The smell of decay is a unique one. It’s unlike anything else you’ll ever experience. It’s a smell that you can’t wash away from a crime scene. It’s a smell that sticks with you if you’re ever unlucky enough to experience it.
It triggers a fearful instinct in some, a morbid curiosity in others, and for some sadomasochistic individuals, a little bit of both. It could be a body. An animal, a human.. maybe something else. It could be roadkill or a murder, it could be relatively fresh or near mummified.
And in some local legend, it’s a smell that marks doom for any soul damned to such a fate.
***
My name isn’t important, as for I fear how telling this story will make me sound.. well, absolutely insane, and frankly I don’t want that linked to me. But for the sake of introductions, I’ll take up the pseudonym, Ethan. This story takes place when I was only seventeen, and about to graduate highschool.
By now, I’m twenty-three, have moved (partially based on the following events), and have finished college and have started working as a crime scene investigator. A recent case brought this memory to the forefront of my mind, and I realized that I never got the chance to tell anyone back when it first happened, because I was.. I mean, admittedly afraid of getting into serious trouble. I still am, but that’s the good in anonymity of the internet, right?
And I guess that traumatized part of me inside hopes that someone from the area or surrounding has had this experience with it or at the very least, can believe me. It. That’s all it can really be described as. Unless, of course, you’re from the area, and you know it by name.
The Feranauch.
***
Hi. My name is Ethan. I’m from Illinois, specifically Sycamore County. Go Coyotes, right? Well, in my teenage years, I’ve seen my fair share of crazy shit, and if I were here for this, I could go on for hours about my experiences. But one in particular rises above the rest, and that’s the one I want to talk about.
Growing up, I never really had much stability. I was the oldest of three siblings raised by a single mother, who passed away when I was just eight—my little siblings were five and three. We were put into custody of our aunt, who never really was around much. I found myself more than her being the one to make ends meet, at least as far as my siblings were concerned.
My only real escape from that responsibility was school, and in junior high to highschool, I spent any chance I could get with my friends. We were pretty wild back then, at least compared to how I’ve since turned out.
We often explored abandoned buildings, spraypainted trains, vandalized police cars—you know. Teenager stuff.
And being annoying nuisances of kids, we not only got into trouble, but we did the typical kid thing of spreading spooky urban legends as if they were true rumors. And for a while, that’s what I thought the Feranauch was. It’s been a tall tale since I could remember. Even as a little kid, I distinctly remember even hearing adults talk about it.
No doubt the stories had a profound impact on the local culture.
You rarely saw anyone out after the streetlights had come on, especially not in the area I lived in, which was thoroughly surrounded by woodland. Not really rural, but there were a good few hunting districts in the area, because of the little mini patches of woods that made up a good part of the scenery. Some were hiking trails, the biggest of them was a park, and the rest were hunting ranges or just nothing at all.
If you did see people out after the sun began to set, you would never see them alone. At the very least, they’d have one other person with them, usually all clinging to each other for dear life. For us, this was our Mothman.
Everyone and their mother’s dog had a story about the Feranauch. This was such a prominent thing in our local culture that the curfew in place was specifically designed in consideration of this threat.
It was a creature that thrived off of fear. It used humans’ naturally curious nature to lure them in, string them along an increasingly more morbid trail of sights until their fear was so intense that it could strike and feed. And make no mistake, this creature was ruthless. Easy to survive if you were smart enough to not act on your curiosity, but if you weren’t, as long as you had the foresight to quit investigating while you were ahead, you’d be okay. After all, the creature fed off of fear. If you didn’t give into its bait, it wouldn’t mangle and devour whatever was left of you when it was done.
And the way it lured people in was the fabricated scent of decay and the expertly timed rustling of bushes or tree leaves to get your attention and get you on its macabre trail and lead you right into the belly of the beast.
Of course, this was a tale so absurd, why would a group of angsty teens ever heed it as a warning? Why would they follow the curfew inspired by a presumably faux-threat when there was too much opportunity to mess around when no one was out and no one had eyes on you? Not even police got out after curfew because of the beast.
Well, as you may have guessed, my friends and I were the angsty teens who thought we were too good to listen to the stories and follow the curfew.
It was a Friday in October. Nearing the end of the month, and the peak of fall, with winter rearing its ugly head around the corner. My friends, who for the sake of the story, we’ll call Spencer and Adam, and I were hanging out after school. We always hung out at the small cafe down the road from the school until it closed at six, and we were ultimately shooed off.
It was the weekend, and we didn’t feel like calling it a day just yet. Spencer was itching for trouble, as he had just recently got ungrounded, and he wanted to make up for lost time. Naturally, Adam and I were on board. Why wouldn’t we be, after all?
So we hopped on our bikes and rode around town doing what we always did—looking for creepy or otherwise unsettling shit to stick our noses into and vandalizing whatever we felt like it on the way. Eventually, the sun had set, and it was a little past eight, meaning curfew had already been enacted.
