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Pukwudgie - The Native American Troll


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#1 Freedumb104

Freedumb104

    False Positive

  • GS Member
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Posted 02 July 2016 - 10:23 AM

This is a short monster story inspired by A creature in native american folklore, the Pukwudgie.

“The Field”
By Justin Norris & Evan Aragon

Audio Version in Signature


I’ll be honest from the start. Talking about this won’t be easy. And it might be a cliché, but you know when people say, some stories you just can’t make up? It’s true. Hell, I’m sure that if you had any inkling of doubt before, that’s probably all vanished by now, huh?

It’s okay. I’m here to tell you everything.  

In a lot of ways I wish it were made up. But, I know why you’re here. And that’s why you need to listen to every word.

In a way, you’ve been waiting all your life to hear this. And what’s even crazier – you’re the first.

Anytime my mind veers off and digs up images of my life from twenty years ago, I have no other way to describe it besides, well, perfect. It was 1995, and I lived in what could be considered the epitome of middle class America; my family had a house in the suburbs, my mom was a high school teacher, my dad had just got a new job as a plant manager for a big company. But, most importantly, we were happy. I mean happy happy. Like, my parents were still in love even after God knows how many years together, I was always receiving different accolades in school, whether it be Student of the Month or something painfully nerdy like Four-Time Spelling Bee Champion, and in all of our photo albums, we were always smiling. Always together.

It’s truly astounding how one event can change everything.

I was ten, and we’d just moved into our new house over the summer. The rural lifestyle was all I’d known, so moving to the suburbs was a big change. Even though it felt like a little paradise, I was still not happy about the move. I missed my friends, and, believe it or not, I missed my school. My teachers.

Here, everyone seemed to have the same exact car parked in the drive way, every house was shaped the same, neighborhood kids were always running around or riding their bikes, the smell of barbecue seemed to permeate the air every weekend – it was like living in a totally different world. But what made it easy to adjust was the fact that our new house had the view of a vast open field right behind our backyard. Lots of rolling hills, overgrown weeds, and a few scattered rock formations here and there, but for us, having the field behind us was comforting. It reminded us of home while trying to acclimate ourselves to our new life. It was like we had the best of both worlds. Of course we didn’t know how long the field would remain there, considering all the new housing developments that were popping up everywhere in those days.

But what stood out the most was a single massive oak tree that stood right in the middle of the field. And when I say massive, I mean massive! It looked like it had been there hundreds of years. From our house it didn’t look too big, but that’s because it must have been over a football field’s length away. Now that I think about it, I’ve forgotten just how large that field actually was. And you might say it just seemed bigger because I was a ten-year-old kid, but I remember even my dad making a comment about how big it was.

But the tree. I’ll never get that image out of my head. When I first saw it, it was silhouetted by the sun, so it looked black, which was like something out of a dream. Maybe it’s just me, but there was something odd about the fact that this tree always looked black. Even in the middle of the day, while standing on the back porch, with the backdrop of a royal blue sky, and fluffy, cotton candy clouds floating by, it would be completely black, reaching up toward the sun with its gnarled branches, and it would totally ruin the view. It was something of an eyesore, to say the least.

But, there was something else I’d noticed about this tree that caught my eye, and I couldn’t contain my excitement upon first seeing it – a tree house! Whoever started building it hadn’t finished by any means, but I could tell what it was supposed to be.

“Dad! Look!” I shouted, pointing toward the black tree.

“What, David? I’m trying to carry these boxes into the house, which is what you should be doing, too. Come on, mom needs your help moving the bookshelf.”

“You have to see this!” I exclaimed.

Dad put down the boxes, grabbed the towel from his shoulder and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He sighed. “Okay, son. What am I looking at?”

I was too excited to say anything else, so I picked up my heels and sprinted toward the black tree. But, before I could even reach the edge of the field, my dad had caught up with me, and grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Not so fast, bud! You need to finish helping with the move before you go on any little adventures, alright? Now go give your mom a hand with that bookshelf.”

“Fine.” I groaned, as I grudgingly walked back to the moving truck. I’m so tired of carrying boxes, I thought. We’ve been doing this all morning. I just want to go check out that tree house.

Just as I was about to pick up a box of books, I saw two kids coming from across the street. One was carrying what looked like a silver toolbox, while the other bigger kid was pulling a red wagon full of wood planks and a few small containers. I walked toward them, curious about what they were up to.

