u/ResponsibleCellist69

Carving a carcass.
Cutting through heart’s content ’til my heart’s content.
Cravings consumed me.
Claimed by my craft, from corner to corner.

Artfully arranging every artery.
Eight arms all ate.
Ending the agony under the apple tree.
An anomaly, claiming their atrocities after.

No sleep at night.
Nothingness nearby, no one notices you’re gone.
Nipping nerves neatly.
Gnawing on the remnants of a nameless nomad.

Nourishing nothing but nightmares.
Never knowing when to stop adding names to this notepad.
Gnats infested, new crevices.
Need to know the taste.

Inhaling the iron.
Inches of intestines all that remain.
Irony, I’m Intoxicated by the innocence of pain.
Intelligence increased, inherited information by eating the brain.

Biting brittle bone.
Breaking bodies beneath blood blackened boards.
Beneath my bed corpses turning black and blue.
The blackness knew me before I was born.

An appetite awakened.
An addiction I can’t abandon.
Anatomies becoming art in the autumn air. The abyss always asking for another.

Leaving nothing living.
Licking the last traces from my lips after supper.
Ligaments cracking like leather.
Living the life I love, I left room for another.

Carving a carcass.
Cutting through heart’s content ’til my heart’s content.
Cravings consumed me.
Claimed by my craft, from corner to corner.

Artfully arranging every artery.
Eight arms all ate.
Ending the agony under the apple tree.
An anomaly, claiming their atrocities after.

No sleep at night.
Nothingness nearby, no one notices you’re gone.
Nipping nerves neatly.
Gnawing on the remnants of a nameless nomad.

Nourishing nothing but nightmares.
Never knowing when to stop adding names to this notepad.
Gnats infested, new crevices.
Need to know the taste.

Inhaling the iron.
Inches of intestines all that remain.
Irony, I’m Intoxicated by the innocence of pain.
Intelligence increased, inherited information by eating the brain.

Biting brittle bone.
Breaking bodies beneath blood blackened boards.
Beneath my bed corpses turning black and blue.
The blackness knew me before I was born.

An appetite awakened.
An addiction I can’t abandon.
Anatomies becoming art in the autumn air.
The abyss always asking for another.

Leaving nothing living.
Licking the last traces from my lips after supper.
Ligaments cracking like leather.
Living the life I love, I left room for another.

On occasion my block health will be completely full but when I press the button my fighter will just stand there and take hits. Does this happen to anyone else?

Edit: it just happened in my latest fight. I clearly won the first and was winning the second. Then my character just stops blocking randomly.

Rebecca lay motionless on the bathroom floor, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her breathing was slow and uneven, and her fingers twitched slightly before going still again. A familiar warmth spread through her arm, pulling her further away from the world around her. For most children, seeing their mother lying unconscious would have been terrifying, but for four-year-old Julian, it was something he had come to accept. However, today was different. It was August 29th, 2005, in Gulfport, Mississippi. Outside, the world was slowly fading away.

“Mommy,” Julian shook her shoulder, “wake up, Mommy. I’m scared.”

Julian stood there for a few more seconds, waiting for her to open her eyes and reassure him that everything was okay. But she never did. Slowly, he walked into the living room and looked out of the second-story apartment window. An endless labyrinth of twisted gray stared back at him.

Julian wanted to call for help. He wanted nothing more than his mother to be okay. But he didn’t know how to use her cell phone. He couldn’t reach a neighbor, and the chain lock of the apartment was secured well above his grasp. Desperate, he grabbed his coloring book and colored pencils and brought them into the bathroom. He sat next to the woman who gave him birth as he scribbled on the pages.

“Mommy, look, it’s a horse. Your favorite. It’s strong and brave,” he said, waiting for a response that never came.

“It’s okay, Mr. Horsey. Mommy is just sleepy because she’s sick. But she’ll keep us safe from the thunder,” he replied.

He ripped the page out of his book and placed it under her arm.

“That’s just a shot for Mommy’s medicine. It makes her super tired,” he explained. He kissed Rebecca on the forehead. “I’m going to go play now.”

His tiny feet scampered towards the door of the bathroom.

“Watch over Mr. Horsey, he’s scared of the rain. Just like me,” he whispered.

He dashed to the living room, grabbing all the cushions before retreating to his room. He stacked them against the wall, forming a house shape. He gathered his four toys: his small red race car, Furry; his rubber duck, Rusty; his purple bouncy ball; and his best friend, Fluffy the teddy bear. Julian didn’t have a bed; he had only a sheet. He used it as a door for his toys.

“I built a house to protect us from the rain. When I leave to help Mommy, Fluffy is in charge. He’s the bravest of us all.”

Julian made another trip to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of tape. He returned to his homemade house and continued coloring. Carefully, he taped each drawing to the walls around him.

“It’ll look pretty for you,” he whispered. “And for Mommy too when she wakes up.” He looked away from his toys. “I wish you could meet Mr. Horsey. But I left him with Mommy. She needs someone too.”

Tap…
Tap…
Tap…

Julian slowly poked his head out from beneath the sheet door and looked toward the window.

“The rain is here,” he whispered before swiftly crawling into the home of his toys.

“Fluffy… I’m scared,” he pulled his inanimate friend to his chest. “Mommy,” he blurted out in panic.

“Fluffy, watch over everyone. And if you get scared, look at the pretty pictures.”

Julian nervously tiptoed across the apartment toward his mother.

“Mommy, please wake up.”

Thunder struck so loudly that the walls shook. He could hear small objects slamming against the building’s walls. It was 3:00 p.m., and pitch black outside.

“MOMMY!” He shook his mother more vigorously than he ever had. “Please get up.”

Tears filled his eyes. He sat with his mother for a long time. The rain poured louder, the wind got stronger, and the lightning got closer.

“I have to go check on Fluffy. I love you, Mommy.” He hugged her then slowly crawled away.

“Mommy is really sick today. I hope Mr. Horsey isn’t too scared.”

Julian’s stomach grumbled with hunger. Food was scarce in their household. He opened the fridge and found only milk and beef. He rummaged through the pantry and discovered a half pack of crackers and two packs of fruit gummies. He carried them to his cozy fortress of cushions.

“This is all I could find for us,” he said, handing a gummy to each toy. “Mommy will wake up soon and cook something.”

Suddenly, lightning struck beside the building, causing Julian’s hair to stand on end. The power went out, plunging them into darkness. He huddled under Fluffy and cried until he fell asleep.

During the middle of the night, Julian awoke.

“Do you hear that, Fluffy? It sounds like a puppy is trying to get in the window,” he whispered.

Julian crawled out from under the sheet and crept on his hands and knees towards the window. He felt the glass and pressed his hands against it in circular motions, then placed his face on them to try and see out. It was too dark.

“BOOM!” The lightning struck again, illuminating the entire area. Julian ran back to his fortress in panic.

“It wasn’t a dog, Fluffy. It was a… a bat. A giant bat… bigger than trees,” he exclaimed.

Julian started hyperventilating.

“Mommy! Mommy, help me!” he screamed from his fort.

Rebecca didn’t respond.

“Fluffy, we have to move the house to Mommy. I’m going to tell her,” Julian said.

He ran off to his mother, who hadn’t moved an inch. A needle still hung from her arm, and her face was turning blue.

“Mommy! Wake up, please. I need you!” he hugged her and cried into her chest. Outside, the lightning rumbled louder than ever. The wind blew trees and houses away, and the water flooded through the streets so badly that some would say not even the ark of Noah could save them.

“The floor is too cold to sleep on. You need to come to our new house,” Julian said.

He grabbed her by the feet and pulled with all his might. He strained and grunted, but even though Rebecca was frail and small, moving an adult was nearly impossible for a four-year-old. Her body didn’t budge.

