I received an email attachment from an unknown address the other day, it claimed to know the whereabouts of one Marcus Finch, it also claimed that this was the last thing that was written by him while he was on vacation at a remote cabin. The cabin was found burned to ashes but Marcus’s body was never recovered.
I have been looking into Marcus’s disappearance with my paranormal investigations group for some time but we had recently decided that the case wasn’t going to bear fruit. After reading this we have changed our minds.
The letter also included coordinates that we are debating if we should check out, they are within the same forest where the cabin was located. After reading through the letter we are hesitant, as this is either a hoax in very poor taste…or very dangerous.
Here is the letter in its entirety:
I’m doing my best to remember everything as it was before. I suppose that’s part of the reason I’m writing this down. My mind feels as if it’s fractured and my thoughts seem to fall apart like dead rotting leaves every time I attempt to collect them. It’s bad tonight, the rain is making me anxious because the clouds block the moon and my vision is obscured. I know it’s still out there watching, even if I’m not sure what “it” is. It likes the water – I think it needs to stay wet actually – whenever it rains like this it seems to get closer to the house. I don’t see it – in fact I’ve only seen it once – but I hear it. It’s the sound of a thousand snakes sliding through the mud. Jesus…the sound is maddening.
I need to focus. I have already gotten way ahead of myself and likely left any reader of this confused and understandably questioning my mental state.
My name is Marcus and I’m writing this while held up in a cabin. I wouldn’t dare leave and I don’t know how long I have to wait for rescue as I was expected to be gone for at least a month. I come here to get away from everything typically, it’s isolated from the world and the nearest neighbor or town is over 15 miles away from me. No cellphone service, no internet, no distractions. A place where I can reboot my brain and get far away from the bullshit that seems to pile up in city life.
It’s normally serene. Surrounded by forest on all sides with only a dirt road leading in and behind it is a man-made pond, a fantastic spot to think. Once a year I take all my vacation time from work and rent this isolated cabin for a month, I stock up on food and supplies and I come up here alone to meditate on my life and find some clarity. It’s an extremely relaxing practice and I’ve been doing it for the last 5 years with no problems. I have a radio for emergencies and always inform people of where I’m going, I even let the local ranger’s station know that I’ll be up here. Prior to five days ago I had never had any issue and aside from the occasional hunter or deep woods hiker I have been alone during my month.
I like to watch the squirrels play when the storms clear. Yes, that was a thing I liked to do. Oh god what happened to them though? Like something out of a nightmare.
Yes, focus, yes. Five days ago…
Five days ago the ripples began in the pond. I have wondered before what started them, and I can vaguely remember the sound of a splash the night prior to them beginning but it’s hazy and I can’t be sure if it happened. I suppose it doesn’t matter how it started though, the point is that it started.
I remember sitting on the back porch and playing my guitar, the overhang protecting me from the drizzles of rain that had been falling since early that morning. As I played I spotted the first ripples, at first I thought maybe they were happening because of the rain or wind. They were too frequent though, to well-spaced. I set down my guitar (oh the beautiful tunes I used to pluck on that thing, it will be missed) and stepped out into the rain to get a closer look. I could make out something in the pond, threatening to break the surface but never actually doing so. It simply moved around just below the murky water with fallen leaves floating in its wake.
The pond had no fish so my first thought was that an animal who’d come to water itself had fallen in but that seemed unlikely, whatever it was seemed quite content below the water and it swum with a great deal of speed. Its movement was native to the water or at the very least it was something quite comfortable with it. Curiosity inched me closer to the edge of the pond, I could feel icy rain dotting my face and running down my nose and chin in drips, the sound of it pelting my jacket filled my ears as the light drizzle became more regular sized droplets.
I used to love the rain, now it brings that sound, that maddening fucking sound.
The waterline came into closer view and I noticed something else. Some kind of algae I’d never seen before coated the surface right before the water met the mud. It grew thick and almost seemed to glow a faint red in the dim daylight. I bent to study it closer and could smell something sickly sweet like rotting fruit, I reached out slowly to touch it but thought better and withdrew my hand to my pocket. I raised my head to fix my eyes once again on the swimming thing but it had disappeared into the pond, ducking to far below the surface of the muddy brown water for me to see.
The rain started to come down harder at that point and I retreated back to the cabin. I have a vague recollection of sipping scotch and staring at my radio wondering if I should call someone about the thing in my pond. I knew even at that point that something seemed very wrong but what would I say that didn’t make me sound like a crazy person?
