jackuswritus

[jackuswritus]

A Shimmer in the Light

All Will saw was darkness.

 Ordinarily there would be some line of demarcation between what was visible and what wasn’t. A point where things would come into focus, emerge from the void and come back into the realm of visibility.

There was none of that here.

There were no landmarks, no identifiers. No reprieve from the inky darkness that had seemingly spilled right over his own eyes. It was impossible to tell where the night ended and where he began. They were one and the same, totally inseparable. Every passing moment that he spent alone led him to believe that they would stay like this forever. 

That was the worst part about the darkness. No certainty. At least in a burning building there was a sense of finality. The closer the flames got, the more certain you were of your own end. You could make peace with it or not, but it would come for you regardless. Here, there was no way of knowing if there even WAS an end.  You could never really relax or even resign yourself to your fate. It was a limbo, a sort of murky purgatory.

With nothing to focus on but the chirping of crickets about him and the crunching of leaves beneath him, Will began to reflect on how he ended up here. He didn’t enjoy dwelling on his own foolishness, but given his situation there was little else to do. 

It had started simply enough. A request from a friend to get some shots of nature in a nearby forest. Nothing too fancy. He hadn’t even bothered to accompany him, reassuring him that “anything he got would be fine.” Still, Will’s desire for perfectionism got the better of him, as well as his desire to avoid letting the trip go to waste. He had ventured deep into the heart of the woods, wading through dense patches of foliage and crossing streams with the vigor of a seasoned explorer mapping out uncharted territory. He amused himself whacking protruding branches out of his way, imagining that he was wielding a machete. 

Now, that amusement was gone, replaced with a fear that seemed to squeeze the air out of his lungs. It wasn’t a sensation that laid dormant in his mind, but one that wrapped itself around the entirety of his body. The only thing he could do was stumble forward, clawing for some sort of comfort or support. Mostly though, his hands were met with the cruel, ragged bark of nearby trees. They were cracked and bloody now. Another reminder of his increasingly apparent hopelessness. Surely the sun had to come up soon, right? Hadn’t enough time passed for that to be a realistic hope? In just a few hours, the nothingness that surrounded him would give way to friendlier, more inviting terrain. Landmarks that he could see. Paths that he could follow. All he had to do was trace his steps back. 

But just as quickly as that hope had crept into his mind, the murky cloud of unknowing that surrounded him pushed it back out. Would the light really change anything? Those hours that he spent fumbling around in the void had almost certainly gotten him more lost than before. Did he really stand any more of a chance of clawing his way out of the woods? Maybe he was just deluding himself, too afraid to confront the reality that he was trapped. The light wouldn’t save him from starvation, or dehydration, or the myriad of other terrible fates that were waiting to claim him. There was no escape. No way out. The passage of time just brought him closer and closer to being swallowed up by the forest, never to be seen again.

He was running now, all caution and self-preservation thrown to the wind as he flailed his way through the underbrush. The fear had completely overtaken him, overpowering the searing pain that engulfed his entire body. All that remained was pure desperation. Desperation to be seen or heard by someone, by something. Even if it was just the trail of broken twigs and scattered leaves that he left behind, he couldn’t be forgotten. He couldn’t be forgotten. He couldn’t-

Will’s left foot slipped on something hard and metallic, his momentum leaving him sprawled out against the forest floor. The shock of the fall barely registered with him as writhed on the ground like a wounded animal. He fumbled and twisted over himself, none of his limbs cooperating for long enough to support him. Eventually he just collapsed, resigning himself to his perceived fate on the chilly, damp bed of the forest floor. His right arm crept out slowly, as if unsure that it could still move, only to be met by that same hard piece of metal that had dashed him against the ground. 

A choked gasp escaped his throat as he inched the rest of his body towards the object. His grimy, bloody hands wrapped themselves around it, as if it could be taken from him at any moment. He held it close, exploring every edge and contour. It was cold. Sleek. It lacked any protrusions or features to give him hints as to what it was, save for one bump close to the end. Will’s breath caught in his throat as he tentatively thumbed over it, finally releasing as he gave it a press.

