Tales From The Dark Forest
Scary Stories Told In The Rain | Black Screen For Sleep | Lights Out For Sleep | Ambient Rain Sounds
Well, it sounds like the tenants at your rental property sure know how to throw a great party. You just wish they wouldn't throw so many parties, on Tuesdays, until 4 am. And if they could pay the rent on time, that would be nice too. Being a landlord can be stressful, but it doesn't have to be. Let renters warehouse handle the hard part of property management for you, like finding quality tenants you can trust. Renters warehouse manages thousands of single-family homes and specializes in locating reliable tenants at the right price for your property, usually in a matter of days. Because if your tenant defaults for any reason, they'll replace them for free up to 18 months under their tenant warranty program. From rent collection to maintenance coordination, their best-in-class property management professionals do it all, all for one flat monthly fee. Get a free rental price analysis at renterswarehouse.com to find out how much your home can rent for. That's renterswarehouse.com or call 303-974-9444 to speak to a rent estate advisor today. Welcome back everyone to the channel. Tonight's video, I am bringing you two terrifying stories in the rain. Tonight we have a guest on Hidden Sanctum Mysteries. His information will be in the description box down below. Now sit back, relax, dim those lights, and let's get spooky. For about six months now, our county had been the host of multiple grizzly murders. Each murder followed a specific pattern. It only seemed to happen in areas where farms and wooden areas were abundant, and the victims seemed to fit the typical core family group. Mom, Dad, and a couple of kids. In each case, the family members were brutally torn apart. Forensics came to the conclusion that the mutilated bodies were eaten by some sort of animal, or at least what they assumed had been some kind of animal. The only problem with that theory is that animals don't have a modus operandi, and there's no animal I can think of at the top of my head that has a particular taste for human flesh. In addition to that, we've had enough murders in the last six months to classify the culprit as a serial killer. In order to avoid panic, the official word released to the public is that we have a wild animal attacking individuals in specific regions of the county, obviously suppressing the number of murders we've had. We've had no luck finding whoever or whatever is responsible for the terrible crimes that had befallen our once peaceful little town. That all changed with the phone call at three in the morning. "What's going on?" I said, trying the sound as awake and present as possible. "We've got another family down, the old Freeman Farm. We better get down here fast. We have a suspect in custody. The words that came out of his mouth equally sent chills down my spine and splashed sobering awareness over my barely rested body. I got dressed and made the trip to the crime scene, and as expected, the place was adorned by red and blue lights. More police presence than necessary contaminating the crime scene. No doubt due to the fact we had a suspect in custody spread like wildfire. It must have been the worst crime scene yet. Nearly every service of the house seemed to have blood on it. Half of the father, the lower half, was in the living room while a trail of blood and chunks of flesh led to what was left of his torso outside of the house. The wife's face was crushed inside an old large 90s television, half of her body spilling out. Her insides had been hollowed out from her back. The sister seemed to try to hide under the dinner table as her remains were found there. In custody was an 18-year-old boy who was found naked and bathed in blood at the scene of the crime. All attempts to interrogate the suspect were met with silence. This was collected from his body and sent to the crime lab for analysis. The boy was part of the family, and as of this moment, the only lead we had to find out what had happened in that house. We're booking him at the station as we speak. I just wanted to let you know, regardless if we could get a confession out of him, he's probably going to be taking the fall for the killings. The officer in charge of the scene had told me while I shook my head. I appreciate the heads up. This is the first survivor we've had from these killings. Something isn't adding up here. Could you have your men expand the crime scene area? Maybe there's something we missed. The officer sighed and reluctantly agreed to expand the search area for evidence. After getting briefed on the situation and making myself familiar with the evidence collected, I headed down to the police station to interrogate our suspect. They had placed him in one of our interrogation rooms where he had not spoken or moved an inch since he had gotten there several hours earlier. This kid has really given me the creeps. My partner said while observing the kid through the two-way mirror, he has not spoken to words since he got picked up, usually by now we'd get the "I didn't do it." I said while taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee. After catching up for a bit, my partner and I went into the room and sat across the table from the boy. Hello Owen, I'm Detective Clancy, and this is my partner, Detective Brown. The kid didn't even look up to meet our gaze or even acknowledge that we were there. After a few hours of asking Owen questions, we couldn't even get a peep from him. Frustrated, my partner lashed out. You know you're going to be on the hook for the murder of your family. If you can't tell us anything, then it's going to look like you killed your own frickin' family. Something from this interaction actually made the kid react. He