No, I didn’t call them then. Not then. I just stared out the window warming my chest with booze and watching the rain come down in sheets. I could have sworn I saw the forest moving – pulsating – like it were breathing steadily. I told myself it was as trick of the rain, that my eyes couldn’t be trusted.
Oh god, can my eyes ever not be trusted anymore. Worse than that though I’m not sure my mind can be trusted. The sound outside is making it so hard to focus but I need to stay with my memories. I can trust those. Can’t I?
Next I read, then made my dinner, then slept. All the while listening to the rain and hearing occasional splashes from the pond. I would walk by the door to the back patio and glance at it on occasion but never saw anything but ripples moving across its rain dotted surface. My sleep that night was uneasy to say the least. The sound hadn’t started at that point but my mind was plagued with nightmares that left me tossing and turning.
I dreamt that my mouth was filled with worms and every time I would spit a clump to the floor more would birth themselves from the back of my throat. I woke up before the sunrise choking and sputtering and desperate for water, still able to feel them writhe and taste the earth of their segmented bodies on my tongue. Awful nightmares, I feel like I’ve had them before all this though, before the pond, but for the life of me I can’t remember.
As the sun crept to life behind the clouds it was greeted with silence, no birds chirping, and no animals scurrying about their morning business. None of the typical sounds I had grown used to during mornings at the cabin. I stood on the back porch and drank my coffee – trying desperately to forget the taste of the worms – and aside from the drips of rainwater off the roof the day was horribly quiet. At least until the splashing began again…
I watched it break the surface just barely, smooth skin that appeared to be the same color as the murky water bulged from below only briefly before vanishing. It seemed as if the red algae had expanded its influence as well, spreading to the grass around the pond. I once again pondered calling the rangers station and telling them what was happening in my pond, how it seemed wrong. Yet I couldn’t come up with the right words to convey the sense of unease I felt at the whole situation.
That coffee may have been the last time I felt warm. The heat in my throat and stomach emanating out through the rest of my body. You take those kind of feelings for granted until they are gone, or they seem like they are gone. Have I even tried?
Yes, there is a fire going, I had nearly forgotten. I’m still cold.
Oh, the topic at hand though, yes. The call to the Rangers Station. I walked back inside and must have stood staring at my radio trying to figure out what to say for a solid 20 or 30 minutes. I finally came to the conclusion that I should just spell things out as best I could and hope that my tone conveyed my feeling of concern. I picked up the handset, clicked the radio on, and was greeted by the familiar tone of static. I set the frequency to contact the rangers and held down the button to talk:
“Rangers Station, this is the cabin off Hoyajote trail, come back.”
There was a dread filled moment of silence in which I heard my heart thump in my ears then a voice crackled from out of the receiver.
Hoyajote trail, this is Rangers Station 221. What can I do for you?
I wonder now if that is the right number…it seemed right at the time.
“Heya, 221 one, I got something weird happening up here at my cabin. I’m not sure how to describe it.”
Weird ya say?
“Yeah, there’s something swimming around in my pond out back and there’s never been fish in there before. Also it’s growing some kind of funky algae.”
There was dead silence for at least a minute and I re-examined my words a dozen times before the Ranger came back on the line.
I’m sure everything’s fine Hoyajote, I wouldn’t worry about it.
Now it was my turn to be dumbstruck, I expected him to give me some kind of explanation or offer to come check it out but he simply stopped talking.
“Are you sure you can’t just come up here and check it out? I know I probably sound paranoid but for some reason I’m feeling really uncomfortable.”
Another minute of dead silence that set my teeth on edge.
I’m sure everything is fine Hoyajote, I wouldn’t worry about it.
Exact same tone, exact same inflection, exactly the same words. I felt a sudden nausea in the pit of my stomach and was reminded of the earthy taste of the worms.
Roads washed out and you’re gonna have to stay put till the storm passes. We’ll check back in with ya when everything is clear. I’m sure everything is fine Hoyajote, I wouldn’t worry about it. Ranger Station 221 over and out.
click
The static resumed and I couldn’t help but feel like I just got the brush off. I sat there calling the station back over and over again and getting no response. In frustration I threw the handset down and stood up to pace the room. I could hear the rain starting up again, it’s thick drops pelting the roof and sending the sweet smell of petrichor into the air.
