to their own curiosity. Curiosity is, after all, what led us to this strange part of the world. It was out of curiosity that we witnessed that foul enterprise at the Grove. By curiosity’s cruel hand, we were now dragging our dear, nearly-dead friend out of such a cursed land, a wicked garden. It is as if we are all just marionettes, with our innermost questions stringing us along, being manipulated by a prime mover. A blight that rests within all of our hearts and minds. Uncurable and unceasing.
It was around seven o’clock in the morning that we cleared the forest and loaded our gear back into the car. Taylor was lain across the backseat with Joe keeping him from rolling around. Once all was secured, I began driving down to a nearby hospital in Sebastopol.
“What are we gonna say to the doctors?” asked Joe.
“The truth. He was attacked by a wild animal.”
“Wild, huh? I saw how it paused to stare you down after you kicked it, which, by the way, shoulda killed that thing. That bastard had a mind of its own.”
“I know, man,” I said nervously, “I’m trying to forget about all that.”
“Forget? I hate to say it, but I don’t think that’s happening. This is something we have to carry with us to our grave.”
“Well, Joe, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tryin’ to make sure our friend doesn’t get there too long before we do.” I was tired, impatient, and angry. But most of all, still scared shitless of even thinking about everything.
“I’m sorry, dude…You- You just keep driving.”
I was relieved to have some silence for a bit to concentrate on the road. Driving always eased my troubled mind. But then Joe broke the silence, yet again.
“You know…”
“Know what?” I said with a sigh.
“We could help Taylor in another way.”
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
“Doesn’t knowing what we know feel like a burden to you?”
“I guess…”
“And we wouldn’t want to burden a friend, would we?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m saying we could end his suffering before it starts…save Taylor from a lifetime of fear and paranoia.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” I asked demandingly. I had pieced together what he was playing at.
“C’mon, man. For all we know, he’s in a coma he’ll never wake up from. Would you torture a friend like that? Make him relive the past nights in his mind over and over again in an endless nightmare?”
“I won’t make a judgement call on another man’s life. I won’t play God. And if you so much as look at him funny, you’ll find yourself walking your ass back to Red Bluff.”
He paused a moment and whispered, “It’d be easy. Just one twist. End the poor bastard’s life.”
I pulled over and stopped the car. As I turned to the back seat I saw Joe’s face. He was weeping gravely. The man had lost his mind like Taylor said he would.
“What, man?” Joe sniveled. “Can’t you see that it’s gonna be the end of all of us, anyway? We’ll never get away from it. No matter how long or how far we run, it’ll find us.”
“Look around, Joe,” I said calmly, “What’s coming after us?”
“Right now? Not a thing. But in days, months, even years? He’ll find us. He’ll be the end of us. He’ll hunt us down in our thoughts. In our nightmares. He may come knocking at night, when all evil roams free. He may even find you in broad daylight, when you once again find safety in your daily routines. But he’s coming for us all. Can’t you hear him? He’s whispering in my head. Telling me to end it all. He says you’ll hear him, too. You’ll look into his eyes again.”
His face had gone pale. Tears soaked his face as more welled up in his eyes. His hands shook uncontrollably, like he was being electrocuted. He had either abandoned his sanity or it was lost within him. But what he said terrified me. What he said shook me to my core. He was right. This wasn’t something that could be outlived.
“Look, man, you’re not yourself right now. We’re going to the hospital. Bottom line. Just don’t touch Taylor and don’t say another word. We’ll be there in fifteen.” I turned back around and put the car in drive. Daylight was no sanctuary anymore.
Upon reaching the hospital, Taylor was rushed to the emergency room. Joe and I sat in the waiting room for an eternity. He did nothing but shiver and whisper to himself the entire time. Growing tired of it, I told Joe I was going to the bathroom. Instead of going, though, I spoke to the lady at the front desk and explained Joe’s ruptured sanity as post-traumatic stress. Within moments of a phone call to the psych ward, Joe was confronted by two burly, male nurses and escorted away.
That was the last I saw of Joe. In days to come, his seemingly sudden mental collapse would earn him titles such as schizophrenic, epileptic, and amnestic, among others. I kept tabs on him, but never visited.
After they took Joe away, I sat alone in the waiting room. For two days, I’d attempt to read books or magazines, but my worries would take me away from whatever I was reading. I’d sleep in the chairs, only to be awoken from a nightmare by the lady at the desk offering me a cup of pudding or something. I never felt well enough to eat, but I always muscled down what she gave me.
On that third day, a nurse came out and escorted me to Taylor’s hospital room. His door was closed, but a television monitor outside showed him fast asleep.
“We had to drain the blood out of his swollen eyes,” the nurse began, “after that, it was all a matter of getting stitches to those gashes. One hundred eighty three, to be precise. No concussion. No comatose. He’s just asleep now. Did you want to go inside and see him?”
Just as she asked this Taylor began to stir on the monitor. He looked up to the camera. I did not want to see him anymore.
“No, thanks. I’ll let him get his sleep and contact his family for his insurance,” I spoke these words very briefly. The nurse looked confused as I turned a expeditiously left the hospital to drive back to Red Bluff.
Taylor looked great. His color had come back and, aside from light bruising around his eyes and a map of stitches on each arm, appeared ready to be released. There was just one thing that bothered me. One thing that sent shivers down my spine. Staring through me from that monitor were a set of abhorrent, yellow eyes.

