Hello everyone, I hope that you're all doing well.I honestly can't believe that this is episode 200 of Creepscast.I just wanted to say thank you all for listening and sticking around.
Without all of you, this podcast wouldn't be possible, so again, thank you so much.So, let's unwind for the evening, cozy up and listen to a few scary stories, as we drift further into Mr. Creeps' mind. My Town is a terrifying urban legend.
I think it's true.Written by DarklyGathers. A couple of truths for you before I begin my story.Litherlax lives in the Puddle Inn on the Westwoods Back Lane.This is truth.Every kid north of the river knows it is such.
And I can see what you're thinking.I know what comes to mind when I use the word puddle. A small, shallow patch of water at the edge of a path, maybe.Something to step into for a little splash.Well, Litherlax's Puddle is nothing like this.
Sprawling and vast, it covers an entire stretch of the aforementioned back lane. overgrown and bordered with mossy green rotted fence.And it's always there.Always.
Even at the end of the warmest summer days, the hottest, driest summer weeks, the puddle remains.It never shrinks or evaporates.And when it rains, when it rains, it bloats and swells to truly monstrous size. like a lake more than anything else.
It's raining now, actually.The drops fall thick and fast onto the surface of Litherlax's puddle.Another truth for you, Litherlax steals children.
We don't know why and we don't know what for, but he takes them on their way home from school, at night sometimes, and they never come back. We walk in groups for that very reason.Even the unpopular kids, the loners, we all walk in little squads.
We make detours and take illogical routes to ensure that everyone has someone else beside them right up until their own street.Because of these measures, there aren't really any loners or unpopular kids anymore.Which is nice, I guess.
A shame about the circumstances, but it is what it is. I tighten my grip on my baseball bat, a low-grade weapon to be sure, but I lack the courage to take a knife from the rack in the kitchen.
A curious thing for me to say, I guess, considering that I now stand at the entrance to the home of a monster, but I would rather this than have to face my mother and justify the thievery of a knife.It's a different kind of courage, I guess.
Parker stands to my left.He rubs a band-aid on his elbow.The rain splashes on the peak of his cap.Faded blue gone grey with age.He wields a hammer.Taken from his dad's toolbox, I guess.I doubt the man would care.
Lauren stands to my right, hair tied back and beneath the plastic yellow of a raincoat.She holds a hockey stick like a staff in her left hand.She looks at me, her deep brown eyes full of anxiety. It feels weird being here, as a group of three.
Our fourth has been taken by Litherlax.He has been taken away like so many before him, into the depths of the puddle on the west woods back lane. I take in a deep breath of the chilled, wet late afternoon air.I turn to the boys behind us.
Their names aren't important for now, but they're a couple of grades above us.Bullies, basically.The types who enjoy harassing others for their own amusement. But there is no harassment today.They stand as a solemn trio, dutiful sentinels.
The boy in the front steps forwards.I saw your friend leave off by himself.I could have called out to him.I could have made the decision to walk with him, but I didn't.I chose not to and he was taken.I'm sorry, bro.I'm sorry to all of you.
I nod and return but say nothing as the rain falls fast all around.I know all of this already, of course, but I allow him to speak.We'll stand guard here until the sun sets.We can't stay any longer than that.You know this, Eric.
I nod for a second time but still say nothing.We'll keep you safe, nothing will follow you down and nothing sick will come back up.We'll stand guard, he pauses.I hope you find your friend.The wind blows.
I murmur a grave but genuine thank you in reply and turn back to the great puddle. We are surrounded by trees here and a misty haze borders the edges of our vision.It gives the back laying an unsettling, otherworldly quality.Here we go then, I guess.
Parker mutters to my left.He gives the bandaid on his arm a last rub, smoothing it back into place and holds the hammer tight in his hand.He's scared.We all are. No one goes down after Litherlax.I mean, it's insane.Insane and yet, enough is enough.
If we don't try and put a stop to this now, then when?Our friend has been taken and he needs to be saved.It's as simple as that.Benny.His name is Benny.
Parker takes a step and then another, and then with a splash his foot comes down into the water at the edge of the puddle.Lauren stirs beside him and a shiver of goosebumps shoot up across my arms.We're actually doing this.
We're going down after Litherlacks. Parker pauses for a moment, gathering himself perhaps, and then calmly and coolly he continues his walk.About 7 or 8 feet into the puddle we watch as he starts to descend.
As if marching down unseen steps, he sinks lower and lower into the water.It comes up to his knees and then to his waist, and still he descends.It's a bizarre spectacle, but it's what we were expecting.
Parker starts to freak out as the water reaches his chest, and I don't blame him to be fair.He panics and the illusion is immediately lost.He stumbles and slips in the water.
There's a great splash and he is momentarily obscured by a flurry of white spraying then.There he is, lying on his chest in the puddle.A puddle which really doesn't seem all that deep at all.
He grumbles angrily to himself and rises to a stand, repositioning his cap.The water which mere seconds ago came up to his chest now barely covers his feet.He starts to splash back towards us as he drips from the front of his shirt.
I'm sorry, he says through the rain.It was harder than I thought it would be. It's okay," I reply.You lost focus is all.You have to forget the water is there just to keep going down.Easier said than done though, obviously.
I think to myself as my heart pounds in anticipatory fear.Parker stops as he returns to her side and looks at me.Lauren does the same. The implication is clear.It's my turn to try.I squirm but steady my nerves.Alright.Here we go.
I say it quietly and then set out across the grass and into the waters of the puddle.A little quicker than I should perhaps, but I'm trying to stave off the urge to turn and run back the opposite way.Any second now.Any second.
I try not to react as I feel my foot come down lower than one would expect into the shimmering water, reflecting in gray the overcast sky up above.I keep pace, fist clenched, breathing steady, and down I go, step by step.
The water rises up to my knees, step by step, up to my waist and then up to my chest.This is how far Parker was able to get, but I am able to go further. The water rises up to my neck.It's cold.It's so cold.
The rain is loud against the water beside my ears.I take a breath and I close my eyes, and my head dips below the surface.I keep walking down. The sound of the rain is muffled and grows quickly fainter and fainter above me.
The water feels thin somehow, not quite as thick as water is supposed to be.Down and down, step by step. I try releasing my breath as I descend.
I feel nor hear no bubbles come rushing from my lips, so I try for a cautious intake and find that I am able.I open my eyes, and I come to the bottom of the stairs.
Ahead stretches a long straight and wide corridor, grand, like the kind you would find in a mansion.The walls are a deep, rich red-brown and the carpet is a moss-like green.I lift a hand and examine myself.
The sensation is a curious one as my movements have definitely been dulled. and the objects caught in my line of sight waver ever so steadily, but my motion still feels closer to amidst air than amidst water, if that makes any sense to you.
I turn around, my vision wobbles gently as I do so. After a second or two it is settled, and I see behind me a set of wide and imposing stairs.They ascend up and up to the shimmering and through the shimmering watery, veil-like ceiling.Whoa.
A set of feet appear through this veil. Down they come to be followed by a plastic yellow raincoat, Lauren.
Her eyes are screwed tight shut and she's clearly holding her breath, but as she draws closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs, she cautiously opens an eye, and then another.
Seeing me standing here as I am, she finds the courage to try breathing and finds that she is able to.This is so weird, Eric, she murmurs.Her voice is a little distorted.
She walks across the grass-like carpet to the nearest wall and looks up at the paintings that are hung there. Have you seen these?I've noticed them but haven't studied them closely.
They hang at regular intervals and trail all the way down both walls and into the corridors far distance.I step up beside her for a closer look.The painting, and indeed all the paintings by the look of it, are of children.
The one in front of Lauren and I is of a girl, about 12 or 13 in age.I don't think she's from this decade. I would certainly raise an eyebrow if I saw somebody on the street with such a hairstyle and curious choice in clothes.
Parker had made his way down the stairs now.He tugs his hat a little tighter down onto his head, afraid perhaps that it's going to float away. What the hell is this place?He wonders aloud.It's certainly not quite what we were expecting.
Come on, I say to them, let's get moving.And so we do.We start to walk down the long level corridor illuminated by quaint chandeliers hung up against the ceiling. Our shadows, many as they are, seem to ripple softly against the carpet.
I look at the paintings as we pass them by, nerves racing.The more we pass, the more the clothes and styles start to become familiar.Some of the kids look as young as five, some like the first girl in their mid-teens, but none of them are smiling.
They look out at us passers-by with expressions of longing and loneliness.They're haunting in their authenticity,
It's subtle at first and it takes a while for us to notice, but after about 15 or 20 minutes of walking, it becomes clear that the carpet is longer than it was before.
Even wilder, it sprouts up in places like grass or weeds, like moss drifting in a river.As we walk, this weed-like grass rises higher.It reaches our knees as the corridor comes at last to an end, 40 or 50 minutes from the stairs.
The corridor opens and widens into a great hall.Pillars tempered with iris and watery green ferns mark the corners.A pedestal of chipped white stone stands in the center, and the carpet reaches almost to its peak.
There's something coming, Lauren murmurs and the hairs in the back of my arms bristle and rise.We huddle a step closer together, us three warriors beneath the puddle on the Westwoodsback lane.
Movements catch my eye, but I can't tell if it's legitimate or a trick of our shimmering surroundings.The grass-like weeds of the carpet waver in the thick wet of the breezeless air.Anxiety rises.
Parker tightens his grip on the hammer, a motion that makes noise.Lauren starts to nervously hum a little tune.It's a habit of hers. Her reasoning is that characters in horror movies are never taken or killed while singing an upbeat tune.
This evening, she has chosen the theme to the old sitcom, Perfect Strangers.We listen to the melody as we await the arrival of some monstrosity from one of the offshooting corridors.Litherlacks himself, perhaps.Who knows?Parker eventually snaps.
Cut it out already, Lauren, you're not helping."She does so wordlessly and I can almost feel the flood of regretful, immediate guilt flowing out of Parker and into the hall.I'm sorry, he says at once.I'm just nervous is all.It's okay, she says.
There's another long pause, a ridge with tension, and I pick up the tune where Lauren left off.Whistling, she joins in as does Parker, and we begin to push deeper into the hall, steadily approaching the pedestal in the center.
The snake appears when we're about 3 or 4 feet away.A deep, greenish-gray, it blends in well with the surrounding grass and we come to an instant stop as it slithers out from the weeds.
Around the pedestal it goes and goes, around and around until it is coiled upon its perch, staring down at us with two unblinking golden eyes. It's tongue flickers briefly out and then retracts at once.It looks from Parker to Lauren and then to me.
It opens its mouth and I find myself curiously unsurprised to hear it speak.Its voice is deeper than I would have expected for such a creature, and its tone is low and steady.You have made a mistake in coming here, children, the snake tells us.
Its tongue flickers out again.Others have crept below in search of friends and family.You are not the first. Were they successful?I asked the reptile.Did they save their friends from Lithorlax?
For this creature is not the Great He, I feel it on an intuitive level. Litherlax lives," the snake replies.With respect, that is not what I asked.The snake uncoils a little, slowly lowering its head a few inches closer towards me.
I stand my ground, but both he and I notice the adjustment of the hammer in Parker's hand to my left. I wouldn't try it, boy," the snake says to him.I may be large, but I am the quicker by far.You would be dead before the weapon was even raised.