actually stared at Brown and his lips started to tremble. "Dad, help me." It was like hearing someone speak for the first time. I suspect that he was either heavily traumatized by what he had witnessed, or it was like the kid was doing a bad imitation of human speech. Before I could engage him with another rounded questions, my cell phone had started vibrating. I was receiving a call from the lead crime scene investigator. " Could you take over? I'll be right back." I exited the room and answered the call. Clancy here, I was in the middle of interrogating the suspect. You need to secure whatever it is you're interrogating right now. We expanded the radius of our crime scene, and we found a body in the woods next to the house. The kid. Well, what was left of the body belonged to the kid you're interrogating. The man on the other side of the line sounded like a madman. Nothing he was saying made a lick a sense to me. I don't know what the hell you're talking about. What you're saying isn't possible. I looked over to the interrogation room and something started to happen to the kid. I heard stories of skin walkers in the area since I was a kid and never believed in them myself. But I got a half-eaten-up corpse here of someone that we just sent off to the police station. The kid's face and body began horribly distorting. My partner stood back, and the kid had flipped the table over with inhuman ease and began ripping off loose-fitting skin across his body. Brown drew his sidearm and started shooting at the turd. It unleashed an inhuman whale and lunged at my partner. It slashed and Brown's face with its sharp claws and tore his face off in a few swipes. Before I could react, it had bursted through the two-way glass while still attacking my partner, now pulling his intestines out and feasting upon him while Brown weakly wailed. I drew my firearm and shot a few rounds into its slender frame, managing to anger it more than anything. As fast as it had attacked my partner, it was tackling me now. We would break through the entrance door and spill out into the hallway where it quickly slipped away on all fours, running on the walls to avoid my gunfire and disappearing once it reached the staircase. The commotion and gunfire drew the attention of a group of officers. We have an officer down in one escaped suspect. I had to show my badge as I was getting up from the floor as some of the officers did not immediately recognize me and were ready to confront an active shooter. A female officer Rodriguez helped me up as the rest of the group were in awe of the carnage left in the interrogation room. What in the F happened here? A sergeant I didn't quite recognize asked as he checked on Brown's pulse. The building power was cut off and the emergency lights came on. It must have cut the power. My partner and I were interrogating a suspect. It turned into some sort of monster and killed Brown. We tried shooting it down, but it was like bullets had no effect on it. Some officers turned their flashlights on to investigate the area. You're not making any sense officer, but something is definitely not right here. What direction did the perp head to? I loaded a new magazine into my weapon and pointed in the direction of the staircase. I lost it going up the staircase. As if it was waiting for my cue, we started hearing screams coming from the staircase. It only took a few moments. We all have somewhere we're trying to get to. As the largest energy producer in Colorado, Chevron is helping meet rising demand and we're working to do it responsibly. Our next gen tankless facilities reduce the greenhouse gas emissions of our operations by more than 90% compared to our older designs. Working to provide Colorado with energy that's affordable, reliable, and ever cleaner. So everyone can get to where they want to be. You've arrived. That's energy and progress. Visit chevron.com/tankless. Well it sounds like the tenants hit your rental property sure know how to throw a great party. You just wish they wouldn't throw so many parties. On Tuesdays, until 4 a.m. And if they could pay the rent on time, that would be nice too. Being a landlord can be stressful, but it doesn't have to be. Let renters warehouse handle the hard part of property management for you, like finding quality tenants you can trust. Renters warehouse manages thousands of single family homes and specializes in locating reliable tenants at the right price for your property, usually in a matter of days. And if your tenant defaults for any reason, they'll replace them for free up to 18 months under their tenant warranty program. From rent collection to maintenance coordination, their best-in-class property management professionals do it all. All for one flat monthly fee. Get a free rental price analysis at renterswarehouse.com to find out how much your home can rent for. That's renterswarehouse.com or call 303-974-9444 to speak to a rent-to-state advisor today. When Saetel Gunfire was added to the chorus of noise, the group of officers moved into position and were ready to go up the stairs. The sergeant took his radio out of his belt and contacted another officer. Rodriguez come in, we have a situation on the West Wing. It took a few moments, but another voice came through the static on the other end. There's something in here, Sarge, it's not freaking human. We could hear Gunfire going off in the background of the radio, and then immediately hear it somewhere up in the staircase. Report Officer, what are we dealing with? There was another pause and the voice returned. I don't freaking know, man. It just came out of nowhere and ripped some guy's throat out. We're sitting ducks out here, it's too dark and it's crawling up the walls. There was another round of gunshots and a high-pitched scream. The sergeant tried