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The Shadows of Samuel Craven

April 6, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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In the sleepy town of Windarm,
a street where no one goes,
a child of wondrous prying
was deadened in crooked pose.

His name was Samuel Craven
a boy no older than ten,
sneaking out from the safety
of his home, a reluctant one then.

The breeze of the night engulfed him
as he ran free and clear to his doom.
To a place which never existed
but he’d found it, no less, in his room.

At night the shadows would scurry,
and paint pictures of streets on his wall,
as he’d lie in his bed and observe
a place where children stood tall.

Each night the pictures grew stronger,
as slivers of dark made the scene;
a street of cobble and houses,
glowing windows, thatched roofs, and oak beams.

On his wall, shadowed children would scamper,
playing late and loud as they pleased.
While Samuel lay there in envy,
of the place he so wanted to be.

For his parents seemed strict and distant,
far removed from the freedom he yearned.
And of course Samuel wished for an instance,
where the rules of grown-ups could be spurned.

Night upon night he was beckoned,
by the children playing tag on the wall,
and the rules of his parents rang harshly;
in his ears, in his soul, in him all.

On the fifth night the picture froze sharply,
and the shadows of children turned round
to face Samuel Craven, with wide grins in place,
made of dark, and of light, which was drowned.

“Come with us, dear Samuel”, they whispered.
“You can play with us now in our street,
and you never need worry about grown-ups again
for here parents and children shan’t meet”.

Young Samuel did not have to answer,
for he leapt from his bed with glee,
through the wall where empty eyes watched him,
open handed and whispering “be free”.

As the thin shadowed hands of the children
grabbed his own and pulled him within,
the world turned grey to poor Samuel
and his vision began to dim.

“Welcome home, my dear little boy”,
said a voice cracked with age, wheezed and thin.
And as his sight was encroached by the darkness,
Samuel saw what had spoken to him.

A figure stood at the end of the street,
something tall and spindly of limb,
wearing rags of grey, dirtied fabric,
and an absence of life there within.

Its eyes were putrid and glassy,
and its mouth gaped with rotten lament,
against those with joy and childhood
and of people, and of time misspent.

“Come closer, dear Samuel, do not be afraid,
for I am seeking little, nothing more.
Than to keep you away from the grown-ups,
of that world you have found such a bore.

Look at the children who stay here”,
said the figure with bony hands raised.
And as Samuel shuddered with a chill in the air,
he knew the grave choice he had made.

For the children played not, so to speak,
but were frozen in crooked positions.
Like scarecrows warding off the unwanted,
the figure’s prized acquisitions.

Mouths stitched tightly in place,
eyes pleaded and ears strained to listen,
as the shrouded vagabond figure
walked amongst the deadlocked children.

