Beware the Game Called "Little Coffin"

  

So here’s how to play the game called “Little Coffin”:

First, the player makes the coffin. It can be made it out of whatever meets certain requirements. First, it needs to be a single, foldable sheet one can make a small box out of. It can be cut, but one can’t cut it up and put separate pieces back together. The final coffin has to be made from a single folded sheet, durable enough to last a day in the ground, and most importantly, made by the player. If it’s made by someone other than the person playing the game, it won’t work.

Second, the player digs the grave. Again, there are rules for how this is done. The player must make the grave, just like the box. It needs to be at least a foot deeper than the top of the coffin they made. They should use a ruler or tape measure to check, because less than that and it won’t work. And it cannot be dug in an actual cemetery or any other place that is considered hallowed ground, but it must be in a place where there has been recent death, preferably violent and/or multiple deaths have occurred there, the more recent the better. Again, if these rules aren’t followed, the game will not work.

Third, they must cut off a length of hair at least as big around as a drinking straw and an inch long. If their hair is shorter than this, they can use this alternative method: Melt down wax until one has the equivalent of four tablespoons of wax. Sprinkle a good amount of one’s hair into the wax and roll it into a tube as it cools. The tube containing the hair should again be at least as big around as a drinking straw and an inch long.

Fourth, the player needs to prepare the coffin to be buried. This means putting their note inside the coffin, sealing the top with tape (there should only be one “seam” or opening in the coffin, but if it has more than one, they should all be sealed with tape that is signed so it can’t be easily replaced). The player then puts the box in the grave and covers it up. Near the end of filling in the grave, the player takes their cut hair (or wax tube with hair in it) and puts it in the grave dirt where the top of the hair or wax is just above the surface when the grave is complete.

The burial needs to occur between noon and 1pm or it will not work. The player can’t tell anyone else that they are doing any of this or where the coffin is buried at any point during this process or it will not work.

After the burial is complete, the player should come back to the grave at midnight of the following day. In other words, about thirty-six hours later. They dig up the coffin, open it up, and find what’s waiting for them.

If they’ve done everything properly and without help from anyone else, they should have an answer from beyond the grave. The player can ask any question they like, but only one question will be answered. If a player finds the note in the coffin unchanged, they should go back through the above rules, as they’ve likely broken at least one of them.

Once the question is answered, the player will understand more.

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So here’s how to play the game “Big Coffin”:

First, one makes a coffin. The size can vary, but it should be at least three feet across and tall, and six feet long to be on the safe side. Using a durable wood is recommended—oak or cedar are good options, but the main thing is avoiding things with low density and flexibility. Use wood screws, not nails. Nails can be pried loose or pulled out much easier, compromising the integrity of the coffin. The player should not buy a coffin or have someone else make it for them. Doing it on their own is part of the game.

Second, one digs the grave. It should be deep enough that there is at least five feet of earth on top of the coffin when the player is finished burying it. The burial site for the big coffin should be a place that is isolated and easy to access.

Third, the player should try to identify an area that has three things: decent population density, rural and/or secluded areas nearby, and a recent local tragedy where multiple people were killed. The tragedy location is very important. It needs to be an area that has little to no security and is also remote and/or not frequented at night.

Fourth, the player must distribute the rules to the “Little Coffin” game in that area through discrete but pervasive channels. They must then set up trail cameras or other means of surveillance to reliably watch for anyone coming to perform the first half of the “Little Coffin” game.

Once a “Little Coffin” player and burial site has been identified, the “Big Coffin” player must wait for their return the second midnight after burying their little coffin. If the “Little Coffin” player has followed the rules, they are alone.

The player collects them and transports them to the Big Coffin burial site.

The Little Coffin player is secured in the coffin. The Big Coffin player must ensure that the Little Coffin player is conscious prior to closing the coffin. This is both to ensure they are aware of what is happening and to give them their answer from beyond the grave.

The answer, regardless of their question, is always the same.

The answer is “Death”.

The Big Coffin player then completes burying the coffin and leaves the burial site for the last time. If everything has been done correctly, the Big Coffin player will be contacted electronically one week later. The email will be indistinguishable from junk mail other than the fact that the email metadata will somewhere contain the words “dark” and “path”. The player then replies with the two words “another step”. After the reply, they will be contacted again more personally.

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The above two documents were found hidden on my daughter’s hard drive last month. I never would have found them, but after her disappearance and the police’s refusal to help me find her because she was twenty-one and there were no obvious signs of a crime, I hired a private investigator. He interviewed her friends and college faculty, but it wasn’t until he searched her laptop that these two “games” were found.

He says the files originated from an “onion site” on the “darkweb”. At first I thought he was joking or trying to pump me for more money—it sounded like something from a bad movie, after all. But when I looked at him, I could tell he was serious, deadly serious, and as he talked, I realized he wasn’t asking for money.

He was giving me a refund.

He said he didn’t know much about all this, but he’d heard enough over the years to be worried. And after talking to the woman that did his tech and internet forensic, he knew enough to be scared. Said he didn’t want any part of the case or dealings with me and my daughter. That he hoped I found her, but he was out.

The envelope he gave me had printouts of the two games and my retainer, but nothing else. No explanation for what it all meant or how it was supposed to help me find my little girl. I was angry and half-crazy with grief, and I convinced myself this was all part of some long con where I, believing the P.I. had secret knowledge and insight, begged him to work for me again for more money. Enraged at the thought of him holding out on me, I called him.

“Look, I already told you…”

“I know what you said. And I know that you’re either withholding information from me or full of shit. So which is it?”

“Hey, I gave you back your money. I don’t owe you shit. Now if you don’t…”

“Is my little girl buried somewhere? Is she?”

I heard a heavy sigh, and for a moment I thought he was going to hang up, but then he began to speak. “No. Or I don’t think so. Based on it being downloaded onto her computer and connected internet activity, I think she was the one that was looking for the games and found them. It’s part of a larger thing, I think. I’m told it’s an internet cult. Very hush hush. Very dangerous.”

“That…she wouldn’t do that. She must have gotten tricked. She always liked games. I bet someone else got her to play the Little Coffin game. I…I have to find her before it’s too late. She can’t br…”

“Sir. Sir, listen. All that you’re saying, that may be. I can’t say for sure. But what I can tell you is that if she’s been buried for two weeks, she’s already long dead. And besides, I don’t think that’s what happened here.”

“You son-of-a-bitch. You don’t know. You poke around a girl’s laptop and what, you think she’s in this…this cult?”

“What I think doesn’t really matter, as I’m no longer on the case. But what I can tell you is this. A week before your daughter went missing, a high school girl named Brandi Lester disappeared. I looked into it. No sign of where she went, but the cops talked to her best friend. Brandi had told the friend that she’d found a new game on a local message board. A secret game that was supposed to let her talk to ghosts or something. She wouldn’t give her any details, but it sure sounds like someone that was trying to play Little Coffin.”

“So? It sounds like these psychos were trying to get people to play it. Maybe that poor girl is just like my Jenny.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What? Spit it out. What are you implying?”

“Not implying nothing. Just giving you some advice. You might need to accept the possibility that your daughter was playing the other game. Big Coffin. And…”

“Listen…”

“…and, and if she was, maybe she doesn’t want to be found. Either way, I’m out. I’m sorry for your loss or whatever, but I don’t want the people she’s tied up with looking in my direction. I’m too old be watching over my shoulder all the time. Maybe you are too.”

I went to say more, but he’d already hung up. In the week after that phone call I made no real progress, either on my own or hiring someone new. I finally called the old P.I. again, ready to bite the hook and pay him double, triple, if he’d just keep trying to find Jenny. When he didn’t answer after a couple of days, I went by his office.

It was empty. Not just closed, but stripped down and bare, with no sign out front or furniture inside. I even double-checked I hadn’t somehow gone to the wrong place, but no, just two weeks earlier it had been a private investigator’s office. Now it looked sterile and abandoned, the only sign of life a bit of graffiti scratched onto the side of the bottom step, like a leftover hieroglyphic on the wall of a tomb.

I saw some of that same graffiti on my driveway tonight. A row of symbols in black chalk that look like nonsense to me, but then again, I don’t think I’m who they’re meant for. I tell myself I’m over-reacting. I’m stressed and guilty and terrified I’ve lost Jenny for good, whether it’s to a secret grave or a secret life. Looking out into the dark as I write this, I wonder if anyone is out there looking in.

Is that a shadow among the shadows? I can’t say for sure. All I have is questions after all, and as the night deepens only one thing seems to grow more and more certain.

The answer is always the same.

 

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Credits

Trail Magic

  

I’ve received copies of the recent writings and recordings of Matthew Calder. I say “copies” because the originals are still in police custody in connection with several ongoing investigations. The writing is presented as is—I literally copied and pasted from the original documents, so aside from formatting, it should be fully representative of what Matt wrote. As for the recordings, I’ve watched them all numerous times over the last week, taking careful notes of anything that seems important. The summaries of these recordings are written by me as objectively as possible, though I’m aware I’m too close to this for my own emotions and perceptions to not creep in from time to time.

In any case, I’m writing this now out of desperation. My hope is that by distributing a version of what happened to Matt, someone might come forward with more information or some new idea that I’ve failed to find on my own. Whether you read this with a mind toward helping, or just being entertained by something strange posted on the internet, I ask you to please keep an open mind and I thank you for your time and attention.

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File: TBWM1.DOC Create Date: 3/16/21

Welcome to the inaugural episode (or issue? Ask Sarah what to call it) of “Trailblazing with Matt”, a new series on your favorite hiking blog. I’m Matthew Calder, and I’m not just new to the website, I’m also new to long-distance hiking in general. I’m athletic, and I’ve been on hikes since I was a kid, but nothing more than a few miles at a time.

And that’s kind of the point of this series. Most of you probably know one of the senior editors on the blog, Sarah Burr. What you may not know is that Sarah is also my Boo (check with her on if this is tmi or too jokey a tone). Since we met two years ago, we’ve had a ton of fun introducing each other to new things, and of course one of the first things she started telling me about was how much she loves long-distance hiking in general and specifically, thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail.

I’ll be honest, the idea of walking and camping for months kind of terrifies me, but that nervousness and fear is what led to us deciding to document our first section hike together: A 72-mile hike through the Smokey Mountain National Park. We’re starting today out of Fontana Dam and heading north up the Trail with the goal of reaching the other end of the park by next Tuesday or Wednesday. Between Sarah’s expertise and my burning desire to not give up (especially in front of her), this should be interesting!

While I won’t post any of this until we’re back home, my goal is to document every day and (when we get back) post an article daily until our saga is done. So if you’re reading this on the blog, check back tomorrow for how my first 24 hours went!