the radio again, but there was no reply this time. We need better equipment to take this thing down, otherwise we are going to last that long in a gunfight. I pleaded my case with the group of officers, but my mind was made up. I'm going to head to the armory, it would be a lot easier if I had someone who knew the code to the door to accompany me. It was more or less a unanimous decision that gear up at the armory. It took us longer than expected to get to the basement of the building, as we had the clear every hallway in this now dark maze of a police station. Every few minutes we could hear some blood curdling scream in the distance. This thing was picking off every survivor in the building, and it wouldn't be long until it went after us. Just as we had reached the armory, we started the hear scratching sounds from deep in the darkness, coming from the hallway we had just come through. Rodriguez, get this door open right fricking now. The sergeant ordered a female officer who immediately got to work on inputting the right combination in the locked door. Oh god, oh god help me. We heard his clearest day, a voice somewhere in the dark that didn't sound quite right. Some officers got into position and pointed their guns and flashlights down the hall we came from, and in the middle was a disfigured silhouette of a man. Half of his body was normal, while the other half was that demented creature. One of its arms had large claws, and it was running them down the wall as it slowly walked towards us. How was that thing talking? A nervous voice said in the dark, before I could tell them it was probably imitating the voice of its victims, maybe the last words of its victims. A loud, deafening sound echoed through the hall. Everyone started to open fire on the creature which looked extremely pissed. Within human speed, it used the walls and ceiling as a running surface to avoid our gunfire. It started ripping through bodies, blood was everywhere in just a few short seconds. Early parts were flying and hitting surfaces. The blood had gotten on flashlights and red light was now barely illuminating the carnage in front of me. I could barely make it out due to the gunfire, but Rodriguez had managed to open the door to the armory, and was screaming at the top of her lungs for us, however many remained of our group to get inside. I sprinted faster than I have ever done so before, and just barely made it inside before the door was closed and locked behind me. After taking a few moments to catch my breath, and let the adrenaline go down in my body, I realized only Sergeant Rodriguez and I were left. I could still hear how it was slashing through bodies in the hallway, and when it was done we could hear it slashing and scratching away at the door. Thankfully it wasn't able to get through the sturdy metal door separating us from it. It took a few minutes for us to compose ourselves, and realize that we were stuck in a candy store for gun freaks. The amount of bullets, weapons, and equipment available was impressive. We put on bulletproof vests, and anything available that could protect our bodies from that thing, and armored ourselves with Penelli M4s and AR-15s. We need to plan if we're going to survive this. The Sergeant said while securing smoker nades to her vest, "You've had more experience with that monster out there. Is there something you know that we don't? Maybe a way to kill it?" I contemplated the question while I loaded my shotgun. When that thing got here, it looked like an 18-year-old male suspect to killing his entire family. It could shapeshift into victims. I know this now because the body of that kid was found in the woods next to his house. It could also imitate human speech poorly. Every time I heard it speak, it's been asking for help. My theory is that it could only imitate its victims' last words. Even with the newfound protective gear and weapons, everyone in the room was extremely disturbed by that information. I don't really have anything for you. Hopefully, these weapons can do more than just piss it off, and we could blow it the bits like its name is Murphy. With a good plan as any, we spilled back out into the hallway to witness the horrors left behind that thing. The floor was littered with bodies, not one complete, and slippery with the amount of blood on nearly every surface. We managed to follow the trail of blood onto the creature's body through the labyrinth of darkness. Our hunt stopped back at the staircase where the interrogation first took place. The blood stopped right at the staircase, and everything in my body was screaming this was some sort of trap. We slowly made our way up the staircase, and reached the cubicle section of the department, Nern City we used to call it. Now it was just another scene of carnage. There were bodies still at their cubicles that didn't even get a chance to fight the creature before getting brutally murdered. Brass and blood were all over the floor. There was a peculiar body at the corner of the room that had a radio stuck to its skull. The sergeant recognized him as the officer he had been communicating with earlier. Before any of us could react, something that grabbed Sergeant by the neck and pulled him up to the ceiling. When Rodriguez and I focused our guns and tipped our flashlights, the thing had pinned the sergeant to the ceiling and was ripping through his bulletproof vest with its claws until we got sprayed with red. I could feel something warm and heavy on my shoulders which took me a few seconds to realize were sergeants and testins dangling on me. Rodriguez was the first to shoot, hitting one of his smoke bombs and dispersing a thick cloud of smoke around the room. I shot my shotgun at the ceiling and heard the creature yell out in pain. I moved out of the way as Sergeant's torso