It wasn’t them was it? The sound pretended to be the ranger station, I think. It’s a clever noise isn’t it? God I just want it to stop. I can’t fucking think anymore. The sound, when did it start? That godamn horrible noise. Was it before the ranger, or was it the ranger. No, the sound was after…
I tried to ignore the splashing and read a book by the fireplace. I loved to read and it always helped me relax. I was still angry about getting brushed off by the rangers but it felt likely that I was just being paranoid and they were right. Nothing to worry about. I didn’t know what it was, but it was the forest. Plants grow, animals swim.
I think that night was when the sound started. I remember lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, the rain had started to pour down once again (or had it never stopped) and the sound was relaxing to me. The pitter patter of water drops on the roof lulled me into a relaxed and almost meditative state. I was just drifting off to sleep when the sound began. At first I thought it was something conjured up by my subconscious, a trick of my mind bringing forth my anxieties about what was happening no matter how much I consciously attempted to deny it.
It was low at first, like a tickle at the base of my skull. Slithering, formless white noise digging its way into my mind. I sat up out of bed and attempted to listen closer. The sound was coming from the direction of the pond, and even the downpour was not masking it. It was a wet and slimy noise, like a live octopus wriggling across the ground – except loud enough to hear from behind my walls. It was moving closer and closer to the cabin and it made my heart thud in my chest.
Plants grow and animals swim, it’s the forest, it’s just a forest.
A forest that was breathing. I was ignoring that all day, but I knew even then. This fucking place was changing. Even now I try to deny it, even after seeing that deer, and those poor squirrels I’ve been trying to deny it. I’m focusing now though, collecting my thoughts, and I won’t let myself not see. I could hear it breathing behind the slithering snakes in the mud, I could hear it coming to life and hating me.
There was a wet slap against the glass on the back patio door. Not now, but then, I really need to stay on topic. Tell the story as best you can and get your mind together. You are still sane.
The sound on the back door shook me from the trance I’d fallen into listening to the horrid noise that was now drowning out the rain. I stood up and walked on shaking legs to examine the patio where it came from. I’d shut the generator off for the night and felt no desire to go out and turn it on so instead I wandered the dark house and peered out into the backyard from a safe distance.
I could see a thick trail of mud and sludge streaked across my back door but beyond that it was far too dark to see if anything was out there. I shook from the cold and moved closer to the dying embers of my earlier fire. The sound was drawing away from the house once again, but slowly, as if it were attempting to torture me by drawing its movement out for hours. Huddled near my armchair and staring out into the night I waited and waited for it to end, and eventually it did with a splash in the pond.
I didn’t move again till the sun rose.
The next morning I forced myself to eat a breakfast and drank my coffee. I stayed inside despite the fact that the rain had stopped and I could see sun peeking through the clouds. The disgusting streak of sludge stood out more on the glass to the patio doors and I could see a similar trail of filth across the patio itself. Around noon when the clouds were fully dissipated and the forest was awash with mid-day light I gathered the courage to go outside. I had heard now sloshing around from the pond and the trees seemed still, yet everything felt wrong.
The greens were too green and the sun was to dim, the earth smelled too rich and the air felt too thick. Every breath I took felt like it was going to make me cough and seemed to coat my throat and tongue. I made the choice to leave right then, I knew I needed to get away from this place. No matter what the false ranger told me, no matter how insane it seemed, something was happening to the world around me and it had to do with whatever was making its home in my pond.
I packed whatever I was unwilling to leave behind and rushed to my car which was parked a bit down the dirt road before you hiked into the cabin. The mud from the nightly rain squished beneath my hiking boots as I walked with my suitcase in one hand and my travel bag slung over my shoulder. It couldn’t have been more than three p.m. by the time I left, yet it seemed the sun was already setting and the clouds were once again starting to overtake the sky and choke out what light remained. The trees around me heaved and pulsed with every step that I took and at times it felt like there was something wrong with my eyes. The sight of it all made my head hurt.
I started walking faster and faster till I had broken into a run. I could see the squirrels I’d been so fond of watching in more normal times lined up at the edge of the road. They seemed larger somehow, and their bodies were subtlety twisted, their legs just slightly in the wrong places, their eyes bulging from the sockets, their tails longer than they should be. I could see their bones peeking out from beneath their skin and they clicked and chirped at me with strange noises as I rushed past them.
They were wrong, just like everything was. Just like I was starting to feel. Just like I feel now, I can’t even bring myself to look in the mirror. I don’t want to see if I’ve changed subtlety or clearly, I don’t want to see myself at all. GOD DAMN THIS FUCKING NOISE!
The car…yes, I made it to the car.