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File: TBWM2.DOC Create Date: 3/17/21

Welcome back to Episode Two of Trailblazing with Matt, a series were I, newbie hiker Matthew Calder, go with experienced long-hiker Sarah Burr on a week-long journey across the section of the Appalachian Trail that crosses the Smokey Mountain National Park.

So Day One went great…until it didn’t. When we started out yesterday morning from the dam, I was full of energy. By four in the afternoon, however, I was really dragging. My feet were sore, I was hungry despite snacking most of the day, and the last thing I wanted to do was take an hour to set up a camp.

Lucky for me, Sarah is a pro. She not only encouraged me, she showed me a good camp prep order while helping me wrestle our tent into shape. By the time the sun was down, we were resting by the fire listening to the weird night wood noises. Then before I knew it, I was dead asleep.

This morning I woke up stiff, and my feet were still more tender than I’d have liked, but after half an hour on the trail, I was feeling great again. A lot of that is the scenery. It really is just a beautiful part of the country. (Insert Pic)

Here’s a shot of the little waterfall we stopped at for lunch. (Insert Pic)

This is Tony, an older guy that has done thru-hikes of the AT several times. He met us coming the other way, as he was heading south on his latest thru-hike. Really cool dude, though Sarah says starting from Maine in the winter is a little too hardcore even for her. (Insert Pic)

And here’s Sarah waving at me to pick up the pace this afternoon. She’s using her fancy camera to record my growing fatigue and shame. (Insert Pic)

So yeah, so far I’m loving the Trail. About to eat some dinner and get some rest. Talk to you again tomorrow!

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File: TBWM3.DOC Create Date: 3/18/21

Hey guys and girls. This one is going to be a bit different. So the night went fine overall. Colder, but less weird night noises, so all things considered it wasn’t too bad. And today had been going well enough, though I can feel my energy level slower to come back compared to yesterday. Sarah says I need to eat more, and maybe she’s right.

The problems came when Sarah turned on her phone and saw she had a voicemail from work. I won’t go into details here, but due to some unforeseen consequences, she’s got to leave the section hike and head to Richmond for a few days. What that means for me is I have a choice to make: Do I leave too, or do I go on without her?

I’ll be honest. My first reaction was that I was definitely leaving. I told myself it was to be supportive of her, but this is a work thing with the company that owns the website and she doesn’t need any support, least of all from the newest contract labor on the blog. No, truth be told, I’ve been coasting these last three days because I had her as a safety net. But if I’m going to do this—both for the job and for myself—I need to be able to keep going when I don’t have her to hold my hand.

So I’m staying out here and finishing the hike. And when she leaves in a few minutes, she promised to let me borrow her badass camera, so you might get a high-def video blog next time (if I don’t break it).

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File: JVC1093.mp4 Date Created: 3/19/21 Time: 9:23

Matt starts the video awkwardly, jumping the view around as he fiddles with buttons and settings. Once he’s satisfied, he turns the lens toward himself, waving into the camera and introducing himself a couple of times in what looks like an attempt at replicating his friendly greetings from the blog posts he had written. He looks tired and stressed, the dark circles under his eyes undercutting the chipper attitude he’s working to maintain as he walks along the trail.

He says Sarah got into Richmond safely, and that while he’d had some issues setting up camp alone the night before, it had been a good learning experience. Laughing, he says he learned what not to do at least. After glancing down the path, he smiles to the camera and says he’ll record more later on in the day.

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File: JVC1094.mp4 Date Created: 3/19/21 Time: 13:39

Matt has stopped for lunch. He says that the walk has gone okay so far other than getting a bit too close to a rattlesnake before he noticed it. He smiles nervously and shrugs, saying the snake warned him and he listened to Mr. Snake. He tells the camera he should have recorded the big fella, but he didn’t think about it until a few minutes later. Says his goal is to make fourteen miles today, which would be a major improvement over the prior days and move him past the halfway mark on the section hike. I can tell from looking at him that he just wants it to be over.

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File: JVC1096.mp4 Date Created: 3/19/21 Time: 16:11

Matt comes into frame without his normal forced jolliness. He looks angry and worried, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why. He tells the camera that an hour earlier, he had gone to collect water off the path. When he got close by, he took off his pack and sat it down, carrying just the bottles and the camera, as he had wanted to make a video on what Sarah had taught him about the best places to get water.

It was as he reached the water’s edge that he glanced back and saw his pack was gone. He panicked, looking around to see if it could have rolled under some brush or if he saw anyone around that might have messed with it. But there was nothing and no one that he could find.

Matt looks genuinely scared as he’s talking into the camera now. He says everything was in that backpack: his tent, his sleeping bag, and all his food other than a couple of bars in his pants. But beyond that, the matches, the map, his tablet and his cell phone…they had all been in there too.

Matt laughs with embarrassment, saying he feels like a big baby getting so freaked out when he’s traveling a marked trail, but it’s so big, and aside from the white blaze marks that traced the Trail route, he has no real idea of where to go or what was coming up when. He knew there were lean-to shelters up ahead, but he wasn’t sure how far it was until the next one, and he has even less idea of how to boil water without matches or get more food.

Sighing, he tells the camera that he’s sorry, and he hopes it isn’t a disappointment, but he was going to have to try and get help the next chance he got. Without any of his gear, he just needed to find a ranger station or a person and get off the Trail as soon as possible.

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File: JVC1097.mp4 Date Created: 3/19/21 Time: 19:29

Matt is using the camera’s night-vision now, and it’s apparent from his surroundings that he’s found a small wooden shelter to spend the night in. While it’s clear he’s grateful for the place to rest, it’s also obvious he’s considerably more worried than before, as he’s yet to find a station or run across other people, despite them having seen other hikers several times on the first few days of the trip.

The one bright point of the evening was Matt’s first experience with “Trail Magic”, a term he said he’d initially learned from Sarah but had later found was a common experience during long-distance hiking. He said that from what he’s heard and read, Trail Magic could be a lot of different things. Sometimes it was just good luck when you needed it, or encountering something really special on the Trail. At other times, and more relevant to Matt at the moment, it would be something left behind by another hiker or a kind-hearted local. Maybe food or something else of use on the journey ahead.

What Matt had found was a small cooler. He held it up to the camera, and it was a size and shape I’d associate with small picnics or live fishing bait. Inside he’d found a bag of trail mix and two bottles of water, all of which looked well-sealed. Matt notes that normally he wouldn’t eat or drink things he just found out in the woods, sealed or not, but these were not normal times. And hopefully, he adds, it would give him the energy to walk until he found help in the morning.

He jumps a little at this point as a branch cracks off in the distance. And when he laughs, his voice is shaky. Says the nights were still spooky, but he was getting used to them, and at least it wasn’t like a few nights ago.

Crazy as it was, one night he would have swore he could hear a baby crying.

File: JVC1099.mp4 Date Created: 3/20/21 Time: 14:03

It appears from both the time stamp and Matt’s appearance that he’s already been walking for hours when he turns on the camera this time. Sitting down next to a tree, he looks exhausted and terrified. For the sake of accuracy, I’ve transcribed his words in this recording below:

I…Fuck, I don’t know. I fucked up. I…I didn’t sleep for shit last night, and so I got up when the sun was up and got started. I kept thinking to myself that I have to be close, right? Not to the end, no, but to something. A ranger, a hiker, a damn emergency phone or something, right?

But I’ve been walking for hours. Like, I think it’s been like six or seven hours. And there’s nothing. Just more trail, more woods, more fucking nothing.

(Laughs) I’m really trying not to lose my shit, you know? I know I’m in a national park, and I know plenty of people walk this trail every year. I’m bound to find something soon, right?

(Shakes his head) I even thought about going backward. But I don’t know how far it would be until I found something that way either. I didn’t pay that much attention when I had Sarah, and I haven’t seen anything since she left. And…and I have to be way over halfway by this point. Even if…shit, even if I don’t see anything or anyone until I reach the end of the park, it’s way closer to keep going than to try and go back.

I…yeah, this…I don’t know that any of this is going on the blog. Maybe it would be interesting, or maybe it would just scare people away from trying this. The thing is, I’m starting to feel less like I’m doing it for the job and more…Fuck, I’m starting to feel like I’m making these recordings so there’s a record of what happened to me.

I need to go. Turn this off and save battery power. I have a spare left for the camera, but I don’t need to waste it on my whining. Matt out.

File: JVC1100.mp4 Date Created: 3/20/21 Time: 19:33

Matt is again sitting in what looks like a wooden shelter. He tells the camera that he considered walking on in the dark, but he doesn’t know how much charge his headlamp has left and when he found this shelter a little while ago, he decided to stop for the night. The good news is that he’s found some more Trail Magic, this time in the form of a cardboard box containing a small campstove and a metal pot.

He says the campstove works, and he was able to boil water and refill both his collection bottles and the water bottles he’d carried from the last shelter. While there’s some relief in his voice talking about having fresh water, it fades quickly when he confirms he still hasn’t seen any sign of help after walking throughout the afternoon.

File: JVC1099.mp4 Date Created: 3/21/21 Time: 15:19

Matt is walking up to a shelter silently, showing a ten-foot long wooden floor surrounded by three plank walls and a wooden overhang, much like the limited views we’ve gotten from prior nights in a structure along the Trail. He pans over to a plastic bin tucked against an inner corner and lets out a rough laugh.

“Great. More Trail Magic. I hope they left some food, because I’m fucking starving.”

His voice sounds dry and brittle, and when he gets close enough to see what’s in the bin, I can hear him start to cry.

It’s a hunting knife, a flint, and three packs of dried ramen.

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File: JVC1101.mp4 Date Created: 3/21/21 Time: 17:25

Matt seems in a little better spirits now. Lit by a small fire he finally got started with his new tools, he talks about how the ramen was about the best thing he’d ever eaten, though he made a point of saving one for the next day. He’d been using the extra space he could make in the camera bag to carry stuff up to this point, but now he’s trying to decide if he should carry the bin too or leave something behind.

He’s very muted now, both his words and actions slow as he stares off-camera at the fire he’s made. He says he still didn’t find anyone today. That he should reach the edge of the park by late tomorrow unless he’s seriously miscalculated the ground he’s covered, but he doesn’t want to abandon any supplies he might need if the hike lasts past tomorrow.

Staring into the camera, he begins to cry again.

“I just want to go home.”

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File: JVC1102.mp4 Date Created: 3/22/21 Time: 18:34

Matt is breathing heavily as he stands over the remnants of shredded wrapping paper and a medium-sized open box.

“This doesn’t make any fucking sense. None of this makes any fucking sense.” He then turns the camera toward himself and begins to explain.