“They too once wished to run far away
from those who were old and stern.
And of course I granted that wish,
by making shadowed statues of them”.

The Vagabond moved ever closer,
and Samuel saw in its round opaque eyes,
there was nothing of love about them,
only pain and a well of demise.

As its rotten coughed upon garments
ruffled quickly in the bleak night air,
Samuel turned to face his bedroom,
running fast to the safety held there.

But his movements were quickly restricted
by the cracks and creaks all around
of the hands of petrified children,
shadowed fragments of life now death-bound.

Scared little Samuel struggled,
and cried out as loud as he could,
but quickly his screams were muffled
by fingers like rigid warped wood.

“Now is the time”, said the Vagabond,
showing his teeth, white and bled.
While slithered hands gripped the boy in place,
the figure held needle and thread.

Darting in front of small Samuel,
the needle glistened with delight,
and the children forced a smile on his face
with their hands, withered and slight.

As their fingers pulled at the corners
of his mouth and prodded inside,
Samuel cried in desperate terror,
tasting charcoal and rancid skinned hide.

The Vagabond now simply revelled,
as he pierced helpless Samuel’s top lip,
pulling needle through skin and followed by thread
before laughing and gargling on spit.

Coldness now took young Samuel,
as his skin began to fade.
Like the other children around him,
life and hope reneged.

“I will seal up your lips and take your light”,
said the Vagabond holding the needle.
“And add you to my own gaggle of souls,
filled with hate for those who are feeble”.

As the needle hovered and danced,
tears streamed down Samuel’s face;
to be back in his cosy bedroom,
find his steps and simple retrace.

That was all he could think of,
but now nothing more could be done,
for as his skin turned to shadow
and his eyes began to burn,

the Vagabond stared intently,
spit drooling from opened gaped lips.
And with one thrust forward, the needle drove straight,
to extinguish the child’s heart by eclipse.

Howls of pain and anguish
cut through the cold darkened street,
but it was not young Samuel who yelled in pain,
it was the Vagabond who had to retreat.

For standing shoulder to shoulder,
dragging the figure with all of their might,
were Samuel’s parents emboldened,
by their son’s cries for help in the night.

They pulled at the creature’s limbs,
knocking needle from sordid hand.
As the shadowed children creaked forward,
following their master’s commands.

“Take their light, now, my children”,
said the Vagabond seething with hate.
“These grown-ups must be punished,
stitch their lips and seal their fate”.

Samuel lay on the cobble,
crying and desperate for home,
as the Vagabond threw both his parents
to the ground, next to their son.

They cradled their boy’s head softly,
and whispered “don’t be afraid”,
as the shadowed children surrounded,
open eyed with fingers like blades.

But looking at young helpless Samuel,
something stirred in each shadowed face;
of memories, of home, and of love;
of a forgotten and once lived-in place.

The memory of family came flooding
like a tide of bitter regret,
of sleeping in darkness for centuries
and being snatched from warm comfy beds.

Slowly the children cracked onward,
as the Vagabond closed in tight.
Yet, not to assist their captor,
but to stop him with all of their might.

A sea of shadowed child fingers
pulled and clawed at the rags
of the vagabond, once their master,
who’d sewn each of their stitchings and gags.

Samuel’s parents did not need to ask
for one more second of time,
and grabbed their son as quick as they could,
fleeing the scene of the crime.

As the figure tore down his children,
each one their stitching pulled out,
he rasped and screeched with venom
at the family who’d caused such a rout.

His horde of children lay on the floor,
wide-eyed and mouths ripped open,
as he flung himself towards the three
who’d left his street empty and broken.

Panting and rushing and heaving,
Samuel’s parents flew to the edge
of where the street now ended
and bedroom made safety its pledge.

The Vagabond soon quickly followed
as the family leapt within,
to their house and the room they had chosen
for their son to play and sleep in.

As the figure drew ever closer,
a seething wretch of the night,
Samuel’s mother leapt to the corner
and simply turned on the light.

