I just wanted to explore the local wetlands. How in the Hell was I supposed to know that the strange half-rusted sign was for real? There wasn’t even a fence around the fucking place for Christ’s sake.
Okay, sure, maybe I knew it was government-leased land for some vague “environmental research”. And maybe I had heard more than a few local boogyman tales about the area.
Maybe a part of me that was larger than I’d care to admit had wanted to find something out here.
I think something found me instead.
The local legend that had ended up reeling my inquisitive mind in was, as it turned out, less of a legend and more of a good ol’ fashioned modern conspiracy.
While there were of course the more “traditional” tales of bog witches and skinwalkers, the prevailing theory amongst some of the more level-minded folk (and I use that term lightly) was concerning that very same government research site that had popped up just a few months back.
Of course I can’t really blame folk. After all the site came about right around the time that the birds had started dying, crops started wilting, and – most recently – a couple of people had gone missing.
Dave, the owner and full-time bartender of The Rambling Goose was certain that “those government boys” were up to one of two things. Either a) they were doing all sorts of weird science experiments on the water supply to see how it affected the wildlife and surrounding farmland, or b) that they were actively trying to contain some sort of chemical mess at the expense of the town’s residents.
Sophie was more of a traditionalist. She was convinced that there had “always been something sinister out there,” and that the Boys in Black had finally moved in to do what they do best. I wasn’t sure if that was something I should or shouldn’t have expected out of the peppy youth group minister.
Fuller was the local VFW quartermaster and the proponent of the theory that, despite his animated approach of relaying it, was the one by which I was most compelled.
“Government freakers!” the old vet would shout at anyone within earshot.
“They’s breeding themselves some government freakers to sneak in our homes and fuck with our minds!”
Unlike the rest of the patrons that Friday evening, I decided to finally take Fuller’s bait.
“Government what-nows doing…what now?” I asked.
Fuller swung his head at me so violently that for a second I thought he’d break his neck.
“Let me spell it out for you, kid,” he said, seeming enthralled that someone he had hooked someone.
“Washington wants us nice and placated, right? Want us all fearful and ready to kowtow to kindly ‘Uncle Sam’ so we keep giving all our worthless cash to his military-industrial complex?”
I slowly nodded. For once the coot was making half a lick of sense.
Fuller matched my nodding, talking lower and more cohesively now that he knew he was being heard.
“Well, they know middle America won’t stand for it! Never have, my old man taught me that years back when he stood up for his fellows at Blair Mountain,” he said with a proud look.
“So – and they’s been doing this sorta thing everywhere recently, mind you – they set up shop in each county seat, rile up whatever interdimensional shit they can. Government freakers. Then, they set ‘em to terrorizing our communities ‘till we’re all so scared we end up fightin’ each other and begging for more and more ‘government help’!”
I didn’t believe half of what Fuller was saying, but it sounded halfway more believable than the sum of all of the other crackpot theories floating around town. Plus, the timing of the whole birds-crops-hikers mystery and the arrival of the facility with its as-yet unseen staff had already piqued my curiosity.
Regardless of the truth of the matter, I wanted to check it out for myself.
So the next evening instead of posting up at my usual barstool, I packed a bag of supplies, my Maglite, and threw on my darkest clothes with the intent of doing just that. A nagging part of me wanted to also slap my trusted Ruger Security on my hip, but I figured if I did get caught trespassing on Federal land it would likely go smoother if I was unarmed.
Shit but if that didn’t turn out to be my second biggest mistake of the night.
It was nearing midnight by the time I reached the wetlands just outside of town and found a spot well enough away from the shack-like research station to sneak in. I may have been a fool, but I was a clever fool and took a few moments to scope out both the station and the general area.
Not a damn peep of man nor beast, I pondered, beginning my stealthy trek.
Just about ten minutes in, I saw the signpost, almost as if it had just popped into existence.
Weird. Didn’t see that a second ago.
Chalking that little oddity up to a trick of the dark, I turned on the red lowlight beam on my Maglite to read the thing.
In bold white letters on a field of deep beige, the metal post read:
WARNING: IF YOU CAN READ THIS YOU ARE IN RANGE OF THE ANOMALY
“Anomaly??” I whispered to the darkness.
Y’all, protip for nighttime activities of any sort, especially the outdoor variety: do not whisper to the darkness.
Sometimes, like that night, the dark answers back.
No sooner had I loosed the words than a crack of lighting-esque energy exploded in a cobalt burst just a few feet ahead of me. I fell back at the sudden electrical blast, rubbing my pained eyes.
I almost wish it had blinded me.
Where the strange electricity had discharged there stood some thing comprised of such a voidal obsidian that it appeared to swallow even Luna’s brilliant rays. The shadow was roughly humanoid in shape, but oh God it was just so wrong.