So I…I fucking walk all day, okay? And and, I should be at the end, or seeing some signs that the end is coming up, but nope. Just the normal trail markers, the blazes or whatever. So I finally stop tonight because I find yet another fucking shelter. And I’m not complaining, right, because someone stole my fucking tent, but how many of these shelters are there going to be? Because we didn’t see many back when Sarah was with me, and at first I was like, okay, there’s just more on this part of the Trail, right? And then when I started finding the Trail Magic boxes and stuff, I was just happy to find something to eat or drink.

But how am I not done yet? Or seeing anybody? And why do all these places have shit that I need? Isn’t that weird? Fuck, I know I’m starving and exhausted and probably just getting fucked up paranoid, but it feels like someone is messing with me. But how could they? How is that even possible?

I…I think in the morning I’m going to try walking into the woods a little. Not far, not so far that I lose sight of the shelter, but maybe if someone is leaving presents and shit, they live nearby or I can get to where I see a road or something. I don’t know. I just…I know I can’t do this for much longer.

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File: JVC1104.mp4 Date Created: 3/23/21 Time: 7:15

Matt is walking away from the shelter now and moving into the woods behind it. The sun is up, but the light is still dim as he pushes through some brush and into the trees. He doesn’t make it far before he notices the gleam of white behind a nearby pair of trees. As he gets closer, it becomes clear what he’s found. A small cooler, like you might keep drinks or live bait in.

But not just that. There are other things strewn out behind the trees as well.

A cardboard box and a plastic bin.

What….what the fuck? It…I thought it looked the same but…it has to be they just build them all to look the same, right? I can’t…I can’t be going in a fucking…I’ve been following the Trail the whole time!

The camera shakes as he looks closer at the containers. If they aren’t the same ones he had found gifts in on prior nights, they are their identical twins. Matt picks up the cooler and hurls it into the trees with a scream of rage before spinning away and stalking back toward the shelter. He’s moving so fast now that he almost steps on the thing that has been left on his return path.

A photograph. An old-fashioned instant film photo that looks untouched by the elements or time. Something that, based on repeated viewings, I’m confident wasn’t there when he left the shelter moments before.

He picks it up and murmurs a curse under his breath, talking to his only companion, the camera, as he shows it the picture. It’s a photo of Sarah standing on a street corner in what I’ve learned is Richmond, Virginia. Based on her expression and the angle of the photo, it doesn’t appear she knows the picture has been taken.

“What the fuck is this?”

Matt is almost running back to the shelter now, and as he rounds the corner, the camera spies a new gift that’s been left behind. A small metal lockbox with a key sticking out of the front. The view spins and jolts as Matt runs around the shelter, screaming for whoever is behind this to come out, to quit fucking with him. When no one answers, he goes back to the box and crouches down before turning the key with a trembling hand. Inside the box there are two items. The first is a second instant photo. This only appears in front of the camera for a moment, but a freeze frame shows it was taken in what looks like a hotel room, with both a bed and the edge of a small table in view. On the bed is Sarah, hands and feet bound, mouth gagged, eyes wide with bleak horror.

Matt might have lost the last of his mind right there, but for the second item. It’s his cellphone.

Snatching it out of the box, he sets the camera down as he tries turning it on. After a tense moment of silence, it lights up and beeps, and Matt is heard softly praying for a signal. He is only partially in frame during the start of this process, but moves more into view in what I assume was an attempt to get better reception. Apparently satisfied, he shakily makes a phone call.

“Come on, baby. Come on, pick up. Please be a joke, please pick up.”

There’s no answer.

He grips the phone tighter. Based on the three button presses followed by a fourth higher up, I think this was him trying to call 911. Again, no answer.

Shaking with fear and frustration, he keeps trying to call someone over and over. Based on his actions and the overall context, I think he spent the next few minutes trying to reach anyone in his contacts, all with no luck. At least until the last call, when the phone began to ring.

“Hello?” A voice on the speakerphone, faint but clearly that of a young woman.

“Oh God. Lanie? Can you hear me?”

“Matt? Is that you? I can barely hear you, yeah.”

“Lanie, please, please just listen. I need you to call the police for me. This is not a joke, okay? I…My girlfriend, her name is Sarah Burr. I think she’s in Richmond, Virginia and someone has her. Like has kidnapped her and is going to hurt her or something.” He paused for a moment. “You still there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Okay…okay…so, I’m like…I’m in the Smokey Mountain National Park. On the Appalachian Trail. I’m lost somehow. So please do two things for me. Call the police in Richmond and ask them to find her. Sarah Burr. And then call the park service for the Smokey Mountain National Park and ask them to come find me. I’m lost and hungry and I need help.”

“I’m so sorry, Matt.”

Matt seems to recoil slightly at this. “Sorry? No, you don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry I had to call you. I swear, I tried everyone else, but you’re the only person that would go through. I swore I’d leave you alone, and I’m sorry I’m breaking that promise, but if you don’t help then I think me or Sarah might die. Someone is doing this to us. I don’t know who or why, but they are.”

“His name…his name is Bertie.”

“What? Say that again, Elaine. What was that?”

A crackle and then, “I said his name is Bertie.”

Matt freezes for a moment before responding. “Are you…are you saying you put someone up to this?”

When the young woman speaks again, her voice is trembling. “I…I didn’t mean to. I…a few months after we broke up, my grandmother died.”

“Um, yeah, I’m sorry about that. I heard about it through Stu, and I wanted to call, but I didn’t think I had the right and…But…but I don’t understand. What does that have to do with what’s happening to Sarah? What’s happening to me?”

“When she died, my grandmother left me something. She called it Bertie the Cat, but it’s not a cat, not really. It’s…well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is five days ago was the anniversary of when my grandmother died. And that’s when he asked me for a name.”

“Lanie, I don’t know what this is but…”

“He asked me for a name, and I’d already decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to give him one. I didn’t know what he’d do if he got one, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But…” There’s a pause, and then the woman goes on. “But when he asked, I thought of you. I’ve forgiven you for cheating on me. It sucks, but I know it happens to some people. But…I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven you for lying to me about it. Never admitting it, even at the end. Somehow that seemed worse, more disrespectful, than you finding some other girl you liked better or seeing her behind my back.”

“I swear, I never…”

Her voice is colder now. “Don’t make it worse by lying again now. Bertie showed me what you did. It was with this Sarah, wasn’t it?”

Matt’s shoulders slump as he nods bleakly. “Yeah. It…It just happened. I never meant to hurt you. As shitty as it sounds, it felt like just lying about it was protecting you somehow.”

“That’s convenient.”

“But I swear, I’m sorry. I really am. Just…please don’t hurt us. Or have this guy hurt us. Call him off.”

There’s a small laugh over the phone. “Matt, you don’t understand. I can’t stop him. I didn’t even want to give him your name, or I don’t think I did. But once it was in my head…well, a moment later I heard myself saying it. It was like I was in a dream where I could see what I was doing but not stop it. I said it, and before I could even try to take it back, he was gone.”

Matt slams his fist into the wooden floor next to the phone. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You hire a fucking hitman because an old boyfriend cheated on you? You’re going to prison, you crazy bitch. You call this off now, get us both home safely, or you’re fucking dead, you hear me?”

Her voice trembles when she answers. “He’s not a man. He’s…not a man.”

“Whatever. Get me out of here.”

“Matt, where do you think you are?”

“At a shelter…stuck in some kind of fucking loop on the Appalachian Trail. Don’t act like you don’t know where I am. I don’t know how you’re doing all this, but you know where I fucking am.”

A moment of silence. “I do, but it’s not there. He’s showing me where you are. And you’re…I know this won’t make sense…but you’re inside him.”

“Inside…you really are a crazy fucking bitch. Listen to…”

“He’s taken you somehow, and you’re inside him. And he’s here with me, but he’s also with her. And in there with you. I don’t want to see this, to know this, but he’s showing me anyway. He says I have to see so I can understand. I’m sorry. I told him I only gave him your name, not hers, but I don’t think he cares. I asked him to make it quick at least, but…he’s just laughing.”

Matt goes to yell into the phone again when a shadow falls over him. Looking up, his face contorts into a scream as the camera crackles and then dies.

---

On March 24th, 2021, Richmond Police began to search for my brother in connection with the brutal murder of Sarah Burr in a downtown hotel room. Cleaning staff had found her bound and gagged, tortured and butchered with a large hunting knife. While there were no witnesses to my brother being in the hotel room or Richmond at all, his fingerprints were the only ones found on the murder weapon. My understanding is that the current theory is that my brother somehow followed Sarah to Richmond, murdered her, and wrote and filmed a bizarre narrative of being “lost in the woods” to try and create some kind of demented alibi. As of me writing this, he has still not been found.

What was found was his cellphone, his tablet, and the camera, all in a neat little stack inside one of the shelters along the Trail. There’s no explanation for how they got there, particularly since they were located miles away from the point that Sarah left the Trail to head for Richmond.

The other thing that the investigators have failed to explain is why there’s no record of Matt using his cell to try and call people or his lengthy phone conversation with the woman, which I know would have been his ex-girlfriend, Elaine Roman. Police claim to have checked her phone records as well as Matt’s, but there was no sign of the call being made on either side. One of the detectives interviewed her over the phone as well, but she supposedly acted surprised that Matt was missing and said she hadn’t spoken to him in well over a year.

Of course I know that’s bullshit, so I went to talk to her myself.

I’d never met Elaine in person before, but I recognized her when she opened the door. She didn’t look surprised by my visit, or have any real question as to why I was there. Instead, she just greeted me and gestured for me to sit down on the front porch. She was all dressed up with her purse in hand, and as she pulled her door shut she warned me she only had a moment before she had to leave for a party.

“So you’re here about Matt, right?”

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I could feel myself glaring at her. “You know I am. What happened to him?”

She rolled her eyes slightly. “I have no idea. I told the police the same thing.”

“You’re lying. I saw the video of you talking to him on the phone.”

Shaking her head, she gave a small laugh. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t seen or talked to him since we broke up. I’m sorry he’s missing or whatever, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me.” When I stared at her, she looked away and stood up. “Anyway, I have to be going. My father just got out of the hospital and we’re throwing him a welcome home party.”

Standing up myself, I could hear the sarcasm in my voice. “Congratulations. At least some people are lucky.”

Turning back to me, I expected to see anger in Elaine’s face, but instead I saw a mixture of sadness and fear. “It was more than luck. He had late-stage Parkinson’s and was dying of sepsis. Doctors didn’t think he’d last beyond a few more days. Then he suddenly not only beat the infection, but…well, the Parkinson’s is gone. They’ve run tests and brought in experts, but they have no idea how it happened.” Her lip trembled as she tried to smile. “I guess there’s just a lot of things that can’t be explained or really understood.”

