I appreciate you taking the call. I've been listening for years now, but I never thought I'd have a reason to dial the number. I'm not a superstitious man, I'll say that much. I worked timber for thirty years, and I've seen bears, cougars, elk. I know what lives in these woods. Or at least, I thought I did. This happened back in July of '98. I had about two acres of land backed up against the state forest. My pride and joy was the garden. Specifically, the raspberry canes. Heritage variety, huge producers. I spent more time on those bushes than I did on my own house. My flashlight had died the week before, so I was using candles around the house. It was mid-July, right at the peak of the season. The air was heavy, you know? That thick, coastal humidity that just sticks to your skin.
It started with the sounds. For three nights straight, I'd hear this wet tearing sound coming from the garden. Not the snap of a deer browsing. This was violent. Slurping. Smacking. Like a dog eating a bowl of oatmeal, but louder. I figured it was a raccoon family, or maybe a possum. I went out the first two nights and shouted from the porch, and the noise stopped. But the third night, the noise didn't stop when I yelled. It got louder. Almost like it was mocking me. Aggressive. So I grabbed the heavy Maglite flashlight I kept by the door and headed out there. candles when your flashlight dies is rough - Leah' It was pitch black out. No moon, completely overcast. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face without the beam. I'll say that much, it was dark like I'd never seen before. The air smelled sweet, sickly sweet, like jam that's been left out in the sun too long, mixed with something musky. Like wet fur.
I walked down the gravel path, trying to be quiet, but my boots were crunching on the stones. The sound coming from the bushes was frantic now. I got about ten feet away from the main trellis and I could see the canes shaking. Violently. Not swaying in the wind, but thrashing, like something was fighting the plant. I raised the light and clicked it on. At first, my brain couldn't make sense of it. I was expecting fur. Brown fur, gray fur. But I saw skin. Pale, mottled skin, like a raw chicken breast dropped in the dirt. It was a man. But it wasn't. It couldn't have been more than three feet tall, crouched there amidst the thorns.
[ Story continues in the full game... ]