had fallen down, shortly followed by his legs. Visibility was near zero and breathing was becoming more difficult under the heavy smoke. I managed to crawl back to the staircase where the smoke had not gotten to yet and was able to compose myself. I tried calling out to Rodriguez but she didn't reply back. A few moments go by and from the smoke comes out Rodriguez, her vest had been ripped off and she was limping. Wait, stop freaking there. I aimed my gun at her face, ready to unload. Say something. I said, knowing she was aware that thing could imitate her appearances and her voice. She looked confused for a few seconds until from her lips came out, it's not me. I felt a wave of horror take over my body as I knew it had gotten to her and it had worn her bloody rags to get close enough to me. It knew the farce was over and shot me a sickening smile. I pulled the trigger as hard and as fast as I could unloading into its body, seven clean shots I got in and down the creature went. I quickly started reloading my weapon to double tap the turd. Before I could aim my weapon at its head this time, it slapped it from my hands with incredible strength. It slowly got back to its feet and grabbed me by the neck. I could feel the life being choked out of me as it lifted me off my feet. That was about the pass out as I felt it stabbed my belly with its claws. The vest stopped them from going all the way in though, but it had time to tear me limb from limb now. As I was ready to accept my fate, red and blue lights were flashing through the windows. The rest of the department had showed up from the crime scene. It somehow knew that as well and smiled at me again. It tossed me across the room back into the cubicles and ran past me. I heard a loud crashing sound and realized it had jumped out of the two-story window. In only a few hours. We all have somewhere we're trying to get to. As the largest energy producer in Colorado, Chevron is helping meet rising demand and we're working to do it responsibly. Our next-gen tankless facilities reduce the greenhouse gas emissions of our operations by more than 90% compared to our older designs. Working to provide Colorado with energy that's affordable, reliable and ever cleaner. So everyone can get to where they want to be. You've arrived. That's Energy in Progress. Visit chevron.com/tankless. When it comes to renting out your property, the uncertainty of finding reliable tenants can feel like a real guessing game, responsible renter or perpetual party animal. Enter Renters Warehouse. The pros who turn the uncertainty of finding great tenants into peace of mind. Renters Warehouse offers top-notch leasing and tenant placement services, ensuring you get trustworthy renters without the hassles and headaches. With no upfront fees, Renters Warehouse works for you, not the other way around. From marketing and showing your property, to screening tenants and preparing the lease, your team of experts handles it all so you can sit back and watch the rent roll-in. Renters Warehouse even warranties their tenants for up to 18 months at no extra cost. And if you need ongoing management, they've got you covered too, all for a flat monthly fee. Visit renterswearhouse.com to request a free rental price analysis. That's renterswearhouse.com or call 303-974-9444 to speak to a rent-to-state advisor today. Had taken out most of the police officers in our town. Maybe that was its goal. Why it let us arrest it in the first place. Now, even if we wanted to, we don't have enough manpower to hunt it down. There's not enough people to stop it from having its way with our once peaceful town. The car's tires crunched on the gravel as we approached Whittaker, a veil of mist clinging to the pine trees that stood sentinel around the village. I could feel Jess's hand tighten around mine, her knuckles going white with tension. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wood smoke. The kind of smell that seeps into your skin and stays with you. A scent I knew would forever remind me of this place. Looks like we're here, John announced from the driver's seat, his voice betraying none of the unease that had crept into my chest. He navigated the old station wagon through the narrow streets lined with houses that bore the weight of untold stories. They're windows like dark watchful eyes. I reached for my camera, a sturdy thing that had become an extension of my own being. "I'm gonna start filming," I said, more to myself than to Jess or John. The lens cap came off with a click that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of the village. "Already," Jess asked, her voice low, almost swallowed by the silence that seemed to drape over Whittaker like a shroud. "Yeah," I replied, feeling the familiar thrill of documenting the unseen and the untold. I want to capture everything about this trip. Try not to spook the locals, Daniel, John grumbled, but there was no real heat in his words. He understood my need to explore to uncover truths that lay buried beneath layers of silence and secrecy. As we pulled up to the house where the family would congregate, I kept the camera rolling, keeping it across the landscape. The trees seemed to close in on us, their branches casting skeletal shadows on the ground. The whispers of leaves rustling carried a warning, setting my nerves on edge. "Remember what we talked about," Jess warned, squeezing my hand one last time before letting go. Her green eyes met mine, reflecting a weariness that mirrored my own. Not everyone is comfortable on camera. "Of course," I assured her, though the hunger for discovery gnawed at my resolve, "I'll be discreet." But discretion was a fine line, easily blurred when curiosity took hold. I felt it then, the pull of the unknown tugging at my core as I surveyed the quaint, unsettling