Of course, the police only patrolled until eight-fifteen, and after that, it was free reign for us.
“You know, there’s one thing we haven’t done before.” Adam suggested as we biked to the park. Spencer and I both looked over at him, when I piped up, “What? Murder someone?” The question was meant sarcastically, and they both knew that, and Adam snorted in amusement. “No,” he said, “we haven’t explored the woods at night. We’re already biking to the park. There’s a hiking trail there, meaning..” The expectant trail off caused Spencer to light up with excitement, already knowing what was being suggested.
“Oh shit! We haven’t looked for that uhh.. What was it called? The thing that eats people by luring them in with the smell of death or whatever. Ethan, you know what it is, don’t you?” He asked, glancing over at me. Before I could answer, Adam chimed in, “Feranauch. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” And I nodded in agreement. “Right. Well what’s stopping us? I have my phone on me and it’s nearly fully charged. So at the very least, one of us has both a flashlight and a way to call for help if the boogeyman comes out of the trees to come get us.”
This caused us all to laugh. For some reason, we found it hilarious to poke fun at the whole thing. Well, no, I guess not for just some reason. It was because we were teenagers. Going against the status quo was just what we did.
As we made it to the park and biked through until we made it to the trail, I distinctly remember us all three agreeing to split up. I can’t remember exactly how that part of the conversation went, but we made good on our word, and we did just that. We split up when we got there.
We made it to the trail, climbed off our bikes and let them fall to the ground in a careless pile, so excited at the prospect of exploring new territory. We were the very thing the Feranauch preyed on. Curious humans who acted a lot tougher than they were. It didn’t help that we were stupid kids at the time, and all self-preservation was overshadowed by the adrenaline rush of exploring the woods at night after being fed what, to us, was like the equivalent of campfire ghost stories.
We looked at each other, me pulling out my phone for light. Spencer glanced down and laughed, “I think I’m gonna traverse along the trail until something happens. I have my phone on me, but the trail has a few lights scattered, so I’ll be fine. It’ll save battery.” He said. Adam and I looked at each other and nodded, “Okay, cool. I guess we’ll just explore either side of the woods.” I suggested, to which Adam shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said.
That was when we split up, as stupid as it was. Sure, at the time we thought it was all a folktale, but even if it had been, splitting up was still stupid. There were animals in those woods who could easily hurt us. I guess we thought we were big and bad because we had our phones, but I really can’t say I remember what was going through my head at that point in time.
So I set off into the woods, my phone’s flashlight sweeping the area around me, the only sound I had being the ambiance of the wind gently blowing through the leaves of the trees and bushes around me, and the chirping of crickets or cicadas—I’d be lying to say I could tell the difference. Still can’t.
For a while, nothing happened. I walked through the woods, phone in hand, looking for anything interesting. The most interesting thing I found up to that point was a cigarette carton with two unsmoked, broken cigarettes in it, and someone’s old frisbee. It was sun-bleached and weathered, so I could tell it had been laying there for a while.
After about twenty minutes of absolute nothing, I decided this was boring, and I was getting cold. I was ready to call it a night and go home.
But then, as I went to call Spencer, I smelled it. The foul stench of decay, singeing my nose, bringing tears to my eyes. It was such a flooring smell, something that, at the time, I had never smelled before. And it was horrendous. There’s truly nothing to compare it to.
Ironically enough, despite the Feranauch being the whole reason I was in the woods in the first place, that wasn’t my first thought. My first thought was I’m bored, I want to get pictures of a carcass.
Yeah, as morbid as it was, that was my thinking process. At the time, all I could think about was how gnarly it would be to have a photo like that. I knew I could get into some serious trouble, but I didn’t care. I was a nosy seventeen year old, all that mattered to me at that time was the shock value.
So despite my growing repulsion and the feeling of nausea churning my stomach, I followed the horrid scent. I tried calling Spencer for real this time, but he didn’t pick up. I just assumed he either had his ringer off, or was being too brave to answer the phone, wanting to feel as alone as possible. That might seem like a stretch, but that’s how he just was. So at first, it didn’t matter to me that much.
It was when I started hearing what sounded like the rustling of something in the bushes around me, something big, that I actually remembered why I was here. And then I hesitated to keep going.
Unfortunately, whatever sense I had that came through to the surface for long enough for me to hesitate was overpowered by my stubborn curiosity, and i trekked on. And it was not pleasant when I did. The first thing I saw was a small animal skull that was almost completely cleaned, but the bone was still stained red from its blood.
I thought about picking it up and taking it with me, but for some reason, I just didn’t. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe whatever was possessing me to be so reckless back then decided to sit this one out. Whatever it was, it was probably for the best.