“Hey, what are you guys doing?” I asked.

“Nothing,” the older kid said, without even looking at me. The younger one, who appeared to be about my age, looked right at me and didn’t say a word. “Simon, are you seriously struggling with that toolbox? We’re not even close yet, you wimp,” the older kid scoffed. “Hurry up!”

“Hey, leave him alone,” I declared. The older kid stopped pulling the wagon, paused, turned, and walked up to me in the middle of the street. “Or what? What are you gonna do? Get outta here, kid. We have a lot of building to do.”

“Building?” I asked.

“Yeah, now go back to mommy and daddy,” he said, continuing to pull the red wagon.

“Is that your lame t ree house out there in the black tree?” I asked after debating whether to say something bold or not.

He stopped again and turned to face me. I could tell he tried to look intimidating, but with the sun in his eyes, he instead looked like he just ate a sour grape. “Yeah, it is. And so is the tree. And it’s not called the black tree. It’s called Jake’s tree.

“Let me guess, you’re Jake” I said sneeringly.

Jake nodded. “Now get lost. And don’t let me catch you in my tree,” he demanded, as he bent down to pick up the wagon’s handle. As he jerked the handle, one of the containers fell off the back of the wagon onto the asphalt. “C’mon, Simon,” Jake said.

“I’m David,” I said, as the two ignored me and continued down the street. “And I think you dropped something!” I shouted.

Jake turned around, looking even more annoyed. “Well, toss it over here, new kid.”

“It’s David,” I said, correcting him.

I walked over to the container, picked it up, and opened it. I was confused when seeing what was inside, because I couldn’t tell what any of it was.

“Why do you have a bunch of burnt stuff in here?” I asked.

Jake sprinted over and grabbed the container from my hands. “Aw, man! What happened to the candles?” he asked, as he dumped the contents of the container onto the ground. “They must have melted in the sun or something” he complained.

I looked on the ground at the charred, melted candles, and noticed a single green wax candle that was still intact. As I knelt down to pick it up, Jake quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket. “It’s the only one we have so we have to make it last,” he said to Simon. After a moment of silence, Jake looked me in the eye. “So, what do you think you’re looking at?” he asked with an irritated tone. Before I could respond, Jake asked me another question. “Are you going to help us or just stand there?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I’ll help! Let’s go!”

Jake laughed to himself. “Okay, then. Grab some of the wood to lighten the load. It’s a lot farther than it looks. So pace yourself.”

I’m not going to lie, as obnoxious as Jake was, I was ecstatic. I hadn’t even gone up to see my new room yet, and I had already made friends. There’s nothing harder for a new kid to do than make friends. I missed my friends from back home, but this wasn’t a bad start.

I picked up some wood and followed behind Jake and Simon as we entered the field. Towering in front of us, the black tree grew larger and larger as we drew nearer. I looked back at my house as I kept walking, and watched it gradually shrink in size until I was able to pinch it within an inch of space between my thumb and index finger. I didn’t tell my mom or dad where I was going, but I felt better knowing they could see me if they looked through any window in the back of the house. At least I assumed they could.

Jake was right about one thing. The walk was definitely much farther than it looked.

For the next three days straight, all we did was work on that tree house. And it was the coolest tree house I’d ever seen. Thanks to the thick, sturdy branches, we were able to make the house pretty big, too. All three of us could fit inside with enough room to stretch our legs.

We had made a twenty-foot rope ladder that provided access up to and back down from the house. It wasn’t necessary, but the nearest branch from the ground wasn’t the easiest thing to climb to, so the rope ladder made it much easier for us to access the entrance. Simon always gave us crud about why we shouldn’t make a rope ladder for the tree house, because if we did, it would make it easier for strangers to climb up to it whenever they wanted.

On the second day of building, Jake and I decided to mess with Simon for trying to scare us, so we tied him up with the rope, threw him in the wagon, and ran around the field, pulling him behind us, teasing him, saying things like, “we’re gonna leave you in the field all night! And no one’s going to find you!”

Sure, looking back, it was a mean thing to do, because Simon was a pretty shy kid, but it was all in good fun, and he knew that. We were his friends.