All at once, a dingy, yellow light burst forward, catching on the dense masses of vegetation and stretching tangled shadows across the forest floor. As filthy and withered as it was, everything seemed to bloom in the flashlight’s diminished glow. It was almost overwhelmingly beautiful. Where the darkness had once filled him with dread, the light now invigorated him. He hoisted himself off the ground, heading forwards with that same bravado he felt earlier. The woods were no longer threatening to swallow him up. Instead they bent and bowed to his will, cowering beneath him as he pressed forward to his certain escape. 

A shimmer of something red caught in the flashlight’s glow before hitting the ground.

Will froze. His eyes locked forward as he gazed at nothing in particular. What had he just seen? Had he seen anything? No. No he hadn’t. He was tired and delusional and dehydrated, there was no way it was anything other than a figment of his imagination. It meant nothing. Nothing at all. He could just ignore it and press on. Let it drift out of his mind in favor of more realistic thoughts. 

And yet, no matter how loudly his mind screamed for him to move on, he remained locked in place. Adrenaline churned through his veins, but it didn’t propel him forward anymore. Instead, it anchored him to the ground. His mounting terror was a quicksand, enveloping him even faster the more he tried to resist. He had to look up for a second. Just a second. He wouldn’t indulge that silly, irrational, paranoid part of his brain for any longer than necessary. After all, there was nothing there. Nothing at all. All he had to do was confirm it and move on. He couldn’t help but let out a few nervous laughs as he braced himself, finally swinging the flashlight up in one swift motion.

The air in his lungs froze. 

Dangling just a few feet over his head were the remains of what had once presumably been a man. He had been impaled against the tree itself, branches bursting forth from his bloated torso in a terrible kind of bloom. A tattered mass of rotten, lacerated flesh sagged where his face once was, obscuring his eyes and mouth behind a curtain of mangled skin. His right arm had splintered off at the elbow, and a glint of exposed bone could be seen in the flashlight’s glow. His left was equally mangled, but it still hung on by a few tense strands of muscle and sinewy flesh. As for the lower half of his body, it was impossible for Will to tell exactly what had happened. The stumps of his thighs gave way to tangled ribbons of flesh that swayed slightly in the open air, slowly dripping blood onto the forest floor.

The same glint that caught his eye less than a minute ago.

Will was locked in place. He wanted to scream, to cry, to vomit. He wanted to run off into the night, putting as much distance between himself and what remained of the man above him as possible. He wanted to bash his head against one of the trees in an attempt to rid himself of what he had just seen. He wanted to curl up against the forest floor, letting it shelter him from the terrible reality that stood above him. All of these thoughts battled for dominance in his mind, but none of them came out the victor. He just stood there, unable to avert his gaze from the atrocity that hung before him like a perverse work of art. His body trembled, barely able to hold the flashlight that he had once brandished with such confidence.

In the distance, the sound of a snapping branch echoed through the woods.

For the first time in his life, Will wanted nothing more than for the darkness to come back. 

[jackuswritus]

Hidden Places

Everybody had a hidden place when they were younger, right?

Those overgrown clearings that laid off the beaten path of other parks, past all those manmade mulch pits and nauseatingly bright plastic playgrounds that always overheated in the summer sun. They were hard to find, and always required a bit of finesse to travel through, but the sense of ownership and independence that they came with was always worth it. It was like unearthing something sacred, something that nobody had ever laid witness to.

Ours was a little less picturesque, of course. The various blunt wrappers and capri sun pouches that were strewn about quickly dashed our fantasies of being grand explorers mapping out uncharted territory. On top of that, the actual scenery wasn’t particularly beautiful on its own. The only thing resembling a source of life was the thin trickle of brown, diseased-looking water that cut through one of the ditches we jumped across. You got the sense that it was an area left unexplored for good reason. None of us were particularly picky about that, though. As teenagers, we were just glad to have some semblance of independence.