I kept going, and there were even more animal bones. Eventually, there were animal carcasses, way too many to be right. To be normal. All decaying, covered in filth and maggots, and the stench was absolutely terrible. So terrible that I didn’t even bother stopping for pictures. I was already nearly overwhelmed by the initial smell of decay I was following that was getting stronger, I didn’t need more. And as I continued, the trail of death just kept getting worse.
Eventually, when I started seeing more, bigger bones, I knew they weren’t from any animal. Not only were they too big, but no animal has a human skull and hand.
When I saw that human skull, my heart sank. I knew I had made a terrible misjudgement. Before I could call Adam or Spencer, I heard the rustling again. The smell of decay was now so strong, I knew if I went even a step further, I was a goner.
As I went to shine my flashlight over the rustling bushes, it flickered and went off.
“Shit..” I murmured, checking to see if I still had it turned on. I did, but it wasn’t working. I was too scared to input my phone’s passcode, and with trembling hands, that’s when i saw it.
Two piercing red eyes staring at me from the darkness. And they were rising. First, to my eye-level—which I was 5’11” at the time, so it was already impressive—but then it went beyond. This thing had to be at least seven feet tall. My heart practically leapt into my throat when I saw a mouth full of rows of sharp, long, yellowed teeth glinting in the subtle moonlight.
As my eyes adjusted to having no flashlight, I saw its face. It was horrible, I can’t even properly describe it in words. Its head was long, and its mouth protruded in a way it shouldn’t have. Its red eyes were sunken in, and its face was thin and hollow. Its skin was so pale, it was almost white, and probably would have been if it weren’t for the dirty, dingy gray hue it had.
This was the Feranauch. It was a thin, lanky, grotesque being, and suddenly it made so much sense how it thrived off of fear. How could anyone not be afraid?
Instinct kicked in and I bolted off running back the way I had came. I didn’t exactly memorize the path, but I didn’t care. I told myself that I’d keep running until I made it out. And I did. I ran and didn’t turn around for even a second, and I’m glad I didn’t, because I could hear its heavy, fast footsteps, and it sounded like it was on all fours, which was even more disturbing when I inevitably painted a mental image. Maybe that was a good thing, though, because I ran even faster, fearing for my life.
I could hear its heavy, strained panting, and its menacing growl for a long time as I ran. I was easily running for longer than fifteen minutes before the noises stopped. I didn’t care that they had, I had to get out of there.
I kept running, and I didn’t turn around until I finally emerged by the road leading to the park entrance. My phone’s flashlight had come back on, and I hadn’t even realized it until I stopped running. Once I was out of the woods, I finally turned around. I had expected to still see the beast, but I didn’t, and I was undeniably relieved.
Quickly, and still trembling, I tried to call Spencer and Adam, but neither of them picked up. I had to have tried calling them a total of forty times combined, but with no answer every time.
Although I didn’t have solid proof, deep down, I knew what had happened. There was no denying it.
I knew I needed to get home. So, staying along the illuminated path, i made my way back into the park where my bike was laying, and I picked it up. As I leaned up with it, something just told me I needed to look up right then, so I did, and I’ll never forget what I saw.
Adam’s mangled corpse was just barely visible on the outskirts of the side of the woods he had gone into. It was clear he tried to run, but he didn’t make it. The sight was so disturbing that I dropped my bike and doubled over, vomiting.
His body was covered in what was easily all his own blood. His limbs were dislocated and bent at unnatural angles, his flesh was torn right through in many spots, and his clothes were shredded to rags. I never saw or heard from Spencer after that night, but I knew he had suffered a fate like Adam’s, and it made me sick to think about. It still does.
When I could breathe again, I quickly hopped on my bike and rode back to my aunt’s house.
She, thankfully, wasn’t home until much later, so I never had to explain to her where I was all night. I never told anyone what happened to Spencer or Adam, or even myself that night. There were a lot of reasons behind that, but the main one was fear.
From that day forward, I was never sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.
I learned a lot of things that night. A lot of things I shouldn’t have. The Feranauch was more than a tall tale, it really was a serious threat. While all the stories about it might not have been true, I know what happened to me that night.
I know when the missing posters went up. I know how torn apart the whole community was.
I know what happened to me, what happened to my best friends. And I never doubted when people warned me after that. About anything. Whatever warnings I was ever given, I made sure to heed them. No part of me could relive those events.
***
I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen. I moved far away, and I didn’t look back. I got accepted into a college in Michigan, and I focused on my career. I buried myself in work so I never had to remember what happened that horrible October.
I made a new life, and for a while, I thought I got away from it.
I got a new job, I got a girlfriend who I’m planning to propose to this summer, and she’s due to have our first child in a few months.
But when I got called to a scene a few miles from where I’ve been staying, the state of the body was something no one was expecting.
No one except me.
It was a teenager, about my age at the time of the incident, and her corpse was brutalized in the same horrible way that Adam’s had been. The fact that her body had been found in the woods behind her family’s home made one thing all too clear to me.
I was never supposed to get away from the Feranauch that night. It followed me here.