Trigger Warning: This story may contain sensitive content.
I need to speak, though my words in vain,
to save others from the torment, a lifetime of pain.
I pray my story is heard through my tears and my blood.”Can anyone hear me?” God, is my voice reaching?”
I fear it does not.
My name is Stephen Northrup. I am twenty-three. I had dreams of a long life ahead. Now I pray that it ends, and yet death, continues to elude me. The nurses say I am mad, that I am insane. But they cannot see the darkness surrounding me, coarsening like brimstone, through my veins.
The visions are horrific, of death and sinister things . All that Hell can conjure, is laid right before me. I know I sound mad, but you must understand, the terror that I have witnessed, treading on Skinwalker land. It was two years ago, though I’m not sure. Time has eluded me completely.
Life… has become obscure.
So I present to you this tale,
though I know that in doing so, will cease the agony,
to no avail.
May of 1917 it was I believe that I went to Utah, with tribal warnings and superstitions, tall tales read to scared children, written works of Fiction. As night lay upon me, upon the canyon bluffs and southern land west, I laid down by the fire’s warmth, for some
much needed rest.
I was awoken by a sound so familiar. It was Genevieve’s voice calling to me, my twelve-year-old sister. “How is she with me here?” I said, feeling a bit insane. I must be dreaming, she’s tending to our farm back home
in Portland, Maine.
I sat up quickly, feeling the night’s breeze caress. Then I heard her call to me again, out there,
in the darkness
My sight obscured, from sleep and shadow, I called to the voice, my breath shortened from fear; nervous…and shallow.
“I need help, Stephen. Help me.” She wept somewhere close out of sight. “What are you doing here? Stay where you are!” I yelled, as I ventured further
from the fire’s light.
The darkness was blinding. The air rich with dirt and sand. I soon realized that I didn’t have my lantern in hand. With that fire now long out of sight, the darkness held me…and it held me…
tight.
“How did I travel this far and not bring my lantern?”, my words quiet and low. “Help me, Stephen.”, the voice said gently. “I am right over here.You are so close”. Her voice to the right of me as I panicked and ran to where she was. My heartbeat pounding ferociously in my head as I came upon a large
trail of blood.
“Genevieve!”, I pathetically cried. My voice shaking and tears
stinging my eyes.
The sound of bones cracking and squelching flesh being torn was all I could hear, and I finally came upon the sight of my sister
eating a deer.
The glow from her eyes was the only light, pale and green, as I came upon the horrible site. I screamed in horror. The darkness seemed to shift, and I was able to see my sister dressed in a white, crimson, nightgown, blood and gore, smeared across her face
and her lips.
As I turned to run, she hastily approached me with eyes still green, “I’m still hungry Stephen.”, She cried. “Won’t you eat with me?” She then let out an angry, bloodthirsty yell, and in a state of panicked driven fear, to the cracked, clay earth,
I fell.
I looked up to meet another green pair of eyes, staring in anger, locked onto mine. They snarled as I slowly tried to stand back up, and I saw what was making that menacing growl,
guttural and
rough.
A wolf emerged towards me. It’s eyes burned with hatred and death, as two other sets appeared behind it,
one to the right
and one
to the left.
I didn’t run, for I knew they would chase. So I crept back slowly, not to make haste. Walking backward, I heard her speak. “Stephen,” she said, her voice
shrill and weak.
I knew she was there and felt its hand on my lower back. I turned to see her standing head sideways ninety degrees to the right, face contorting, eyes glazed back. While watching her mouth foam and body shake violently, I heard three sets of inhuman, sinister
laughter, behind me.
I turned around to see the dogs upon two legs staring at me laughing; the most sinister sounds they wailed,
their voices, overlapping.
My sister called my name one more time as I adverted my attention from the savage mockery of the three canines. I turned and she was nowhere to be found and my attention was instantly drawn to the ground.
In her place was a coyote. It’s head twisted to the side, staring up at me with green,
glazed over eyes.
It whispered in an increasingly loud shrill voice “Stephen! Stephen!” It’s head shook,
giving way to a crooked smile revealing rows of serrated, shark-like teeth as it screamed
“LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!”
I had no weapon and at the camp, I had left my gun. My body screamed the only option: RUN!” And I did. I never looked back, but could hear behind me that in pursuit,
was the pack.
Running through the flat, arid land blindly, I looked up to the sky, hoping stars would guide me. Running on fumes and losing breath, I knew that I would die here tonight alone and was moments away from accepting death.
When all of a sudden, I see in the distance, the fire from my camp, as my legs and lungs left behind any trace of resistance.
When I was almost to my camp, I heard the beasts closing in and the fleeting hope of living, again,
became drastically thin.
I reached the camp I jumped to the ground for I thought I was done. I looked up in relief. None of the beasts were to be seen nor heard…
not…a single…one.
When I fell, I heard them all jump towards me in the camp,
roaring,
about to rip me to shreds.
Trying to stop shaking, I sat with a blanket, shivering by the still-burning fire. My eyes holding back the resistance to sleep’s surrender, as paranoia and fear continued to perspire. The night continued. Never breaking with out end as I prayed silently for a glimpse of first days light; the solace of
dawn’s gentle hand.
Throughout the stillness, as my body and mind began to tire greatly, I contemplated if what had happened was a dream state hallucination, or was this just the illusion of safety. As I thought to myself, tears filled my heavy, bloodshot eyes. I heard three sets of familiar laughter along with Genevieve’s voice, its voice, screaming
“Stephen!! Stephen!!
Is it Time to die?… Is it time to die?”
That is all I remembered before I woke up in here, Bellshire Aslyum in Utah, hysterical with confusion and fear. The doctors say when I arrived, I would not eat. I would scream in agony for hours at a time, though not a word I would speak. They say Random injections are required numb the pain, but I know it is to keep me the way they always want me to be
…compliment, quiet, insane.
How I wish I could speak every word here with sound, though I open my lips, no words ever again will come out. How I wish I could write this with a pen, but my arms are always bound together, as are these dead letters to my head. To God I make my final plea, “Is my voice reaching you, you selfish Bastard?! Answer me!”
as I cry out in anger, weeping for empathy. Now here I lay, in my darkened cell, begging for death, my tolling bell. When I’m at my weakest, they visit this place. A shrill voice then whispers, “We will never leave you…”, coming from the contorting hole in my sister’s face.
By Thomas Holloway
Instagram: @garbage_troll_trash_gremlin
Thomas Holloway is 34 and is a native to his home town, Rochester, NY. Since he was young , he has always had a love for anything dark, macabre, horror, fantasy and science fiction related. His favorite horror film is “The Shining”. He is a seasoned paranormal investigator and has been active in the field for the past fourteen years. Along with literature, he is also passionately fond of animals, playing guitar , music, art , theater, working with children who have disabilities and advocating equal rights for everyone, Especially for The LGBTQ community.
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