Have you seen our friend?Lauren interjects, her soft tone diffusing the tension by a degree or two.Our friend Benny.The snake pauses.He turns to her and tilts his head in thought. Hmm, Benny.Is that the name you say?Yes.
The snake's tongue darts out and flickers before us.He pulls back with a sigh.I am afraid you are simply too late.Litherlack's dawdles not.It is too late.Your friend has been drained.Turn back, lest the same fate befall the three of you.
Please, turn back. My heart pounds with panic, but I step forward, pointing a finger at the creature on the pedestal.No, I say, that can't be right.Benny's braver than all of us.She's the best of us.She would never let herself get drained.
Alas, I saw it with my own eyes.She is gone.Turn back while you can.Lithorlax roams these corridors. My heart rate settles just a little.He fell for the trick.I lower my hand to give the snake a quick dry grimace.I think you're lying to us, reptile.
You don't seem to know much about human names.Benny isn't a she.Benny is a he.Your eyes may be unblinking, but I think you saw nothing.The snake adjusts his position and hisses from the back of his throat. So we're going to continue on our way.
If you try to stop us then we'll fight you.I don't want to do that and neither do you.So let's just go our separate ways and in good faith."The snake raises his head.You are foolish.Danger and despair await you down these corridors.
I implore you to turn back and save yourself the heartache and the pain. We aren't going to turn back," says Parker.We won't.Then you are doomed, replies the snake and down he goes.
Uncoiling down the pedestal, he creeps back into the grass of the carpet and slithers away, quickly lost to sight amongst the weeds.
Three further corridors branch away from this hall, and the one that leads ahead seems as good a choice to take as any.So we soldier on, pushing through the green, as Lithorlax awaits in the deep.
We round the central stone column and leave the hall behind, marching onwards down the overgrown corridor.We do not dwell on the rumbling that echoes behind and beyond the ornate walls.Drained, Lauren murmurs after a while.
That's what the snake said.Well, the snake was lying, Parker replies.If he had actually seen Benny, then he wouldn't have fallen for Eric's trick. No," Lauren says.I mean drained like, what did he mean by drained?Parker has no answer.
Probably best to not think about it.I sit quietly as the kids in the portraits watch us pass by. Lauren murmurs in reluctant agreement.The corridor stretches on.The ever-present thread of our limited time presses against the back of my head.
Litherlax's puddle can only be entered towards the day's end. But when the sun sets and night falls, that's when the creatures return to the water.
The clock ticks, and as if in response to these thoughts, a distant and watery voice echoes down from the ceiling.It reverberates softly through the walls, the voice of one of the sentinel trio up above and guarding the puddle. Eric!"
comes the faraway voice and we pause to listen.The creatures have begun their crawl to the water.We can keep them back for now, but they're coming.Be as quick as you can, bro.We hasten along, hearts pounding in tune.
The corridor rounds a corner and ends abruptly at a dining room of sorts.There is a deserted bandstand in the corner and a podium for a non-existent server to welcome the guests. The tables are many, and they are draped in lily-pad, leaf-like cloth.
Half the walls are covered in portraits, but only half.The walls further ahead, through all the visible open doorways, are bare.Parker gently knocks my arm with the butt of his hammer and points, and we follow his gaze.
A short, squat figure, facing away from us, hums softly to himself in the corner of the dining room. He's a painter of some kind, working away at a sheet of rich paper stretched across an easel canvas.
With nerves of steel, we creep through the room, the sound of our slow movements dulled by the thickness of the air around us.Closer we approach, closer and closer, and it becomes apparent that the figure is no man.
What we had mistaken for a grey jacket is merely the shading of his slimy skin, skin that is tinged and tipped in green.His feet are webbed and legs bowed.He is, proportionally speaking, an enormous frog, though one no taller than I.
I nod to Parker and the boy reaches out.He grabs the frog roughly by the shoulder.The amphibian proudly squeals in distress and is shoved to the ground.
His paintbrushes go clattering to the floor and the sharpened side of Parker's hammer is pressed against his neck. Lauren's hockey stick and my own bat are pointed right down to his face as his bulging eyes dart from person to person.
He croaks and struggles.What are you doing here?He blurts.You aren't victims, unhand me filth.Where's our friend?And don't mess with us, we already dealt with your pal the snake.
Parker is careful to leave our interaction ambiguous and the frog's eyes widen in fear. "'Who?'he stutters his words."'Who is your friend?'"'Benny.'""'Benny?'"'He's the one in your painting,' says Lauren softly."With a chill, I turn to look.
The painting is only half finished.There remains a great deal of shadow and realism still to be added, but the portrait's occupant is clear.It's Benny, alright. The frog's eyes flicker from Lauren to the painting and back.
The others will be here soon, he murmurs.They will take you to Litherlax, if he hasn't found you already.The walls rumble.Where is he, I reiterate.The boy in your painting, we aren't leaving until we find him.
The frog's throat swells anxiously, throbbing.You are too late.By the time the painting's finished, the boy will be drained. Well then we aren't too late, are we?I reply, coolly.It isn't a question.Your painting remains unfinished.
The frog struggles, but Lauren presses the hockey stick against his slippery green skin, and Parker adjusts his distribution of weight.I lean in closer.We'll kill you if we have to, slave of Lithorlax.I didn't want to kill this thing.
I have no desire to, and probably wouldn't if it came down to it. But if scaring him will make him tell us where to find our friend, then so be it.The frog whimpers in dismay.
If he doesn't get his victims, he whispers, then he comes for us, the pond folk.We do what we have to do, child. Which way?The frog's eyes dart to one of the offshooting corridors and I nod.He'll drain you, the frog squeaks.
That's a risk we're happy to take.This next part gives me no pleasure, but we can't afford to take any risks.These creatures from otherworldly domains, they speak in riddles and have truths, I'm sure of it.
By the time that the painting is finished, the boy will be drained.Lauren, I say, pin his arms.
Lauren presses forwards with a hockey stick and puts all her weight upon it, trapping the hands and arms of the frog above his head against the mossy green ground. Wait, no, let me go," he struggles in panic.
I'm sorry, I say, but your painting, is it connected to the fate of the children?The frog does not respond.I clench my jaw.The painting, is it important?Is there anything more that we need to know?
The frog stares back at me defiantly, silently, angrily.Parker speaks up.What if we were to break your hands, huh?What if you couldn't finish the portrait?No, shrieks the frog.Don't.
And his tongue darts out from his mouth like a fist, slapping wetly into Parker's eye. The boy cries out and reaches up for it, freeing the frog's neck from the hammer.
The frog shifts and kicks out, knocking Loren back with a powerful leg and with the sharper traction of his tongue he's free.I jump for him but the creature is too slippery.
He pushes me off and bounds away through the halls, croaking and warbling and warning as loud as he can. There's no way that we'll be able to catch up.Each of his hops might as well have been ten paces or more.I point to the easel as my heart races.
Grab that painting.Already on it.Lauren replies as she rolls it up and stuffs it into her coat.By doing so, another picture on the floor besides the easel is knocked over.This one looks complete but for its framing.
I don't get a good look at it before it lands, however, and it is quickly obscured from sight.Hey, let's get a move on.If they didn't know that we were here before, they do now.Come on, this way.
And together, we run down the route that the frog implied, out from the dining hall and past a multitude of curious rooms.One contains a garden of sorts, another a collection of statues.The air seems to grow thicker as we run.
It becomes harder and harder to push our limbs forward and onwards.Our run slows into a jog, even at full effort.God, I murmur through grunts, it shouldn't be this difficult.We push on into another wide hall.
No tables in this one, though, just a statue of a grim-faced toad, blindfolded and wielding in its hand a set of scales held in precarious balance.They've started getting through, guys, comes that distant and distorted voice from the world above.
There's too many, we can't stop them all.Hurry, they're coming.I study the statue.The scales are held at an angle and each of the weighing pans point down a different corridor.We're close now, I can feel it.And there's a choice to be made.
I let out a low sigh and adjust my stance, and as I do so, a curious thing happens.A trickle of bubbles escapes my lips and drifts up high, where they are lost in the shimmering light of the ceiling.
There's a pause as both Parker and Lauren stare in horror, and Parker drops his hammer in fear.It falls slower than it should.Bubbles start pouring from his mouth as he gasps.There's no air, he cries out.
and it seems for a terrible moment as if his suspension of disbelief is lost.For him, the illusion is broken.How are we even able to breathe down here?I can't get in any.He falls to his knees and clutches his throat, rasping.
It's just water, he shrieks.Water.Parker, Lauren, and I crouch down beside him.You can talk.You can breathe. We're doing so now and you can do the same.It's thick and it's wet, but it's air.Come on, breathe in and out."Parker's face is turning red.
He panics, spluttering and joking.Come on, breathe in and out.And he struggles.He tries to match our breathing.To do so at first, it causes him great distress. but he calms himself down and the bubbles slow their streaming.
His breathing slowly sinks up with ours and gradually he regains control.A minute or more perhaps and the bubbles stop entirely.Parker wipes a sheen of sweat from his forehead.I've cost us time.I'm sorry.Hey, it's alright, I say to him.
But he is right. We raise our heads as the statue before us starts to shake.A voice rumbles through the walls, but this is not the voice of any of the teenagers up above, of the trio guarding the puddle, nor of any low frog or snake.
This is a voice much lower, much darker, much angrier.The voice sends a tremor of dreamlike fear pouring and splashing like cascading waves through my body.It is his voice, I'm certain as it surely can be the voice of no other.Lithorlax. Intruders!
Intruders in my hall!I smell your blood, children of the surface.Dawdle not.Face me if you would face me.Come meet your end and be done with it. I turn to the corridor on the right almost instinctively.That's where he is.
Lithorlax awaits down the corridor to the right.But down the corridor to the left, there is movement.A person, a child.There's another child down here in this place.
A small girl, maybe just over half our age, appears anxiously around the corner, one hand pressed to the wall as she looks us over uncertainly.Hey, are you okay?I call out to her.She panics.She slips and stumbles and turns.
The disheveled nature of her hair and clothes is made briefly clear and she disappears away.Come back, Lauren shouts, but the girl does not. Lauren starts to go after her, and then stops, pausing and looking to me.They both do, her and Parker.
I glance from corridor to corridor, and at the statue between them.Time takes away, rumbles the ethereal voice of Litherlax from the depths of the unknown.Come now, or never. Eric?Lauren asked desperately.What do we do?I fumble for the words.
Time ticks, indeed.If we go after Lithorlax, then we will likely never see the girl again, so she'll be doomed down here.But if she has survived down here for so long already, then who's to say she won't survive a little bit longer?
But you don't know how long she's been down here, Eric.They might be hunting her at this exact moment.She's younger than Benny, though.Far younger.What chance does she have alone?Hell, maybe it's a trap.My decision, however, is made for me.
It is made for me, and I do not have to stress the guilt of choosing one over another. Parker breaks off from the group, reaching down and grabbing up his hammer, running as fast as he's able given our surroundings.
He heads down the corridor to the left after the girl.Turning back over his shoulder, he shouts, Go find Benny.Don't wait up for me.Just save him and get yourselves out of here. Go!"He disappears from sight around the corner.
I grab Lauren by the sleeve of her raincoat and drag her to the right, and together we run in desperate pursuit of our friend and the monster that took him below.
