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magnus-88 · 6 months ago

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Camp David Meyer by Magnus-88.

Ever since I was a teenager, I have had two novel ideas in the back of my head but was unable to show them until now, and this is one of them. Note that this is not the finished version, but more will be added on the way. Warning of violence, horror, and mentions of death. Please give me feedback.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly as my car crawled down the winding, overgrown road leading to the David Meyer Campground. The sun had long since set, casting an eerie glow over the towering trees that seemed to close in around me. A chill ran down my spine as I recalled the details of the case that had brought me here.

It had started with a missing girl named Lily in a red dress, a search party that had vanished without a trace, and now, a growing list of victims claimed by the mysterious forest surrounding Camp David Meyer. I am detective James Graves a private investigator hired by the grandparents of the little girl, that was out of town when everything went down. Knowing my background, they knew I was the right man for the job.

As a seasoned Detective, I had seen my fair share of strange occurrences, paranormal and non paranormal, but this case had an unsettling air about it that I couldn't quite shake.

As I approached the campground, I parked my car and stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath my feet as I stood there. I looked around my surroundings looking for any sign of life. The air was thick with an unsettling silence couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The trees seemed to loom over me, their twisted branches reaching out like gnarled fingers.

As I made my way towards the campground's main office, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The place was eerily quiet, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the snap of a twig underfoot. I knocked on the door, but there was no response. Cautiously, I pushed it open, the hinges creaking in protest.

The office was in disarray, papers scattered across the floor and the computer screen flickering ominously. I stepped inside, my footsteps echoing in the silence. Something wasn't right, and I knew I had to tread carefully.

I began to search the office, looking for any clues that might shed light on the disappearances. As I rifled through the drawers, I came across a tattered journal, its pages yellowed and worn. I flipped it open, my eyes widening as I read the entries.

The journal belonged to the campground's owner, and it detailed a series of strange occurrences that had been plaguing the forest for years. Hikers and campers had gone missing, only to be found days later, their bodies mutilated and their minds shattered. The owner had tried to warn the authorities, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

As I continued to read, the entries became more frantic, the owner's handwriting growing increasingly erratic. He had spoken of dark, twisted creatures that lurked in the shadows, creatures that seemed to defy all logic and reason. And then, the final entry, scrawled in a shaky hand: "They're coming. I can hear them in the trees, their whispers growing louder with each passing day. I have to get out of here, but I don't know if I'll make it." It seems as that he was unable to finish, but why?

The sudden silence was shattered by the sound of distant, whispering voices, faint and chilling, echoing through the camp. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I knew that sound. It was the same whispers that had haunted my dreams since I first took on this career. They grew louder, beckoning me to follow. My instincts screamed at me to run, but the detective in me knew that the answers I sought lay in that direction.

I shoved the journal into my pocket and bolted out of the office, my flashlight beam slicing through the inky blackness. The whispers grew clearer, and with them, a flicker of light in the corner of my eye. I spun around to face the office window. There, amidst the shadowy trees, a small, terrified figure in a red dress darted away, disappearing into the dense foliage.

My heart raced. Could it be Lily? I couldn't believe my eyes. I sprinted in the direction she had vanished, as the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The whispers grew louder, the trees seemingly coming alive around me, their branches reaching out as if to snatch me away from the path she had taken. I pushed through the underbrush, ignoring the thorns that tore at my clothes and the unease that grew in my stomach.

Her tiny figure remained just out of reach, a crimson speck in the sea of dark green. I called out her name, my voice barely a hoarse whisper in the suffocating quiet of the forest. But she didn't stop, she didn't turn around. She just kept running, deeper and deeper into the heart of the woods, leading me further from the safety of the camp.

My breath was ragged, my legs burning, but I couldn't let her out of my sight. The whispers grew to a crescendo, taunting me, urging me to follow, as if they were a siren's call from the depths of hell itself. I stumbled, my foot catching on a protruding root, and tumbled down a steep hill, my flashlight rolling away from me.

As I hit the bottom, the ground beneath me gave way, and with a splash, I found myself submerged in icy water. The river's current tugged at me, but I managed to grab hold of a nearby rock. I coughed and sputtered, the cold shock of the river jolting me back to reality. The whispers had stopped, the figure in red there's nowhere to be seen.

With a renewed sense of urgency, I struggled against the river's relentless pull, fighting to keep my eyes on the fleeting glimpse of the dress. The river was treacherous, filled with hidden obstacles that threatened to drag me under. The water was murky, and I could feel unseen things brushing against my legs, sending shivers down my spine.