beauty of Whittaker. The village held secrets, I was sure of it, secrets that whispered from the shadows and beckoned me closer. "Let's get inside," John said, breaking spell as he he hefted our bags from the back of the car. I followed, camera in hand, ready to peel back the veneer of normalcy that this village wore like a mask. A shroud of unease settled over the village as dust crept in, painting the sky with bruised purples and grays. John and I treaded down the narrow path that cut through Whittaker. Its cobblestones slick from the evening mist. The air clung to my skin, carrying whispers that wound their way around my thoughts. Did you see that? John nudged me and his voice. A low rumble seemed out of place amid the quiet murmurs that filled the space between the aging buildings. "See what?" I asked, my hand instinctively reaching for the camera slung around my neck. Over there he gestured subtly toward a huddled group of villagers, who stood beneath the flickering light of an old lantern. Their voices were about a collective murmur, yet something in their tone, a reverence mingled with fear, pulled at me. We cycled closer, feigning interest in the window display of an antique shop while straining our ears to catch fragments of the hushed dialogue. "Tonight, under the new moon," one whispered, her eyes darting around nervously. "Keep it down," another cautioned, casting a furtive glance in our direction before they dispersed into the encroaching darkness. "Ritual," I mowed to John, the word "tasting of secrets and ancient rites." It resonated within me, setting my pulse racing with the promise of uncovering what lay veiled beneath the surface of this outwardly sleepy town. "Dan, are you sure about this?" "Absolutely," I said, conviction lacing my words. This is exactly the kind of thing my viewers need to see. The raw, unfiltered truth. The prospect of recording the ritual sent adrenaline coursing through me. A primal part of my brain screamed warnings, but the lure of the unknown was irresistible. I had come too far to be dissuaded by superstition or fear. "Let's keep a low profile," I suggested, already plotting the angles and vantage points from which I could capture the night's proceedings without being detected. Fine, John conceded, though his reluctance hung in the air heavy as the fog that began to roll in from the woods. As nightfall enveloped Whitaker, we found ourselves at the edge of the forest, cloaked by shadows that seemed almost sentient. From my bag I retrieved a compact digital camcorder, its lens glinting like the eye of some nocturnal creature. "Ready?" I whispered, though weathered myself or to John, I wasn't sure. "Let's just get this over with," he muttered, and together we ventured deeper into the woods, where the village lights could no longer reach us. I felt every step acutely, the soft give of the earth beneath my feet, the brush of leaves against my face. In the distance, the faint glow of torches signaled the beginning of the ritual. We approached with caution, taking refuge behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. Its bark was rough against my back as I adjusted the focus on the camcorder, zooming in on the clandestine gathering that unfolded before us. The torchlight flickered, casting elongated shadows that danced like wraiths upon the gravestones. Through the camcorder's lens, I watched as the villagers formed a circle around an altar of stone. My breath caught in my throat when they led a child to the center, her small form swallowed by the ceremonial robe. Daniel, John's voice was a strained whisper beside me. I dared not take my eyes off the viewfinder, the child stood still, too still, as if carved from the same cold rock she faced. A hooded figure stepped forward, hands raised towards the star-speckled sky, and began to chant in a language that felt ancient, its cadence seeping into my bones. "Jesus, Daniel, what is this," John's voice trembled with the horror that clawed at my own chest. I could feel his presence tense, ready to bulk. Something we shouldn't be seeing. The words were barely a breath as the ritualistic chant crescendoed into a feverish pitch. Suddenly, the circle parted, and the hooded figure lowered their arms. In that brief silence before the unspeakable could occur, instinct took over. John needed no further prompting. We turned on our heels, stumbling away from the altar, the eerie glow of the torches receded behind us as we broke into a run, but the sense of being pursued by something far worse than suspicion gnawed at my sanity. Keep running, John panted ahead of me, ducking low, hanging branches as we plunged deeper into the shadows. I dared not look back, the sound of my heart pounding louder than our footsteps. Fear propelled us forward, an invisible force as tangible as the night air we tore through. Each gasp for breath tasted like the dread that had settled in my mouth. Almost there, almost, John's reassurance cut short. God, that smell, John coughed, covering his nose with the crook of his elbow. It's everywhere. Edging closer to the cemetery's boundary, the ranks smell intensified as if the ground itself exhaled breath of the dead. It was a harbinger of darkness, a prelude to the nightmare yet to unfold, and it filled my heart with a chilling premonition. Every instinct screamed a flea to escape the unseen threat that hovered at the edge of reality. Our shadows stretched before us like dark omens as we neared the wrought iron gates. Their silhouettes warped by the feeble light of the moon. The air was thick with a silence that seemed to absorb our every footfall, and I could feel John's tension mirroring my own. A tangible shroud of apprehension that suffocated reason, an amplified fear. We were steps from salvation, from the world outside this