“Your cold, Mommy,” Julian said.

He rushed back to his room and apologized to his toys.

“Guys, I’m sorry. Mommy needs the sheet. She’s cold.”

He removed the wool door from his home and brought it back to where his mother lay.

“Here, Mommy. This will keep you warm.”

He wrapped the sheet around her before kissing her forehead once again.

“Mr. Horsey, please keep her safe from the monsters. I have to help Fluffy with the others. They’re all scared. I know you’re brave and strong enough to keep Mommy safe.”

His heartbeat was louder than the storm. He sniffled as he ran back and forth between his mother and his only friends.

“Fluffy, I’m so scared. I want to be brave for you. I don’t know how. I wish my Dad was here. He was the bravest. You would’ve loved him. I wish you could meet him. He was sick like Mommy and took too much medicine.” Julian’s tone softened. “I hope Mommy didn’t take too much medicine.”

He lay in his home with his friends. The sounds of wars between the water and winds blasted outside. The rain continued to grow in power. The water rose higher and higher. The sun had been gone for days. The apartment smelled like rotten meat and spoiled milk. Julian decided to visit his mother again.

“Mommy, I love you.” He sniffled. “I wish you weren’t sick. I wish I was brave like you.” He cuddled closer to her. “I’m scared.” He started sobbing softly. “Please wake up… Please. The monster is still outside.” He shook her. “Wake up. Even Fluffy is scared… and before the TV went off, they said the monster’s name was Katrina.” He lay down. “It’s okay, if you can’t wake up right now. I’m going to sleep with you tonight.” He lay in his mother’s unconscious arms and sobbed gently for hours, slowly drifting asleep.

When Julian awoke, he found himself still cradled in his mother’s arms. The flooding had risen, and water was slowly creeping into their apartment. Where Mr. Horsey once stood, there were now several dissolved pieces of paper floating aimlessly in an inch of thick brown water. Outside their home, devastation was widespread. Thousands had lost their lives, and entire buildings were found upside down miles away. Trees were uprooted and blown through homes like missiles on a battlefield. It was daytime, and the sun shone brightly outside, though it was still gray. Julian looked out the same window he had seen nights before. A pale face floated into view, gray and wrinkled, with black, swollen eyes and flesh peeling away. Julian jumped away from the window, and the water now reached his ankle. He rushed out of their shelter, grabbing his friends in a panic.

“We have to go with Mommy. The monster took Mr. Horsey. We must protect Mommy,” he said, fighting back tears.

He carried them all into the bathroom and locked the door.

“There was another monster outside my room. We’ll all keep you safe while you sleep,” he reassured them.

He sat all his friends in the bathroom sink to keep them away from the water. Then, he scooped his mother up from behind. Parts of hair and skin drifting away in the rising water.

“I’ll have to hold you like this. The water is getting too high,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry. She took Mr. Horsey. I thought he could keep you safe.”

Julian sat there in the dark bathroom, holding his mother up. Water reached their necks. He was surrounded by his best friends, everyone he loved in one room.

“The sun is coming out. So, the water should stop coming after us,” he hoped.

The water didn’t stop rising.

I just wanted some feedback on a story I finished before it got posted

I was twelve years old the first time my mother smiled after my father died. It wasn’t because she had finally started healing. It was because she found Saint Gabriel’s Summer Retreat.

See i was raised in a strict catholic household. We prayed before every meal. We repented for our sins. We went to church every Sunday and Wednesday. So going to this summer camp wasn’t that crazy to me. But what was strange is that, I don’t even know how she heard about it.

There wasn’t a website ,no advertisements, no brochures ,no church announcements.

One day she was crying at the kitchen table because she couldn’t afford daycare while she worked double shifts. The next day she told me she’d found a free summer camp.

“It’ll be good for you,” she said.

“I think it’ll help.”

The next week

The bus picked up eight of us from different towns. Every kid had something in common. One had lost both his parents in a house fire. One girl’s older brother had disappeared. Another boy barely spoke , he lost him mom to a car accident. His name was Mitch. They appointed him the bus leader.

At twelve years old, I didn’t realize trauma was the only requirement for admission. I just thought we were unlucky kids getting a free vacation. The ride lasted almost seven hours. Eventually the highway disappeared. Then the paved roads. Then the cell service.
By sunset we were driving through forests so dense they blocked out most of the sky.

Nobody talked anymore.

Even the elderly man driving the bus had gone quiet. The only sound was the tires rolling over gravel.

Then…

The trees opened. There it was “Saint Gabriel’s”

Saint Gabriel’s sat in the middle of a clearing like it had been waiting for us. Everything was perfectly preserved.

It looked more like a monastery than a summer camp. Gray stone buildings ,a bell tower ,flower gardens. A lake so still it reflected the stars perfectly.

It was beautiful. Beautiful enough that it didn’t seem real.

A priest greeted us before the bus doors had fully opened. He looked to be in his sixties. Kind eyes and a soft smile with wrinkled skin.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Home. Something about that word made my stomach tighten.

The first two days were perfect.

We went fishing ,swimming ,hiking ,canoeing , did arts and crafts ,read stories around a bonfire.

The counselors never yelled. Nobody got bullied. Every meal was homemade.

Looking back…

Those first days were probably the happiest I’d been since my father died. That’s why I ignored the little things. Little things are easy to explain away.

Like the chapel. There was one. A beautiful one ,but I never saw anyone go inside. Not once.

Then Sunday came around and there was no service. We never had any Bible studies.

No prayers before meals. Nothing.

On the third night, I bowed my head before dinner.

“Dear God…”

When I looked up…

Every single person in the dining hall was staring at me. Not angry. Not confused. But concerned.

Like I’d almost touched a hot stove.

Father Thomas slowly stood from his chair and walked over to me. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. Then he smiled.

“We don’t do that here”

That sent chills down my spine. I quietly finished my food. Then as I walked around camp I noticed something else. There were
crucifixes everywhere. None of them had Jesus on them. There were no pictures paintings of Jesus anywhere. Then I realized no one has even mentioned God or Jesus since we arrived. I tried to talk to Toby about it (the kids whose parents died in the house fire). He tried to rationalize it with the fact we have all been through so much trauma. Maybe they just wanted to help us have fun and relax. I still couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

As time went on we continued to have fun doing the same activities through the entire summer. Then we left. Only 7 of us were on the bus now.

Me ,Toby ,Mack ,Nathan ,Drew ,Jen and Carly.

Mitch. Come to think of it I hadn’t seen him since the first day we arrived. I asked another kid about him on the bus. And for the first time an adult got angry.

“Hey ….lets keep it quite on the way home.” Said the bus driver who was also a camp counselor. There was so much anger in his tone.

I arrived home and told my mom about all the fun I had.

Another year rolled around. The bus came picked 8 of us up.

The same 7 that came back but with 1 new kid Danny. They appointed Drew the bus leader. Same exact summer played out as last time. When we came back there was only 7 of us. Drew was gone. Next year it happened again Carly was bus leader. She didn’t come back. The year after was my last year going to Camp Saint Gabriel’s.