The thick green-gray of the carpet reeds and water grass is now almost waist-high, and it brushes wettly against us as we push on through the corridor, ignoring the occasional bursts of bubbles, dispelled from our movements through the undergrowth.
The air is thick now, and heavy. The walls, as grand as they are, are slimier.The reek of the place grows stronger and stronger as we pass by room after room.The reek is lithorlax, I'm sure of it, and we're close now.
Every time we round a corner I think that this might be it.This might be the one but the corridor is a stretch of maddeningly on. They are coming, echoes the voice of our guardians above the surface of the puddle.The pond folk return to the puddle.
Do you think it'll be okay?Lauren pants breathlessly.Parker, do you think you'll be alright without us?I don't know.We get a focus on Benny first.One hurdle at a time, we go for Benny. The light is changing ahead.
Since the beginning, an aura of subtle blue-green has tinted our surroundings, but that ends at the next corridor.Viscous red shadows are thrown from stone ornaments against the walls.
As I breathe in, I can taste the faint tang of something metallic and bitter. Lauren shoots me a glance.I read her mind in the expression.Lithorlax.
We slow to a cautious stop, hearts pounding and creep around the final corner, ducking behind a statue of an eel, coiled and silent. My innards clench in revulsion at the sight that lies ahead.
The corridor ends in the largest room so far, a great and kingly hall with a single long table that extends almost from wall to wall.The wild grass-like life of the carpet is less obvious in here.
The floors are clearly carefully maintained and often trimmed.There are windows in the wall, the first that I've seen, but beyond the colorful stained glass is only gently swirly and watery mist.
Each window is flanked by statues of Lithorlax himself, and the great table is covered sickeningly and carelessly in the bodies of his victims.I feel a sharp pain and realize that Loren is, perhaps unconsciously, clenching my hand in terror.
The bodies have indeed been drained.There's no other word for it.Drained. As warned the snake, as warned the frog, they are all children, and they are all long dead.Their eyes look blindly at nothing from the hollows of their heads.
They are little more than veinless skins of white and grey, pulled taut across the skeletons within, piled and sprawled across the tablecloths from end to end. My teeth clench hard and I raise my gaze.
The frog is here too, beyond the table at the far side of the room.His shadows are many and red, cast from the ruby chandelier that hangs overhead. His neck is craned back.
He croaks and throws out his arms and pleads with the very creature that we have come all this way to see, the colossus upon his enormous throne of cold and mossy redstone.He is Lithorlax, a bulging, leaking, and writhing leech.
Monstrous in size, his squirming sends ripples of disgusting noise reverberating around the walls.
Slimy and shiny and black, he pulsates grotesquely and the reddish light from the chandelier catches in the faint scarlet markings that run all the way down his various segments.
His middle is thickened and bloated and heaving, and the only distinguishing feature that differentiates his head from his tail is a throbbing, distended ring, coated in black ooze, that now hangs menacingly above the quivering, pleading frog.
But it makes no sense for monocles.The great leech warbles.His mouth does not move in time to the words, rather they seem to seep from the membrane of his very skin.I do not understand how they found the strength to breathe.
You assured me that the air was thicker than human children could handle, one force to exertion. It should be.Oh, Litherlax the Great Drainer.They must have tricks.They are sneaks.Arrogant and stupid.Litherlax's voice drops an octave.
His wet and pulsing mouth lowers closer to the anxious frog.Maya's nod for excuses.Tell me at the least, did you finish the portraits?Are they ready for hanging in my gallery? For monocles the frog squirms from leg to leg.
I finished the first, Litherlax King, the girls.Litherlax rumbles and he draws back, ooze leaking from his ring of lips and onto his throne with a splatter.That will do then, for now. Lauren and I exchange a fearful look.The girl?
Does he mean the young one in the corridor?The one that Parker ran after?Our question is answered immediately, however, and we are wrong.
Litherlack slithers round in a quick half-circle, his lower body thrumming excitedly as he reaches up to the high ceiling.We follow his movements and gasp.Lauren slams a hand over her mouth. I can't believe that we didn't see them sooner.
In cages colored in the same patterns as the ceiling hung from great long chains are two children, a girl of about fourteen, and Benny.Bring the cages around and open the first.
Firmonacle starts to the edge of the room and pulls on a great grey lever. freeing a metal wheel in the wall which he then spins around in his slippery grip.
With a great clank and grinding of gears unseen, the cages, following some kind of rusted rail, jerk awkwardly along their routes and closer to the center of the room, above the great table. Eric!"Lauren hisses.What are we going to do?
But I don't know.I don't know what to do.The cage with the teenage girl in starts to descend, swinging on its chain as it does so, and then six or so feet above the table, the floor of the cage slams open.
and the girl falls screaming to the pile of corpses below.And with the speed surprising for his bulbous and bloated size, Litherlack starts forward.
His gray-black, oozy ring of lips peels sickeningly back to reveal three pinkish-gray, beak-like jaws. Please."The girl cries out in panic, bubbles pouring from her mouth as she throws up her hands in meager defense, but she stands no chance.
Lither lacks his fangs, each no bigger than my own fist, munch deliriously into her side and with a sword of blood as she is brought down writhing.
The creature's lips roll back over the fangs to fix like suckers on the girl's side and in the space of no more than ten seconds he drains her. His body pulsates as great gulps of blood are drawn into his focused, contracting and monstrous body.
His innards groan and growl with satisfaction as the girl withers like a leaf before our eyes. The frog watches from the sidelines, a picture of quiet terror.Does he see himself in the place of the girl, perhaps?I do not know.
Lither lacks gorges for another full minute, draining the girl of every last possible drop.The gears turn in my head, piecing together all the information that I have available. creating a plan as best as I can.
The frog, despite his nerves, finds the courage to clear his throat and to interrupt.My, my lord, the children, the surface dwellers, they will be here soon, surely.Litholax grunts and disconnects with a shower of droplets of blood.
He raises his head to the ceiling, quivering as his sucker-like mouth throbs in pleasure. The girl's corpse tumbles from the table to join another on the grassy floor.He laughs.He chortles and his segments shiver and quake.Oh, for monocles.Worry not.
I smelled the surface dwellers the moment they arrived. He swivels, and his dark, wet mouth now points precisely this way.My blood chills in its veins.They are already here.
Lithorlax darts suddenly forwards, and with a burst of adrenaline, Lauren and I scramble to the side, running out into the hall as Lithorlax knocks into the statue.It totters, but does not fall.
Surface dwellers, victims to be, how good of you to deliver yourselves to me. I am most grateful. "'Lauren,' I mutter.Get to the lever, bring down Benny's cage."
"'Yes, Lauren,' Litherlacks laughs and taunts as he slithers around us like an oozing Leviathan, knocking bodies beyond count to the floor as he moves over the table and blocks Lauren's path to the wall."'Get to the lever.
What can you hope to achieve in my halls, children?You are outmatched and outclassed. You have wandered to your doom."I pause in fright and worry that perhaps the Great Leech might well be right.I look at my hands at Lorenz.
Our weapons will do little against this thing.A bat and a hockey stick.Blunt instruments.
The body of Lithorlax would need to be pierced to be seriously harmed, and the only one of us with a weapon of any sharpness at all is Parker, who chose the path on the left. I look to Lauren, and she looks back and sees the determination in my eyes.
The plan still holds, they say, and she gives me a brief, almost imperceptible nod.I sidestep away from her, throat wet and moist with the thickness of the air, and I force out a string of taunts.You disgust me, Litherlax.
Why do you lurk down here in the depths?You only ever take one shout at a time. Are you ashamed, is that it?Ashamed of surface dwellers seeing you for what you really are?A common leech, bloated behind its place.
I see the frog tense up against the wall in dismay.Lithorlax bubbles and frosts with indignation, turning his full attention to me as Lorenz steps slowly but deliberately around him, past the table of bodies and steadily over to the wall.
The frog sees your approach but dares not to speak for fear of breaking the tension. and drawing the focus of Litherlax's rage.How dare you!
Litherlax blusters, his body bulging and his head dropping almost to my level, his sucker-like mouth pulsating angrily, leaking ooze to the floor by my feet.His breath reeks of iron and blood.Do not see how I drained my latest meal.
I could do the same to you now with ease. I hold my ground, a sweat leaking down my back.He pauses.
But I must admit, to make it this far to stand against such power and strength with such boldness, I respect that, as much as I might pretend otherwise.I will give you one final chance.Turn tail and return to the surface.
Turn around now and never come back. This sudden change in demeanor sends my alarm bells ringing.I don't buy it for a second.This supposed random compassion.This creature who steals children from the surface.
He who drains them of all their blood and leaves them strewn about his halls. I have seen his speed and his strength, yes.I don't doubt that he has the power to drain me in seconds if he so chose.But he hasn't, has he?
I glance up to the cage, suspended by its chain.Benny looks down at me, silent but eyes wide, hands gripped tight around the bars.And nor has Litherlack strained Benny.
I glance from the statues of Litherlax to his enormous throne, to the cowering body of Hermonicals the artist frog.I consider the portraits in their hundreds, lining the walls of Litherlax's below-puddle, pond-mansion home.It's his pride.
That's why he can't bring himself to drain me, and his pride will be his downfall. Lauren is reached for monocles and the frog at last can't contain himself no longer.
My lord, he croaks desperately, ducking to avoid the smack of Lauren's hockey stick against the wall behind him.Do it Lauren, I shout to her, keeping my eyes firmly on their legs.If he has eyes himself, I cannot see them.
Lililax pays the commotion no mind and I address my next words to he.As Lauren pulls the lever and turns the wheel, Benny's cage rattles down the chain and drops, opening at the base and our friend falls down onto the corpses below with a grunt.
Litherlax, I begin.Litherlax, you liar.You compassionless monster.As much as you might want to, you can't eat us now, can you?You just can't.Because we haven't been immortalized as portraits, as trophies for your gallery.
God forbid you lose track of your conquests.Litherlax sees, raising himself up to his full height, but I continue, fists clenched and legs shaking. What if you were to go right ahead and drain us right here and now?
Would your frog servant be able to complete the portraits having seen us so little? You would screw them up, surely.They would be wrong, embarrassing mistakes.Permanent reminders of the children who dared to come down and face you, hearing your lair.
I nod to Benny now by my side, cowering from the Great Leech.We've destroyed Benny's work in progress, I lie, thinking about the picture currently rolled up in Lauren's jacket.
Does Hermonicals possess the talent to start from scratch, using nothing but his own memory?I shoot an icy glare to the frog across the room and he cowers back as if stricken with a blow.Lauren has begun to make her way around the edge of the room.
The walls shake.So I think we're done here, Lithorlax.We'll be on our way now. Litherlax throbs for a moment more, and then screams down towards us, hot and blood-rich, watery air sent blasting across our faces.
I should drain you now for your insolence.How dare you!How dare you!He splutters and writhes, angrily slamming his tail across the table and knocking a myriad of bodies to the grass. Respect is a two-way street, you disgusting leech.I reply, lovely.
Litherlacks rise in rage, but he does not strike, and I can only presume that my theory holds.I reach out for Loren's hand, and I haul Benny up to his feet by the back of his shirt.And together, we back our way out from the hall.Fine.Fine.