She turned to walk away when I grabbed her arm. “We’re not do…”

I froze as I felt a hand settle on me from behind. Out of the corner of my eye, I almost thought I saw a white glove on my shoulder, but then the vision was gone while the weight remained. Elaine didn’t look back, but just gently pried my hand loose from her arm as she spoke.

“Go home. Please. And don’t come back. I’m sorry for what happened to Matt, but it was outside my control. And…well…I don’t want to see anything happen to you.” As if to punctuate her point, the invisible thing gripping my shoulder squeezed painfully for a moment before fading away.

I drove back to my hotel and then sat in the car shaking. I’m no closer to understanding what happened to my brother or Sarah, or what Elaine did to set it in motion. In some ways, I’m grateful for the dead end, as I’m scared to go on. But then I think of Matt, lost and alone and terrified in ways I’ve never known.

So I write this to record what I’ve seen and learned. I’ll post it online in case it can somehow help my brother. And then I’ll try to ignore the small voice in my heart. The one that hopes it all comes to nothing—that there are no more leads to chase or trails to go down.

Because I don’t know where those paths lead, the voice tells me.

Or what might be waiting for me at the end.

 

---

Credits

The Care and Feeding of Bertie the Cat

  

When I was little, I almost drowned. I was staying for a few days with my Grandmother Agatha—all of her seven grandchildren were expected to visit during the summer months, and at the time, I was no different. She was a distant woman that seemed to hide some kind of poisonous anger behind a thin veneer of cold curtesy, and even as a young girl I often wondered why she wanted to occupy her summers with a rotation of children she seemed to care about very little. None of our parents seemed to question it though, whether due to love or duty or fear or the simple fact that Agatha was very, very rich.

So when, at seven, a man stepped from the woods, my first thought was that he was a gardener. He wore a dark grey suit and white gloves, but I had seen a maid and butler in the house for years, and they both dressed up fancy too, so in my child’s mind it wasn’t unreasonable that my grandmother would make people wear a suit to work outside as well. I was playing at the edge of the backyard garden—one of the advantages of my grandmother’s perpetual disinterest was that I pretty much did what I wanted without supervision when I visited on my own—and after glancing up at the man’s arrival and giving him a nervous smile, I turned back to look at whatever it was I’d been doing. It was then that I saw it out of the corner of my eye.

The man was running for me.

I had time to look up and take in more detail of the man as he lurched toward me with outstretched hands. Time to see how grey his skin was in the daylight and how his mouth hung open like the entrance to a flesh cave of black gums and broken teeth. A chance to see how large his eyes were, nearly all whites except for small rings of blue iris wrapped around pinpricks of black. Enough opportunity to suck in a breath to scream, only to find the air forced out in a soundless whoosh as he reached me and yanked me backward onto the ground.

I was terrified, of course, my mind already flooding with vague abstract versions of all the terrible things that could happen if a stranger got you. I tried to struggle, but it was little use—he had a fistful of my hair and was far stronger that me, dragging me with ease toward the center of the yard where a large reflecting pool sat waiting.

My mouth was ready to try another scream when we hit the water. The shock of the cold stunned me for a moment, and before I could recover, he was forcing my head beneath the surface. I struggled again, harder this time, some dark corner of my brain kicking into gear at the threat of not just future dangers, but immediate death.

It still didn’t matter. I never even got my head above water, and it wasn’t long before the world began to darken as my mind narrowed down to a thin sliver of consciousness. It was as that last strand of desperate, terrified thought was about to break that the man’s hands were suddenly gone, and I felt my body lurch up in a desperate search for air.

It took a couple of minutes of me laying next to the pool retching and crying before I could even stand to go look for help. There was no sign of the man anywhere, not even wet footprints where he might have run off, but I was horrified at the thought that he might reappear at any moment. I crawled to the edge of the back patio as I caught my breath, and when I did manage to stand up, I ran inside and found my grandmother, hugging her and weeping as I tried to explain what had happened.

She was less than impressed. She told me I shouldn’t make up fanciful tales to excuse playing in the water, which had dirtied my clothes and no doubt left a trail of dirt and wet throughout her house, as well as on her. Face stern, she pried me away and held me at arms’ length, studying me for a moment.

“You don’t seem the worse for wear. Go clean up and change your clothes. Lunch will be in fifteen minutes.”

---

I did go and change, but not until I had snuck and called my mother to come get me. She was reluctant at first, but when she heard how upset I was and what I was saying, she told me her and my father would be there by the afternoon. They came as promised, and what followed was an hour of heated argument between them and my grandmother followed by my parents taking me home. After that, I never went back to visit my grandmother again, and as I got older, I came to understand that, for all intents and purposes, Agatha no longer considered us part of her family.

So I was surprised that, two months after her death, I got a letter from my grandmother’s attorney asking me to arrange a time to come in to discuss my inheritance. I almost didn’t go at all—while I could use the money, I knew she had cut my parents out of her will and I had nothing but bad memories associated with the woman myself. I talked to my mother about it, and she encouraged me to go. Said that whatever her mother had been, she was gone now, and I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get…whatever it was…just because of bad childhood memories. Maybe, my mother said, this was Agatha’s way of trying to make up for what happened years before.

The next week I was sitting alone in a large, wood-paneled conference room in the lawyer’s office staring at two envelopes. The attorney had pointed out the writing on the front of each, saying that, as my grandmother had indicated, if I chose to open the envelopes, I should start with the one on the left and then follow with the one on the right. I’d given him a funny look at that, asking why it mattered. He only shrugged, saying that it was Agatha’s wish and he asked I abide by it.

By the time he had left, I’d already decided I was opening the right one first, if for no other reason than…well…fuck Agatha. She was a weird, controlling bitch even from the grave. Or was trying to be.

Smirking at the thought and feeling a kind of happy anger bubbling in my chest, I grabbed up the right envelope and went to tear it open, but the paper didn’t budge. It was nice, thick paper, but I saw no reason I shouldn’t be able to rip it. Grimacing, I tried again with no luck.

I looked at the edge of where it had been sealed shut, thinking I might could pry it open there with a fingernail, but when that didn’t work either, I tossed the envelope back down and stared at it. There was definitely something inside it. Something with a bit of weight to it that slid around. A key maybe? The paper was too thick to tell. Too thick and apparently made of Kevlar.

Sighing, I looked at the other envelope. It read, “Open this envelope first.”, and just seeing the delicate loops of my grandmother’s handwriting made my stomach clench a little. I considered going and asking for a pair of scissors or something to get the right envelope open, but I decided against it. I was being petty, and dragging this whole thing out way more than it needed to be. Better to try the other one and then go from there, if it was any easier to open. If it wasn’t, I’d go borrow a blowtorch or something.

The left envelope opened easily, however, and inside I found a single sheet of cream-colored stationary lined with more of Agatha’s writing.

---

Despite the truncated nature of our relationship and the unreasonable behavior of your parents, I am bequeathing to you something of great worth. In truth, out of all that I have, it is of the greatest value to me, and perhaps in time, to you.

I call it Bertie. Bertie the cat. This may seem a childish name to you, and it is, but I first acquired Bertie when I was a young woman that still possessed a whimsical sense of humor not yet hardened and sharpened by the stony truths of the world.

You may be asking now if I mean an actual living creature or if this is just a metaphor. I assure you it is the former, though I understand your confusion at how a normal cat would live for such a long time as to be passed on to you. The answer is simple: Bertie is not a normal cat.

He does not require much from you other than the following three things:

First, your companionship. He will always be with you.

Second, once a year, he will ask you for a name. It must be someone who you have personally met and that is alive, but those are the only requirements.

Third, a week after you give him a name, he will grant you a wish. There are certain limitations on this, but Bertie is capable of doing miraculous things.

If you abide by these three rules, you will find your time with Bertie very pleasant and profitable.

Enjoy.

Your Grandmother,

Agatha Dance

P.S. You may now open the other envelope.

---

I stared at the letter for a moment and then reread it. Was it some kind of weird practical joke, or had she gone senile before the end? I glanced back at the other envelope. Maybe this was some odd prank where the other envelope had a key in it to her house…or to a storage unit filled with cat litter. Either way, it all seemed really out-of-character for my grandmother, or at least my idea of who she had been.

I stopped at that thought. The truth was, I had no idea who she really was. My memories of her weren’t positive, and the stories I’d heard from my parents weren’t much different or better, but all of that was also tainted by the fear and anger of what had happened when I was a child and her reaction to it. Maybe there was more to her than that small window from the past. Maybe she was a quirky woman isolated by her success and hamstrung by personality flaws. Maybe by the end she was sorry for how things had gone, and this really was her way of trying to make up for it.

Shaking my head, I pulled out my phone and tried to call my mother. This was all so weird, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to even open the other envelope, money or no money. The phone just rang and then went to voicemail, so I hung up. Frowning down at the right envelope, I let out a sigh. I’d try to open it one more time. If I couldn’t, I’d carry it outside, the lawyer or somebody could open it for me, and I’d finally find out what the punchline to all this really was.

This time the envelope opened easily. My heart hammering, I tipped it, catching the heavy thing inside as it slid out into my palm. As it landed there, I let out a hiss and let it drop to the table with a clatter. Looking back to my hand, I saw a small dot of blood, and when I glanced back to the thing on the table, I understood why.

It was a small, flat oval of metal, ornately carved with symbols winding around three tiny but sharp-looking bumps protruding from each side. One of those stubby needles had been what had poked me, and I had a moment of panicked thoughts ranging from tetanus to poison-tipped booby traps. But no, I was being silly. It was looking more and more like my grandmother had just been crazy when she died, and whatever this was, it seemed harmless enough aside from being sharp. Wondering why it hadn’t torn or poked through the envelope, I looked inside to find a second letter that had been bunded with the piece of metal.

---

Congratulations. Bertie is yours now.

The object bundled with this note is very special. In some circles it is known as a Staring Eye. In others, a tumerin. For you, it is a symbol of your bond with Bertie, and like Bertie, it will always be with you.

Do not attempt to rid yourself of it. It will always come back to you.

Do not fail to abide by the rules outlined in the other letter.

If you do as I say, you will have a good life. If you do not, Bertie will become angry.

We humans do not understand true anger. Or true despair.

But you will find an angry Bertie to be a very good teacher.

I’m curious what you will do. If you are like your worthless parents, you will see it as a curse. If you have some of my strength, however, you may find yourself thanking me for the greatest gift you’ve ever received.