I was appointed the bus leader. When we arrived I was taken to a different cabin separate from the rest of the kids. I went to a part of the camp I’ve never seen before. I had a bigger room. I was told the bus leader has a different camp experience than the rest and gets upgraded living for extra work. 6 days past and I did nothing at all. They brought me food and I played solitaire. I wasn’t allowed to leave the room unless told. I decided to sneak out at 1am. The camp wasn’t the same in the pitch black. It felt eerie. I decided to go to the chapel. It’s was surprisingly unlocked. There was nothing off about it. It looked like an old preserved church. There wasnt even dust. Everything looked clean and perfect. I walked to the alter and prayed. I usually don’t pray when I was at Saint Gabriel’s. The counselors that stayed in the room with us wouldn’t allow it. Praying here didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to describe it. It made me feel uneasy. Dreadful. I looked around the chapel some more and then I found it. A Bible. When I grabbed it the Bible was warm. Really really warm. I felt ashamed touching it. Like it was something I shouldn’t be doing. I opened it. Every page was blank. I dropped it and let out a small screech. I don’t know why but that bible ,no it wasn’t a Bible it was a book …it wasn’t of God. I was ready to go back to my room. Then I saw it. There was a binder on the priests podium. I opened it. It was a log. Each page was labeled with a year ,an age and a picture of 1 child. Going all the way back to 1604. I flipped to the last page. It was Carly. The entry before that was Drew and before that was Mitch.

I had to get out of there. I had to leave now. I was sobbing. When I turned around there was Carly. Glazed over eyes. Motionless. Catatonic. Standing at the door of the chapel. I ran to her.

“What happened to you ….What did they do”

Without looking at me or moving she murmured

“Don’t Pray here”

I froze.

She continued “it hears you. It always hears you ……..it answered me once. It wasn’t God”

I ran out the chapel. When I got out I saw a group of about 20 adults heading towards my building. Wearing long robes and masks. The masks were the faces of all the kids I had seen in that log. Including Drew and Mitch. The small children’s faces were stretched and deformed. They couldn’t fit correctly onto the faces of these adult males. The older one’s skin had turned gray and were cracking. They marched towards my room. They were all doing a hum. In perfect unison. I ran the other way. Into the woods. I ran until my lungs felt like they were tearing apart. Until the chanting disappeared. Until the trees finally gave way to a road. I ran into a store lobby and passed out. When I woke up I was in a hospital. People speaking a language I did not know. A man came into my room with a nurse.

“Hello I’m an English translator. Where are you from .”

“Rhode island”

He looked at the nurse perplexed.

“How did you get here”

“Where exactly am I”

“Freudenberg ,Germany”

None of it made sense. We drove for seven hours. No airplanes. No boats. Yet somehow I woke up on the other side of the world. After two weeks of questioning and medical examinations, I was finally flown home. I gave investigators the exact route. Every turn. Every landmark. They found nothing. I drove it myself years later. There was no clearing. No monastery. No lake. No Saint Gabriel’s.

That was 29 years ago. Yesterday…My wife came home smiling. She said she’d found a free summer camp for our daughter. She set the invitation on the kitchen table. Across the top, in faded gold letters, were 4 words. Saint Gabriel’s Summer Retreat. Emma leaves next Monday. I’m following that bus.

I found it.

I found Saint Gabriel’s.

It was exactly as I remembered.

The clearing. The lake. The chapel.

He wasn’t there.

I went inside the chapel.

I called for him.

I begged him to answer.

Nothing.

No voice.

No footsteps.

No humming.

Just silence.

Help.

Help me.

He abandoned us.

He needs the kids.

I talked to him.

He answered me.

I finally understand.

Emma is the bus leader.

Send your kids to Camp Saint Gabriel’s. The best summer camp in the world.

I’m sure most of you have heard about the infamous Lake Tiki Family Massacre in Florida back in 1982. It’s been a cold case for almost half a century. A husband and wife (Todd and Linda Martin) took their two sons (Max (17) and Caleb (13)). along with their daughter (Reagan (19)) on vacation to Lake Tiki. They had spent every summer there for years. And one day they were all violently slaughtered. I’m on my deathbed now, and I’ve decided to tell my story.

I don’t have some tragic backstory. I was raised in a good home by good people. I made an honest living as a plumber in a small town outside of Lake Tiki. I never had the urge to hurt anyone before that day. And I never felt it again.

I won’t tell you my name. I don’t want to spend my final days inside a prison cell, even if that’s exactly where I belong.

I woke up that Sunday, July 11. I can’t explain why, but the moment I opened my eyes, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to walk to the old Lake Tiki cabin…..and kill whoever was staying there.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t revenge.

It wasn’t hatred.

It was more like a craving. A thought that didn’t feel like my own. I told myself that if the cabin was empty, I’d turn around go home, and forget any of this had happened.

But if someone was there….. well, I’d do what I’d come to do.

I packed a duffel bag with rope, duct tape, gloves, bleach, trash bags, a hammer, a pitchfork, a handsaw, a large axe, and a change of clothes. My house sat about twenty minutes away through the woods.

Honestly, I can’t remember anything on the walk there. The next memory I have is stepping out of the tree line. I put on a pair of black gloves and a ski mask. There she was.
Reagan. She was lying alone on the sand by the lake sunbathing.

Remember…I didn’t know these people. I had no reason to hate them. They had never wronged me. What I did wasn’t personal. I treated all this like it was strictly business. It was something I just had to do.

I slowly approached behind her with my hammer drawn. The first swing shattered her face. I clamped my hand over her mouth. She tried to kick and fight. I overpowered her. She tried to scream ,but nothing came out. I kept swinging…. again …. again ….and again. Pus leaked from her ears. Parts of her skull were visible beneath what remained of her face. She bled so much. The ground beneath her head turned into thick red mud. She was no longer moving ,but she still had a faint breath. I dragged her by her hair onto the porch. On the other side of this door the rest of her family sat unknowingly, enjoying their vacation. I left her on the porch as I walked inside with my axe out.

Todd rushed me. I swung my axe blindly as hard as I could. The blade buried itself into his collarbone. His arm hung from his body like a door missing its top hinge. I struck him with the blunt top of the axe in the chest. He stumbled onto the hardwood floor. He didn’t scream. He didn’t beg. He didn’t cry. He looked up at me…and apologized. I raised the axe over my head and brought it down. His face split apart. When I pulled the blade free, flesh and muscle clung to the steel. I felt numb to it all. Linda ran into the living room screaming. I tied her hands and feet with rope and left her there.

I grabbed my pitchfork and proceeded up the stairs. Max charged me before I even reached the hallway. He was brave, It didn’t matter. My pitchfork pierced straight through his neck. He collapsed, choking on his own blood. He reached for the hole in his throat.
He was already pale. I drove the pitchfork through his chest. He stopped moving instantly.

Downstairs, I threw Linda across the kitchen island. I sawed through her body. Every pull of the blade tore through muscle and ligament. Blood sprayed across the cabinets and kitchen. When I was done pushed the upper half of her body onto the floor.

Her eyes never closed.

At that moment Reagan ,by some miracle crawled through the door. She didn’t even resemble a person anymore. Her face had collapsed inward. Bone protruded through shredded flesh. Blood and dirt covered what little remained of her features. One eye was gone. The other had swollen so large it barely fit inside its socket. I dragged her into the bathroom. Filled the bathtub with bleach.
Held her beneath the surface. She never struggled. She didn’t have the strength left.

The police searched for decades. They questioned other Lake Tiki visitors. They interviewed hundreds of people. They found fingerprints that belonged to no one. They chased false confessions. They searched the lake. They never found me. And they never found a motive ….Because there wasn’t one.

For years, I tried convincing myself I was simply insane. That something inside me broke for one day and then repaired itself.
I would have accepted that explanation…if I never entered Caleb’s bedroom.

When I opened his bedroom door, he was already dead. His body lay across his mattress. His face had turned blue. The news report said his trachea had been crushed. I remember standing there for several minutes trying to understand what I was looking at. Then I turned around to the closet door. That same feeling…The same invisible pull that brought me to the cabin…told me to open it.