It took a lot of work, but once we finished, we’d spent all of our time in there. We’d tell scary stories, eat junk food, tell jokes, and act like we were pirates on a ship, soldiers in a tank, or superheroes meeting at our secret base deciding how we’d save the world from an alien encounter. Our imaginations ran wild while we were inside that tree house, and Jake and Simon quickly became my best friends.

But one night, our imaginations weren’t just imaginations anymore. Things happened that not even the kid with the most creative mind could think up.

It was dusk, and I was hanging out with Jake and Simon inside of the tree house. Our fingertips were covered with Hot Cheetos dust and we were laughing, probably about something we’d watched on Mad TV the previous week. Simon was impersonating one of the characters and he had us rolling.

“Simon, you should totally be an actor when you grow up. You can do so many impressions!”

“I don’t know. I don’t like being in front of a lot of people.”

“But you’re so good at it!” I said, trying to build his confidence. Simon was good at a lot of things, but he wasn’t a show off by any means, unlike Jake.

“Oh yeah? But can Simon burp the alphabet?” Jake interrupted, taking a swig of root beer. He got as far as ‘H’ before he felt like he was about to puke.

“Stop, dude, you’re gonna make me hurl. We can’t have anymore messes in here after your ‘chocolate bar’ accident,” I said with a smirk.

“Hey! It was chocolate! I swear!” Jake belted.

“Oh really, then explain why it still smells so bad in here!” Simon retorted.

As we all shared a laugh, we heard the faint sound of my dad’s voice call my name from the backyard.

Sundown. That was our curfew. We weren’t allowed to stay in the tree house after dark. God, how I wish I’d listened.

On that third night, I walked home with Jake and Simon, came inside, ate dinner, watched a little TV, and got in bed. For some reason, I just couldn’t sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning in my bed for hours, and I remember my room being unusually warm, even for summer time.

So I got out of bed, and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. In the kitchen, which was located near the backside of the house, there was a sliding glass door that looked out at the field. At night, I’ll admit, it was kind of an eerie view. All you could see was blackness. When there was a full moon, you could somewhat make out those crooked limbs of the big tree, but it still looked nearly pitch black out there.

But on this night, there was no moon. Only darkness. This night marked the start of the worst week of my entire life.  

As I took the last gulp of water, I noticed a light in the distance, coming from the field. The light wasn’t constant. It was like a tiny fire out somewhere near the black tree. I walked up to the sliding glass door and tried to make sense of what I was looking at, but I was simply too far away to make anything out. So the first thing I thought of was to grab a pair of my dad’s binoculars from the hallway closet.

After I got them, I walked back to the sliding glass door and peered through the lenses, out toward the middle of the field. My heart sank as I discovered the source of the light – it was coming from inside the tree house! It was our candle. Our green candle in the Mason jar. I knew for a fact we had put the candle out before we left earlier that day, because I was the one that blew it out, but there it was. In plain sight. Who could be way out there this late at night? I thought.

I took the binoculars and figured out how to magnify the scope, and when I looked through them a second time, I saw something I’ll never be able to forget. In front of the flickering candlelight, a shadow stood up and turned to the left, revealing the silhouette of its side profile, and in an instance, the light disappeared, and darkness enveloped the tree house. It appeared to be slightly hunched over, with the body type of a small child.

I froze at the sliding glass door as a chill shot down my spine, and the binoculars fell to the floor. Thankfully, I didn’t wake up my mom and dad. I ran back to my room, but I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night even if I tried.

The next day, at dusk, yet again, I was with Jake and Simon in the tree house. Jake and Simon were sh ooting Nerf guns at a makeshift target hanging on the wall, and I was sitting near the back, looking out the window with a view to my house.

“David, grab a gun. Bet you can’t hit the target as much as me,” Jake teased.

“I’m not really in the mood today.”

“What’s wrong, dude?” Simon asked, shooting another foam dart at the target.

“Were either of you guys in the tree house last night? After we left?”

“No,” Jake said.

“I was at my grandpa’s house last night,” Simon answered. “Why?”

“I think there was someone in here around midnight. I couldn’t sleep so I went to the kitchen, and I saw that our green candle was lit. And I swear I saw a kid walking around in here.”

Simon looked over at Jake, but Jake didn’t say anything.

“Did you guys hear what I said?”

“We heard you, David,” Jake responded, his tone stern. I gave Simon a quick glance and my eyebrow curled in confusion.