Consider yourselves escapees, if you will.Enjoy your victory while it lasts. You may be spared the fate of my power, children of the surface, but the pond folk will have you.They will tear you apart as pond scum and feast upon your bones.
So go, go to them, go to them and reap your reward."Litherlack swivels and pulsates, slithering his way back to the throne as Tail whips back and slams into the wall, leaving a dent into deep dark stain. The ground rumbles, and the ponfolk approach.
Guys!Benny begins, his voice rich with gratitude and surprise.But there is no time, not now.We just run, us three, back the way we came.It's harder now to retrace our steps, but we do our best.
Running from corridor to corridor as the general roar and rumble that one associates with crowds grows louder and louder ahead, we hear shouting and panic and clamor.
Corner after corner, and there at the statue of the toad with the scales, lays Parker.He has his arm thrown around the girl and they cower together in the center of a commotion. He had found her.A ring of creatures surrounds them.
They are angry and frustrated and scared.Some as big as me, some smaller, some larger. Parker turns to us at the sound of our approach, bruised and jaw-clenched tight.The air once again seems thick, far too thick.It's curious how it comes and goes.
Bubbles drift up from the disturbed grass to the misty ceiling, and I do my best to ignore them.Parker is unarmed, and after another second of scanning the crowd, it reveals his hammer is held tightly in the hand of a newt.
raised and poised as if about to strike.The Newt, along with his comrades, turn to regard us, his yellow eyes bulging, his pupils narrowing and widening with uncertainty.
Intruders, he whispers, and the word is echoed amongst the others, the frogs and toads and turtles, An enormous fish, suspended impossibly above the ground and floating in place, raises a fin.Her mouth gulps open.
You think we can't feel it, she splutters.The tension in the water.Litherlax is disturbed, and it's all your fault.Who will he take out his anger upon?I ask you, who?A murmur of agreement ripples around the group.
At the mention of water I see a stream of bubbles rise up from Parker's mouth.He screws his eyes tight shut in concentration.I watch him regain control of his breathing.The girl clutches tight to his arm.
Let us pass, pawnfolk," I say to them in a loud voice.Let us go on our way.Look, I don't want to fight you.And we won't, Lauren interrupts.I turn to her as do all the eyes in the room.She steps forwards and drops her hockey stick to the ground.
We aren't so different, really, we aren't."The tension is palpable, but they hold her words and she continues.Please, just let us go.We are sorry for disturbing you, for disturbing all of you, but we had no choice.
And Litherlax is weak, weaker than he pretends.He cannot paint for himself his trophies.He needs your skills for that. The creatures look down to their hands, webbed in long and green and gray.
He might be large now, but he relies upon the blood of his victims to grow, blood that he struggles to drain before his conquest is immortalized.
If he can't get his meals, he will shrink, and he can't get his meals if the paintings are never completed.He is bound by his pride. They look at each other, these creatures from below.There is a general murmur of unease, of cautious hope.
Foolish girl, says the newt.He pushes aside his fellows and steps from the circle.If we try to hold Litherlack's back from his prey, he will turn on us.He will drain us dry in their place.Has he ever?
Is there even a single painting of one of your kind in this entire mansion? The newt stirs.I can see the watery cogs turn fast in his brain. He doesn't need portraits for us.We aren't worthy of the title of trophy.We don't need to be painted, surely.
But he doesn't sound convinced.He just doesn't know.He doesn't know for sure.Please, Lauren urges, stepping forwards and taking his slippery hands in hers.Just let us go, just this time.
The Newt does not respond, but slowly ever so slowly, as if fighting against his own instincts, he steps to one side.And following his lead, the others do the same.Silently they part and a path opens up through the crowd center.
Parker is back on his feet.He clutches tight to the girl's hand, and the five of us quietly make our way through the pond folk. We pass them all by, creature after creature, and we leave them behind.And then once the corner has been rounded, we run.
We run for the final time back along the corridors, back past the rooms, back through the dining room, and back through the hall with the snake's pedestal.
Back past the portraits, painting after painting, I detect from the portraits a faint smell of blood that I hadn't noticed before.
And just as exhaustion threatens to take a hold, the stairs appear in our sights at the end of the hall, the gravestone steps.A little further, I call out.Just a little further.
And before we know it, we feel the hard stone of the stairs beneath our feet. Up we climb and we feel the rush of the bubbles grow stronger now, irresistibly strong.They rush about our ears and blur our vision.
Struggling to breathe now, I can only push forwards, handheld with someone else.I can't tell who in the madness.Climbing and climbing.
and with a sudden gasp of cool night air at the puddle that is behind me, I become instantly aware that I am drenched to the bone and stagger from the puddle with my hair in my eyes, leaking down my face.
I stumble and slip, crashing down with a grunt back into the water. The water that now is surely no more than a few inches deep.I feel the rough, wet, stony earth of the ground against my hands beneath.
I turn over onto my back and push my hair from my eyes, spitting out a mouthful of pond water, panting, and I see them. Lauren and Parker and the girl that he had rescued from below.And Benny, alive and safe.I grin at the boy and he grins right back.
Lauren squeezes him into a hug and Parker does much the same.Jesus, comes a voice from behind.It's one of the trio the kids tasked with guarding the pond. They did their best.
I know that they would have held back the creatures for as long as they could.I turn to face him, and as I do so, the girl that we saved runs straight from the water, right into his arms.
The remaining teenagers stare with their mouths wide open as the two emotionally embrace, and it becomes clear to me that the two are siblings.It's obvious, really, when you think to look.
"'Emma,' he chokes, "'I never thought that I would see you again."'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."'I should have come for you myself, "'if I had any idea that you would still be... "'still be alive.'He trails off and breaks down into sobs.
and we watch as the moon appears from behind a cloud, bathing the dripping girl and her brother in its cool and silvery light.Movement to my right catches my eye.I look down to the grass.There sits a little frog.
It regards me in silence, its neck swelling and contracting, the light of the moon shining as sparkles in the corners of its eyes.And then it hops down into the water and promptly disappears.
It's been almost two months since then, and no more kids have disappeared.The teenager who blamed himself for Benny's disappearance has taken it upon himself to set up dedicated groups and patrols.
No one walks alone, he proclaimed, and to this day he's kept his promise. Benny's fine.He worries that he'll never be able to truly repay the debt that he owes us, despite our constant reassurances that he owes us no debt at all.And Lithorlax.
I do not know if the Pondfolk ever conducted their uprising, but the seeds have at least been sown, and no one's seen or heard from him since. Today's episode is sponsored by Rocket Money.
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Cancel your unwanted subscriptions by going to RocketMoney.com slash Mr. Creeps.That's RocketMoney.com slash Mr. Creeps.RocketMoney.com slash Mr. Creeps.I'm a member of the Danish Special Forces.My team encountered something in northern Denmark.
Written by Forest Has Eyes. I am a member of a special operations force in the Danish Royal Navy, more popularly known as the Danish Frogmen.
For those of you who are well knowledgeable on international special forces, you've probably seen that now famous photo of a fireteam aboard a boat with veils obscuring their faces.
That is also probably one of the only pieces of information that you've ever received on us, as my home country's Naval Special Warfare Unit is shrouded in mystery for a good reason.
We are NATO's silent workhorse, having followed larger nations and militaries into conflict zones such as Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, the Balkans, and to some places that aren't declassified.
Out of the nearly 600 applicants that we get every year, less than a dozen actually make it in, and fewer still are able to give up everything to make this a long-term career.
I am one of the few, and I have been with the teams for several years and have found great pride in my service.Above all, I have been committed to every aspect of my job, and that includes the vow of silence we take.That is, until today.
I have waged war against men from every corner of the world, stayed sanctioned and true believer in terrorists, yet the fight that shook me to my core wasn't on some far-off battlefield, but right here at home.
For the sake of those that I've served with and lost, codenames will be used to obscure their identity and mine.I lead a four-man team element under a larger squadron, Codfish as I'll call him as our commsman.
skilled in being able to obtain and maintain connection no matter the environment, no matter the equipment.
For those of you who are in, say, the American or British militaries, we use the same ANPRC radio series that you guys do, and yes, they do suck.
However, Codfish has always been able to make do, which is why I've fought so hard to keep him on my team. Next is my designated marksman, Anglerfish.
Frogman teams are commonly used as a reconnaissance element to move ahead of a larger element and act as an early warning or a forward guard.
Anglerfish is an essential part of that as he utilizes a powerful scope to help detail the path and its terrain around it, along with being able to reach out and touch anyone we need removed.
The pipeline for becoming a Danish sniper is one of the most grueling and humbling courses you could take, and it requires a fair amount of calculation, humility, and control.He is all of these things.
On the other side of the spectrum we have my gunner, Large Mouth. Any military element assembled needs a suitable amount of firepower in case things go wrong, because they can and almost certainly will.
Large Mouth is one of the junior guys on my unit and thus is being given a simple yet important task to maintain. The team's fire support.
Despite his inexperience, his ability to maintain rates of fire and ammo count, keep his head down and do it all under the mission set of a frogman.And then there's me, Kraken.
I've served with the unit for almost 10 years now, experienced in four official theaters and two classified ones. My CO calls me his hammer, the one he sends in to take an objective that is absolutely essential.
Okay, now that you've got the context of my team, let's get down to it.Danish SOCOM is seen as one of NATO's finest units, and because of that it's not uncommon for us to be called upon even as we are back home.
However, when I got the text for my team to spin up, I was surprised to learn that we weren't going to any active theater, but something right here at home.
In total, our complete element was around 12 servicemen, and all of us were ushered into one of the briefing rooms per usual.However, details were slim to none. It all started with the arrival of that damned fog.
It's not uncommon this was during the height of the breakup season after all, well into the snow completely thawing and giving way to humidity and rain, with much of the northern marshlands near the north coast experiencing this.
However, this wasn't normal.Centering around a small village over the course of three weeks, all communications went from sporadic to broken to nothing.
The military wanted to get involved at first, however the government wanted the locals to handle it, leaving it to them to let things go from bad to worse.Investigators were sent in and immediately all contact was lost with them.
After several days, only one transmission came from the town before everything went silent.We're with her now. We have no need for our flesh or the outside world.She's giving us all we need.She's going to make us beautiful."
Finally, the Royal Navy was set loose and things only got more complicated from there.
UAVs were sent in to try and survey the area, only to find almost the entire area beyond the village was engulfed in a dense fog that a 30 million crown drone was unable to penetrate with neither thermal, IRS, or anything.
With these situations seeming dire, SOCOM prepared a full maneuver and needed their best to be the tip of the spear, and so the Frogmen were called upon.
This wasn't an unusual mission for us, there was no knowledge of enemy combatants that we could rationalize and then distance ourselves from. This was the unknown.A village on our home soil was being held hostage by something.We didn't know what.
But what we did know was that every single soul that lived there was waiting for us to swoop in and help.And by every soul that we have ever failed, every god that has ever lived, we were going to.
The walkout to the tarmac seemed a lot more tense than it normally had, and for reasons unknown to me, the insertion would occur at nighttime.
Maybe our command believed our usual tactics of night infiltration would give us an advantage prior missions did not.Whatever it was, they were wrong. Usually, we would be climbing aboard a plane to be sent to a different continent.