No shadows were there to be feared of,
no Vagabond, children or street.
Nothing which spoke of the danger,
which their boy had taken to meet.

The years moved on with Samuel,
though he would never forget his mistake:
running from those who loved him
to strangers who’d promises make.

And now young Samuel is grown-up,
his daughter asleep in her room,
as shadows and whispers spill over
from the street, the Vagabond’s tomb.

Credit To – Michael Whitehouse

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The Story of Time-travelling Dad

April 1, 2015 at 10:00 PM
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This is the story of time-traveling dad. He died in 1997 after buying his son a 2012 mustang and then being killed by the Rake.

My name is Ralph, but most people simply refer to me as “time traveling dad”. It’s quite a long story why. You see, I am a dad. I also time travel. I’m sorry if that was confusing. It all started when I went to a spooky hotel on Halloween.
I was on vacation, and I had rented a room in a hotel in a small town called Dred. My room number was 13 and I would be staying for only one night. When I drove to the top of a hill in the middle of a dark secluded forest built next to an Indian burial ground, the hotel was right in view. It was old-looking and cast a gloomy gloom that shrouded the area very gloomily. I pulled into the seemingly empty parking lot and opened my car door. I went around to my trunk and opened it. I pulled out my suitcase and gun that I call “Pacemaker”. Suddenly I heard a noise.
It was a scary noise.
Looking out into the dark forest, the only source of light a dim streetlamp, I saw a tall figure that looked like a man. The man was very skinny. A synonym for that would be… slender.
The figure approached me. I just stood there and waited. I waited to see what this person would do. Suddenly it became apparent that this was no ordinary person. He/she/it was not walking, but instead just… appearing. I was starting to get the %$#& scared out of me so I quickly picked up my stuff and ran for it. I ran straight through the entrance of the hotel and kept running until I noticed something. It was completely silent. No one was in the hotel at all. I noticed a key card sitting on the desk in the main lobby. It said “room number 13” and looked like a normal hotel key card. There was a red stain on the back.
Looking out the window, I saw the slenderish man-dude waiting right out in the parking lot. I could get a better look at its facial features. There happened to be none. I was getting more creeped out so I decided to look for my room. As I passed by the breakfast buffet area, I saw a CD on a table. Written on the front in sharpie was “Knuckles.exe”. I didn’t bother with the DVD but instead kept moving.
The hotel was rather small. There were only two floors. The main floor had the lobby and all the bedrooms and stuff. The top floor was a dark, unsafe, and deadly maintenance area with a KEEP OUT sign on the front.
I decided I would look in there later.

As I walked down the hallway, I peered into each room. Each door had a small window on it. In one room, I saw a gray cartoon character sitting on a bed, crying silently. In another room, I saw nothing but red.
Finally I got to room 13. Inside, I was surprised to see the living conditions were fairly comfortable. There was a king-sized bed, a sofa, a large HD TV, and a mini bathroom with shower. I unpacked all my stuff and locked the privacy lock. Then I sat down on the sofa. Perhaps some television would calm my nerves.
The hotel only received three channels. The first was static, and the other two, channel 17 and 21 were both very weird. On channel 21 was some poorly filmed show called “Mr. Bear’s cellar” and on channel 17 was a show called “Candle cove”. Neither show particularly interested me. Something seemed quite off about both of them. After about five minutes I heard a knock at the door and a kid’s voice calling,
“Sir, could you please let me in? I don’t know where my parents are.” I peered out the window and saw that the kid’s eyes were completely black. It was very creepy. So, I took out “pacemaker” and shot him dead.
After that, I decided to go to bed. It wasn’t very late, but I was bored. I started to fall asleep, but was suddenly reawaken by yet another knock at the door.
Grudgingly, I got up again and walked to the door. Directly outside was a white-faced man with a knife. He had dark, sunken eyes, long, matted hair, and a large red smile. The knife he held was rather sharp.
“Are you having sleep troubles?” he cackled outside the door. I rolled my eyes and muttered,
“I wouldn’t, if you didn’t interrupt my sleep.” I took out Pacemaker and blew his brains out. Five seconds later, a duplicate of the weird looking person appeared at my door. This one was exactly the same in every way. The knife was the same too. I shot his brains out as well.
Again, the same thing happened. This time, five more appeared.
“Why are there so many of you?!”I screamed.
“We are the Jeff the Killer clones from across the internet and crappypasta,” said one of them. All the Jeffs began to try to break down the door. I backed up and held Pacemaker tightly.