“There’s this kid on our street. His name is Matt. He’s, well, he’s a little weird. And I don’t think he likes Jake very much.”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely concerned. “What happened?”

Jake tossed his gun to the floor of the tree house. “We don’t need to get into it, okay? He’s just a little weirdo. He was probably up here trying to find something to steal.”

I didn’t say anything back right away, because I could tell Jake was perturbed. And just as I was about to ask him why he would want to steal from us, we heard my dad’s voice calling us from the backyard.

Jake opened the tree house door and dropped the rope ladder for us to climb down. “Simon, don’t forget our snacks, make sure you grab all of them. And David, make sure you blow out the candle.”  

I did. Then I helped Simon grab the rest of the food, and climb down the rope ladder.

As we made it to the ground, we started to load up the wagon with our bags of snacks. And that’s when we noticed the tires.

“what the heck?” Jake said, with confusion in his voice. I’d never seen Jake so uneasy before.

Simon and I turned to look at the two left tires of our wagon, and that’s when we saw why Jake was so on edge. I bent down, reached out, and plucked six tiny objects from the tires, which were now flat. Holding the objects closer to my eyes, I saw that they resembled tiny arrowheads, about one inch long, and a half inch wide. Each one was very sharp, and they appeared crystallized. Each one slightly differed from the next as far as shape went, like they were individually made by hand, but all of them possessed the same gold and green hue.

I put the arrowheads in my back pocket, and saw Jake with his mouth agape. That’s when we all noticed something else about the wagon. Not only were the tires punctured by the strange crystal arrowheads, but the wagon’s handle was split in half. Directly down the center, the handle appeared as if a great white shark had gnawed it off, with miniscule scratch marks leading all the way down to the base of the wagon itself.

In the distance, we all heard my dad’s voice yet again, and the three of us ran as fast as we could through the field, until we had reached our street.

That night, even my dad could tell we were all uneasy. I ran up to my room, grabbed my CD player, and turned the volume all the way up on my headphones. I’m not sure how else to describe it, but at that point, I legitimately felt as if there was never a point during the day where I wasn’t being watched by someone. Or something. I’d be in my bedroom, and feel as if someone else were with me. I’d be outside, taking out the trash, and it felt as if someone were following me. No matter where I went, or what I did, I felt as if I weren’t alone.

And like clockwork, it happened again that night. I couldn’t sleep. I was tossing and turning. My room was unbearably hot. Again, I went to the kitchen to grab some cold water. And just as I turned to walk back to my room, there it was, piercing through the darkness, the light from the tree house. Our green candle in the Mason jar was lit. And once again, I ran to the closet to grab my dad’s binoculars, and walked up to the sliding glass door. This time, however, when I looked through the binoculars, I never saw a shadow. I must’ve stared at the candle light for five minutes without putting the binoculars down. It was like I wanted to see something. But there was nothing.

And then, just before I had thought about putting the binoculars away, the light had disappeared. The candle had gone out. And with my binoculars still aimed toward the black tree, I waited for another five minutes to see if the light would come back, but there was nothing. Just darkness.

I’d decided to put the binoculars back in the closet and go back – or at least try to go back – to sleep.

Over the course of the previous forty-eight hours, I might’ve slept for about six of them. And what I’d find the next morning didn’t help anything at all.

I’d walked toward the kitchen after taking a quick shower to grab something to eat for breakfast. My mom was at some meeting and my dad was out back working in the yard. With a bowl of cereal in my hand, I had stopped at the sliding glass door. I stood in silence, looking at the black tree, silhouetted by the sun, as usual – and that’s when I saw them.

Directly to the right, implanted in the flowerbed, were two fresh footprints. I stopped chewing my food, and my gut sank – I could feel the color rush from my face as my veins filled with terror upon sight of this. There was no other way to explain the appearance of the footprints other than looking exactly like baby feet.

But that wasn’t the most unsettling part. The part that I wish I could retract from my brain is the notion that if the footprints were aimed toward the sliding glass door, that meant that someone must have been watching me the entire time I was looking through the binoculars.

And with that thought, there was a knock at the door that almost caused me to drop my cereal bowl. I shook it off and put the bowl on the table, feeling slightly embarrassed as I walked up to look through the peephole.

It was Jake and Simon. They had brought the wagon back to fix it up. I walked out the door and around to the side of the house with both of them. Jake was pretty handy with tools, so he was able to replace the punctured tires with some old bicycle training wheels. The handle, however, was a different story. We were probably going to have to order a new one.