Time will tell. I’ll say good-bye with this last bit of advice and a small secret between grandmother and granddaughter.

Remember that others cannot see Bertie. Often you won’t either. But he sees you. He always, always see you.

As for the secret? I didn’t pick you for this.

He did.

---

Fifteen minutes later I was back in my car. I’d tried questioning the lawyer about the letters and the metal eye, but he wouldn’t say anything other than that he had been explicitly told by Agatha to let the inheritance speak for itself. When I asked about Bertie, he paled slightly and told me he had a meeting he was late for, but that he certainly hoped I had a good rest of my day.

It was as I was driving out of the parking lot that my phone began to ring.

“Hey, honey. I’ve been trying to get you after I saw I missed your call. Everything okay?”

“Um…yeah, I think so. I just left the lawyer’s office from the inheritance thing? It was super weird.”

“Weird how? What did they give you?”

“A couple of letters and some metal thing? The letters were really odd. Like…did grandma ever have a cat named Bertie?”

There was a pause and then, “Did you say a cat? No. She never had any pets when we were growing up, or later on either. And, I mean, I can’t say what she had or didn’t have in the last twenty years, but I’m pretty positive it wouldn’t be a cat either way.”

“Why?”

“Your grandmother…she was always a very strong woman. Cold and hard to know, yes, but I can’t deny that she was very strong-willed and determined. Fearless…at least most of the time. The one thing that terrified her was a cat…I think it was from something that happened to her as a child, but I can tell you that she hated them for as long as I knew her. Hated them because they were the only thing she was actually scared of.”

---

When I finished talking to my mother, I was no closer to understanding what I’d been given and why then when I started. She didn’t know what a Staring Eye or tumerin was, although she admitted most Agatha’s beliefs and interests were mysteries to her far before our family split in two. She suggested I get the piece of metal appraised to see if it was somehow valuable before throwing it away.

I almost argued against the idea by pointing out it was probably just a piece of junk from a crazy old woman, but something stopped me before I began. I think it was the wounded sound in my mother’s voice at having to talk about the dead woman at all, at having to remember how things had been left between them and speculate at what had become of Agatha over the last decades of her life. I don’t think my mother regretted cutting us off from her, but I’m old enough now to understand that even the right choice can hurt sometimes.

So I let it go, and I came home and put the envelopes in a drawer. I spent a few minutes looking online for reputable appraisers, but before long I was too sleepy to do anything but sink into my pillow and the swallowing dark.

I woke up a few hours later when something climbed up onto my bed.

Sitting up, I blinked blearily in the darkness, heart pounding. Maybe it had just been a dream, like when you wake up while you think you’re fall…

There was a man sitting at the foot of my bed.

I let out a gasp as I pulled my legs in and sat up further. “Who are you? What…what are you doing here?”

The man just stared at me, smiling, and I stared back, transfixed by my fear and the realization that, in the silver light of the moon, I recognized him. Remembered him.

His grey suit and matching skin. His boiled egg eyes and drooping, jagged bone mouth. Ghost white gloves covering the long-fingered, strong hands that had drug me by the hair and held my face underwater until I almost drowned. The man from my memories and my nightmares.

The thing that, in all of my life, I feared the most.

I recognized him, but more importantly, I knew who he was.

Voice trembling, I breathed out the question like an offering. “Bertie?”

The man’s bony shoulders shook with a deep, rumbling chuckle as his boneless lips twitched and stretched into an obscene impression of a smile.

“Meow.”

 

---

Credits

It Sounds Like A Baby Crying

  

Last month, I started my first solo hike on the Appalachian Trail. Growing up I’d hiked a lot with my Dad, but it was never more than a half-day before we broke off into some activity or went home. But for the last few years the idea of a longer hike, of spending days or weeks or even months largely alone as I passed through the wilderness of the world, sounded both magical and a little scary.

I’m no great athlete or outdoorsman, but I’m in decent shape and have spent the last few months building up my stamina, reading up on the skills and knowledge I’d need on the trail, and researching what equipment I needed to carry. The two things I found repeated the most was travel light and plan ahead.

So by January I had everything in place. I had the permits and the gear, and my mother was going to send resupply boxes by general delivery to several post offices along the way. If I kept to the schedule, I should arrive about a week after the packages, and anything I didn’t need then, I could send ahead in a “bounce box” to somewhere farther down the line.

The other key in my mind, aside from the planning and prep work, was being realistic. I wasn’t trying to do the entire 2,200 miles. My plan was to start at Springer Mountain in Georgia and possibly go as far as the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. If I found out I was in over my head or got tired of it, I could always stop early. At just under 500 miles, I figured it would take me a little less than two months if I did the full section hike to Virginia, which would line up well with my new job starting at the end of May.

But it wasn’t just my work schedule that had fallen into place. Everything seemed like it was working out for me to do the hike. Almost like the universe was pushing me toward it. So one day in early March I put on my pack, locked my car, and headed out.

The first day was great. The weather was cool, the scenery was beautiful, and I was full of the excitement of doing something different and exploring a part of the world that was easily forgotten in day to day city life. I only made eight miles that first day, but I was more concerned about how I would do making my camp. I’d practiced with everything, of course, but I knew that there was a difference between watching a video or trying out equipment in your backyard and using it when you were tired and really needed it to work.

Still, I got my tent up and a fire going, and the two packs of ramen I wolfed down tasted pretty awesome at the time. It also made me sleepy, and it wasn’t long before I was crawling into my bag and falling into a deep sleep.

I woke up the next day cold and stiff, and it wasn’t until that afternoon that I started to feel normal again. My beginner’s energy and enthusiasm was gone, but so were some of my nerves. I’d been at it for over twenty-four hours without any real problems. If I could just do it for maybe…forty-eight more times?...I’d be done.

That probably sounds silly, and I guess in some ways it was. But over the next two weeks, I quickly fell into the soothing routine of the hike and the welcome rest after setting up camp. The nights could sometimes be a bit spooky, between the pitch black night and the odd sounds that would sometimes echo out of the dark, but I never felt really scared or like it wasn’t safe to go to sleep. And every day, I woke up feeling a bit more excited for the day ahead.

That’s when the storm came. I had rain gear, and it definitely helped keep my pack and clothes somewhat dry, but it did less to keep the wet from coating my face and running down my neck. By the second hour of the downpour, I could feel the first warning squishes in my shoes—they were waterproof, but some of the moisture was still getting in the top. By the fourth hour, my feet were starting to feel numb and raw, and I knew I needed to find a place to rest and get dry for the day.

The problem wasn’t just the rain, however, but the wind that came with it. My tent had been well-reviewed and seemed to be holding up fine, but I’d never tried to put it up in a storm. I wasn’t sure if I could get it up easily with the weather like it was, and I definitely wasn’t positive how stable or dry it would be unless things died down.

Still, I didn’t want to push my feet too far without drying them out, so I started looking for blue blazes along the path that might indicated a good camp spot. That’s when I saw the wooden sign saying there was an AT shelter ahead. A couple of hundred yards up I saw the blue blaze marker and another sign with an arrow pointing to a side trail. Half a mile up that, I found the shelter.

It wasn’t anything fancy—three wood walls and a roof, with a blue tarp someone had hung along the outer edge to act as a fourth wall and keep some of the rain out. I felt my stomach drop a little at that. I’d seen and chatted with a few people along the trail so far, but this was the first time I’d tried to use a shelter or faced the prospect of hanging out or even sleeping near a stranger. Reaching down to my pocket, I patted the pocket knife there, though I didn’t know how much use it would really be if some maniac hiker decided to jump me. Still, its familiar shape comforted me, and I forced a smile as I pushed back the tarp and found…

No one.

There was no sign of a person or their stuff, or even wet spots like someone had recently left to go back into the rain. I looked at the tarp closer. It didn’t look sun-bleached or worn, and I didn’t know why someone would leave it behind if it had been put up by a passing hiker, but either way I was grateful for the shelter and the solitude. I spent the next few minutes carefully setting up my wet stuff to dry and checking my feet. They were sore, but some time out of shoes and socks would probably be all they needed.

Rooting around in my pack, I found a bar to eat. If the rain lasted I wouldn’t try for a fire, but I had enough water to last until morning and I could make do with dry food. I’d have liked to make it further, but it was growing dark and my eyes were already getting heavy. I just sat listening to the heavy patter of rain against the tarp, and before long, I was asleep.

---

“Hey. Hey there. You awake?”

I blinked, momentarily confused as to where I was or what was going on. As I came back to myself, I realized I could still hear the rain pouring down and hear the occasional snapping rustle of the blue tarp wall of the shelter. Everything was dark though. Everything, that was, except for the face floating above me in the darkness, partially illuminated by the glow of a small lantern.

“Not trying to horn in or nothing. Just looking to get out of the rain. You cool with sharing?”

I stared at the man, unsure of how to respond. On the one hand, I didn’t want to be rude or leave someone out in the rain. On the other, I didn’t know this small bearded man from anywhere, and I dreaded having to constantly be on my guard for the next ten or twelve hours. He seemed to sense my uncertainty and he offered me a smile.

“I promise I’m a nice guy. I just…” His smile faltered. “I just don’t want to be out in the dark is all.”

Swallowing, I gave him a nod. “Um, yeah sure. Come on in. There’s plenty of room.”

And there was. We could have easily fit eight or ten people in the space if we sat close, and as it was, he was able to settle in far enough away we still had to raise our voices to be heard over the pounding rain. He chatted as he got out some supplies and introduced himself as Tony, even offering to let me use his little camp stove to heat up one of my meals. It was strange—he was friendly and seemed fairly easy-going on the surface, but there was also a skittish tension to him that he couldn’t quite hide. At first I wondered if he was just awkward or nervous around strangers like I was, and I was content to leave him alone until we both went to sleep. But then he started talking again, his voice hoarse and reedy against the steady drumming of the storm.

“Is this your first time doing the Trail?”

I laughed awkwardly. “Is it that obvious?”

He smiled and gave a shrug. “Nah…or I mean, I guess it is, but not in a bad way. I’ve done it off and on for years, and you can always tell people that are new. Got that glow about them, like they just found a special secret.” His smile faded some. “Which, I mean, I guess they have.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s a little intimidating at times, but I’m really enjoying it. Proud of myself for doing it.” I gestured toward Tony. “What about you? You must still love it if you’ve been doing it that long.”

He chuckled, his eyes darting toward the tarp as a branch cracked off in the distance. “Yeah, sure. I do. This is my third thru-hike. First one southbound. I started up in Maine in the coldest part of the damn year. Told myself it was to up the challenge.” Tony puffed out a breath as he shook his head. “It was stupid. Should have waited and started now instead.” His lips thinned. “Things probably would have gone better.”