There was a dog kennel. Curled inside was a little girl. She was maybe 4 …. 5 years old. She was filthy. Bruised. Covered in cuts that looked weeks old. Her arms and legs were bent at impossible angles just to fit inside. Hanging from the kennel door hung a faded paper tag that said $10,000. She looked at me ,not with fear ,but with hope.

Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she whispered ….“Don’t let them take me.”

I stared at her. I realized then …something brought me here for a reason. I still don’t know what it was. To this day this is the only part I regret……She wasn’t going to survive. She knew it. I knew it. I told myself I was doing her a favor. I took the hunting rifle from the wall. And well yeah.

The news broke. They reported 5 victims. Todd ,Linda ,Reagan ,Max and Caleb. There was never a mention of the little girl. No mentions of the dog kennel. I searched every missing child report in Florida. None matched her description.

Years later I rented the cabin. It looked the same as it did all those years ago. At night I swear I heard footsteps. Slow …feint foot steps. They came from underneath the cabin. There was no basement. Believe me I looked. On my final night there I heard crying coming from the floor boards of Caleb’s closet. I tore the room apart, measured every wall, checked every inch beneath the cabin.There was nowhere for the sound to come from.

I only have weeks left now ,maybe days. I needed someone to know the truth. If you ever find yourself planning a vacation to Lake Tiki…don’t.

Because I wasn’t the worst thing inside that cabin.

I was twelve years old the first time my mother smiled after my father died. It wasn’t because she had finally started healing. It was because she found Saint Gabriel’s Summer Retreat.

See i was raised in a strict catholic household. We prayed before every meal. We repented for our sins. We went to church every Sunday and Wednesday. So going to this summer camp wasn’t that crazy to me. But what was strange is that, I don’t even know how she heard about it.

There wasn’t a website ,no advertisements, no brochures ,no church announcements.

One day she was crying at the kitchen table because she couldn’t afford daycare while she worked double shifts. The next day she told me she’d found a free summer camp.

“It’ll be good for you,” she said.

“I think it’ll help.”

The next week

The bus picked up eight of us from different towns. Every kid had something in common. One had lost both his parents in a house fire. One girl’s older brother had disappeared. Another boy barely spoke , he lost him mom to a car accident. His name was Mitch. They appointed him the bus leader.

At twelve years old, I didn’t realize trauma was the only requirement for admission. I just thought we were unlucky kids getting a free vacation. The ride lasted almost seven hours. Eventually the highway disappeared. Then the paved roads. Then the cell service.
By sunset we were driving through forests so dense they blocked out most of the sky.

Nobody talked anymore.

Even the elderly man driving the bus had gone quiet. The only sound was the tires rolling over gravel.

Then…

The trees opened. There it was “Saint Gabriel’s”

Saint Gabriel’s sat in the middle of a clearing like it had been waiting for us. Everything was perfectly preserved.

It looked more like a monastery than a summer camp. Gray stone buildings ,a bell tower ,flower gardens. A lake so still it reflected the stars perfectly.

It was beautiful. Beautiful enough that it didn’t seem real.

A priest greeted us before the bus doors had fully opened. He looked to be in his sixties. Kind eyes and a soft smile with wrinkled skin.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Home. Something about that word made my stomach tighten.

The first two days were perfect.

We went fishing ,swimming ,hiking ,canoeing , did arts and crafts ,read stories around a bonfire.

The counselors never yelled. Nobody got bullied. Every meal was homemade.

Looking back…

Those first days were probably the happiest I’d been since my father died. That’s why I ignored the little things. Little things are easy to explain away.

Like the chapel. There was one. A beautiful one ,but I never saw anyone go inside. Not once.

Then Sunday came around and there was no service. We never had any Bible studies.

No prayers before meals. Nothing.

On the third night, I bowed my head before dinner.

“Dear God…”

When I looked up…

Every single person in the dining hall was staring at me. Not angry. Not confused. But concerned.

Like I’d almost touched a hot stove.

Father Thomas slowly stood from his chair and walked over to me. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. Then he smiled.

“We don’t do that here”

That sent chills down my spine. I quietly finished my food. Then as I walked around camp I noticed something else. There were
crucifixes everywhere. None of them had Jesus on them. There were no pictures paintings of Jesus anywhere. Then I realized no one has even mentioned God or Jesus since we arrived. I tried to talk to Toby about it (the kids whose parents died in the house fire). He tried to rationalize it with the fact we have all been through so much trauma. Maybe they just wanted to help us have fun and relax. I still couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

As time went on we continued to have fun doing the same activities through the entire summer. Then we left. Only 7 of us were on the bus now.

Me ,Toby ,Mack ,Nathan ,Drew ,Jen and Carly.

Mitch. Come to think of it I hadn’t seen him since the first day we arrived. I asked another kid about him on the bus. And for the first time an adult got angry.

“Hey ….lets keep it quite on the way home.” Said the bus driver who was also a camp counselor. There was so much anger in his tone.

I arrived home and told my mom about all the fun I had.

Another year rolled around. The bus came picked 8 of us up.

The same 7 that came back but with 1 new kid Danny. They appointed Drew the bus leader. Same exact summer played out as last time. When we came back there was only 7 of us. Drew was gone. Next year it happened again Carly was bus leader. She didn’t come back. The year after was my last year going to Camp Saint Gabriel’s.

I was appointed the bus leader. When we arrived I was taken to a different cabin separate from the rest of the kids. I went to a part of the camp I’ve never seen before. I had a bigger room. I was told the bus leader has a different camp experience than the rest and gets upgraded living for extra work. 6 days past and I did nothing at all. They brought me food and I played solitaire. I wasn’t allowed to leave the room unless told. I decided to sneak out at 1am. The camp wasn’t the same in the pitch black. It felt eerie. I decided to go to the chapel. It’s was surprisingly unlocked. There was nothing off about it. It looked like an old preserved church. There wasnt even dust. Everything looked clean and perfect. I walked to the alter and prayed. I usually don’t pray when I was at Saint Gabriel’s. The counselors that stayed in the room with us wouldn’t allow it. Praying here didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to describe it. It made me feel uneasy. Dreadful. I looked around the chapel some more and then I found it. A Bible. When I grabbed it the Bible was warm. Really really warm. I felt ashamed touching it. Like it was something I shouldn’t be doing. I opened it. Every page was blank. I dropped it and let out a small screech. I don’t know why but that bible ,no it wasn’t a Bible it was a book …it wasn’t of God. I was ready to go back to my room. Then I saw it. There was a binder on the priests podium. I opened it. It was a log. Each page was labeled with a year ,an age and a picture of 1 child. Going all the way back to 1604. I flipped to the last page. It was Carly. The entry before that was Drew and before that was Mitch.

I had to get out of there. I had to leave now. I was sobbing. When I turned around there was Carly. Glazed over eyes. Motionless. Catatonic. Standing at the door of the chapel. I ran to her.

“What happened to you ….What did they do”

Without looking at me or moving she murmured

“Don’t Pray here”

I froze.

She continued “it hears you. It always hears you ……..it answered me once. It wasn’t God”

I ran out the chapel. When I got out I saw a group of about 20 adults heading towards my building. Wearing long robes and masks. The masks were the faces of all the kids I had seen in that log. Including Drew and Mitch. The small children’s faces were stretched and deformed. They couldn’t fit correctly onto the faces of these adult males. The older one’s skin had turned gray and were cracking. They marched towards my room. They were all doing a hum. In perfect unison. I ran the other way. Into the woods. I ran until my lungs felt like they were tearing apart. Until the chanting disappeared. Until the trees finally gave way to a road. I ran into a store lobby and passed out. When I woke up I was in a hospital. People speaking a language I did not know. A man came into my room with a nurse.

“Hello I’m an English translator. Where are you from .”