However, instead, we loaded up into a Lynx, a British dual twin-engine helicopter used for close insert.This felt a lot more like a deployment than it did home turf.The flight was short, 30 minutes, but it felt like hours.
I kept gripping my rifle, an MK18, a short-barreled rifle imported from the US. Plenty of the corpse had started to use the new SIG MCXs, but my quad-railed workhorse had carried me through several tours so like my team I trusted it.
Even inside of the helicopter with noise-canceling headphones, the sound of the engine was deafening, shaking my skull and combating the unsure scenario that had gripped my mind. I looked up to see Large Mouth locking eyes with me.
Nodding with the thumbs up, I returned the gesture.No matter what we would face, we would encounter it together.We arrived at a staging ground near the Yergerby River.The fog complicated things to the point where an LZ for a bird couldn't be planned.
Not just because of any possible OPFOR in the area of operation, but well, the mist wouldn't allow the pilots to see any trees or flora which could turn a quick landing into a mass casualty scenario.So we did things the frogman way from the water.
A rigid-hull inflatable boat, or a zodiac.They're the inflatable boat seen in every action movie.They're cumbersome, they get shaken and thrown by any small waves, and they're all around just a damn pain to use.
However, they're somewhat still the most reliable source of redundant amphibious transportation that we had second to swimming.Our CO gave us our ramp brief right then and there in the dock. It was short and to the point.
Whatever mist exists seems to be screwing with the comms.Whether it's moisture or something else, they're going to have to formulate a conclusion as to what's going on, and if they can, neutralize it.
If not, we were to cut fallback and let the heavy guns roll in.We knew what that meant, and that we had better hope we could find a much cleaner solution while we were on the ground.
A pit in my stomach formed as we all stepped onto our rubber chariot and started off.
With darkness fully set in, the naked eye couldn't see anything and so we took to using our GP-NFGs, quadnods as some would say, a set of four tubes allowing for a wide view that made the dark seem as clear as day, albeit with a white and blue hue.
This allowed us to safely travel down the river.Anglerfish taking point, largemouth sat near the front in case we took any incoming fire, codfish and I on either side. However, the ride got slower as we finally encountered the fog.
It seemed almost as if one moment it was there and the next it was all over us.You could barely see the edges of the river and the green near it so Angler had to crank way the hell down.
It then became a slow crawl through the marsh, our Zodiac turning left and right through the weaving river as the IR lasers mounted to our weapons scanned across the edges of the fog, ready in case anything were to test us.
And then we were only a few kilometers from the village when the engine suddenly died.One second the low hum of the propellers and the next it was off.This caused Angler to gaze back in surprise, a low mutter of, what the hell?
Largemouth kept watch as the rest of us moved to inspect the engine.Codfish opened it up and was astounded. It's in perfect condition," he muttered, looking up at me.Something's preventing it from igniting, so it just won't start.
As he continued to dig deeper into the engine, triple-checking to make sure his assessment wasn't wrong, I sat there debating our options as the Zodiac drifted to a halt as the water remained deathly still, leaving us all in a permeable silence.
That's what I noticed first, the silence.We frogmen spend a lot of time in the field, figuratively and literally soaking in nature's worst yet most pure conditions.I've spent a lot of time up to my mouth in swamp water and mud.
And taking in nature, you realize something.There is always some sort of sound.A cricket, a bird, anything.Heat had returned to Europe, so the winter's cold wasn't in effect.
Living creatures had come out of hibernation, and there are some LZs that I've been to where these cicadas are so loud that we had to yell at each other in order to hear.
And yet here, dead silence, all ambience sound muffled by whatever the hell this fog was made of, and the water was still.This was an active river, there should be some sort of current.And yet, whatever was in these woods commanded its respect.
The forest around us was much more afraid of it than it was a team of Danish special forces operatives.We had to tread carefully, I reached for something on my vest, a push-to-talk device that connected our headsets to a team frequency.
Usually, we were close enough to not need it.However, it helped to minimize the amount of noise it made.We aren't getting any further on water.We need to ditch the raft and head in on foot, I said.
Codfish gave up on the engine and took up a watch position.From over the channel, Anglerfish asked, What about our X-Film?
We'll have to take the long way out," I responded, slinging my rifle as I braced myself and dropped feet first into the icy river and dragged the raft ashore.As we stepped foot on soil, we beached the craft and maneuvered forward in a wedge.
Largemouth to my right, Anglerfish to my left as he always seemed to help pick the best route to maneuver on.Codfish further back to keep our comms out of direct fire.
The mist gave us little to no line of sight, only being able to see around 5 meters ahead of us at the most and that was it.An ambush could be waiting around any stomp any long.
The trees were so condensed it meant that we had to twist and turn with every single step, and above all I felt watched. I don't mean by my team, by something from beyond the veil, predatory, malicious.
It was burning a hole through my soul, watching us, waiting.This wasn't ideal and we were only a couple of steps from FUBAR. Finally, through the milky gray wall, I finally caught sight of what we had been waiting for.
The rooftop corner of a one-floor house and part of a wooden fence, poking through the fog like bones to be uncovered.The air was still, too still, considering the port that we had departed from was as windy as could be.
I quickly motioned for my team to halt.Everybody stopped in a dime with not a sound between us. From there, we took up positions.Largemouth took cover behind a large tree and sighted what seemed to be the road into town just to our 9 o'clock.
Denmark's roads are decent, but this far out, it left a considerable amount of dirt, cracks, and wear to be seen.Anglerfish covered our 3 o'clock, and Codfish knelt down and heaved his radio pack up off his back.
The unit was green brick only visible from the antenna that remained half-extended through the top of his bag.Fishing out the hand mic, he prepared to update our unit on our progress.
That was until he muttered under his breath in pain, dropping the hand mic.What the hell?It shocked me, he said, favoring his hand. That wasn't good, these radios were lined with plastic and metal preventing any sort of harm to the user.
Codfish tried again, keying into the hand mic however, and shook his head.I'm getting nothing, he said as he unzipped the bag and revealed the screen and button pad of the radio.To our surprise, it was dead.No frequency, no information, nothing.
You made sure the battery pack was fresh, right?"I asked to Codfish's conclusion as he pulled the metal brick from the bag.Of course I don't.What the… Codfish's words trailed off when he opened up the radio.
The beige square battery along with the entire inside of the radio was layered with moss.He had to fight to pry the battery out showing that it was caked in it, along with a ton of condensation. You know how to maintain your equipment."
Large Mouth said, gazing at the sight as he went back to scanning the road.I'll shut your mouth, of course I do.Codfish snapped back in a harsh whisper.
It wasn't uncommon for moisture in a fog this thick to leak through bags, fatigues, rocks, but these radios were, under reasonable circumstances, able to hold up against being rained on for a considerable amount of time.
That, and when the batteries are locked in, the compartment is virtually sealed, and it was inside a waterproof bag.Codfish hadn't dropped into the river as well.Something wasn't right.
The more we fussed over the radio, the more it seemed the darkness around us was closing in, smothering us.You think your Harris can reach it?I asked, referencing the smaller radio mounted to his vest.
We all had them to communicate throughout our headsets if need be, and they could reach out quite a ways.However, a proper radio unit was needed for sustainable communication.He switched to the radio and keyed in.
Any station on this net, I am requesting a radio jack. I heard his words buzz through my headset.Only silence answered, and so I tried.Element lead to main, radio check over.Any station?Nothing.
Although no words were said, I could feel the unanimous feeling of dread wash over all of us. Pick up, we're heading in," I said, rising to my feet.What about our comms?We've got no way to alert Maine.Codfish asked, packing away his radio.
We still need to figure out what's happened.No info, no point of us being here, and we're all sitting dogs.I explained. I looked to Large Mouth.You got anything?He shook his head.Negative.Road is empty.Scanning with his MG3.
At the very least, we still had the elements of surprise, hopefully.What about you?I asked Anglerfish.No response from my designated marksman as he continued to stare out into the swamp, his rifle braced against the tree.
I looked to Codfish who gazed back, a mutual look of nervousness. I called out to Anglerfish again, and after a moment he seemed to shake his head, coming out of disassociation.No, nothing.He said picking up and preparing to move.You good?
I asked, locking eyes with his tubes as he slowly turned, staring at me.Yeah, he said in a low tone. A pit in my stomach grew deeper with every single step we took into that hell.However, I didn't have the luxury of stopping for long.None of us did.
I had my team form into a diamond.Godfish and Dankler fished to my right and left, with Largemouth covering our back.
The roads were definitely experiencing the effects of the rainy season after several weeks of no maintenance, as a layer of mud and gravel kicked the surface.
The houses around us were dark, filled with shadows and pitch-black voids, a mix of old-style stone and hay and newer brick houses with wooden tiles.However, all of them looked deserted.
I probably would have been shivering from the wet cold of the air, had adrenaline not been pumping through every vein in my body.
The low visibility of the fog and darkness left a thousand avenues of ambush and approach that needed to be covered for a million possibilities.
Our home was being overrun by whatever the parasitic mist had brought, and every single step we took drew us further and further into this mobile kill box. and I could tell my men were feeling it.
Codfish focused far too much on certain windows and shadows, causing him to quickly yet messily snap to a few points.
From the corner of my vision through the white-blue of my nods, I could see Largemouth's head snapping back again and again, yet Anglerfish seemed distant.
Snipers needed to be calm, comfortable in uncomfortable situations, but he seemed too much to the point of complacent.I wanted to call it out, yet a shape from my front caused me to halt my team.
We all took a knee trying to hug the side of the road for cover as we were in the worst possible position.It was rectangular, four doors with a license plate that read AW65683, with a light bar on the top.
Through the low light I could see it was white with jagged markings.A police patrol vehicle.The front and rear left side doors were opened.The back window was smashed from a circular impact mark.Blunt force trauma, a rock or a brick.
No signs of life from where we were.We moved in, anglerfish and largemouth took the right side, IR laser scanning through as codfish and I cleared the open left.It was empty.
I and my team set in as I ordered codfish to inspect the radios, seeing if there was anything that we could work with.After a few seconds, he called me over.He was leaning in on the passengers.I slid in the driver's head, flipping up my night vision.
Codfish shined a red light and it was how he illuminated an area that we needed to see without nods, without giving up our position light a white light would.
It wasn't that great but as the red glow shined over the dashboard where our radio should be, only an empty radio mounted remained, covered in moss.In fact, the entire inside of the vehicle was dripping wet.
While I initially thought it was the fog, the similarities to our radio sent a chill up my spine.What do you think?Codfish asked.What did I think?I knew that whatever cut off our ability to contact our support did so to the local forces.
It was attempting to dissect through severing information chains.I knew that something was watching us, as every pore on my back felt like it was on fire from something staring into it.This fog was a screening device.
It aided the town, deteriorating it, taking the people and leaving ghosts behind.However, my team was on edge already and the last thing that I needed to do was rile them up.We need to keep moving, I muttered.
Codfish hesitated for a second before exiting the vehicle. We kept maneuvering down the road.Nothing but shadows and silence greeted us as you could hear the sounds of our boots treading through the mud and rock from every corner of this place.
Per our orders, we tried to locate any person or look for any signs of life.To no avail.Doors remained unlocked and opened.As we quietly breached and entered, we found no one.Just a layer of dust and water over everything.
This continued for house after house as we tried our best to clear through, investigate, and came up with nothing.But still I waited wondering where the first strike was going to come from.