I frowned. “Well, I mean you look like you’re doing okay. And if you’re headed to Springer, you’ll probably make it in a few days.”

He glanced back toward the tarp. “Yeah, maybe.” His eyes cut back to me. “Listen, this is going to sound stupid. But have you heard anything funny at night? Like the last few nights, I mean.”

“Um, I mean I hear weird stuff every night. Trees cracking, birds and other stuff making noises. Some of it I know what it is, but a lot I don’t have a clue.” I laughed. “So you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Rubbing the backs of his knees, he smiled slightly and nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Sure. It, um…” Tony licked his lips as he went on. “It sounds like a baby crying.”

Feeling a twinge of unease in my belly, I forced another smile. “This sounds like a campfire tale, man.” I pointed at his little butane stove. “And I don’t think that counts as a campfire.” Looking back up at him, the smile died on my lips. He was staring at me, his face ghostly and ephemeral in the twin glow of our small lanterns, floating in the darkness with an expression that looked both serious and strange.

“It’s no story, Carson. It’s real. I heard it. I heard it just two nights ago.”

With an effort I kept looking back into his bleak gaze. “Okay, Tony. Well…it seems like you’ve got more to say. So tell me what happened.”

---

I’ve been hiking for over thirty years. Not just the Trail, but all over, and in my twenties I worked as a guide out west for a few summers. My point is, I’ve seen and heard plenty of odd things over time, and I’ve heard plenty of…well, like you said…campfire stories. I never believed any of that crap, of course. The only thing scary about nature is not understanding it. There’s never been something I experienced that I couldn’t figure out a reasonable explanation for, and the tall tales are just that. Bullshit used to scare kids or pass a slow night.

I’ve even heard things that sound like babies before—bobcats and some barn owls do. So do porcupines, if you believe it. But if you know what to listen for, you can tell the difference. That difference is what I was listening for when I heard the crying start two nights ago.

I was still walking after dark—not a good idea for someone inexperienced, but I was familiar with the area and I knew there was a good campsite just a few miles further on. This little campstove is heavy and a lot of people would say it’s a rookie mistake to bring one, but it does mean that when I get where I’m going, I don’t have to mess with a fire if I don’t want. Lots of nights, if the weather is nice, I don’t ever even unpack my tent. I just walk in the moonlight until I get tired, and then I sit down, heat up some grub, and go to bed under the stars.

That’s what I was thinking about while I walked. That spot ahead on the edge of a creek. It wound down to a waterfall close enough it could sing you to sleep. And then the crying started.

A bobcat maybe? No, it was too controlled and clear for that. An owl? It sounded too warm. I was only curious at first, but as it started again, I felt a panic start to build in the back of my brain. It was a baby. A real, live human baby, out in these woods and left to cry. Maybe the parents were hurt or they’d abandoned it, but it was in danger or pain, and it needed my help. It wasn’t even a question anymore.

So I left the Trail.

Pushing through the woods, I had to stop myself from running. I needed to hurry, but I wouldn’t be able to help if I twisted my ankle or broke my leg, and there were no guarantees of a phone signal out that far either. So I paced myself, picking my way between trees and bushes, going down one hill and up another. The child was still crying, and I could tell I was getting closer, closer, until I was there.

It was a field of bare winter trees that should have had leaves by now, but somehow didn’t. I wondered for a moment if they were dead, but then a wind picked up, swaying limber branches before cutting through me. The baby’s cry was all around me now, carried on the wind like a handful of bloody leaves warning of danger, or worse, danger’s aftermath. I shuddered as I looked all around in the dark for the source of the baby’s cries. At first I saw nothing, but then a thought occurred to me.

And I looked up into the nearest tree.

Staring back at me were a pair of wide and glowing yellow eyes. My first thought was that I’d been wrong, it was a bobcat after all. But no, the eyes were all wrong. Too big and too far apart. The eyes began to move in the dark, heading toward the trunk of the tree and then downward toward the ground. It was then that I shined my light on it. And that’s what started me screaming.

It…in some ways it looked like a child…not a baby, but a child of maybe twelve or so in size and length of limb. But its skin was scaly and rough, like that of a desert lizard or the bark of a tree, and as it crawled down to the bottom, I saw that skin shift as though it was mimicking whatever was close by. Its fingers and toes were long and spindly, ending in flat pads with hooked claws twisting out of them like a punishment, and its head…its head was just darkness and those damn yellow eyes. You need to understand what I’m saying. Not that I couldn’t see its head well. I could see it just fine as it began to crawl toward me. I’m telling you it had no damn head at all. Just glowing eyes and that yawning darkness that would let out the terrible wail that had drawn me in. Even terrified, watching it dig up the earth as it came closer, I found it hard to resist that cry. I don’t know that I could have at all if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in staring into that wailing black hole it called a face. Because I could see something in there after all.

Teeth. So many goddamned teeth.

That broke the spell, I guess, because I managed to run. Even panicked, I knew which way the trail was, and it didn’t take long for me to make my way back to it. I turned onto it and kept moving fast, trying to keep my footing while pulling out my phone to call for help. But like I said, no signal. Looking back, I saw no sign of the thing following me, and if there were sounds of it coming out of the woods beside me, they were masked by my breathing as I tried to make distance without taking a fall.

I couldn’t fall, and not just because of getting hurt. I had this idea that if I did, it would be on me in a second, that terrible mouth that wasn’t a mouth biting into me before it drug me back into the woods.

I wound up walking through the night, and I never saw the thing again. By early the next afternoon, I was dead on my feet and stopped to sleep before I collapsed. I remember thinking, half out of it with exhaustion, that I’d probably dreamed the whole thing. Maybe I was getting sick, or at least needed to slow down some for a few days. Those half-formed ideas were still in my head when I woke up a few hours after sunset. My sleeping bag had been unzipped and something was touching me. I could feel it on my leg.

Heart pounding, I shifted my head slightly to look down my body. The glow from its eyes highlighted my legs, and I could see a bright purple tongue reaching out of the darkness behind that light. I almost thought I could see the outline of a head this time, something twisted and strange and shifting, but I can’t say for sure. To be honest, I was more concerned with what it was doing.

It was licking me. It was licking me just behind the knee.

I screamed and rolled away, sure that it was going to be on me in a second. But it wasn’t. When I got to my feet, it was gone again, and I haven’t seen it since. I’d like to say it was all my imagination, but I don’t think I’m crazy, and I’ve never been the imaginative sort. Besides…I can feel where it licked me. It doesn’t look any different, but I can still feel it. Like…like it marked me somehow.

---

There was a crash of thunder and Tony jumped a little before looking back across the distance to me. “I know how this all sounds. You think I’m pulling your leg or that I really am crazy. I’m not, but you don’t have any reason to believe me.”

I had felt growing tension as the other man had talked, both because of the story itself and my growing fear that he really was insane and maybe even dangerous. So when he stopped talking, I thought I might yell or tell him to leave or do anything at all to let off the boiling pressure inside. Instead, I listened as I asked him a question, my voice still even and fairly calm.

“Why did you tell me all this?”

Tony wiped his mouth. “To warn you. Because I don’t know how far it’ll travel to get me. Because I don’t think it’s over.” He glanced at the tarp. “I think it’s hunting me still.”

I shook my head. “Okay. Well, yeah. That’s quite a story. And I’m going to be honest, I do think you may be messed up somehow. Not trying to be an asshole, just honest.”

He nodded. “I get that. But please, just let me stay in here. I’m scared to go out there. I’ll be gone first light, I swear.”

I frowned. “Dude, if you’re that scared, why didn’t you just leave today or even before that? Shit, I’d have been gone after that first night seeing the thing coming down the tree.”

The look on his face stopped the breath in my chest. “I’ve wondered the same thing. Tried to tell myself it was just my imagination at first, and after last night, I kept telling myself I just needed to wait until I reached a town. That there was no cell service out here.” He laughed bitterly. “Thing is, I haven’t actually checked my phone for two days. Not since I made it back to the Trail two nights ago.” He lowered his eyes from mine. “I…I don’t think it’ll let me leave now.”

Puffing out a slow breath, I touched the knife in my pocket again. “Okay, I don’t know what to think, but I can tell you’re really freaked out. Just stay on your side and we’ll be cool. Okay?”

He nodded emphatically, and I thought I could see the glint of tears in his eyes. “Thank you. Oh, thanks so much man. I…I won’t bother you anymore. Just…just thanks.”

Not sure of what to say, I just nodded and sat back against the wall. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to sleep with him in there, and I wasn’t sure what that would do to my overall plan, but the main thing for now was just…

When I woke up, Tony was gone. My lantern was growing dim, but the grey light of early morning pushed through the tarp enough that I could see the man’s pack and bedroll, but no sign of the man himself. I felt a moment of panic and checked my own stuff, but everything was there. Looking around the edge of the tarp, I saw no trace of him anywhere, and I was about to pull my head back in when I saw the marks in the mud. I felt my throat growing thick as I got up and went outside.

There were a set of footprints heading away from Tony’s side of the shelter. The rain must have stopped around the time he went outside, because I could see the outlines of his steps clearly. They headed toward the edge of the clearing before abruptly being obliterated by a slashing smear of mud that trailed off into the woods. I wanted to go further, to look for him and make sure he was alright, but I couldn’t quite make myself do it.

Because I knew what those other marks were. They were drag marks. Something had grabbed that man and drug him away while I’d been asleep.

When I dug out my phone, I got a signal right away. Two hours later I had a ride back to the nearest town, and that afternoon I was on a bus back home. I told my family and friends I’d gotten a stomach bug or food poisoning from something and had to give up on it. That I’d find some other way to pay tribute to Dad’s memory. I never told any of them of the man I met and what he had seen in the dark.

Even up to last night I wasn’t sure what I believed. I’d half-convinced myself Tony had just been high on shrooms and wandered off into the woods to sleep it off. Being back in the real world, surrounded by lights and people, made it easy to treat it all like a weird adventure or a dream that had just left a mark.

I’ve moved into my new apartment, and while the rent is high and the walls are thin, I don’t mind. Feeling the heartbeat of humanity around me is comforting, and not just because it makes me feel less lonely. It also makes me feel more safe.

Still, its not without its irritations. When I woke up in the middle of the night to the neighbor’s kid crying again, I had to convince myself to go get a drink of water and cool down instead of going over and beating on their door. Trying not to wake up too much, I swung my feet onto the floor and started to stand, even as I wondered why I could see my feet and ankles so well.

Where was that yellow light coming from?