It had been ravaged. Its windows were smashed in and its tires were flat, the hood was open and pieces of the engine were scattered in front of it. My only way out was destroyed and as I stood helplessly staring at it, wondering how it could of happened, my knees grew weak and I fell to the mud. I could hear the off key chirps of birds I knew were mangled and the chattering of the squirrels that still watched me. It sounded like laughter in my ears.
The rain had started just as I returned to the outside of the cabin. The sun was completely gone now and I was walking in nearly pitch black, only the flashlight on my keys illuminating what was in front of me. The wet slithering at begun again, I could hear it from behind the house as I stood on the front porch. It had once again crawled from the pond and made its way towards the house. I stood with the rain pelting down on me both attempting to pretend I didn’t hear the thing yet knowing I did. Overtaken with a terrible curiosity and need to understand the horrors I was dealing with I flicked off my flashlight and stepped slowly around the outside of the house.
As I crept to the corner that would allow me to peer into the back yard I took a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The rain dripped down my face and neck and I tried to focus on the way it felt rather than the terrible horror building in the pit of my stomach. The sound was so loud it felt like it was burrowing into my brain. I steeled myself to look around the corner and see what was beyond, but nothing could have prepared me. I’m fairly certain this is the moment my mind fractured and I’ve worked ever since to put it together again.
At first there was darkness and nothing but, though slowly it seemed to be created from the darkness itself by my eyes. I could see the great mass of shadow that was moving from the pond towards my cabin, tendrils flailing from its pulsing body as it moved and that terrible sound emanating from somewhere deep within it. My mind could barely comprehend the silhouette that it was seeing but my madness came when the lightning flashed and illuminated it the rest of the way.
I remember seeing so many different things that I’m not sure which of them were actually real. There seems like no way it could have been all of them, or maybe it was…maybe it doesn’t exist within our rules. Nothing makes sense anymore to me, maybe it’s everything.
I saw a leathery skinned wet mass with tentacles reaching towards me, its bulbous body lined with bulging black insect eyes. I saw a deer with twisted legs growing from its mid-section and mangled joints, its bleeding eyes focused on me as it twisted its lips back to reveal teeth set in receded gums. I saw a nude old woman whose body had been cut all over and was leaking blood from fresh wounds as she cackled. Myself, retching worms and stumbling through the mud with a smile on my face as if I were enjoying the whole thing.
I didn’t see each of these things in turn like they are written, I saw them all at once. Each a single memory of the same moment, each like a fracture down the soft part of my brain, and each memory bleeding into the other creating a mess in my minds eyes.
I remember screaming and running back towards the front of the house, the world around me pulsing with short shallow breaths as I reached the door. I could feel something leaking from my eyes and down my cheeks as well as something coming out of my ears. I didn’t need to check, I knew it was blood. I shouldered the cabin door open and flung myself inside slamming it behind me and clicking each lock closed. I made it three steps in before I collapsed in front of the cold fireplace and blacked out with that horrible fucking sound in my ears.
I woke with one of the most terrible headaches, one that still hasn’t gone away. The horrid slithering sound was still working its way into my brain while it mixed with the sound of rain pattering the roof and the radio emitting static. I turned to the windows and saw that the sun had come up while I was blacked out, I must have been out for a while, but time seems to have lost all meaning to me at this point. I got to my feet and looked out onto the back porch – it had been slathered with mud and slime that seemed to ungulate with each breath of the forest. The guitar I had left out there had been smashed to pieces and scattered among the filth.
Just hang tight Hoyajote, we’ll be coming for you soon.
The voice on the radio came through clear, the false ranger spoke to me with no prompting and I couldn’t even remember turning the radio on. In fact I have attempted to turn it off several times since as the false ranger keeps talking to me, but it won’t shut off.
I’m sure it’s nothing for you to be so concerned about, plants grow and fish swim. Right, Hoyajote?
It only ever says those two phrases but it won’t stop talking…it won’t shut up. The noise won’t stop, my headache won’t go away, I can’t get warm, and I can’t leave. The forest is alive out there, alive and moving by the will of whatever is in the pond. It comes with the dark and the rain, it’s coming back for me and it’s going to change me. It already has I think.
This hasn’t worked, my head still swims and I can’t make that fucking noise go away. I want it to end. It’s dark again now and I know it’s coming back for me. I can taste the earth on my tongue and feel the worms in my stomach. Maybe I should just go with it…
I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who I am. If you read this get out of here as fast as you can, there is something wrong here.
I used to be Marcus Finch, I used to love to watch the squirrels play when the rain would stop, I used to be Marcus Finch and everything is not going to be okay.
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Credits
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