The entire time we were out there, I had thought about bringing up what I saw outside the sliding glass door – about the footprints – but I’d already known what Jake would say. He’d just blame it on that kid Matt. But something just didn’t quite add up to me. Regardless, I kept my mouth shut.

“There. That’s a lot better than it was,” Jake said as he wiped the grease off his hands.

That’s when yet another strange thing happened. It seemed as if each new occurrence had come more quickly than the last. And this one made it clear that someone was definitely messing with us.

As we were admiring the fixed tires, to the right of Simon, the three of us heard a faint zup sound speed past us. We’d remained quiet, shooting glances of confusion at one another, until we heard yet another zup, coming from directly above us.

“What is that?” I asked, looking at the roof of the house.

Zup. This one was much louder.

“Are they bees?” Simon asked, vexed as he started to cower.

Just then, we heard the loudest zup of them all, quickly followed with a loud knock against the house, as if someone were throwing rocks at us. This noise in particular ended with a sudden sharp pain in my knee, which had been bleeding when I’d looked down at it.     

“David! Look!” shouted Jake, pointing toward the house.

The three of us stood in shock when we had seen what it was. The sunlight gleamed off the crystallization affixed to the house, and a gold and green lightshow danced within the air in front of us like a kaleidoscope. Another arrowhead.

Jake pulled it out from the side of the house and slid it into his back pocket. The three of us turned back to survey the field.

Silence.

We must’ve stood there for six or seven minutes, just waiting for something else to happen. But nothing did. We just kept our eyes on the field. It made absolutely no sense to any of us. There were no trees or bushes for anyone to hide behind, besides the black tree of course, but that was way too far for anyone to run to by the time we looked back to see who it was that was throwing these arrowheads at us.


“We can’t tell your dad what just happened. We’ll just tell him that you cut your knee on accident with one of the screwdrivers or something,” Jake instructed.

“But, why can’t I say anything?” I asked, trying to apply pressure to me knee.

“I have a plan. We can’t give any of our parents a reason to keep us away from the tree house.”

“Okay,” Simon complied.

“Now go get your knee fixed up. Come back outside when you’re ready. We’ll talk about it then.”

Because I had trusted Jake, I did exactly what he’d told us to do. I went inside and showed my dad my knee and explained that it was an accident involving tools. He cleaned and bandaged the wound and I was good as new. Luckily, the arrowhead just grazed it. I just kept wondering, was the person actually missing, or had they been missing on purpose just to scare us?

Later that day, around seven, I was riding bikes with Jake and Simon, and we had stopped at the stop sign at the end of our street. Outside, we noticed that Jake’s neighbor Matt was playing basketball.

“You really think he’s the one messing with us?” Simon asked.

“It has to be him,” Jake affirmed. “That’s the only explanation.”

“So, what are we gonna do?” I asked.

Jake paused and looked at Simon and I. “We’re going to sneak out and go to the tree house tonight. We won’t light the candle. We’ll sit there and wait for him to come up the ladder, then we’ll kick his butt when he tries to light our candle. That’s our treehouse. Not his.”

I swallowed nervously, and I remember Simon listening to Jake, shaking his head involuntarily throughout the entirety of his explanation of what he wanted us to do.

“Jake, I’m not sure about this” I said, obviously nervous.

“What are you afraid of? Look at him. He’s not scary. He deserves it. He thinks he can mess with us? It’s over for this kid,” Jake explained, his tone becoming more threatening as he spoke.

Because of my loyalty to my friends, I had agreed to follow through with it. Simon, however, didn’t want anything to do with it. Even more so than me, I think.

“We’re going to meet here at the stop sign at 11:45. Don’t be late,” Jake instructed. “Simon, you hear me? Don’t be late.”

Simon nodded apprehensively, but said nothing. The three of us rode our bikes back to our houses, went inside, and watched the clock.

The worst night of my life was about to begin.

My parents went to bed around 10:30, and I pretended as if I was asleep until it was time to meet up at the stop sign. As quietly as possible, at 11:45, I walked outside of my front door, and practically powerwalked to the stop sign. Upon my arrival, I saw that Jake was there, but not Simon.

“Where’s Simon?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But he’ll be here.”