There are many ways this story might end. Here are three.

1. |The “Happy with a twist” ending|

I pulled the trigger back on Pacemaker, squeezing out several shots. Then I turned around and went out the window next to the bed. I ran to my car and put the key in the ignition. Then I drove away as fast as I could. As I sped away, suddenly I realized something was not right.

I had left my suitcase inside the hotel…

2. |The “Stereotypical” Ending|

I pulled the trigger back on Pacemaker, squeezing out several shots. Suddenly I felt lightheaded. I passed out. Later I awoke in a hospital room. I could hear a nurse saying,
“The patient has woken.” A man responded,
“I just know this all could have been prevented had he not taken too many Claritin pills.”
He must have been a doctor. I could tell by the way he spoke. Also, his name tag said he was an M.D. Why was I in a hospital? What about the hotel place? Maybe I had been dreaming about the hotel stuff. The doctor and nurse left. I looked on the bedside table. There was a “get well soon” card on it. It had a picture of a man with a bleach-white face and large smile. In scrawled handwriting were the words “Go to sleep.”

3. |The “Were You Even Trying?!” ending|

I pulled the trigger back on Pacemaker, squeezing out several shots. All of them hit the Jeffs. Within three seconds the fight was over. Yay.

“I am so glad that I didn’t have to work hard to write this ending,” said the author. “I love copouts!”
“Well, now what am I going to do?!” wondered Time-travelling Dad.
“Here, have an all expense paid trip to Tibet with one friend,” said the author, and Time-travelling Dad noticed that he was stepping on two plane tickets.
“But, hold on,” said Time-travelling Dad, “You never explained why I’m called Time-travelling Dad! This story had literally NOTHING to do with time-travel!”
“So?” said the author. “Maybe I made the title a LITTLE misleading, but I’ll leave it to the reader’s imagination.”
“Now, hold on a second!” said TD.
“I haven’t got the time,” explained the author. “You see, I’m going to write a story that will be SUPER AWESOME! It will be called ‘Jeff the Killer vs Candlejack.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Time-travelli

Credit To – Legodan3 (original idea by Yossarian on crappypasta)

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The Muffin Man

April 1, 2015 at 8:00 PM
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You stand in front of the alleyway, slowly stepping into the darkness. You have always hated this part of your walk home from work, but every day you gather up your courage and ignore your instinct to be afraid.

Walking quickly, you keep your eyes fixed on the ground. But as soon as you hear footsteps, your head whips back at the blackness behind you.

Through the darkness, you can barely make out a figure about thirty feet away. It’s huge and round. Looking at its shadow cast on the wall, you could see something coming off of its face, something long and featherlike. You realize it was just a mustache.

You continue down the alley, intent on the idea that it was just a fat man walking the same way as you. But the footsteps grow louder. And faintly in the distance, you can hear the soft sound of… what is that… children singing? No, not just children. The sounds, enveloping you now, resemble that of men and women of many ages. Some are high-pitched, and others are low, but they are all singing the same tune.

The song brings a wave of nostalgia over you. You used to sing this song every day when you were a kid. But your flashback ends when the voices begin to turn sinister. They sounded like they were extremely pained, as if they had fallen off their roof into a pile of garbage three times over, and then were forced to sing a song.

No, it was worse than that. They were wailing and screaming, as if they had been forced to listen to the nyan cat song for five hours straight, locked in a closet with Will Ferrell slowly licking their ear.

Your pace starts to quicken, up until you are running full speed away from this thing. But it is much faster. Within one second, it’s right in front of you.