We were in no position to make it not since we had stepped off those docks.We were the best of the best and I was leading us to our demise.
We had reached the center point of the village, a large stone church with a main tower that jutted up at at least 20 meters high, piercing the fog.In fact, the mist seemed to get thinner the closer we got to it.
My laser traced the stained glass windows and doors, the slits beside the doors, the stone stairs.Might be a good point to rest at, I said, turning back to Large Mouth.Cover the road, I'm going to.
Our low-toned discussion was cut off by a loud bang that shook the silence of the village.The crack and thump jolted us awake as instincts took over, a sound that we were all too familiar with.A gunshot.It had arrived. Contact!
Largemouth yelled, seeing the assailant before I had.He took aim at the church door with an MG3 and let loose.The German belt-fed machine gun is referred to as the buzzsaw for good reason.
In another time, another life, it had acted as a human wave reducer, and now our best chance at survival is it tore through the wood with a thunderous burst.
The rest of us quickly rushed to the church's stone wall, taking cover as Largemouth placed his gun on the top face of it. We were in no position to burn ammo with no comms and meant no chance for resupply and so I called.Watch and shoot!
Codfish covered us from behind as Angler took aim at the church with large mouth.I kept my back to the wall then looked over at my gunner. What did you see?"A handgun from between the doors cracked off a shot.
Largemouth said sights glued to the front of the church.Aimed at us, I asked to confirm.However, he retorted, it was aimed out when it fired.Likely just a bad shot, lucky for us.Codfish immediately snapped at Largemouth.
You didn't even confirm if it was firing at us.It could be a scared civilian."We saw the patrol vehicle.The police were compromised.Largemouth argued.I'll both of you shut it, I barked, silencing their feud.We need to move.
Our position is no longer a secret.Anglerfish muttered, gazing at the fog.My eyes followed his, as I muttered.It never was. A voice from the church called out.
Anglerfish and I quickly at her sights trammed in the door with Largemouth as Codfish kept watch elsewhere.From the doors, the handgun, a revolver, was tossed out to the steps.
As a police officer carefully stepped out, arms raised, Largemouth looked at me as I peeked over the wall.We're Royal Army, identify yourself. The man's head dipped back in relief.Oh, thank God.
I'm Officer Leister, he said, confirming his affiliation.I stood up, a leap of faith that was returned when the officer dropped his hands.He then looked around, anxious of the situation as he gestured us inside.
Quickly, that exchange will not go unnoticed.Although largemouths showed obvious signs of hesitation, I took the lead stating, pick up your weapon, you're going to need it.Leicester then grabbed his revolver and ushered us in.
Inside the church, we had finally found it.Signs of life, or what was left anyways.
Village inhabitants had taken cover behind pews and tables, dimly lit candles illuminating the central area as the windows had been covered with curtains and blankets.The silence of the church broke out and relieved sighs and mutters as we entered.
Mothers hugged daughters and sons, grandmothers, but little to no males aside from Leister and a couple of other officers. I took this chance to flip up my nods.Leister quickly shoved what was left of the door closed as another officer barred it.
Largemouth pulled off his helmet as I could see steam from his hot sweat entering the cool air.Why'd you open fire?I asked Leister who rubbed his temples embarrassed.
I thought you were one of them," Leister said cryptically, deepening the pit in my stomach as I asked.Them.Leister then gestured to behind us.The church's priest greeted us, bowing his head.We are so glad to see you.
We are running desperately low, the old man said, tears welling up in his eyes.It's all right, Largemouth said, setting the MG3 down on its biped as he knelt.
From what I can only guess was him attempting to alleviate the back pain that every machine gunner felt.
I ordered Anglerfish to take up a good overwatch position, to which he immediately climbed a small set of scaffolds used to help replace and maintain the church's windows, stopping at a circular one above the doors.
I heard you say that you were Army," the priest said.I nodded.Our radios are down, so for now it's only us.We've been sent in as the forward element to figure out what happened here.It's a swamp witch," Officer Leister muttered. Repeat that, what?"
Codfish asked.Not just any, the priest said.He paused for a moment, locking eyes with all three of us before he took a shaky inhale and explained.
Over the past several years, the children who lived here said that they saw the current in the nearby bayou break. However, something changed.
When the rainy season arrived, the mist that would come and go didn't leave, and as our home became more and more shrouded, people began to disappear.First the men, and then the police when they tried to investigate.
Before long, people started to take refuge. I looked to Lyster, dread-filling his eyes as he looked to the floor and then back to me.I tried to lead a search party out there, he said, breaking off as he fought to steady his voice.
We couldn't even see what was taking our guys out there before it was just me and a handful of others, he said.I looked back to the priest.Despair of the past several weeks was clashing with the relief of us being here.
Even if it was just the four of us, it was hope to them. So, what the hell is it?Nixie.The priest stated, forcing his mouth to utter the word like it was a damn tax.
Some tales describe her as malicious, a being that lurks the swamps, hoping to kidnap.Others describe her as curious.This seems to be the former.
This was a lot to take in, some sort of legend from the folklore that was entrenched in our home as the Soiled and Dirtwise. I wanted to believe it was Hysteria, the priest and officer, attempting to rationalize it.
But that didn't explain the fog, the moss, the feeling of being watched, the disappearances.Them.Wait.What did you mean by them?I quickly asked Leister, and just as he was about to speak, Anglerfish called down.We've got movement.
Front of the church, woodline, from our tent to our three.He started, checking the chamber of his rifle. Leister's eyes quickly locked with mine.You're about to find out.Once again, my instinct as a leader took over.
I ordered the priest to get everybody to the safest position they could, which as he then called out, to the cellar, hurry.An anxious yet surprisingly orderly stampede filled the church as the dozens inside hurried underground.
I grabbed Leister by the arm and told him and his officer to get down there and keep the people safe, but not before saying, blow out every light you got here, we need it dark.
Leister nodded, snapping into action as he and his men put out every single candle that they could.I flipped on my nods and what was once a warm and orange room, became a dark, blue and white battlefield.
Largemouth was already set up, poking his MG3 through a gap in the broken wooden door as Codfish took aim through one of these slits beside it.With no entrances on any other side of the church, we prepared to defend the front.
I peeked through the other slip beside the door, rifle first, my suppressor leading as all our eyes were glued to the wood line across the street that our IR lasers scanned intensely like a light show, and what I saw sent a shiver down my spine.
People, the disappeared, those taken, all walked through the marsh and tall grass across from the church.The butcher, tailor, and all those in between and many of the lost officers all walked to the edge of the road and stopped.
Their movements were unnatural in the way they just stood there opposing us, daring us.A leader amongst them emerged.The police chief.Even from across the street I could see the blank face that he had as he stared wide-eyed at us.
Silence filled the church and then broken up by the muffled cries of the civilians downstairs.Mothers trying to desperately calm their children.
The thing that was the police chief then spoke, his voice monotone like a puppet being controlled, yet his words came out smoothly. Too smoothly.Come on out.We need not fight.A minute of silence passed.I gazed over to Codfish who gazed back.
Largemouth was locked in place taking aim.There is no playbook on this.How in the hell were you supposed to negotiate with a thing?A paranormal anomaly?I barked back with whatever I could think of. What did Nixie offer you?
More happiness than we had ever known.His answer was immediate and the artificial attempted emotion behind his words shook something deep down inside of me.His voice echoed across the chapel as he continued. You can feel it too, as can all of them.
Just come outside."What's the play?"Anglerfish asked.We should just lay into them, Largemouth suggested.Codfish scoffed.Enough of your bullheadedness, he muttered.I looked out and gazed at the chief who even now I thought was looking directly at me.
You're going to betray everybody you swear to protect, the woman, the children?"I asked.And then a smile crossed his face as he said, Oh, don't worry.Once the children went underneath, they've never felt pain again. My throat ran dry.
The last thing I heard was Largemouth angrily cursing beneath his breath as he let loose.
The retrofitted suppressor that he had mounted onto the front of his gun barely contained the thunderous sound of a long burst of rounds as they tore through the night, yellow and red.
The brick of the church shook, the door swayed slightly, and I saw the tracers and rounds tear the police chief in half where he stood, and then the horde mounted at the edge of the marsh rushed the chapel.
Their faces were filled with an animalistic rage.They crushed grass, branches, and vaulted the stone fence and yet, they were completely silent and smiling.Engage!Engage!I screamed.
The sound barrier of the mist battling large mouse controlled bursts of violence as groups of them were cut down at a time, a pile of brass building up around them.
Even then, some still tried to crawl as pieces of themselves hung off by a tendon and flesh.Their commandeered bodies now had only one goal, breach the church and commit unspeakable horrors to those inside, and we would not allow that.
Those that reached the windows were taken down by Codfish and I, who with controlled groups of two and three rounds kept the swarm at bay.I still remember it.A series of hands reaching inside, fingers trying to grasp onto anything.
Three shots tear through the palms, hit one in the head and drops him instantly.Another salvo, another down.They were once my countrymen and now my enemy.Prior allegiances didn't matter now, or at least that's what I kept telling myself.
I remember hitting the release and letting the metal mag drop to the floor as I shoved a new one in and hit the bolt release, replenishing my weapon.Make your shots count, I yelled.Last thing we wanted was all of our ammo burned through.
And just then the worst callout I could ever imagine reached my ears. A woman yelled from beneath the cellar.There was no way they could have entered, we had every entrance covered.That we knew of.
I yelled at my team to stand their ground as I rushed to the cellar, quickly rounding a small banister and heading down the steps.I saw the dark cellar was bathed in the blue ambient light of the outside.
Dozens of people were huddled against the walls.Hysterical screams and the tearing of flesh could be heard as I came face to face with them. One was a man and the other a police officer.Both were coming through a storm door and locked eyes with me.
Their eyes, even now, would haunt me.No pupils, no color, just a milky white.When they saw me, they took off after me.Six shots, two to the heads of both at just a couple of meters.
The sound of my suppressed barrel bounced off the walls in the room, undoubtedly deafening anybody close. Many grabbed their ears, screaming as the two assailants hit the ground.
I fired an additional round into the bodies, not wanting a demonic round two.Leicester!I screamed, looking around.It seemed as if the entire wall moved.A hulking thrall turned, eyes glowing milky white as it turned and growled.
I raised my barrel of fire only for the Goliath to swipe it aside, grabbing me by the front of my plate carrier and throwing me into a stone column.
My back hit the wall and my helmet hit the column, shaking my brain as my instinct forced me to rise off the floor as sore as hell.I had to keep going.I messily raised my MK-18, firing off several rounds into its legs that only seemed to slow it.
and then it grabbed me around the neck.I could feel my life fading as it squeezed, a vice grip causing me to gasp and sputter, a wretched smile gracing its face.
My other hand, unable to reach for anything, fought to keep its other mitt from my neck, and then a yell came from behind as the priest appeared from the dark and raised an axe in the air and came down onto its back. The creature yelled.
From his left, one of the village women shoved a candle stand into its face, stunning it.With his hold on my throat loosened, oxygen returned.
My hand quickly went to my holster, drawing my glock from its kydex prison, as I shoved it well into its mouth, firing off shot after shot.Thankfully, whoever made that perfect Austrian handgun decided to not pull the safety that mattered.