After ten minutes or so, Simon never showed. So we decided to head toward the black tree just the two of us. It was 11:55.

After we climbed up the rope ladder to the tree house, which was nearly impossible to do in absolute darkness, we sat inside, and waited.

“Sissy Simon backed out on us, I guess. Figures,” Jake whispered.

“I don’t blame him, I don’t really want to be out here either.”

“Whatever, dude. It has to be done. I hate this kid.”

I hesitated. “What exactly happened between you two?” I asked.

And it was at that moment when all logic was thrown out the window.

While sitting side by side, all the way at the back of the tree house, Jake and I heard someone pulling at the rope ladder. At first, it was a gentle tugging.

“There he is,” Jake quickly whispered. “Stay quiet, but get ready to grab him.” Jake sat up on his knees, and took out a flashlight from his back pocket, waiting to shine it in Matt’s eyes.

Someone on the ground continued pulling at the ladder.

“C’mon, just climb the stupid thing,” Jake whispered.

Then, just as the slight tugging stopped for about ten seconds, the rope ladder was pulled with a mighty, steadfast force, knocking Jake and I over to the floor of the tree house.

“What was that!?” I screamed.

Another vigorous pull on the rope ladder. This time, the whole foundation came loose and Jake was flung across the tree house, his head forcing the door open, his flashlight slipping out of his hands and falling twenty feet to the ground beneath us.

Another pull on the rope ladder, this one stronger and more violent than the last, now jolting me forward, causing me to land head first at the entrance of the tree house next to Jake. Now we were both able to see outside toward the ground where the flashlight lay, turned on. In the cone shaped beam of light, the first thing we saw was the ladder, tattered and ripped from the branches of the tree, strewn about on the dirt below.

And then we saw it.

Only visible for a second, we watched in horror as it revealed itself, dragging the rope ladder as it scurried through the light. It was small – no taller than three feet, and very fast. Its skin was a greenish gray, and as its body traversed across the illuminated soil, I watched in disbelief as I saw an enormous appendage trail from its torso – a gelatinous tail, glistening against the light, and covered in what might have been hundreds of sharp black thorns. It was not human.

Before either one of us could utter a word, the terrifying sound of an awful squeal emitted into the night sky. Shrill and boisterous, its cry echoed into space as it moved farther away from us.

And that’s when I heard it. A sound even more dreadful than the squeal. A sound that haunts my mind every night.

As the piercing squealing faded into the distance, it had blended into a sound much more discernable, though much more disheartening all at the same time – the distant cry of a boy. And this wasn’t the cry of a boy when one throws a temper tantrum, or scrapes his knee after falling off his bike. No. This was agony personified. This was torture. This was pain. This was desperation.

“Jake! We have to go!”

“Are you crazy? That thing is down there!” he shouted.

“It’s Simon!”

“No, you don’t know that!” Jake argued.

“Whatever, man. With or without you, I’m going to help him. Our friend is out there!”

Jake heaved a sigh and followed as I climbed down the black tree as fast as I could. We scraped our hands and legs, but it didn’t matter. Once we made it to the ground, we ran toward the cries until we couldn’t feel our legs anymore, with nothing but the clothes on our back, the stars to bear witness to our chase, and of course, the field that lay beneath us.

As I sprinted into the night, I could feel my heart in my throat – I understood that out of the hundreds of possible outcomes we might encounter, many of those endings carried the likelihood of getting in trouble, getting hurt, or, though I refused to imagine, something much worse.

But my body was on autopilot. Someone needed our help, and there was no way I could back down. Tears begun rushing down my cheeks as the brisk night air groped my face.

I realized we were running farther into the field than any of us had ever gone before. Farther and farther away from home. As we sprinted toward the sounds, a distant flame appeared with a bright flash directly ahead of us and the screaming intensified. I could hear that Jake was finding it difficult to breathe.

“Keep running, Jake! Don’t stop!”

As we approached the flame, I realized it was moving. The cries grew louder, penetrating my mind, chaotic and bloodcurdling.

And that’s when we saw him. Simon.

The rope ladder had been wrapped tightly around his arms, legs, and neck – his entire body engulfed in bright green flames.

I turned back for Jake, but he was nowhere to be seen. My cries now joined Simon’s, which at this point had begun to become much weaker.

Frail. Broken.

And I could do nothing but watch him, lying face down, motionless within the inferno. He had been burnt alive.

