The Dark Below - Creepypasta
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Tiempo de lectura estimado - 49 minutos
"Ahí está de nuevo. 37 pies hacia abajo. Está justo debajo de nosotros —grité por encima del zumbido del motor. El Bayliner blanco y verde de 26 pies, cariñosamente conocido como el Karmanos, redujo la velocidad cuando logré que el bote se arrastrara. Olas oscuras golpeaban perezosamente el casco envejecido y opaco. El sol intentó en vano atravesar el cielo nublado, haciendo que las aguas de Falls Lake parecieran de un marrón oscuro con una gran tormenta de verano arrastrándose sobre mí. El trueno aún no había comenzado a anunciar la llegada de la tormenta, pero el muro negro de abrumadoras nubes era ominoso. Este fue mi tercer año trabajando como asistente de guardabosques. Con tareas que consistían principalmente en limpiar los desechos de los campistas y rescatar a los ciclistas perdidos en los senderos después del atardecer, esta fue mi primera carga real que fue todo menos mundana.
Trabajé con Jeffrey, un guardabosques. Estábamos bastante en contra pero nos llevábamos muy bien juntos. Jeffrey tenía edad suficiente para ser mi padre y era uno de los guardabosques más antiguos de Falls Lake. Tenía sobrepeso y siempre lucía un corte de pelo del Capitán Picard. A menudo caminaba cojeando. Era un exjugador de fútbol, pero el tiempo y las lesiones lo habían afectado a lo largo de los años. Llevaba el cinturón de servicio todos los días, lo que provocaba un mayor desgaste en sus caderas envejecidas y en la zona lumbar. Su humor seco y su visión pesimista del mundo contrastaban con mi exuberancia juvenil. Jeffrey era técnicamente mi jefe, pero me dejaba conducir el barco cuando no había nadie cerca. Fue una pequeña grieta en su comportamiento por lo demás brusco. A lo largo de los años, se había acostumbrado a mí y comencé a pensar en él como en mi familia. Mi proyecto de último año fue coordinado por una universidad local para trazar un mapa del sinuoso lecho de Falls Lake por primera vez desde sus inicios en 1978. Las horas terminarían mi carrera. Era mi primer día de regreso desde el otoño pasado y estaba ansioso por llegar al trabajo.
Comenzamos el día cerca de Rolling View Park, uno de los parques más grandes del lago. Estuvimos seis horas en el día y estábamos progresando mucho. Descubrimos y anotamos las posiciones de árboles y troncos caídos por cientos, cementerios masivos de tocones semi-calcificados, grandes formaciones rocosas y huecos y caídas inusuales, posiblemente causadas por demoliciones antes de que se creara el lago. Una de las cosas más interesantes descubiertas fue el equipo agrícola. Los arados viejos y los pequeños tractores fueron abandonados por agricultores que no podían o no querían moverlos antes de que el Cuerpo de Ingenieros del Ejército tomara sus tierras y sus medios de vida a través del inminente dominio del lago. Era casi el final del día. El sol comenzó su viaje hacia las líneas de árboles que rodeaban el lago cuando localizamos un objeto inusual aproximadamente rectangular a doce metros por debajo de la superficie. Después de varias pasadas, determinamos que el objeto tenía unos quince pies de largo y estaba sentado directamente en la parte inferior. Jeffrey, encanecido por años de trabajar en el área, se derrumbó en su silla e inclinó la cabeza. Su estado de ánimo, constantemente solo por encima de la irritabilidad, se convirtió en una ira francamente exasperada.
“Vamos a quedarnos aquí por un tiempo. Maldita sea. Y dejé mi bocadillo en la Marina. Mi cabeza se levantó bruscamente, una mirada inquisitiva en mi rostro después de una explosión tan inusual.
"¿Qué porqué?"