The shadow figure’s limbs were all bent horribly backward, its hands and feet wickedly misshapen. Fuck, it was almost as if someone had strapped it on a table and taken a ball peen hammer to each of its major joints.
But the worst part was the thing’s face.
Well, to be fair it really didn’t have a face in the corporal sense of the word. Just an eternal, abyssal swirl of nothing and everything all at the same time. Similar to its arms, the shade man’s entire head was upside down like it had been violently twisted by an otherworldly force 180 degrees.
Simply staring into that terrible whirlpool of ebony was enough to halfway shatter my mind and freeze me midstride to the damp earth.
Each time I blinked the shadow man grew closer like it was flickering in and out of this very dimension just to reach me. I was trying with every fiber of my being to will my legs to unglue themselves from the marshy ground, but I could barely suck the damp air in and out to breathe much less make an attempt at escape.
Finally, the anomaly – for what else could the anomaly be? – reached me. For a few long, agonizing moments we each stood there looking each other up and down. I figured that I looked much like how I felt, and that was prey.
It looked…
Good sweet Christ, it looks hungry! I realized.
Even without mortal features, the entity’s intentions seemed clear. What it hungered for, however, I couldn’t be sure at the time. Although I had a few grim ideas.
A warm trickle was easing its way down my leg when the shadow suddenly shot one of its malformed arms from where it was rigidly hanging by its side, up to grasp me by my side. Where the hellspawn’s crooked fingers held me firm, a flurry of searing bolts of the singular worst anguish I’d ever felt in my thirty years of life were sent coursing throughout my entire body. As the pain surged, the shade seemed to grow taller, more corporeal.
I could have sworn it was laughing, though no sound emanated from that endless cavity.
The ever-decreasing part of me that was still sane and conscious knew that I had to act, to try something, anything before the shadow man drained my very essence.
With a desperate, internal prayer I finally found some cache of hidden strength and threw my own arm up to grasp the sterling silver crucifix that I still wore out of habit, ripping it off my neck to put it up against the entity’s ghostly form.
I don’t know whether it was God, the silver, the element of surprise, or some amalgam of each that saved me. All I know is the moment that I shoved the entire thing, chain and all, down the shadow person’s abyssal gullet it immediately let go of me. As soon as it did, the screaming pain mercifully ceased and my mind returned to me.
A thunderous rumble quaked the entire area as my willpower finally returned in full. I tore off through the marsh not daring even a glance behind me. I ran past the eerie sign, across the wetlands to my Ford and only breathed easy once I had reached the comfort of my quaint ranch house.
All I could think about the next few hours while I sipped (slugged) some Irish coffee and gathered every bit and bauble I had that was made of silver were Fuller’s words.
“‘Government freakers’ indeed, old man,” I muttered, draping my mom’s old silver sacred heart pendant over my front door.
I’m not sure if that entity was created, being studied or worse yet, used by the government, but they sure as shit knew it was there. Like as not, they knew what it was and maybe even stirred it up. As usual, they left us poor fuckers to deal with the consequences.
A few days have passed since that terrible experience. Unfortunately, I think the true horror has just begun.
See, while I may have escaped, I think that thing may have as well. Maybe I was just enough to fuel it. To whet its appetite.
Each evening, right around midnight, I hear noises coming from my neighbor’s houses. Each time, it starts with a great boom and a cobalt-white flash like a transformer exploding.
Then, the screams start. They do not go on for long, just a couple of minutes, but they sound similar to what I figure being tortured for eternity in Hell might sound like. Oh God, but I don’t even want to think about what’s happening to those poor people.
Each morning I wake up to fewer and fewer neighbors. Yesterday, none of us even left our homes as far as I could tell. Not that I would know. I’ve essentially barricaded myself indoors since that first night.
I have a plan though.
I’ve built my own, jury-rigged trap, right there in the middle of my foyer. It essentially amounts to a person-sized Faraday cage with a homemade Babylon Battery right there in the middle of it. As for bait, well, I already know what it has a hankering for.
I had to rip apart pretty much all of my property to get the materials, including my walls, driveway, car, and toilet. I don’t even know if it’ll work. But damn it, I started this whole thing. I have to try to fix it before more people die. Before that hateful shadow feeds more. Before it grows strong enough to wreak whatever godforsaken plans that I’m sure it has in store for the world.
Plan B is to take all of the silver and holy symbols I could find and shove them as far into the shadow’s chasmal maw as I can manage.
I have to go. There’s thunder outside and the electricity in my home is fluttering, even though the night is calmer than a Californian yoga studio. The entity is near, searching for the prey that got away. I got one shot to make this right.
Wish me luck, y’all.