The world pitched forward as something spongey and rough grabbed my calves and yanked backward, sending me sprawling onto the floor. I only had a moment of fearful thought before I felt myself being pulled under the bed and all rational ideas were gone. I was just clawing the floor and screaming, trying to kick the thing that was under the bed pulling me in.

Whatever it was, it was too strong. It rolled me back to my stomach as though I was a child before settling its weight onto the small of my back. There was a moment of stillness, of contemplation, and then it tore open the left leg of my sweatpants, right behind the knee. I let out a howl as I felt its rough tongue there, swiping back and forth across my skin like a snake’s tail before being gone again. A moment later, the weight on my back was gone and I heard my living room window shatter as something leapt out into the night.

I’d like to tell myself this was all a dream too, but I had to clean up the broken glass and change my ruined clothes. Had to look into the mirror and see the terror staring back at me.

And I know it’s not over. I’ve been marked. I can feel it on me, like dirt I can’t wash off. I’d like to say I can run from it, or kill it when it comes back, but something makes me wonder.

Because I don’t just know how it left the apartment last night. I know how it got in too. When I went to the living room to make sure it was gone and found the broken window, I noticed my front door. It was standing wide open. I don’t remember it clearly, but I think maybe I got up earlier in my sleep and opened it. As though I might investigate a strange noise outside.

Or let in an old friend I’d made in the heart of the woods.

 

---

Credits

The Man in My Attic

  

Kim: I saw a man up in my attic tonight.

You: Lol. Whut?

Kim: I heard a noise up there. Creaking. Like weight being shifted or someone walking up there.

You: Okayyeahsure.gif

Kim: At first I tried to ignore it. Told myself it was the house settling or my imagination.

You: Is this a story you’re working on or something?

Kim: But then I heard it again. So I went out to the hallway where the attic door is.

You: And then you remembered it’s been stuck for like three years? You probably have bats living up there for real.

Kim: But it wasn’t stuck any more. It was open and the ladder was down. So I went up.

You: So spooky! What happened next?

Kim: I got to the top of the stairs and the light didn’t work. I thought about going and getting a flashlight, but I didn’t want to turn my back on the dark, you know?

You: Yeah…

Kim: So I just used my phone. The attic isn’t that big, and you have to kinda stoop up there. Remember when you helped get down my suitcases that time we went to Nevada? It’s still like that. Half with plywood floor, half with just beams and insulation. And I don’t keep anything up there other than a couple of boxes I haven’t seen in years.

Kim: That’s why it was so easy to see the man.

You: OhHellNo.gif

Kim: He was naked. Crouched in the corner with his back to me.

Kim: I was so scared. I should have gone back down. Gotten out of the house. I knew it, but I was still shuffling toward him, shaking hands making the light bob, barely able to breathe.

You: Should have got him some pants!:P

Kim: But then I saw he had a light too. He was holding something, and I could see the glow of it. It glowed green and pink and red and it made me sick just to see the colors. But I still NEEDED to see what it was. Idk why, but I did.

Kim: When I got closer, he looked up at me. He reminded me of somebody, but I don’t know who, and his eyes were so sad. He kept smiling and giggling to himself as he stared at me, but those eyes…I thought he might be the saddest person I’ve ever seen.

Kim: And then he showed me what he was holding. It was this tiny spark of light, like a Christmas light that kept changing and flickering, except it wasn’t really a light. It was me. It was what I really am.

You: Kim, did you take something tonight? Are you okay?

Kim: I wanted to die when I saw it. But I knew it wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t change anything.

You: I just tried calling you but you didn’t answer. Please pick up. I don’t know if this is a story or a joke or what, but you’re freaking me out and it’s not funny.

Kim: I told him to take it away, to make me forget, but he just laughed.

You: Pick up. PICK UP YOUR PHONE WHEN I CALL. If you can text you can answer.

Kim: I told him I’d do anything. Give him anything he wanted, if I just didn’t have to know that anymore.

Kim: So he told me what he wanted, and I gave it to him.

You: Okay. Since you won’t answer the phone, what did he want?

Kim: The two people I loved the most.

You: What does that mean?

Justin: Fuck, man. Did you hear about Kim’s brother? They just found him outside his apartment. They say he jumped.

You: What? Is he dead?

Justin: Tenth floor. Yeah, he’s gone.

You: Kim, I’m coming over. I just heard about your brother. I’m so, so sorry. Brt.

Kim: Yeah, they called me a few minutes ago. That’s why I’m warning you.

You: Warning me about what?

Kim: You’re the other name I gave the man tonight.

Kim: I tried warning Elliot too, but he wouldn’t listen. Now it’s too late. But maybe not for you.

Kim: Don’t let him show it to you. It’ll ruin you the way it’s ruined me. I think he might take it away like he promised, but it hasn’t faded yet, and I’m so scared it won’t.

You: Kim, you’re just upset. Let me come over and we’ll talk about it.

Kim: No, you’re not listening. I’m not at home. And you need to pick two names. Two people that you love the most. Offer it to him before you see what’s in that light. Please. Please please do this for me.

You: I can’t do that. And even if I was going to, you’d be one of the two.

Kim: He won’t let you pick me. He already showed it to me, so it does him no good. Pick two more. You have to.

You: This is crazy I

You: I just heard something in the other room. I swear if this is all some big fucking joke…

Kim: Don’t go in there until you have your names. Please.

Kim: Hello?

You: What the fuck…who is that?

Kim: You know who it is. I’ve already told you

You: Oh God. Why did you send him to me?

Kim: Don’t look at the light! Cover your eyes and tell him you’ll give him two others! Please!

Kim: Hello?

Kim: Hello?

You: He’s gone. He made me see before he would answer me at all. I did what you said and he finally agreed, but nothing has changed.

Kim: It will. It’s fading for me now.

You: I hate you. I’ll hate you forever now. I hope I forget it all except how much I fucking hate you.

Kim: I know.

Kim: I’m sorry.

 

---

Credits

Don’t Ever Take A Drug Called DOTS-Dissolution of the Self

  

Last week I flew for the first time in four years. I never loved it before, and I certainly don’t enjoy it now, but I needed to fly out for my little sister’s college graduation, and after hanging out with her and her friends for a few days, I admit to some measure of relief at returning to the airport for my flight back home.

My problem with flying isn’t the flying itself. It’s the people. The forced proximity to strangers, the mixture of agreed upon politeness and detached friendliness that was probably meant to lubricate these kinds of awkward situations, but always wound up making me feel claustrophobic and anxious. That’s why, on most uses of mass transit, I find a wall to prop against and pretend that I’m asleep.

That had been my plan on the flight back home too, but at soon as someone sat down in the seat next to mine, I could feel their eyes on me. The idea irritated me. I couldn’t look to be sure they were staring in my direction—if I did, they’d know I wasn’t asleep. But I could still tell. Why were they doing it? Were they just that bored or rude?

“You do a bad job of faking being asleep, you know.” The voice was that of an older man, pitched soft and low as though he was sharing a secret with a co-conspirator. “Your breaths aren’t slow enough. Or deep enough. And your hands are tensed.”

Feeling a flush of embarrassment, I cracked an eye open to look at the man beside me. He was a heavyset man with a grey handlebar mustache and a black leather vest that I guessed wasn’t being worn ironically. When I met his gaze, his amused smile broke into a grin.

“There you are.” He raised his hand. “And hey, no judgment. These plane trips can be nightmares. If you want peace and quiet, I’ll keep my yap shut.”

I shifted in my seat as I let out a small laugh. “Nah, it’s cool. My name’s Jordan.”

He nodded, tapping his forehead as though doffing an invisible cap. “Mine’s Breckin. Good to meet you.” He gestured toward the passing stewardess. “I’m going to get a beer when we take off. You want anything? It’s on me.”

I shrugged. “Just a water is fine with me.”

Breckin nodded. “So where you headed?”

“Home. My sis graduated, so I flew out for the week.” I fell silent for a moment before feeling compelled to add, “What about you?”

He grinned. “It’s good you did that. Family is important.” Chuckling, he rolled his eyes. “Me, I’m heading out to a conference. I work for a large pharmaceutical outfit, and part of my job is going to speak at these nerd herds a couple of times a year.” Breckin grimaced. “I hate it, so back a few years ago I decided to adopt a persona when I go to one. It’s like a cartoon version of myself that dresses like an urban cowboy and tells weird jokes and uncomfortable stories to people he corners at the conference or the hotel bar.” He snickered. “At first, it was just a way to get over nerves and make things more entertaining. Now I look forward to it.” He looked up at the stream of air coming through the vent above him and moved to adjust it. “Hell, I’ve just had to come to terms with the fact that I like fucking with people from time to time.”

I surprised myself by laughing loudly once everything he was saying sunk in. “So you go to the things, see a lot of the same people year after year, and none of them know the real you? Just this made-up cartoon character you play on trips?”

Breckin nodded. “Yep. The way I look at it, it’s not even lying. What’s the ‘real’ me or you anyway?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until the flight had taken off and the seatbelt sign darkened. Gesturing to the aisle, I said, “Well whoever I am, I have to piss. Be right back.” Breckin laughed and moved his knees in as I scooted by. When I got back, he was sipping on a beer and my bottle of water was waiting for me.

Sitting back down, I pointed at his outfit. “It is funny though. I never would have pegged you for a chemist.” Opening my water, I took a deep swig before thinking better of what I’d said. “No offense, you just don’t look like what I’d picture. But then I don’t think know any other chemists either.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, no offense taken. I see myself as more than just a chemist anyway, though that’s what I get paid for. I’m more of a shaman.”

I snorted water and sat the bottle back down. “A shaman? Like a priest or something?”

Breckin shook his head. “No, like a guide. Someone that can open the way.” When I looked confused, he waved his hand in the air like he was erasing a board. “Let me start over. Try to sound like less of a hippie or religious nut.” He opened one hand and tapped his palm. “What connects you to this world around us?”

I frowned and gave a shrug. “Um, the internet?”

He rolled his eyes as he muttered under his breath. “For fuckin…no, I mean the actual world, not that crap. Your body. Your body lets you see and hear and feel and all that, right?”

Blushing, I nodded. “Um, yeah.”

“Okay, well your body is connecting your brain to the world, too right? I mean, without your body, your brain couldn’t see or hear or feel on its own.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“And your brain connects to who you really are—call it your soul or your essence or whatever you want, but fair to say that whatever is the real you, you wouldn’t be able to use your body to interact with the world without a brain.”

I nodded agreement, but Breckin was already speaking again.

“And what connects all of these things? Chemicals. Beautiful, wonderful electrochemical reactions that lets your eyes see the world, your brain understand it, and that central core that is you experience that which we call existence.” He spread his hands out like he was opening a large book or map before giving me a wink.