desolate graveyard, when the steelness shattered, a low-moaning snarl unfurled through the night. We all have somewhere we're trying to get to. As the largest energy producer in Colorado, Chevron is helping meet rising demand, and we're working to do it responsibly. Our next-gen, tankless facilities reduce the greenhouse gas emissions of our operations by more than 90% compared to our older designs, and working to provide Colorado with energy that's affordable, reliable, and ever cleaner. When it comes to renting out your property, the uncertainty of finding reliable tenants can feel like a real guessing game, responsible renter or perpetual party animal. Enter renters warehouse. The pros who turn the uncertainty of finding great tenants into peace of mind. renters warehouse offers top-notch leasing and tenant placement services, ensuring you get trustworthy renters without the hassles and headaches. With no upfront fees, renter's warehouse works for you, not the other way around. From marketing and showing your property, to screening tenants and preparing the lease, their team of experts handles it all so you can sit back and watch the rent roll in. Renters warehouse even warranties their tenants for up to 18 months at no extra cost. And if you need ongoing management, they've got you covered too, all for a flat monthly fee. Visit renterswearhouse.com to request a free rental price analysis. renterswearhouse.com or call 303-974-9444 to speak to a rent estate advisor today. It's cutting into the marrow of my bones. It was a sound not of this earth, a guttural harbinger that clawed at the edges of reality. Daniel, John's voice trembled an echo of dread that matched the terror seizing my chest. For I could respond, darkness coalesced into form, and the creature materialized, a nightmare given flesh. The creature loomed, its grotesque semblance a massacre of animal and man, eyes glowing with a malevolence that spoke of hunger insatiable. Its very presence was an affront to nature, with savage ferocity it lunged at John, who stood rooted in disbelief. Teeth sank into his flesh, rending through the fabric of our reality as easily as they tore through his skin. John, my scream was a hollow thing, lost amidst the cacophony of his agony. He fought valiantly, the protector till the end, but the creature was relentless, a force of primal terror that knew no mercy. Realized, I watched, a prisoner within my own body as John's blood painted the earth, his cries pierced the night, each one a dagger twisting deeper into my soul. Run, Daniel, John's voice ragged and laced with pain cut through the fog of my horror. With a jolt my limbs found their purpose once more, terror propelled me forward as I fled in panic. The forest around me blurred into an indistinguishable mass of darkness and motion, a vortex of shadows swallowing the last vestiges of reason and sanity. Branches clawed at my face, leaving behind stinging trails as if they sought to keep me tethered to the nightmare unfolding just paces behind. My breath came in ragged gasps, the cold air clawing at my throat with every desperate inhalation. Guilt surged through my veins, a toxic tide that threatened to drown me with each stride I took away from John. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the frost-kissed ground, the damp earth greedily soaking up the warmth of my palms. A rustle stirred the stillness, followed by the weighted tread of souls upon the soft bed of pine needles. The villagers emerged from the treeline, a somber procession that moved with ritualistic precision. In their midst they bore a stretcher, its grim burden concealed beneath a tattered shroud that fluttered slightly in the breeze. No cries disturbed the calm, no prayers offered solace, only the steady rhythm of their march pierced the veil of silence, and there I remained, a broken man whose quest for answers had yielded only suffering and death. The interrogation room was a stark contrast to the shadowed woods from which I had emerged. Fluorescent lights flickering with an incessant hum, walls barren except for a mirror that I knew concealed watchful eyes. They sat me down on a cold metal chair that seemed to leech the remaining warmth from my body. Mr. Emerson, your friend, he's dead because of some. Monster, that what you're saying, skepticism laced the detective's somber tone. Something attacked us. The words crawled out, obstinate and heavy, with images my mind refused to let go. John screams echoing off the ancient stones, the creature's breath foul with the stench of decay. Right, and this creature is nowhere to be found. No tracks, no blood but your friends, convenient. I felt the weight of their disbelief, pressing down on me, suffocating. Eventually, they exhausted their attempts to find some kind of evidence against me and released me into the night. The village of Whittaker seemed different in my escape, houses that once appeared quaint now loomed ominously, windows dark as though the village itself held its breath, guarding secrets too profane for daylight. The evening mist snaked through the empty streets, whispering of unseen terrors that lurked at the edge of reason. I stumbled through the silence, every rustle of leaves a spectre waiting to pounce. My footsteps were erratic, hurried then hesitant as I navigated through the oppressive gloom. The camera's lens, cracked and smeared with dirt, was the silent witness to the unspeakable horror that had torn through the fabric of my reality. I felt its weight, a physical manifestation of the nightmare etched permanently into my memory. The damaged footage within was all that remained of my quest for the unknown, a grim testament to the price of my obsession. At the outskirts of Whittaker, where the embrace of the forest began, I halted. A final glance