As well as a discreet place to get high.

Looking back now, the fact that we managed to keep it so well-hidden was pretty impressive, especially considering that our activities down there were anything but. We mostly just sat around, picking at various bits of dead and decaying nature, laughing at whatever dumb shit had happened earlier that day. It was typical teenage boy behavior, just moved to a more rural location. The only thing that really changed was that we didn’t have to worry about keeping our voices down quite as much. After all, we all felt pretty secure in assuming that we were the only ones out there. Still, there was one reoccurring trend that I couldn’t help but notice:

No matter what, everyone always seemed to leave before the sun went down.

It wasn’t one of those cliché unspoken rules, mind you. Most of the kids that frequented the spot usually just had other stuff to do, whether it was studying for a test the next day, worrying about upsetting their parents, or just plain wanting to go home. Everyone always seemed to find a reason to leave before the golden hour was up. I’m sure that a handful of us were genuinely afraid of staying there after nightfall, but nobody would ever admit to something as shameful as that. Not to a group of vicious adolescents, anyway.

There was only one kid who pointed it out. That was Mark.

He was a weird one. The sort of guy that exists on the fringes of your friend group, not really tethered to any particular person, coming and going as he pleases. The only other place we saw him outside of the meeting place was school, and that was it. He definitely made his presence known, though. His fixation on the dark and morbid gave him something of a reputation with his classmates, teachers, and (especially) guidance counsellors. He would always draw a crowd in the school computer lab, playing videos with titles like “REAL GHOST FOOTAGE CAUGHT ON TAPE” and “CRYPTID SIGHTING NEVER BEFORE SEEN” with a barely restrained sense of glee. He seemed to revel in the discomfort of others, the same way that teenagers often enjoy getting an immature rise out of people. It followed, then, that he would be the first to suggest exploring the meeting place at night.  

Everyone he tried to rope into his expedition responded with either indifference or outright disapproval. It seemed that everyone had some kind of excuse to avoid going back after night had fallen. Some were able to mask their fear with a façade of aloofness and casually dismiss the whole thing as a waste of time, while others couldn’t help but let it slip. He didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he felt a sense of distinction, a sense of pride, at being the only one brave enough to do what the others couldn’t. It was all he could talk about, spouting off disjointed conspiracies to anyone that would listen, or anyone unfortunate enough to walk too close. I still remember him pulling me aside the day before he was supposed to venture out. By that time, the whole school was aware of the reputation that he had. It followed him around, dispersing whole crowds of people and reducing boisterous conversations to barely audible whispers. His eyes were sunken and hollow, but you could still see something behind them. It was like he was being possessed, compelled by something greater and more awful than even he could comprehend.

“Somethings out there, man.” He whispered, as if guarding a terrible secret, “And I think I’m supposed to find it.”

That was the last thing he ever said to me.

I think that, deep down, everyone knew what had happened when he didn’t show up to school the next day. It was just a matter of who wanted to believe it. Some struggled to keep up a sort of misplaced optimism, while others simply refused to accept that something terrible had actually happened. Nobody wanted to shoulder the burden of witnessing a tragedy unfold, knowing that they might have been able to do something to stop it. A quiet sort of tension gripped everyone, and the pressure only mounted with every passing day. Rumors were spread, fights broke out, kids had to be dragged, weeping and hysterical, out of class.

It wasn’t until the last search party was called off that things started to die down.

The police chalked it up to an avoidable tragedy, using it as leverage to keep impressionable teens from causing trouble at night (as well as impose a strict curfew). Nobody wanted to argue, regardless of whether they agreed with the decision. Of course, it wasn’t like there was an eager queue of explorers ready to follow in Mark’s footsteps. For most people, the collective trauma surrounding his disappearance was enough of a reason to never look back, to move quickly and stay under the shelter of the sun when traveling. I wish I could say the same. I wish I could say that everything that happened was enough for me, that I could put Mark’s memory to rest and come to terms with the fact that he was gone. But I had my own separate burden to carry, my own terrible, secret reason that I could never hope to forget.