In the dim moonlight, I spotted a gnarled branch hanging low from a dead tree, its skeletal fingers reaching out over the river as if begging for a lifeline. Summoning my last reserves of strength, I swam towards it, the water's chill numbing my arms and legs. My hand shot out, grasping for the branch, and just as the current threatened to claim me, my fingers closed around the rough bark.

The struggle was fierce. The river raged against my efforts to escape its grasp, trying to pull me back under its dark embrace. With a grunt, I yanked myself closer to the branch and managed to wrap an arm around it, using the leverage to hoist my sodden body out of the water. I hung there for a moment, panting, before mustering the will to climb onto the bank. The whispers had faded into the night, leaving me alone with the rhythmic flow of the river and my own racing thoughts.

As I walked away from The River's Edge, I saw something in the distance. Finally, I saw a hunter lodge up ahead, its windows aglow with a flickering light. The whispers had ceased, and I quickly made my way up the path, limping and in pain; I couldn't express the relief I felt. Maybe I could get some help. But the quiet was replaced by a new dread. The lodge looked ancient, its wooden structure warped and twisted as if by some great force of nature. I approached with caution, each step heavier than the last.

The door was ajar, and I pushed it open to reveal a scene that chilled me to the core. The lodge was abandoned, but not for long. The fireplace was still smoldering, the smell of something unidentifiable hanging in the air. The furniture was overturned, the bedding torn to shreds. The walls were adorned with crude drawings of the same twisted figures mentioned in the journal. It was clear that something had been here, and not too long ago.

In the corner, my eyes fell upon the macabre centerpiece of the room: and a tall figure what looks to a taxidermy werewolf, it looked old and tattered. Cotton stuffing poked out from a gaping hole in its left side, and one eye hung precariously from its socket, threatening to fall out at any moment. Its plaque reads wrath the werewolf. On the floor beside, a note lay open, its ink smudged from what looked like hasty, fearful writing. I bent down to read it.

The note spoke of a local legend, a creature that had haunted this woods until a hunter named Charles had stumbled upon it and killed it, with a silver bullet claiming its pelt and stuffing it as a trophy. The creature was said to be vengeful, seeking those who dare enter its domain. The words sent a shiver down my spine, but I pushed aside the fear and focused on the task at hand.

I thought to myself this has to be a joke or that the Hunter made up the story to tell to his friends and family to show off. But something in me tells me that this might be real.

The whispers grew faint as I continued to explore the lodge, but the unease remained. In the corner of the room, I noticed a journal that looked similar to the one I found in the camp office. It was open to a page that was covered in the hunter's frantic scribbles. The words spoke of a curse that had befallen him since bringing the werewolf back to the lodge. He spoke of how the eyes of the creature would follow him, even in the dark, and how he could feel its presence at night, stalking him.

The hunter's Journal: it watching me. What I originally thought was a large rare wolf, turn out to be a God damn werewolf. I thought werewolves were a myth! But now it watching even when I'm asleep it's thinking and stalking me.

The entries grew more disturbing as the days went on, describing the taxidermy moving on its own, its limbs twitching and claws scratching against the floorboards. He had tried to destroy it, but no matter what he did, it always remained intact. The hunter's fear was palpable, his handwriting erratic and desperate. He claimed that the creature had come back to life, seeking revenge for its untimely demise. The pages grew wet with what I could only assume were his tears of terror and despair.

The hunter's Journal: it's moving! I sew it move! What the hell is going on!? Am I going insane!? I tried calling the authorities but it.....

I am now hiding. I heard it move and start clawing at something. It's limbs twisting and moving unnaturally! I think it's clawing on my floorboards!

As I read further, the whispers grew closer, wrapping around me like a cold embrace. I looked up from the journal, and my heart skipped a beat. The corner where the taxidermy had been was now eerily empty. Panic gripped my throat, and I scanned the room with frantic eyes. Where had it gone? The whispers grew into a cacophony of snarls and hisses, and I knew that I wasn't alone anymore. The werewolf had to be here, somewhere.

The floorboards creaked, and I swung my flashlight in the direction of the sound, only to find the taxidermy looming over me, its eye glowing with a malevolent light. Its jaws were open in a silent snarl, revealing rows of jagged teeth that seemed to have grown longer and sharper. The creature lunged, and I barely dodged in time, the tip of its snout grazing my cheek. I stumbled backward, knocking over a chair in the process.

The whispers grew to a fever pitch, morphing into a cacophony of snarls and hisses that seemed to fill the very air around me. I had to get out. Now. My eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, and that's when I saw it: the open door leading to the lodge's backyard. I didn't think twice. I bolted, my feet pounding against the wooden floorboards as I sprinted through the room. The undead Werewolf leaped in the air to intercept me but I managed to get myself through the door before it landed with a thud right in front of the door.

#horror mystery #original story #Camp David Meyer

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