“I mean, yeah, that makes sense. It’s kind of cool when you think about it like that.”

He raised a finger. “It is cool. But it’s also more than a little bit of a lie. Because unfortunately, we are bound to this…” The man slapped his arm loud enough to make me jump slightly. “…this meat. And the meat lies to us. It tells us that this is what we are. Our soul is calcified by illusions of will and phantasms of personality. We become so caught up in the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain, the fears and aspirations of the meat, that our true being, our true purpose, is obscured, even from ourselves. And so many of us wind up living in service of this false self, never seeing things as they truly are.”

Wiping my mouth, I sat down my bottle. “Okay…so what do you think our true purpose is?” I was genuinely interested, which kind of surprised me given my normal skepticism and avoidance of anything that sounded too religious or new-agey. I was also feeling weird though—I wondered if it was the altitude, or just needing to eat something. When was she going to bring by the sna…

“That’s not for me to say. You need to experience it for yourself.”

I frowned at him, disappointed. “What…you want me to go to a sweat lodge or something?” I giggled a little. “Not trying to be shitty, it’s just…I don’t really go in for that kind of string. Thing. That kind of thing.”

He grinned at me. “No worries. And no need. You don’t need to do anything. Because you’ve already done it.”

I stared confusedly at him. My head was feeling warm and tight all of a sudden, and it was hard to see Breckin now, like he was far away. “I have? What have I…done?”

Patting my leg, he nodded at the empty water bottle. “You drank 50ccs of my special recipe. It shares some of the same characteristics as DMT and ahyusca, but the base formula of this stuff is radically more potent. And what you just drank? It’s not the base formula I make for the company. It’s a private blend just for me and my good friends.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “No worries. You’ll be falling away soon.”

Squinting at him, I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. “Special recipe? You drugged me?”

He cut his eyes toward me with a frown. “I just gave you a gift. I call it DOTS. It’s short for Dissolution of the Self.” Breckin broke into a grin. “Ah, there you g…”

The smiling man was gone. So was the plane. I wasn’t blind or unconscious, and I had no idea of being asleep or in a dream.

The world around me was flat and grey, mounds of dust rising and falling in the distance, as though kicked up by some momentary gust of wind or an animal burrowing into the ground. As I watched, I realized I could see shapes in the dust clouds—people, places, perhaps even a person named Jordan sitting on a plane somewhere. The thought of how I was seeing at all in this land of grey dust and black sky never occurred to me. But then I wasn’t concerned about my lack of fear, either.

I didn’t know it at the time, but it was because I wasn’t thinking about me as I usually do. I wasn’t scared of dying or making a mistake. Wasn’t concerned with how other people viewed me or how I was going to succeed or fail in that physical world I was usually trapped in.

It’s not that I was a blank—just the opposite. In many ways I felt more real and more powerful than I had ever felt before. It’s just that all the extras had been stripped away—all the distractions, the rabbits I would normally chase, the holes I would step in, they were all gone. And looking at the shifting grey shapes all around me, stretching out forever to mimic an infinite variety in that place I’d come from, I felt like I was seeing the truth behind the world. It was all dust and shadow, dancing to distract you from the real.

The dark lands were suddenly lit by a flash of purple lightning in the distance, except this lightning didn’t fork to the ground and fade away. It leapt along the ground, growing closer with every bound, and soon joined with more arcs from other directions. I was transfixed for a moment, both by their beauty and their effects on the undulating columns of dust—the grey twitched and shudder, growing more solid and more violent as the light grew closer.

And as the lightning drew near, I began to make out shapes in it. Terrible things that I could see in this form, but could never truly understand. I would have screamed if I’d had a voice, or closed my eyes if I had a body. But I had nothing but the core of my pure self, a being that could perceive and understand much, but lacked any cushion or buffer for the sharper edges of the truth.

And the truth was, these things racing toward me were on the hunt. They could see me because I could see them, and in some indefinable way I knew they were filled with a rage and a hunger and a violence so profound it defied any definition or analogue in the world I’d been born in. I wasn’t thinking of that world or my birth or my body at the moment though.

I was thinking about the lightning about to strike me, with all those golden teeth buried deep inside.

I was pondering what this sensation was, this raw emptiness, like a wound in the center of the perfection of my pure self, and then I recognized it. Understood it.

Apparently even in this place, without time or deception or the trappings of the meat, I could feel fear.

---

I jerked awake with a gasp, the world of the plane and my body in the seat overwhelming me for a moment. “Ahhhh…Gahhhh….I…” I huffed heavily, my forehead against the seat in front of me as I slowly became aware of the sweat running down my chest and a dull ache in my right leg. When a heavy hand began to pat me on the back, I flinched before looking over to see…who? A man. He was beside me. His name was…

“Breckin…What did you do…to me…”

He smiled, but his eyes weren’t as bright as I was starting to remember they’d been before. “I pulled you back out. It would happen naturally in a few hours, but we’re about to land and I didn’t want to risk them getting too close.” Breckin shrugged. “Time doesn’t really work there, but things still somehow happen if you stay too long.” His lips thinned slightly. “Did you see them?”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. There were parts of my time in that other place, that other, maybe truer version, of this place, that were already fading away. Fading or changing so they made sense to me over on this side of the curtain. But the things in the lightning…I couldn’t picture them entirely, but I remembered them coming for me. That and their burning, golden teeth.

“What are they?”

He shook his head slightly. “I still don’t know. Not exactly. One of the lifeforms on that level of existence? I’ve seen them since I started using my formula five years ago. For a long time they were just flashes far away. But then something triggered them. Maybe I went over too much, or I did something they didn’t like. Since then, they follow me around, even when I’m not over there.”

Squinting against an encroaching headache, I leaned against the cabin wall so I could see Breckin better. “Why did you do that to me?” I heard a raw, plaintive fear in my voice I couldn’t fully understand even as I said the words. “They saw me. They were coming for me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s the idea. They have a real hard-on for me, but they’re not that hard to distract. I know it sucks, but you’ve probably bought me a few days or weeks of peace from them hunting me, depending on how long you last. And I really do appreciate it.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re using me as bait? As some kind of sacrifice to throw them off the trail?” When he just stared at me, I leaned forward, my jaw clenched as I tried to keep myself from attacking him. “Well fuck you. Because I’m never going back. And if I ever seen you again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Breckin snorted and shrugged. “That’s fair. But you don’t get it. You didn’t go to some other place. You just saw what’s really here. What’s really everywhere around us. Those things that are after you? They can’t kill your physical body, no. But when you slip back across the veil, most likely they’ll be waiting. And you better figure out fast how to get away or get back, or they’re going to…well, I don’t know exactly what they’ll do if they catch you, but my advice is to not find out.” He chuckled. “It’s advice that has served me well over the years.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going back or ‘across the veil’ again or whatever. I’m done. And if you ever try to find me and dose me again, I’m not joking. I will kill you.”

The man leaned back in his chair with a disappointed sigh. “You know why you’re not yelling for a stewardess right now? Calling for a cop or an air marshal? Because you know I’m telling you the truth, and you know there’s nothing you can do about it. Even if you could convince them I did something to your water or injected you in the leg to wake you up, it wouldn’t help you. Because what you experienced was real.” His eyes were almost seemed sad as he glanced back in my direction. “I bet you know another truth too. I bet you can feel it the same way I did after my first time.”

I leaned back, my lips trembling. “I don’t need another dose, do I?”

He shook his head. “Nope. It was a refinement of my private brew I didn’t foresee. When I fell away the first time, it changed me forever, and for months I took it as a blessing that I would sometimes find myself back in that strange and wonderful place, the world behind the world, I call it. I even got where I can control it sometimes, but only to fall away when I want.” Breckin rubbed his face. “I haven’t found a way to stop it from happening at other times, and when I go now, those things are always after me.” He gestured to me. “Unless, of course, they’re off running down another rabbit.”

There was no question. He was right, it did change you in some ways. And there was no question that he was telling me the truth, horrible as it was, as some part of me already knew it before he said it. There was a doom circling me now, looking out at me from behind the world, waiting for me to come back within its grasp.

“You motherfucker.”

Breckin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I know, I know. And I am sorry. You seem like a good kid. But I’ve been having to do this periodically for over three years, and I’ve learned I can’t be picky on who I dose. Targets of opportunity and all that.”

“I’ll kill you.”

The man shrugged. “You could, but I think you know it won’t help with your problem. Our problem. If anything, you’d just be getting rid of another rabbit for them to chase.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know what happens when we die, but I’m pretty sure we don’t stay here. On this side or the other.”

Slumping into my seat, every breath felt like an effort. It was probably my imagination, but it was almost like I could feel those things close by, watching us hungrily. “What am I supposed to do?”

Breckin shrugged again. “Live your life. Practice moving when you’re over there. It’s different, not physical, but you can move around if you can understand how. It’s hard to explain. But it’s also helped me stay alive a few times when they got too close.”

I glared at him. “Maybe they’ll just go after your ass again now. Or split up to get both of us.”

He smiled thinly. “Always a chance, but they seem to like fresh meat. It excites them. They never forget about me, but they don’t tend to turn down a run on a new rabbit.” Breckin glanced up toward the stewardess at the front of the aisle. “Well, looks like we’re finally getting off.” He stood up and grabbed a small bag from the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him. Pausing, he looked back down at where I was staring at him bleakly from my seat. “It really was nice meeting you, Jordan. And I am sorry.” He sighed. “For all my big talk, I’m still scared. Scared of dying on this side. Scared of what they might do to me on the other.”

When I just looked at him, he went on awkwardly. “Stay hydrated and take Vitamin D supplements. Both of those can reduce the frequency of falling away, don’t ask me why. And don’t give up. I’ve survived it for this long, and for the first few months it was just by getting away from them. And who know, you may be better at it than I am.”

I felt my cheek jump slightly. “Why’d you stop?”

Breckin frowned. “Stop what?”

“Stop just…running from them when you went over. If you’re so sorry for fucking over other people by using them as bait or distractions or whatever, why didn’t you just keep running away from them instead?”

His cheeks turned red as he glanced away, stepping forward a bit as another passenger moved past him. “I…I could tell they were getting smarter. Or better at knowing what I was going to do. Where I was going to go. I kept having to go farther and farther, faster and longer each time, and even over there it takes a toll on you. And no matter where you go over there, you still come back over here to wherever you left your body. The farther away you were, the harder it is here too. The last time I ran far…the last time before I started using other people as distractions, I was in a coma for nearly a week.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t take that chance again.”

I wanted to ask more, but he was already edging back into the aisle. He met my eyes one last time. “Sorry again, Jordan. Sorry for…well, for waking you.”

And then he was gone.

 

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Credits