It was that he was right. There was something in those woods.

A week after Mark went missing, I found myself back at the meeting place. Even with the vice grip of fear beginning to tighten around the town, I still couldn’t pry myself away from the memories that resonated there. Even back then, I knew that nothing would be the same, that the sense of community that this place once provided was about to be torn away. In a way, I guess I was there to say my last goodbyes to all those memories; To lay them to rest before they became too painful to hold on to. The tears flowed freely. Loudly.

The sunset seemed to sneak up on me, despite being so gradual. As those rusty colors began to drench the world around me, I was confronted with the bittersweet reality that they had lost their meaning. What once struck fear into our hearts and left us scrambling for the safety of home had only a sliver of its former power. As depressing as it was, it was a fitting close to that chapter of my youth. I was almost ready to leave those ghosts behind, to dump them with the rest of the waste and refuse that had been scattered through our makeshift meeting place.

It only took several minutes for night to fall. While I had the advantage of being familiar with the various ins and outs of the clearing, that thick, murky blackness was all it took to leave me fumbling my way through. I could still make things out, vaguely, but the unfamiliar shroud of the night rendered them completely alien to me. The first pangs of anxiety were beginning to set in, as well as a distinct sense of annoyance. All these years of coming back here, and they still somehow weren’t useful here? Against my better judgement, I found myself nervously laughing at the idea that the real reason why nobody stayed out past dark was because of how damn hard it was to navigate. I stayed there for a while, chuckling as I tried to quiet my nerves.

Something shifted in the bushes beside me.

I wish I could say that I hadn’t seen it, that it had been a product of my own cowardice and paranoia. After all, in the unfamiliar murkiness of the night, anything could have been out there. It could have just as well been a stray animal or broken branch that sent me running. Still, no matter how much I wish that were the case, I wasn’t afforded the luxury of unknowing, of blaming my imagination for what had happened.

I don’t think my mind was capable of imagining what I saw.

It walked like an animal, made to stand on its hind legs for someone else’s cruel amusement. Every step seemed to cause it pain, forcing its body to contort and twist in different directions, directions that living things weren’t supposed to bend. It was emaciated, gaunt, pale, as if there was just enough life in its body to keep it staggering forward. Bones jutted out, barely covered by its own horrible, pale skin. I didn’t dare look at its face, but the faintest trace of a gaping jaw could be seen dangling and flapping with every movement. I was paralyzed, every part of me freezing up in anticipation of the fate that awaited me.

It wasn’t until a noise escaped its mouth that I started to run. It was a wail of agony, a cry brought on by the inherent pain of its own existence. No matter how far I ran, it still seemed to echo through the trees. Every muscle in my body burned as I flailed my way through dead foliage. I didn’t dare to look behind me, both for the fear of being slowed down and for the fear of seeing it again.

Thankfully, I didn’t see it again. Not when I stumbled through a clearing and found myself back on the trail, or when I was questioned by the police for being out so late, or when I finally got back home and collapsed into my own bed. No matter how certain I was that it would come back, it never did. Some days, I think that the dread and paranoia that it left me with are worse than anything it could have actually done to me.

Enough time has passed now for me to know that those memories will never truly leave. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve heard, they’ll be with me until the end. There’s a sort of peace to that, I suppose. A kind of quiet acceptance in familiarizing yourself with the burdens that you have to carry. Things don’t get easier, but they certainly don’t get any more difficult. Maybe me writing all of this down is part of that acceptance, that familiarity. For all intents and purposes, it seems to be working.

I can almost get to sleep at night now.

Still, there will always be times where the dam breaks. The memories, fear, and trauma surge back in full force, uncontrollable in their potency. Some nights I wake up as terrified and drenched in sweat as I was back then. Some nights I find myself feverishly checking outside, certain that it will lurch back into view at any moment. Some nights that awful sound rings in my ears, drowning out any futile attempt to ignore its presence.

Some nights I swear it sounds just like Mark.

But I know that can’t be.

-end.