Hello, my name is Paul. Paul Lavoie. I was born in Quebec City, Quebec on June 12th, 1986. I’m releasing this info just in case my family sees this. I can only hope.
In late November last year, I started backpacking across Canada. My route consisted of taking several trains across Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba and southern Nunavut, taking a ferry to Baffin Island, hiking across Baffin Island, taking a ferry to Labrador, and then taking a train back to Quebec City. I called this the Hudson Circle, performing a loop around the Hudson Bay. Originally it was meant to be me and a bunch of friends, and we could all pay for hotels to stay at, but plans got in the way and only me and my friend Michael could go.
Because of the significant setback, we were forced to rent out an RV instead of going by train and renting out hotels, which really gut-punched me, who’s been obsessed with rail-roads and trains ever since I was a young kid. The first portion of our trip was fine. The RV was actually pretty cozy and had a little case of movies that we both liked, think Star Wars and Scarface (me and Michael are huge movie nerds.) But it all went south a week ago, shortly after hitting Eastern Manitoba.
We decided to do a little hiking that day, after all, it was a surprisingly nice day for it, and we weren’t looking at weather that was remotely nicer for the next few days, so we opted to take advantage of the weather we had. About 20 minutes into the hike, I got caught on a branch and told Michael to keep going and that I’d catch up with him soon. I had just gotten my hood off of the branch when I heard it, the scream that still makes my head pound. I ran towards the screaming and saw Michael being mauled by a coyote, with his head in the mud, at least I thought it was a coyote, it looked scraggly and it was much bigger, and its muscles were exposed on its belly. I pulled it off him and it ran off, but by then it was too late, as he had already drowned in the mud.
I was crushed, but I knew I couldn’t tell the police. They wouldn’t believe some demon-coyote had overpowered a man in his mid-30s. So I ran. I ran and I regret it. But what could I do? That evening, while driving, the RV broke down in the middle of nowhere, nobody for miles. I slept on the couch that night, well, I tried to. Every time I closed my eyes for even a second I’d see that bleeding, filthy corpse who was such a happy, healthy man less than a minute ago. What would I tell his wife? His parents? My other friends? I’ll worry about that later, I’ve considered faking my death and starting over. But, this isn’t what I’m posting here for. As all this is to say that 911 is not an option.
You see, the RV still won’t run, everything under the hood is perfectly fine, I’ve checked at least 20 times, it just won’t start. Luckily, the generator runs independent of the engine, and even more conveniently, it runs on solar-energy. But less convenient is the thing beyond the tree line, I’ve dubbed it “The Skull”, it’s this tall, thin creature with bumpy and grey skin and a skull of some kind of animal, maybe a bear. Usually it just stares at me from beyond but for the last 3 nights it’s tried breaking down the door, thankfully it’s failed so far, but last night it actually made the door latch shake loose, luckily the padlock is strong. I don’t know what it wants, but it wants it at all costs. It’s starting to get dark right now, I’ve barricaded the door and have a rifle with me. I can hear it screaming, a combination of manic laughter and pained screaming.
I just got back to this post. I had to save the draft and stop writing in the middle of it because it broke in, and the barricades did nothing. I turned off my phone and tried to psych myself up to fight it, but fear overcame me, so like the coward I am I hid under the bed, with my rifle by my side. It was the only place to hide. It eventually got into my room after persistent pounding, and when it did, the floors got physically colder. I saw its rotting legs walk past my bed, it got on its knees, and looked under Michael’s bed, nothing. It looked to the left, my direction.
I made eye contact with it, its hollow eyes staring past my own, like it could see my beating heart. I felt its breath on my face, it was colder than the Canadian winter and had a smell I could only describe as an aroma of pure pain. It reached its hand under the bed and touched my forehead. I tried to reach for my gun but I found myself frozen in fear. It ripped off my a large chunk of my hair and a part of my scalp, pain shot trough my body and I screamed in agony, before I blacked out I saw the chunk of hair it ripped out slowly turn to dust; and when I woke up it was gone, I got out from under the bed and went into the living space of the RV, there was a note on the counter, I went over and read it;
“Strike One.”
It’s sentient, and it’s taunting me.
My head is still hurting, I can’t call 911 and I can’t reach out for help because I can’t trust whoever I reach out to won’t call the cops. I’m scared, what do I do?