“Rhode island”

He looked at the nurse perplexed.

“How did you get here”

“Where exactly am I”

“Freudenberg ,Germany”

None of it made sense. We drove for seven hours. No airplanes. No boats. Yet somehow I woke up on the other side of the world. After two weeks of questioning and medical examinations, I was finally flown home. I gave investigators the exact route. Every turn. Every landmark. They found nothing. I drove it myself years later. There was no clearing. No monastery. No lake. No Saint Gabriel’s.

That was 29 years ago. Yesterday…My wife came home smiling. She said she’d found a free summer camp for our daughter. She set the invitation on the kitchen table. Across the top, in faded gold letters, were 4 words. Saint Gabriel’s Summer Retreat. Emma leaves next Monday. I’m following that bus.

I found it.

I found Saint Gabriel’s.

It was exactly as I remembered.

The clearing. The lake. The chapel.

He wasn’t there.

I went inside the chapel.

I called for him.

I begged him to answer.

Nothing.

No voice.

No footsteps.

No humming.

Just silence.

Help.

Help me.

He abandoned us.

He needs the kids.

I talked to him.

He answered me.

I finally understand.

Emma is the bus leader.

Send your kids to Camp Saint Gabriel’s. The best summer camp in the world.

Hey ….i don’t really know how to go about this ,but I have to say something to someone. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy. So some backstory. I’m Mike a 43 Single male. My parents are both gone. I have 1 brother but haven’t seen him or talked to in in about 12 years. I was once married. To the love of my life ,Monica. One night when she was coming home from her late night nurse shifts a semi truck smashed into her. She was dead on site. For the last 15 years I’ve felt alone …empty. I’ve struggled to get through life without her. After her death I became quite forgetful. I would forget groceries in the shopping cart ,forget to wash the dishes ,forget why I was going into certain rooms. But this …this is impossible. So last week I woke up and there was a man in my kitchen cooking eggs. The man was much larger than me. He had to be about 6’6 and extremely muscular. I screamed as loud as I could.

“What is it Dad” as he ran to me

“Dad what …I’m not”

“Dad it’s okay …it’s me Erick …you’re having an episode again …..look.”

He shows me a picture of us. I don’t know what it was but something just didn’t look right. But then we went around the house and there was pictures of us everywhere. Pictures of just him. Pictures of him and Monica. Birthday cards. School awards. Everything even a birth certificate. October 25th 2006 ….but it’s not possible.

I would not forget something like this. I’ve only forgot small things ….well at least only remember forgetting small things. Even if this man was my son ,there is something off about him. About his eyes. He blinks too slow.

He has her smile.

Later that day I called my best friend Tom.

“Hey Tom ….weird question. Do you know Erick”

“Uhh your son?”

“Ummm ….no no the mailman” I didn’t want to seem crazy. “He hasn’t be around lately. He must of got a different route”

“Mitch has been the mailmen in our neighborhood for over 30 years.”

“Ohhh ….well I got to go.

Maybe I am crazy. Similar conversations took place with neighbors ,co workers and close friends. People I see every day that would know if I had a son. So I just accepted it. He filled me in on information I didn’t remember. Baseball games. Father son events. Birthday parties. Vacations. All things I didn’t remember. Then he asked me

“What was Mom like….i was only 5 when she passed”

“Well she was the most caring ,beautiful ,gentle person I’ve ever met. We would go out to the beach and spend hours reading and talking. I can never forget the day I met her. It was 9th grade. The new girl moved here from Boston ….I sat by her at lunch. Neither of us has the best upbringing. Victims of abuse ,grew up poor but we both wanted to make the best out of life. And we did together. I may not remember everything but I can’t forget her. And I know she loved you”

“Can I see some pictures of her”

“Yeah I got some locked away”

I went to get a photo book I have of her. It has a lock on it.

Me and Erick looked at pictures of her for hours. I had them labeled by year. We were reliving memories and telling him stories about his mother….he wasn’t in any of the pictures. Which was a red flag I admit but I didn’t think to much of it because I don’t even know how long I’ve had these locked up for. But I noticed something. We got to 2006. Monica was never pregnant. Even on the day he would have been born. There are pictures of her. Of us eating out that day. She is slim. **Nothing even close to a baby bump.** I put the pictures up and hurried and went to bed.

The next day Erick told me he was going to work.

I called my brother. He was at our wedding. He was at the funeral. I lived with him for 2 years after Monica died. Which means Erick would’ve too. We fell out after our mother’s death.

“Hey Andy”

“…..”

“Andy …it’s Mike”

“Mike ….i never thought I’d hear from you again. I’m sorry I got a new phone didn’t have your number saved. How are you. Is everything okay”

“Andy ….i have a question. Do you know my son”

“You had a baby and didn’t tell me. How old is he. I got to meet him”

“20”

“What….”

Erick walked in

“Hey I got to go I will talk to you later man.

Erick asks “who was that”

“Oh just your Uncle”

“Oh okay. I just came home to grab lunch. I will be back later. Love you dad”

“Uhh Lo….love you to Erick”

After he left I tried to call Andy back. It said the number wasn’t in service. **There were now no signs that Andy had ever existed.** His Facebook ….instagram all gone. Pictures I had just seen with him in them yesterday …gone

I told my neighbors and friends. They said I’m crazy. I left. I drove 14 hours to Andy’s old address all the way in Missouri. There was just an empty field. I’m writing this in my hotel room here. Erick is knocking on the door.

“Hey dad” “let me in” “it’s Erick” “your having an episode”

He never sounded angry. He actually sounded worried. Like he wanted to help me.
**It continued for three straight days. Every few seconds …another knock. The same words. Over and over.** Until about an hour ago. All knocking stopped. However ,It just started again. It wasn’t Erick anymore.

“Come on, Mike. We’re going to miss Andy’s wedding. Hurry up.”
It was the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard. It was Monica’s. And it was perfect. I don’t know if I’m losing my mind anymore. I don’t know if anything outside this hotel room is real. But if there’s even the smallest chance that’s really her…

I have to open the door.

I was twelve years old the first time my mother smiled after my father died. It wasn’t because she had finally started healing. It was because she found Saint Gabriel’s Summer Retreat.

See i was raised in a strict catholic household. We prayed before every meal. We repented for our sins. We went to church every Sunday and Wednesday. So going to this summer camp wasn’t that crazy to me. But what was strange is that, I don’t even know how she heard about it.

There wasn’t a website ,no advertisements, no brochures ,no church announcements.

One day she was crying at the kitchen table because she couldn’t afford daycare while she worked double shifts. The next day she told me she’d found a free summer camp.

“It’ll be good for you,” she said.

“I think it’ll help.”

The next week

The bus picked up eight of us from different towns. Every kid had something in common. One had lost both his parents in a house fire. One girl’s older brother had disappeared. Another boy barely spoke , he lost him mom to a car accident. His name was Mitch. They appointed him the bus leader.

At twelve years old, I didn’t realize trauma was the only requirement for admission. I just thought we were unlucky kids getting a free vacation. The ride lasted almost seven hours. Eventually the highway disappeared. Then the paved roads. Then the cell service.
By sunset we were driving through forests so dense they blocked out most of the sky.

Nobody talked anymore.

Even the elderly man driving the bus had gone quiet. The only sound was the tires rolling over gravel.

Then…

The trees opened. There it was “Saint Gabriel’s”

Saint Gabriel’s sat in the middle of a clearing like it had been waiting for us. Everything was perfectly preserved.

It looked more like a monastery than a summer camp. Gray stone buildings ,a bell tower ,flower gardens. A lake so still it reflected the stars perfectly.

It was beautiful. Beautiful enough that it didn’t seem real.