It is hideous. What you thought was its fat belly is actually an enormous muffin. His arms and legs stick out of it, and it reaches up to its neck. But one detail in particular strikes you as strange. On its side, there was a dent in the muffin, and it looked like someone went up and took a bite out of it. Blood drips from the wound and stains the delicate confection.

You scream at the sight of it, but every sound you made was drowned out by the voices. It walks closer, grabbing you with its chubby little hand. Before you can react, it holds you up three feet in the air.

It smiles menacingly at you before shoving you into the hole on its side. You fall down onto a pile of bodies that scream as you land on them. You try to get up and escape, but something holds you in place. That same something begins to make you sing.

You try to scream, but all that comes out is a wailing noise to the tune you know all too well.


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The Critic

April 1, 2015 at 8:00 AM
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I had a really bad few weeks lately.

I was sincerely terrified to be in my own god damn one-room flat. In fact, I was terrified to be anywhere. The feeling of something following me and the shadows crawling around walls and corners where I wasn’t directly looking at never left me. I started to hear voices, whispers, steps, speech, even distant, eerie music being played somewhere quite not this dimension. I swear that even my image in the mirror began to change in some sinister way. I bathed in my own sweat when I woke up from my short night’s sleep filled with unspoken nightmares. I didn’t feel safe even outside. Something was gathering upon me and there was no escape from it.

All this started to take place some while ago when I decided to write a horror story. A creepypasta, in fact. I have always been a fan of horror but the last time I was being engaged in it in a larger scale things didn’t go too much better. Only then I understood to quit in time. Moving out from my parents’ house about a year ago triggered some unknown processes in my psyche. Now when I’m alone most of the time my imagination summons up horrors I had no idea were waiting in the back of my head. These horrors I now wanted to let out on my computer’s screen. Why not cause nightmares to other people who enjoy them as well?

As I kept writing, the uneasy feeling grew day by day. I listened to every sound coming from the apartment and the other flats around. I was able to write only by day, since the nightfall seriously got on my nerves even without the creepy shit I let my fingers type straight from my subconcsious mind. I constantly looked back over my shoulder and avoided closets and even the bathroom until I absolutely had to go in and turn the painfully flickering light on. It was particurarly scary to take a shower, just standing there in a closed space while anything could be going on outside… Or inside for that matter.

One day, the evening was already coming and I was in such a pathological flow I couldn’t turn my eyes for a second from the petrifying story that was being born before my eyes almost by itself, my heart bumping like a hammer. Suddenly I woke up from my trance. It was already dark outside.

I started to sweat like a sponge. This was the first time in months the night caught me until I realized the darkness was falling. Somehow I had known deep down that if it was to happen, something terrible will occur.

Then, all the lights went off. Actually all the electricity did, creating an unbroken silence. Only the computer stayed on. I sat in the dark almost unconscious because of the shock and fear. I thought I was dying when the freezing coldness took over me, but it was not only the warmth escaping my paralyzed limbs, but the temperature in the room. That’s when I heard it.

The voice behind me.

I swear all my hair stood up on its end.

The voice, which sounded like it came beyond the grave or even some more unknown place, said:

”I… have been… watching you…”

I was so grateful the source of the voice didn’t reflect from the computer screen.

Until a hand was laid on my shoulder. An icy hand of grasping, suffocating nightmare. The voice from another world continued. I was sure to die where I sat.

”I… have… been…”

I shut my eyes in utter, braingrinding, stomach-slashing terror.

”…completely… sickened… by this… shit…”

I opened my eyes.

”Sheesh, seriously… Even my… two-year-old niece… wouldn’t be… afraid… of this… crap…”

Then the hand, the undescribable hand of whatever was the ghoul behind my back, rose, reached for the computer and deleted my story.

I heard dragging steps been taken when the uncreature turned slowly away to leave. Soon the electricity came back and the frozen air sweeped away. Everything was like before. It took a while to recover from this, but finally I dared to look back. Nothing.

See what I was talking about? Good fucking Lord. All that shit I had to bear, and then some bloody night-creep comes and bashes me like this. Luckily it didn’t remember to delete the file from the trash bin.

Credit To – Heeme

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