He looked like a statue lying there. And I couldn’t stop screaming his name.

I had dropped to my knees, falling forward, planting my face in the dirt – embracing the field with my arms open wide.

I couldn’t stop screaming his name.

And as I rolled onto my side, my face against the black of night, through my blurred eyes, I saw something appear in the distance.

A light inside the tree house.

The green candle in the Mason jar.

That’s when I knew I would never see home again. There was no escape. But you see, that’s the difference between you and me. You still have a chance. You still have a choice. I know that when you first saw me here, you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t wrap your head around what was happening in front of you.

I’ve been there.

And I assure you, everything you’ve heard is real. And while I may no longer be flesh and blood, like you, the apparition you see before your eyes – the troublesome view of this ghastly, grotesque figure – I assure you. It’s real. But I am not what you should be afraid of.

No.

Your greatest fear should be losing the things that matter most to you. Your family. Your friends. Your future. If you wish to hold onto such things, then you must never step foot in this field. If you do so, you shall suffer the same fate as I did.

Now, I beg of you, leave this awful place, and never come back.

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Edited by Freedumb104, 02 July 2016 - 11:57 AM.
edit YouTube link

https://www.youtube....eature=youtu.be   <--"The Field" Audio Book version

#2 VlawdeGStudy

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Posted 02 July 2016 - 11:23 AM

Welcome to the forums! looks like you put some work into that, very professional!  However we don't allow direct linking in posts to personal YouTube channels to gain subscribers. We get a lot of driveby posters who do that and never post again. What you CAN do is link it in your signature, and I hope you stick around and contribute to the forums, Thanks!!
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#3 Freedumb104

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Posted 02 July 2016 - 11:51 AM

Ok thanks, Updated! Yeah I plan on sticking around. 3 more stories being written at the moment!
https://www.youtube....eature=youtu.be   <--"The Field" Audio Book version

#4 VlawdeGStudy

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Posted 02 July 2016 - 12:14 PM

Well done! :)
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#5 sully

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Posted 07 September 2016 - 05:09 PM

Great story. Please post more.

I live in an area where Pukwudgies are alleged to have been seen. The Fall River - Freetown State Forest in Massachusetts is one of the most haunted areas in my town. I've read stories about Pukwudgies, UFO's, shadow people, and more being spotted in the forest. It's also a favorite dumping ground for dead bodies. Also, in the '70's and 80's, there were rumors of cult activity. Nothing was witnessed directly, just evidence left behind. Dead animals, stones arranged to form strange symbols, and the like.

I've been in there a few times and always feel strangely unsettled when I'm there. Granted, it could be purely psychological. I imagine a strange dude running out of the trees with an ax in his hand, LOL. Maybe I imagine an ax because I live in Lizzie Borden's hometown?

I've taken dozens of pictures in the forest and I haven't found anything strange yet. Well, a tree stump looks like it has a goblin on it, but it's just pareidolia.

Again, please post more stories!

#6 CDS

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Posted 08 September 2016 - 03:16 AM

View Postsully, on 07 September 2016 - 05:09 PM, said:

Great story. Please post more.

I live in an area where Pukwudgies are alleged to have been seen. The Fall River - Freetown State Forest in Massachusetts is one of the most haunted areas in my town. I've read stories about Pukwudgies, UFO's, shadow people, and more being spotted in the forest. It's also a favorite dumping ground for dead bodies. Also, in the '70's and 80's, there were rumors of cult activity. Nothing was witnessed directly, just evidence left behind. Dead animals, stones arranged to form strange symbols, and the like.

I've been in there a few times and always feel strangely unsettled when I'm there. Granted, it could be purely psychological. I imagine a strange dude running out of the trees with an ax in his hand, LOL. Maybe I imagine an ax because I live in Lizzie Borden's hometown?

I've taken dozens of pictures in the forest and I haven't found anything strange yet. Well, a tree stump looks like it has a goblin on it, but it's just pareidolia.

Again, please post more stories!

I did a tour of the "Bridge Water Triangle" a few years back. It was interesting to say the least.

#7 MacCionoadha BeanSidhe

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Posted 08 September 2016 - 01:21 PM

You have to be careful, when you go into Hockomock Swamp. There's quicksand in there.

Aquène kah nahonnushagk(Peace and farewell),
WaûtuckquesSóchepo (SnowRabbit)

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