A priest greeted us before the bus doors had fully opened. He looked to be in his sixties. Kind eyes and a soft smile with wrinkled skin.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Home. Something about that word made my stomach tighten.

The first two days were perfect.

We went fishing ,swimming ,hiking ,canoeing , did arts and crafts ,read stories around a bonfire.

The counselors never yelled. Nobody got bullied. Every meal was homemade.

Looking back…

Those first days were probably the happiest I’d been since my father died. That’s why I ignored the little things. Little things are easy to explain away.

Like the chapel. There was one. A beautiful one ,but I never saw anyone go inside. Not once.

Then Sunday came around and there was no service. We never had any Bible studies.

No prayers before meals. Nothing.

On the third night, I bowed my head before dinner.

“Dear God…”

When I looked up…

Every single person in the dining hall was staring at me. Not angry. Not confused. But concerned.

Like I’d almost touched a hot stove.

Father Thomas slowly stood from his chair and walked over to me. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. Then he smiled.

“We don’t do that here”

That sent chills down my spine. I quietly finished my food. Then as I walked around camp I noticed something else. There were
crucifixes everywhere. None of them had Jesus on them. There were no pictures paintings of Jesus anywhere. Then I realized no one has even mentioned God or Jesus since we arrived. I tried to talk to Toby about it (the kids whose parents died in the house fire). He tried to rationalize it with the fact we have all been through so much trauma. Maybe they just wanted to help us have fun and relax. I still couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

As time went on we continued to have fun doing the same activities through the entire summer. Then we left. Only 7 of us were on the bus now.

Me ,Toby ,Mack ,Nathan ,Drew ,Jen and Carly.

Mitch. Come to think of it I hadn’t seen him since the first day we arrived. I asked another kid about him on the bus. And for the first time an adult got angry.

“Hey ….lets keep it quite on the way home.” Said the bus driver who was also a camp counselor. There was so much anger in his tone.

I arrived home and told my mom about all the fun I had.

Another year rolled around. The bus came picked 8 of us up.

The same 7 that came back but with 1 new kid Danny. They appointed Drew the bus leader. Same exact summer played out as last time. When we came back there was only 7 of us. Drew was gone. Next year it happened again Carly was bus leader. She didn’t come back. The year after was my last year going to Camp Saint Gabriel’s.

I was appointed the bus leader. When we arrived I was taken to a different cabin separate from the rest of the kids. I went to a part of the camp I’ve never seen before. I had. A bigger room. I was told the bus leader has a different camp experience than the rest and gets upgraded living for extra work. 6 days past and I did nothing at all. They brought me food and I played solitaire. I wasn’t allowed to leave the room unless told. I decided to sneak out at 1am. The camp wasn’t the same in the pitch black. It felt eerie. I decided to go to the chapel. It’s was surprisingly unlocked. There was nothing off about it. It looked like an old preserved church. There was nothing off. But even dust. Everything looked clean and perfect. I walked to the alter and prayed. I usually don’t pray when I was at Saint Gabriel’s. The counselors that stayed in the room with us wouldn’t allow it. Praying here didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to describe it. It made me feel uneasy. Dreadful. I looked around the chapel some more and then I found it. A Bible. When I grabbed it the Bible was warm. Really really warm. I felt ashamed touching it. Like it was something I shouldn’t be doing. I opened it. Every page was blank. I dropped it and let out a small screech. I don’t know why but that bible ,no book …it wasn’t of God. I was ready to go back to my room. Then I saw it. There was a binder on the priests podium. I opened it. It was a log. Each page was labeled with a year ,an age and a picture of 1 child. Going all the way back to 1604. I flipped to the last page. It was Carly. The entry before that was Drew and before that was Mitch.

I had to get out of there. I had to leave now. I was sobbing. When I turned around there was Carly. Glazed over eyes. Motionless. Catatonic. Standing at the door of the chapel. I ran to her.

“What happened to you ….What did they do”

Without looking at me or moving she murmured

“Don’t Pray here”

I froze.

She continued “it hears you. It always hears you ……..it answered me once. It wasn’t God”

I ran out the chapel. When I got out I saw a group of about 20 adults heading towards my building. Wearing long robes and masks. The masks were the faces of all the kids I had seen in that log. Including Drew and Mitch. The small children’s faces were stretched and deformed. They couldn’t fit correctly onto the faces of these adult males. The older one’s skin had turned gray and were cracking. They marched towards my room. They were all doing a hum. In perfect unison. I ran the other way. Into the woods. I ran until my lungs felt like they were tearing apart. Until the chanting disappeared. Until the trees finally gave way to a road. I ran into a store lobby and passed out. When I woke up I was in a hospital. People speaking a language I did not know. A man came into my room with a nurse.

“Hello I’m an English translator. Where are you from .”

“Rhode island”

He looked at the nurse perplexed.

“How did you get here”

“Where exactly am I”

“Freudenberg ,Germany”

None of it made sense. We drove for seven hours. No airplanes. No boats. Yet somehow I woke up on the other side of the world. After two weeks of questioning and medical examinations, I was finally flown home. I gave investigators the exact route. Every turn. Every landmark. They found nothing. I drove it myself years later. There was no clearing. No monastery. No lake. No Saint Gabriel’s.

That was 29 years ago. Yesterday…My wife came home smiling. She said she’d found a free summer camp for our daughter. She set the invitation on the kitchen table. Across the top, in faded gold letters, were 4 words. Saint Gabriel’s Summer Retreat. Emma leaves next Monday. I’m following that bus.

I found it.

I found Saint Gabriel’s.

It was exactly as I remembered.

The clearing. The lake. The chapel.

He wasn’t there.

I went inside the chapel.

I called for him.

I begged him to answer.

Nothing.

No voice.

No footsteps.

No humming.

Just silence.

Help.

Help me.

He abandoned us.

He needs the kids.

I talked to him.

He answered me.

I finally understand.

Emma is the bus leader.

Send your kids to Camp Saint Gabriel’s. The best summer camp in the world.

Hey ….i don’t really know how to go about this ,but I have to say something to someone. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy. So some backstory. I’m Mike a 43 Single male. My parents are both gone. I have 1 brother but haven’t seen him or talked to in in about 12 years. I was once married. To the love of my life ,Monica. One night when she was coming home from her late night nurse shifts a semi truck smashed into her. She was dead on site. For the last 15 years I’ve felt alone …empty. I’ve struggled to get through life without her. After her death I became quite forgetful. I would forget groceries in the shopping cart ,forget to wash the dishes ,forget why I was going into certain rooms. But this …this is impossible. So last week I woke up and there was a man in my kitchen cooking eggs. The man was much larger than me. He had to be about 6’6 and extremely muscular. I screamed as loud as I could.

“What is it Dad” as he ran to me

“Dad what …I’m not”

“Dad it’s okay …it’s me Erick …you’re having an episode again …..look.”

He shows me a picture of us. I don’t know what it was but something just didn’t look right. But then we went around the house and there was pictures of us everywhere. Pictures of just him. Pictures of him and Monica. Birthday cards. School awards. Everything even a birth certificate. October 25th 2006 ….but it’s not possible.

I would not forget something like this. I’ve only forgot small things ….well at least only remember forgetting small things. Even if this man was my son ,there is something off about him. About his eyes. He blinks too slow.

He has her smile.

Later that day I called my best friend Tom.

“Hey Tom ….weird question. Do you know Erick”

“Uhh your son?”

“Ummm ….no no the mailman” I didn’t want to seem crazy. “He hasn’t be around lately. He must of got a different route”

“Mitch has been the mailmen in our neighborhood for over 30 years.”

“Ohhh ….well I got to go.