over my shoulder revealed nothing but shadows, dancing in the faint light of a waning moon. The unknown beckoned with its siren call, tempting me with whispers of redemption or damnation. I could no longer tell the difference. With a shudder, I turned away from the village and plunged into the woods. Which has clotted me as I moved, each step a desperate bid to distance myself from the horrors of that night. The forest closed in around me, and our boreal mausoleum to house the ghosts of my shattered psyche. As the distance grew, so did the realization that Whittaker would forever be a part of me. Its sinister legacy etched into my very soul. A head lay only the path of the haunted, the broken road of a man who had peered into the abyss and been seared by its gaze. Jess and I left Whittaker the next day. The fractured remains of my sanity trapped in a camera that had captured too much, seen beyond the veil. The camera's lens now cracked and splintered stared at me from the corner of the motel room that night. I sat on the edge of the bed, its musty scent permeating the stale air, while Jess stood by the window. Her silhouette ghostly in the moonlight that trickled through the half-closed blinds. "Daniel," she whispered, her voice a distant echo of the woman I knew, "I can't do this anymore." Her words hung there, suspended like the dust-moat-stancing in the shaft of light, a delicate ballet of despair. The space between us had widened, not just in feet and inches, but in shared memories we could no longer bear to touch. They were live-wires, sparking with pain and terror, the shadows of what we'd seen that night reaching out to entangle us. Jess, my voice faltered, the please stuck behind the tightness in my throat. I wanted to bridge the gap, to wrap my arms around her and pretend we could vanish into some normalcy we both knew was a lie. She turned, her green eyes pools of grief and accusation. Every time I close my eyes, I see my brother, and every time I open them, I see you, with that damn camera. The silence that followed was oppressive, a creature unto itself that fed on the remnants of our love. I reached for the camera, its weight familiar yet foreign in my hands, as if it were an extension of the darkness that it infected me. "Then leave," I said, not recognizing my own voice, hollow devoid of warmth. It was the voice of a man who had gazed into the abyss and come back blind to the light of day. Without another word, Jess grabbed her bag. The zippers rasp a definitive end to the charade we'd clung to since fleeing Whitaker. The door clicked shut behind her, severing the last frayed threat of our connection. In the months that followed, I needed help. An anchor to reality, or whatever semblance of it I could find, but I didn't have one. A sickness kept a hold of me from that day, and my condition steadily worsened every day since. No doctor could treat me. No food or medicine cured the gnawing hunger in my gut. Every night in my dreams, the creature stalked me relentlessly. Its visage still soaked with John's blood and viscera. All the while, it called to me, that place, that god forsaken place where I had been so cursed. Perhaps it was for my cowardice. Perhaps it was because I survived. But I knew I had to find out while I still had any strength left. I had to return to Whitaker. The world seemed to sway beneath my feet as I pushed the rusty cemetery gate open. Its creek a mournful lament that mirrored the ache in my bones. Every step forward was a battle against the illness that ravaged me from within, a relentless fever that had become my constant companion, whispering of death with every shiver that racked my frame. Whitaker silhouettes loomed in the distance, but it was not the town that called to me. It was the truth, the insidious connect. We all have somewhere we're trying to get to. As the largest energy producer in Colorado, Chevron is helping meet rising demand, and we're working to do it responsibly. 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I needed to know why the creature haunted me, why its icy breath seemed to linger on the nape of my neck, even in the absence of wind. The tombstones stood sentinel around me, their weathered faces etched with names that held no meaning, yet they seemed to judge me as if they knew the secrets that evaded my grasp. I leaned heavily against a mausoleum, the chill of the stones seeping through my ragged coat and into my flesh. It was as though the cold itself was alive, a creeping entity that sought to claim me for the earth. With effort I peeled myself away from the marble crypt, each laboured breath, a rasping symphony in the silence around me. "Where are you?" I whispered into the night, my voice breaking. I wasn't sure if I was speaking to the creature or to my own dwindling sanity. The shadows didn't answer, only continued to dance in their mocking waltz, partnered with the rustling leaves that spoke in hushed tones of madness. The hunger clawed at my insides with icy fingers, a ravenous beast that gnawed on the edges of my reason. Each step through the cemetery felt heavier than the last, my boots sinking into the soft earth as if it were a morass, intent on dragging me down to join the slumbering dead. The gnarled trees loomed above me like silent sentinels, their leafless branches etching a fractal network against the charcoal sky. I stumbled, a misstep sending me reeling forward, my knees buckled and I crashed onto the ground. The fall was graceless, a marionette, strings cut mid-performance. My hands scraped against the cold stones, but they could not stop my descent into darkness. A final thought flickered through the fog of my mind. Was this how it ended? Consciousness returned as a trickle before flooding back in a rush. I opened my eyes to find myself laid out upon the ground, the chill of the earth seeping into my bones, a circle of faces hovered above me. Their features shrouded in the gloom, yet undeniably familiar. The sight of Jess broke through the haze, her green eyes reflecting moonlight and something else, an emotion unreadable and distant. Jess, my voice was a horse whisper, disbelief tangling with the remnants of dread. What is this? He placed a finger to her lips, a gesture both admonishing and oddly tender. Her blond hair fell like a curtain, momentarily obscuring her face before she tucked it back behind her ear. The others stood silent, statuesque, forming a perimeter around me. I noticed then the symbols etched into the ground, dark and ominous, encircling the space where I lay. The air grew thick with anticipation, every breath a struggle as if the night itself pressed down upon us. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm, the pulse in my ears drowning out the whispers that rose from the shadows. They were preparing, I realized, with mounting horror, preparing for what I dared not comprehend. The interrupted ritual, my gut twisted the thought. Jess, please, I begged, my voice barely a rasp. Her expression remained unreadable and she stepped back, joining the others in their silent vigil. Despair clawed at me, a companion to the hunger that never ceased. In their midst, I was alone, utterly alone, with only the cold embrace of the grave to look forward to. The world spun, a carousel of grave markers and leering faces bathed in the sickly glow of half-moon light. A chill slithered up my spine as realization dawned, a cold, cruel, cruel clarity that cut through the fog of hunger and weakness. The circle they formed, the symbols beneath me. I was not just an observer, but the centerpiece, and offering to something ancient and ravenous. I clawed at my throat, a visceral response to the imminent danger. Every instinct screamed to run, to flee before whatever they summoned could claim me, but my body resisted, weighed down by an illness that had leached away my strength, leaving behind only a fragile shell. A sudden surge, adrenaline or perhaps sheer terror, jolted through my veins. The gasp I rolled to my side, ignoring the fire in my muscles, the protest of every fiber of my being. I pushed off the ground, staggering to my feet, the world tilting dangerously. I lurched forward, breaking through the circle. The air seemed to scream in protest, the ground quaking beneath my feet. Branches reached out like skeletal fingers, snagging at my clothes, tearing at my flesh as I plunged into the wintry woods. With ragged, heart pounding, I didn't dare look back. The trees closed in around me, their twisted form specters in the night, witnesses to my desperate flight. Every step was agony, every breath, a shard of ice, piercing my lungs, but fear propelled me onward. A chorus of angry shouts and screams called from behind, distorted and distant, but their command went unheeded, the forest swallowed my footfalls, muffled by the thick blanket of snow. Each laboured step was a battle against the frigid embrace that threatened to claim me. The bite of winter burrowed into my bones, a relentless invader seizing upon my weakened defenses. I could feel it, the paradox of primal hunger and necrosis gnawing at my insides and extremities in competition with the cold. I stumbled over an unseen root, my balance precarious as if the very earth sought to betray me. My breaths were shallow gasps, white puffs dissolving into the night air. A sharp pain lanced through my leg, my body's protest resonating with each faltering step. I could run no further, my vision blurred and the world spun, a dizzying dance of shadowy pines and starless sky, with a final anguished cry my strength betrayed me and I collapsed into the snow. The cold was a paradoxical comfort against the searing agony of my decaying flesh. The ground beneath me felt as if it were cradling me, urging me to surrender to the stillness of the night, but the terror clung to me, a relentless spectre whispering of the horrors that awaited should I close my eyes for the last time. Hunger gnawed at my core, a ravenous beast that cared not for the ruin of my body. Even now, it demanded sustenance, heedless of the pain that gripped me with every shuddering breath. My mind reeled, caught between the instinct to survive and the realization of my impending doom. There was no escaping the creature's curse, no matter how far or fast I ran. "Forgive me," I rasped, the words freezing before they could reach whatever gods might be listening. The darkness pressed in, eager to claim its dew while the icy tendrils of death beckoned, promising an end to fear, to hunger, to the chase. "Is this what you want?" I whispered to the indifferent wind. My voice, a horse croak, lost amidst the whispers of the forest. No answer came, only the mournful howl of the night, as if in affirmation of my dreaded role. And there, beneath the indifferent gaze of the heavens, I grappled with paranoia. Could it be the creature that killed John and haunted my dreams made its way to and from the waking world? Could it be just as real, just as tangible as the flesh that rots upon my bones? I could feel it from within, a sense that my physical affliction is more than just a strange illness. Be warned and guard, even your dreams. If you see this creature, know it is more than something conjured from your own mind. It's unmistakable and yet difficult to capture in words. From to the point of emaciation desiccated, as she's skin pulled tightly over its bones. Its eyes sink unnaturally deep into their sockets, like something from the grave in both sight and stench. It's not only such a nightmare that visits you. It may very well be me. 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