The rounds echoed off, unsuppressed muzzle blast, stripping away skin from the entry as wounds painted the ceiling with its vile insides.
As it fell down, my body moved like clockwork, holstered my pistol, raised my rifle, and switched to auto, and riddled its body, burst after burst.My gun went dry, I dropped a magazine, inserted another, and hit the release.Click.
The priest quickly moved to secure the storm door.I looked around, locating Leister. God.He was thumped against the wall that the behemoth had been at.
As I knelt down beside the fallen officer, he coughed up blood, trying to roll over, but my hand snapped to his shoulder, keeping him pinned.The brute had done a number on him, tearing open his stomach.It was a mess of organ, flesh, and blood.
Even with my nods on, I could barely fight to keep my face from being sickened and mournful.He licked at me with weak eyes. Is it bad?"he asked, and my silence was his answer.
Damn, I guess this is my penance for my failure, Leister said, blood beginning to pour out the side of his mouth as he turned to me.None of that.Save your breath, officer.
The last thing that he needed to do was dump all of his oxygen, blaming himself.Nothing that he could have done could have prevented this, any of a thing. You'd need to kill Nixie.She won't stop here.
He requested and now demanded with his dying breath.How were we supposed to kill her?I mean, could we even?The word knock was as ingrained in Scandinavian mythology as folklore that I knew growing up. Could we even do anything?
I looked away and then back to Leister.He was pleading with his eyes for us to stop it, begging me.He raised his hand.I grabbed it, squeezing it as I nodded to him.Take it easy.We've got it from here.
His lips formed to say something, but then they stopped.I watched, and I felt the life leave him.As his hand dropped to the floor, I shut his eyes.The best sign of respect I could show to a man who died defending his home.
I stood up, gazing at everyone, including the priest who looked at the blood on his hands, and then mournfully to me.I then noticed that the gunfire had stopped.I'll be topside, I said to him.
He nodded, walking slowly over to Leister as I left the cellar silently. Back up top, my team had done their job and done it well.Bodies lined the stairs and lawn, and yet, through the silence, Codfish and Largemouth continued to bicker.
We could've, Codfish said, being cut off by Largemouth who stepped forward. Done what?Let them drag us into the swamp.I gave us the early advantage, you should be thanking me.
I stepped over each of the bodies, every single face had a story that ended, a life cut short, a family that was robbed or they were robbed from.I didn't count the dead, I couldn't bring myself to.
Enough, I ordered, all three turning, and Codfish stepped forward.Are they alright?I nodded.Mostly. Codfish and Largemouth shared a look and then back to me.Leister?Largemouth had asked.I slowly shook my head back in response.Damn.
My gunner sat, dipping his head.Looked back to me.Well, what now?We need to reconnect with command and bring in a battalion, maybe more.This is out of our depth.Codfish argued.Largemouth laughed and shook his head.
Run, now, and leave everybody in there to be slaughtered. How many more has this mistaken?How much ammo do you have left?We are a recon element, we have to fall back."Codfish barked again.When do what?
Walk ten kilometers only to be ambushed in the open?I argued, Codfish looking at me wanting to argue.I didn't give him the chance. They knew that we were here since we stepped foot on the shore.If we leave, it'll be on foot and we'll be ambushed.
We know the direction they came from and right now, we are the only ones that can stop it.They won't stop here.She won't.My team was bathed in silence, codfish and largemouth gazing around as anglerfish stared deadlocked onto my face.
We are the best of the best, there is no one else.We stop her, we have to try."Codfish gave a shaky, unsure exhale as he nodded. Alright, where to?Northeast, Anglerfish said, quiet and scanning the direction that they came from.
I wasn't sure if it was the wind or something else, but they came from that direction.His words were like molasses, slow and an uneven cadence.Is something wrong, I asked, finally addressing him.Condition.
I just want this to be over with," he said, shaking his head with a huff that seemed to spur him out of it.How are we supposed to kill her anyways?She's some sort of witch, Largemouth asked.
Beings like her are drawn to our side by being tied to an object.A voice caught our attention, the priest.He stepped over the bodies, his eyes unable to gaze at a single one.
Before she could only manifest through the mist of the water, faint glances, nothing more.If she's here, it means that somebody brought her here, aided her in passing through.Aided, allies, ones that weren't taken by the mist.
So, somebody on our side.I said a half-question to which the priest nodded at.I continued.Help this thing.Allow all of this. Once again, he nodded.Very likely.Why?Codfish asked the million-crone question.Oh, I don't know.Power.
Maybe she gave them something.Either way, she is tied to something, an object to ruin a sight.Destroy it and her ties to the side will be severed. I looked at my team, codfish and largemouth nodding.The priest departed, wishing us well.
God be with you, son.I must see you to our fallen.Anglerfish said that he knew the way, so we followed him.We didn't know what was coming next, but I don't think anything could have prepared any of us for it.
I still think back to that long walk we made through the marsh, one final trek to end this.The fog was stifling, attempting to envelop us at any point had we stopped to do anything.
My senses were going haywire between being blinded visually, the silence allowing any twigged snap or splash to catch my attention. The cold air mixed with the periodic steps we took through the bog, freezing our legs and shocking our system.
Our rifles were raised, scanning whatever we could, preparing for another wave of our people that had been paranormally conscripted to rush us with anything from knives to their bare hands.But nothing came, and I am partially wrong.
Anglerfish walked almost the entire way with his weapon down. Somewhere in between complacent and in a trance, yet he led us, cognizant enough to make coarse corrections despite the fact that he seemed to be working off of instinct.
In Afghanistan, he helped us track an HVT through rugged mountainous terrain, choosing the best path to maneuver on the fly that saved hours from an already long journey.
Despite the paranoia, he had been shoulder to shoulder with us, so I was going to trust him, no matter what. It wasn't until we had reached a dry patch in the marsh, leading to a slight incline, that he called us to a halt.
Without looking, he pointed back at me and beckoned me to come forth.I walked over, attempting to make as little noise as possible.The dry terrain made it a pain, but I knelt beside Anglerfish, and that's when everything felt off.
First thing is the fog was much clearer than it had been, not fully clear but we could see much farther than we could even at the church.The next was the noise, it was a low tone and it felt like a small rumble under the ear and wasn't fully there.
Like not a noise but like something was messing with us, enough to cause a small watering of my eyes but not much else.I checked my watch.
The moon was at its highest and even if not much light was getting through the fog, this was about as much ambient light as we were going to get.We would need every advantage that we could scrape up for what came next.
I remember the area I had so vividly.The ground was at an incline just slightly for maybe 50 meters or so for a clearing, and then a single line of trees that was unmistakably a slope or a cliff.
The fog got more and more dispersed, only seeming to come back into its fullest a good ways away. I realized then that Anglerfish had led us exactly to where we needed to go, the epicenter of this, the eye of the storm.
I patted my marksman on the shoulder, thanking him in a breathless whisper to minimize the amount of noise. He didn't respond.I thought it was only him keeping watch.I thought.I signaled for the rest of the team to collapse in.
Codfish and Largemouth quickly formed up, all of us trying to keep quiet.I motioned for our headsets.Everybody had one.Radio check, now me, I asked.They nodded, Codfish chiming in.A bit fuzzy, but I can read you.
We got low to the ground holding my rifle by its front sling swivel.I crawled forward, the rest of my team following close behind.
The goal was to keep as low of a silhouette as possible, a good thing too because as we drew near, the radios crackled and I heard Largemouth say, I'm hearing voices to our 12 and 10. He was right.Voices could be heard, muttering, conversing.
Whether they were human or not remained to be determined.However, we approached the slope all the same, arriving at the treeline like the four-eyed demons of NATO that we were. and what laid before us.
It's clear to me now that monsters exist, not metaphorical but literal, real demons that have been around for longer than single-cell organisms have existed, some beyond our comprehension that wears on my mind and deprives me of rest at night.
That being said, a sum of humanity is not that far behind.Before us laid a large clearing in the middle of a circular ditch or crater.Whether naturally made or artificial still isn't known to me.
The forest floor stretched down the slopes and merged with a strange granite brick-like surface that dipped and sunk at random points probably due to age and erosion.
The center point of it was covered in a small puddle, no deeper than a couple of centimeters, and in the middle of that laid a large, crude stone table.Lining the edge of the puddle and the surface of the table were ruins of the Elder Futhark.
I knew them well, the last remnants of true paganism in the world that hadn't been burned away by inquisitions or crusades. They made up lines, shapes, and phrases that I will never know what they said.
And then, others I didn't know of at the time, but after some research, I found out to be Wiccan, iconography, moon, stars, druid swirls, and eyes.A lot of eyes.
Some were written in a white paint-like mixture, mostly the ones that line the outside of the puddle. However, the ones on the table, it was dried, no heat being given off, but from my long military career, I knew the scent of blood when I saw it.
This is a ritual site, Codfish muttered over the comms.And then the people, those vile monsters.Some or more of the disappeared, lining the edges of the slopes, their numbers obviously having dwindled since their assault on the church.
Others were, I can only describe them as cultists.Old-style garb not found in this land, no matter how far you look back dressed in greys, whites, and blacks.A sort of one-piece cloak, yet segmented into proper sleeves and pant legs.
The worst part was all of them wore masks, at least I hope they were masks.Deer heads, extremely realistic almost as if they had been hollowed out and taxidermied, donned the heads of every single one of the cultists.
There were at least a dozen, some carried axes dried with red iron, others knives or glaives. Right then and there, I was measuring our options.We had better firepower, but they had numbers, and we were far too close right now.
And even with the safety of the church, they still swarmed the outside, only being held back by stone walls.We would need to successfully get the jump on them if we were going to make it out of this.
My planning was broken up when I heard yells and shouts come from our 9 o'clock, drawing closer.The cultists seemed unsurprised, and I soon found out why.
Those on the outside of the circle parted, allowing two of the cultists to enter, one of the officers from the chapel in tow.We had lost him during the fray and it seemed as if their raid hadn't been a total waste.
The policeman was unarmed, his gear stripped away as he was forcibly dragged onto the stone, kicking and screaming even as cuts and bruises lined his head.I still remember his resistance.No, no, get the hell off of me!
We should have done something then and there, but I knew that we needed more info.It's sickening to think about now, but I think I wanted to draw Nixie out, hoping that we could confirm if this was the anchor to destroy or not.
I hope wherever that officer is, he can forgive me, and if his family is reading this, I am so sorry. He was held down while two cultists to a limb as his head thrashed around.A lead cultist standing at one of the ends and it began muttering.
It sounded incomprehensible like it had syllables and it was definitely a language.But I have heard every single form of linguistic while traveling the world.
English, Spanish, Norwegian, Danish, Swedish, Finnish, Polish, Arabic, Cantonese, everything. I have and still have never heard anything like what he was saying.
And then… From the pond, spindly arms, black and smooth like obsidian, emerged from the area above his head.Impossibly so, I don't know how, but they hovered above his face for a moment and began to tear into him.
His screams shook me into action as I hopped on our frequency. Time to move, we need that destroyed."I looked at Largemouth.Get to a good angle, you'll have to be our base of fire.We're gonna need half of that group gone in the first few seconds.
We'll do, he said.Sliding over several meters, he got to a clear gap between the trees, setting up his MG3's bipod and readying for a fresh bout.