Maybe I am crazy. Similar conversations took place with neighbors ,co workers and close friends. People I see every day that would know if I had a son. So I just accepted it. He filled me in on information I didn’t remember. Baseball games. Father son events. Birthday parties. Vacations. All things I didn’t remember. Then he asked me

“What was Mom like….i was only 5 when she passed”

“Well she was the most caring ,beautiful ,gentle person I’ve ever met. We would go out to the beach and spend hours reading and talking. I can never forget the day I met her. It was 9th grade. The new girl moved here from Boston ….I sat by her at lunch. Neither of us has the best upbringing. Victims of abuse ,grew up poor but we both wanted to make the best out of life. And we did together. I may not remember everything but I can’t forget her. And I know she loved you”

“Can I see some pictures of her”

“Yeah I got some locked away”

I went to get a photo book I have of her. It has a lock on it.

Me and Erick looked at pictures of her for hours. I had them labeled by year. We were reliving memories and telling him stories about his mother….he wasn’t in any of the pictures. Which was a red flag I admit but I didn’t think to much of it because I don’t even know how long I’ve had these locked up for. But I noticed something. We got to 2006. Monica was never pregnant. Even on the day he would have been born. There are pictures of her. Of us eating out that day. She is slim. Nothing even close to a baby bump. I put the pictures up and hurried and went to bed.

The next day Erick told me he was going to work.

I called my brother. He was at our wedding. He was at the funeral. I lived with him for 2 years after Monica died. Which means Erick would’ve too. We fell out after our mother’s death.

“Hey Andy”

“…..”

“Andy …it’s Mike”

“Mike ….i never thought I’d hear from you again. I’m sorry I got a new phone didn’t have your number saved. How are you. Is everything okay”

“Andy ….i have a question. Do you know my son”

“You had a baby and didn’t tell me. How old is he. I got to meet him”

“20”

“What….”

Erick walked in

“Hey I got to go I will talk to you later man.

Erick asks “who was that”

“Oh just your Uncle”

“Oh okay. I just came home to grab lunch. I will be back later. Love you dad”

“Uhh Lo….love you to Erick”

After he left I tried to call Andy back. It said the number wasn’t in service. There were now no signs that Andy had ever existed. His Facebook ….instagram all gone. Pictures I had just seen with him in them yesterday …gone

I told my neighbors and friends. They said I’m crazy. I left. I drove 14 hours to Andy’s old address all the way in Missouri. There was just an empty field. I’m writing this in my hotel room here. Erick is knocking on the door.

“Hey dad” “let me in” “it’s Erick” “your having an episode”

He never sounded angry. He actually sounded worried. Like he wanted to help me.
It continued for three straight days. Every few seconds …another knock. The same words. Over and over. Until about an hour ago. All knocking stopped. However ,It just started again. It wasn’t Erick anymore.

“Come on, Mike. We’re going to miss Andy’s wedding. Hurry up.”
It was the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard. It was Monica’s. And it was perfect. I don’t know if I’m losing my mind anymore. I don’t know if anything outside this hotel room is real. But if there’s even the smallest chance that’s really her…

I have to open the door.

Hey ….i don’t really know how to go about this ,but I have to say something to someone. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy. So some backstory. I’m Mike a 43 Single male. My parents are both gone. I have 1 brother but haven’t seen him or talked to in in about 12 years. I was once married. To the love of my life ,Monica. One night when she was coming home from her late night nurse shifts a semi truck smashed into her. She was dead on site. For the last 15 years I’ve felt alone …empty. I’ve struggled to get through life without her. After her death I became quite forgetful. I would forget groceries in the shopping cart ,forget to wash the dishes ,forget why I was going into certain rooms. But this …this is impossible. So last week I woke up and there was a man in my kitchen cooking eggs. The man was much larger than me. He had to be about 6’6 and extremely muscular. I screamed as loud as I could.

“What is it Dad” as he ran to me

“Dad what …I’m not”

“Dad it’s okay …it’s me Erick …you’re having an episode again …..look.”

He shows me a picture of us. I don’t know what it was but something just didn’t look right. But then we went around the house and there was pictures of us everywhere. Pictures of just him. Pictures of him and Monica. Birthday cards. School awards. Everything even a birth certificate. October 25th 2006 ….but it’s not possible.

I would not forget something like this. I’ve only forgot small things ….well at least only remember forgetting small things. Even if this man was my son ,there is something off about him. About his eyes. He blinks too slow.

He has her smile.

Later that day I called my best friend Tom.

“Hey Tom ….weird question. Do you know Erick”

“Uhh your son?”

“Ummm ….no no the mailman” I didn’t want to seem crazy. “He hasn’t be around lately. He must of got a different route”

“Mitch has been the mailmen in our neighborhood for over 30 years.”

“Ohhh ….well I got to go.

Maybe I am crazy. Similar conversations took place with neighbors ,co workers and close friends. People I see every day that would know if I had a son. So I just accepted it. He filled me in on information I didn’t remember. Baseball games. Father son events. Birthday parties. Vacations. All things I didn’t remember. Then he asked me

“What was Mom like….i was only 5 when she passed”

“Well she was the most caring ,beautiful ,gentle person I’ve ever met. We would go out to the beach and spend hours reading and talking. I can never forget the day I met her. It was 9th grade. The new girl moved here from Boston ….I sat by her at lunch. Neither of us has the best upbringing. Victims of abuse ,grew up poor but we both wanted to make the best out of life. And we did together. I may not remember everything but I can’t forget her. And I know she loved you”

“Can I see some pictures of her”

“Yeah I got some locked away”

I went to get a photo book I have of her. It has a lock on it.

Me and Erick looked at pictures of her for hours. I had them labeled by year. We were reliving memories and telling him stories about his mother….he wasn’t in any of the pictures. Which was a red flag I admit but I didn’t think to much of it because I don’t even know how long I’ve had these locked up for. But I noticed something. We got to 2006. Monica was never pregnant. Even on the day he would have been born. There are pictures of her. Of us eating out that day. She is slim. Nothing even close to a baby bump. I put the pictures up and hurried and went to bed.

The next day Erick told me he was going to work.

I called my brother. He was at our wedding. He was at the funeral. I lived with him for 2 years after Monica died. Which means Erick would’ve too. We fell out after our mother’s death.

“Hey Andy”

“…..”

“Andy …it’s Mike”

“Mike ….i never thought I’d hear from you again. I’m sorry I got a new phone didn’t have your number saved. How are you. Is everything okay”

“Andy ….i have a question. Do you know my son”

“You had a baby and didn’t tell me. How old is he. I got to meet him”

“20”

“What….”

Erick walked in

“Hey I got to go I will talk to you later man.

Erick asks “who was that”

“Oh just your Uncle”

“Oh okay. I just came home to grab lunch. I will be back later. Love you dad”

“Uhh Lo….love you to Erick”

After he left I tried to call Andy back. It said the number wasn’t in service. There were now no signs that Andy had ever existed. His Facebook ….instagram all gone. Pictures I had just seen with him in them yesterday …gone

I told my neighbors and friends. They said I’m crazy. I left. I drove 14 hours to Andy’s old address all the way in Missouri. There was just an empty field. I’m writing this in my hotel room here. Erick is knocking on the door.

“Hey dad” “let me in” “it’s Erick” “your having an episode”

He never sounded angry. He actually sounded worried. Like he wanted to help me.
It continued for three straight days. Every few seconds …another knock. The same words. Over and over. Until about an hour ago. All knocking stopped. However ,It just started again. It wasn’t Erick anymore.

“Come on, Mike. We’re going to miss Andy’s wedding. Hurry up.”
It was the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard. It was Monica’s. And it was perfect. I don’t know if I’m losing my mind anymore. I don’t know if anything outside this hotel room is real. But if there’s even the smallest chance that’s really her…

I have to open the door.

Is there any episodes that you personally enjoyed but either the fan base or the guys didn’t ??? For me it’s the showers

What do you think is the most underrated story hey have covered ?

I’m between The Whistlers or the blind stairs spider lady

1997 - Journal Entry 5

Noah never spoke again after that point. Not really. He was physically there, but whatever part of him made him ,Noah was gone. He moved when I moved. Stopped when I stopped. If I pulled him forward, he followed. The only thing he ever said again was

“It had her face.”

He would repeat that occasionally.

We stayed in the river long enough that I lost track of everything….distance, direction, even how long we were moving with it. Eventually it carried us into shallower water, and we were forced onto land again.

We walked for hours in silence. My feet bled. We moved aimlessly through broken terrain. It felt as if the jungle was closing in on us. The thumping returned. We ran as it got closer. The storm returned soon after. Trees were collapsing under wind pressure. Visibility dropped to almost nothing. We couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead at any given time, but stopping wasn’t an option.

I gave up on survival.

I could only think about my children( Charley , Darby and my newborn Kenzie)…I never thought I would see any of them ever again.…however I did see Kenzies one more time.

Noah collapsed several times during the walk. I dragged him the rest of the way by his shirt. He didn’t resist. He didn’t help. He didn’t speak. He was Just weight. Nothing more. His eyes glazed over. He wasn’t in there.

They were behind us again. Their heads over the canopy. They smelled of rotting meat and sewage. They didn’t run they walked slowly after us. Screaming. No matter how fast we ran there walk kept up with us.

I could smell salt water. The ocean was near. I ran even faster. Noah fell I didn’t pick him up. I got to the shore line. Inflated the raft and pushed it into the water.. I got about 100 yards away from the shoreline.

That’s when Noah came out of the tree line again. He was trying to run towards the water. He staggered and fell. Would get up and fall again.

I started paddling toward him. Then stopped.

I could see it break the tree line. It came slowly. Not rushing. Not chasing in the way you would expect. It stepped into the open. It had no reason to hide.

It walked on all fours and was still over 20 feet tall. About the same height as a streetlight you would see on the interstate. The canopy bent under its movement like it was reacting to weight that didn’t belong there. Its body was scarred, soaked, and wrong in proportion. Like it had been rebuilt multiple times but never correctly.

Noah screamed once.

Not my name. Not for help.

Just one word “Mom”

Then it reached him.

There was no struggle l. No continuation. Whatever happened was immediate, like his body stopped belonging to him the moment it got to him.

It ripped him apart. It tore his arms off. Grabbed him by his feet and viciously swung him into the ground. There was so much blood.

It stopped. It walked towards the water. Each step sent ripples all the way to the raft.

It had my newborns face.

Kenzie.

It opened its mouth and roared. The sound didn’t belong to anything alive. My baby’s jaw unhinged too far …wrong angles, too wide …and behind it were teeth that weren’t human. Long jagged blood stained fangs.

Another silhouette emerged from the trees. It grabbed noah. Every bone in him broken. His body hung limp in the creatures fist like a bag of groceries.

It climbed into the canopy with him. Before disappearing, it paused and turned. It now had Noah’s face.

The current carried me farther than I could steer, until land disappeared completely behind the horizon.

Noah is gone. Marcus is gone. Whatever followed us is still there.

I have no food left. No water left. No reason to believe I’ll survive another day.

If this reaches anyone, don’t go to that island. Don’t search for it.

I was wrong.

09/03/1997 02:00 (Journal Entry 3)

I don’t know if it was the tension in the conversation with Marcus or the long hours at sea ,but seeing the island for the first time filled me with a level of dread I’ve never experienced. I felt physically sick and had to sit down. We landed a few hours ago and set up camp a short distance from the shoreline. We are using flagging tape to mark our path through the jungle. We have yet to see any signs of life on this island …not even insects. There are no maps or routes for this island. We don’t know its size ,terrain or what maybe be inside it. We don’t know if anything lives here at all. Tomorrow we go into the jungle blind. As I write this I hear something far off in the distance ….. a very faint thumping sound. For the first time since starting these expeditions, I’m beginning to think we shouldn’t have come here.

09/03/1997 (Audio Entry 3)

Noah: Hey Guys , this is Noah. This entry is gonna be a little different than usual. Evan wasn’t feeling well this morning, probably just sea sick. So me Dr. Voss and Marcus are going to explore. While Evan stays back at camp.

•walking though dense brush•

Marcus: So what do you guys think of Evan

Voss: I haven’t had much time with him but he seems focused. Driven.

Noah: He is my best friend. Has been since we were kids.

Marcus: When did y’all start doing this?

Noah: ummm probably like middle school. Started off kind of dumb. Looking for Big Foot in the local woods. Ghosts in abandoned buildings. Basic things like that for fun.

Voss: And you turned it into this?

Noah: Yeah. At some point it stopped being pretend. It became our careers.

Marcus: Did you ever find anything?

Noah: Not really. Weird noises. Footprints we couldn’t explain. Stuff like that ….but i still believe there is something out there

Marcus: hmmm …..back then did Evan believe in it too?

Noah: Yeah ….more then anyone. Thats the funny part. Years of nothing changed him. Turned him into the stubborn skeptic he is now.

•takes drink of water•

Marcus: Do you think there is something here?

Noah: I’m not sure. I definitely get an off feeling about this place.

Voss: i will say this from my experience. This environment is sustainable for great apes. Dense canopy, isolation, food supply.

Marcus: That doesn’t necessarily mean there is any.

Voss: No it doesn’t ,but it makes the stories more interesting.

Noah: The legends have to come from something. Most of the time they aren’t direct lies.

Marcus: Well if there are Gorillas…..What do we do

Voss: Avoid them

Marcus: and if we don’t

Voss: Die

•continues walking•

Noah: You know this is my first time in a jungle. I’ve gone through state parks and deep woods but never a jungle. It feels like it’s closing in on you. I have miles and miles of space but fill claustrophobic.

Marcus: yeah ….it does. You lose direction fast if you’re not careful. I’ve seen someone take maybe 10 steps into the tree line and never be seen again. The jungle will eat you

Voss: and that’s why this flagging tape is a necessity.

•walking continues•

Noah: Do y’all think it was a good idea to leave him alone out here?

Marcus: We told him not to leave camp. He has food and water.

Noah: Yeah ….but what if something finds him?

Voss: look there is a clearing up ahead

•walking•

Marcus: Cave up ahead …maybe half a mile.

Noah: is that

Voss: a gorilla ……

Noah: There real….

Voss: We need to leave now

Marcus: it’s massive ….are they supposed to be that size

Voss: No …and it shouldn’t be possible …move

Slow soft footsteps

Noah: There are more coming out the cave.

Marcus: what the hell are those thin….

Voss: Run ….now

•Heavy running and breathing•

•Thunder•

Running stops

Voss: Marcus why are you stopping

Marcus: The tape is gone

Noah: What

Marcus: it …it looks like it tore

Dr. Voss: We have to keep moving.

Marcus: I remember passing that fallen tree over there. Go that way

Sounds of lightning loud rain and running

•Stumble then bang•

Noah: Marcus are you okay

Marcus: uhhh yeah …I …ummm dropped something important …keep going north …I’ll catch up

Noah: Are you sure

Marcus: Go

Running continues in 2 directions

Low scream “Anna”

Voss: Tape ahead ….over there

Noah: ….Marcus….. where is Marcus… we can’t leave him

Voss: We already did

Running stops …. heavy breathing,

Noah: we go back tomorrow and find him

Voss: No …we get to camp and get off this damn island.