Codfish slid over, checking his vest, saying, Some thermite will burn right through there, but we'll need to place it manually. This wasn't going to be easy.Nothing that we could do could be done before we took out the bulk of the enemy force.
I contemplated the steps carefully when Anglerfish drew me from my thought.She's here. I flipped back onto my stomach and then took a knee.God.A head rose up from the pond, following the arms as they peeled away flesh and muscle.
He still continued to scream even as his body was being picked apart.The hair on her head was spindly, looking like a bundle of twigs and fur that had sat in the marsh for several thousands of years.
Her face was almost entirely obscured except for a set of eyes.Those eyes, they were bright gold.A glow that seemed unnatural.I don't know how to explain it.Almost as if the light itself wasn't illuminating them but some of their force.
It was consuming and deteriorating.I had to force my eye shut.You got a shot?I asked Angler.No response.
I looked back up as Nixie was fleeing back into the water, dragging the man into her makeshift puddle portal as his screams became smothered by the water.Angler, I grumbled, trying my best not to yell despite everything in me wanting to.
He finally answered.Yes.Take it. Over the course of mere milliseconds, I contemplated what he meant.I got my answer when the snap of his suppressor echoed, firing a shot into my back.
It was only by the grace of God that my backplate and soft armor held up, just barely. I found out later that a 7.62 NATO round punctured dang near the whole way through my plate.He was close and it cracked several of my ribs near my spine on impact.
The force of it sent me straight into the ground.My rifle caught between me and the dirt. My nose smashing into the rail of my rifle as my face got a taste of soil and blood.
And then my lung fought for lives as I coughed, heaving air as I tried to catch my breath.I thought that I was dying.I felt like I was dying.I didn't know what was happening.My gloves dug into the ground, flipping me onto my back.
Through my night vision, partially smeared with dirt, I saw Angler flip up his nods.God.His eyes, just like the ones at the church, just like those around the circle, they glowed, milky white as can be as he stared down at me emotionlessly.
Larchmouth cried out in rage.Grabbing his MG3, he tried to spin around and return fire at Angler. only for our former marksman to draw his pistol and double tap my gunner in the chest.He was much further away and the caliber was smaller.
He made it out better than I had, but it still caught largemouth by surprise.He slipped back against the tree, gun falling awkwardly on top of him.
I remember another violent coughing fit trying to get my bearings as anglerfish and must have noticed that I was still alive.
He aimed his pistol at me and I stared down at the barrel prepared to meet my fate at the hands of one of my own team now turned unwilling trader.That was until a series of shots were fired off.
One threaded the needle through the side of his headset through his head and out the other side in an explosion of gore and plastic.Another grazed the back of his neck below his helmet and a third through his neck.
Angler dropped lifelessly his handgun bouncing off the ground as the weight of his knots forced his head to roll towards me.I saw his face, the color bleeding out as the glow in his eyes faded, and return back to normal.
Codfish stepped forward as smoke exited his suppressor as he scanned the area, Largemouth recovering as he fought to his feet.
My commsman attempted to come to my aid, however the nightmare scenario occurred as our enemies ascended the slope and attacked us. We were now caught off guard.I don't know if she planned it.That witch.
A horde of disappeared headed towards Codfish, whose rifle quickly snapped to level and started to fire off shots.It was strange to see.Tight shot groups firing off, dropping them left and right.A violent crowd control as he was forced to back up.
Not long after, a burst of machine gun fire shook the forest as Largemouth staggered to his feet.They were too late to help me, however, as I found myself being dragged down the hill.
Two cultists grabbed onto my combat shirt and pulled me down using gravity to aid them. I tried fighting back, but I was winded and in no condition to fight.But damned I did.
With my right hand, I grabbed the one on my right side by the neck, causing him to panic.As the left one attempted to adjust, I instead leaned back, allowing my knee to connect to his strange deer head.It didn't feel like it was hollow, in fact.
Thinking back now, it felt real.Regardless, we tumbled down the rest of the slope in a mess. I tried scrambling to my feet but a pain from deep within my chest shocked me enough to be stuck at the knee.
I was tackled to the ground by one of the disappeared straight onto my back.My ribs howled in pain as I found my attacker sitting on top of me.
Brows furrowed as enraged glowing eyes stared down at me as it grabbed me by my helmet and tried pulling it off.
My holster was trapped beneath one of its legs, so instead, I grabbed it by whatever jacket it was wearing and pulled it down towards me, headbutting it.
It seemed to stagger it enough that I could get it rolled off, but before long, the cultist had descended on me again.Grabbing me by one of my legs, I was dragged onto the pool of water.
as a female came from the direction of my head and drove a small dagger into my left shoulder.It was caught partially, stopped by the shoulder strap of my vest and my shirt, but damn if it didn't hurt.
I screamed in agony, my left arm incapacitated as my right arm fell around. At my free holster, I drew my Glock 17, wasting no time as my finger felt purchase on the trigger and aimed it around.
The shots were sporadic and panicked, but even then, I thanked the years of time that I spent honing my skills.
The cultist that had dragged me by the leg was hit directly in its neck, dropping down, as I fired at two more, catching them center of mass. Trying my best to ward them off, I wanted to say that I screamed something akin to, damn you all.
It could have been slurred gibberish, but the point was clear.A wounded lion was still a lion.I felt like I had stabilized my situation only slightly until the obsidian hands had returned.
One shot up from my right side, grabbing my gun hand and squeezing it.It didn't hurt, in fact I barely felt it, but all control of my weapon ceased as my weapon fell to the wet ground.The other shot straight for my throat.
silencing my yells as I was pulled to a sitting position, forced to watch as I came face to face with Nixie.
I still didn't get a full proper look, my eyes were stinging with both my sweat and blood, dirt and now mud smeared the lenses of my night vision goggles.
But those eyes... From beneath the layer of matted hair and wretched twigs that layered the top of her head, they glowed like spotlights. unblinking and unflinching, hypnotizing me, ordering me to stand down and allow myself to be dragged in.
My blood slowed as I felt the cold become uncomfortable.I forgot the pain.I forgot the adrenaline.I forgot who I was. That was until the boot kicked her head, sending her back into whatever hell she crawled from with an audible splash.
I regained all feeling as my hands shook, pain shooting through my shoulder as I gazed around.Largemouth staggered forward, positioning himself in front of me as he hip-fired his MG3.
The belt laid at his side almost emptied as he fired off forcing the colt its back and cutting down more and more thralls. I felt a hand at my carry handle causing me to flail my good arm, only to see that it was Codfish.
He had grabbed me by my plate carrier's carry handle and was dragging me out of the puddle and onto the slope.
I looked back at Largefish, who had pushed our enemies a considerable distance back, and then his belt went dry and he saw this and then turned to join us and stopped.
I wanted to yell, I wanted to rush to his aid, to save my machine gunner, but I couldn't.A knife found itself buried deep in his stomach as he stopped, breath stolen as his mouth was agape.He looked down.
A child, one of those that the former police chief had mentioned, stared back up at him with glowing eyes.It backed off and he staggered forward, another child rounded the side of the table and buried a blade into his side.
forcing him to drop to his knees.His MG3 hit the ground as his arms shook.He was fighting back the urge to enter into shock.
He reached down and drew his pistol, the weapon shaking as he muttered under his breath when coming face to face with the children. And then they closed in.
The cultists had reformed with what was left of their thralls, forming a circle as they descended upon him.Through a gap in the formation we made eye contact.His breathing was shaky and uncertain, but he nodded to me.
It wasn't a request, there was nothing I could do to stop him.More of a, it was an honor. I nodded in return.He had been by my side for two continents and several dozen missions.He deserved all of the respect in that moment.
The obsidian arms emerged from the pool, grasping his shoulders as Nixie's head returned, and knowing that he was right next to the ritual site's epicenter, reached for the two M67 hand grenades mounted on his vest.
We have to-" I sputtered to Codfish, grabbing onto him for support.He tried to protest.No, we- And then he surveyed the scene and took off, dragging me with him as both of us raced up and over the slope.
The last thing I remembered when I looked back was Largemouth staring defiantly into that damn beast's eyes as he let the spoonless grenades drop to the ground.After a few seconds of running, we dropped to the ground.
The explosion of the grenades shook the earth and sky.Shrapnel soared through the air, cutting through bark, leaves, and branches, destroying anything in its path.
A follow-up rumble, greater than anything they could have produced, rocked the ground beneath us as, for the first time, wind entered the area around us.
Codfish placed his arm over me, hoping to possibly shield me as we remained there, unsure of what was next.And then, nothing. Silence was all that we had as my eyes clenched shut, sure that we had failed and would be dragged off back to her.
However, nothing in then.The sounds of the forest returned.In my haze of pain, I didn't notice at first, however, Codfish did, rising to his feet and gazing around.
We did it," he muttered, a gust of wind blowing leaves past me as he laughed exhaustedly, and then quickly knelt beside me as he flipped me over.It was left side first, right on my bad arm.Dang that freaking radiohead.
I jest, if it weren't for him I wouldn't be here typing this out. He quickly checked my wound, popping open the IFAC mounted to my belt as he scanned around and shouted into his headset.This is Element Romeo, any station on net, radio check.
After a few seconds of silence, we were graced by the best sound all night.Element Romeo, this is Main, requesting status. He didn't give them a chance to request shit.Last thing I heard as I drifted off was him shouting into the headset.
Situation secured, possibly.Requesting channel for immediate 9-line.Precedence is urgent.Roger, Element Romeo.Bird is on standby.Roll 2 is prepared.Good.Standby for... Shit.Stay with me, Kraken. The kind of slumber I experienced is strange.
You feel the seconds, minutes, days roll by, but you don't at the same time.I thought it was the afterlife, floating weightless in half-consciousness.However, I was wrong.I awoke a week later at a hospital in Copenhagen.
The first person to greet me was my CO, who although looked exhausted, was relieved that I had returned to the land of the living.
Codfish had given him a full sitrep and, although he was very scrutinizing of it, knew something was amiss when his report matched the findings of many of the villagers and the priest.
They had no idea two firefights had occurred and only came in with a full force when the explosions of the grenades were detected by an infantry unit at the perimeter.
Largemouth and Anglerfish had been listed as MIA, a fact that has burned me up inside to no end.However, the Royal Navy believed it was easier than attempting to create a false scenario of some of its best operatives dying overseas.
The site was gone, almost completely wiped off the earth, and the bodies in the disappeared couldn't be found, despite Marines and Home Guard performing several searches of the entire grid square.
My CO still doesn't believe that it was Nixie, but I know better.The revelation of this cult had him shaken as he laughed.
We've dealt with all sorts of extremist cells and terrorism over two decades, but this was different and if they could attempt something like this, what else were they capable of? Two of my men are dead.
Codfish has been moved to another team, and I don't even know if they'll ever let me lead an element again.I hope it was worth it.
I've been recovering ever since then, and even now, months later, those piercing yellow eyes still haunt me, asking me to return to that swamp, to her.It's taken every ounce of effort that I've got, but I've staved it off, for now.
I don't know what comes next, but this isn't the end.We were under attack once, and I will probably be soon again.For whatever it's worth, stay safe, please.Thank you all for listening to this week's episode.I hope that you enjoyed it.
Wherever you may be in the world, I hope that you're staying safe and sound.And as always, stay creepy.
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