“La gente siempre desaparece en este lago. Ha sucedido desde que construyeron este lugar. La gente se ahoga o se emborracha y se cae de su bote o salta del puente de la autopista 50. Allí estaba esta señora, se ató ladrillos a los pies y voló un montón de drogas con receta una vez. Alma triste. Mira esa forma en la pantalla. Es un coche, chico. Me quedé mirando las distintas pantallas frente a mí durante un minuto. Las pantallas e instrumentos relativamente nuevos se instalaron aleatoriamente en la consola central del barco de los años 90. No estaba lo suficientemente educado en equipos de sonar para sacar la misma conclusión que Jeffrey.
Tráenos, chico. Llamaré al buceador. Solo tenemos unos 30 minutos antes de que llegue la lluvia. Jeffrey cogió la radio. "462, aquí 467. Creo que encontramos un coche aquí". ¿Puedes llamar a los alguaciles? Necesitaremos su equipo de buceo. Jeffrey guardó la radio y se volvió hacia mí mientras apagaba por completo ambos motores Mercury.
Dejó escapar una risa divertida y dijo: "No es así como quería terminar mi día".
Su voz áspera hizo eco a través del lago, llevada por el agua y el espacio abierto. Abrió un paquete de cigarrillos Maverick sin filtrar y encendió uno, dando una larga calada.
"Me alegro de que hayas vuelto este año, chico." Eres mejor que ese otro pequeño incrédulo que teníamos. Lo dejaron ir. ¿Cual era su nombre? "
Estas cosas te van a matar, ¿sabes? Y si te caes, no te besaré.
Jeffrey gruñó pero no dijo nada. Dio otra larga bocanada y una densa nube de humo me cubrió la cara.
"Shawn", dije, rodando los ojos y tosiendo. “Su nombre era Shawn Temple. También era del estado de Carolina del Norte. Me pregunté por qué no había regresado.
“Casi hunde los Karmanos. Greg perdió la cabeza por eso. Pensé que iba a estallar ese vaso sanguíneo en su frente. El que aparece aquí cuando se pone molesto —Jeffrey se dio unas palmaditas en el centro de la frente, justo por encima de los ojos—. "Completo desastre."
Me eché a reír. "¿Como paso?"
"Este chico no puso el enchufe en la parte trasera antes de lanzarse. Una educación universitaria sofisticada a veces no puede compensar la falta de sentido común. No te ofendas, ISH, ”Jeffrey se rió entre dientes y agitó su mano con desdén en mi dirección, esparciendo cenizas sobre la cubierta. Pero estás bien. "
"Greg está a cargo ahora, ¿no?" "
"Es verdad", respondió Jeffrey, lanzando dos chorros de humo por la nariz. Echó más cenizas a un lado y apagó el cigarrillo. Jeffery, que nunca fue un bicho de la basura, metió el trasero en una pequeña bolsa cerca de la cabina del piloto. “Superintendente Greg Urquhart. Bully para él. Trabajó su trasero para conseguirlo. Ahora es el jefe de los guardabosques. Además de ti, él es la única otra persona aquí que todavía puedo soportar.
El aire de finales de junio era denso por encima de nosotros, la humedad de Carolina del Norte hizo que mi polo gris del personal del parque se pegara a mi piel a lo largo de mi pecho y espalda. Habiendo vivido aquí toda mi vida, estaba acostumbrado al calor. Eché un vistazo al tablero. 97 grados Fahrenheit y 80% de humedad. No tan mal como lo había sido a principios de semana. Se levantó una ligera brisa, acunando suavemente a los Karmanos, sus viejos huesos crujieron y nos hicieron adentrarnos perezosamente en el canal. Mi cabello se soltó brevemente cuando la ráfaga murió, proporcionando un alivio momentáneo de la tirantez. Tomé un sorbo de mi jarra de agua y comí un paquete de galletas de mantequilla de maní mientras escuchaba a los pájaros. Después de unos treinta minutos, lo escuché.
Un zumbido bajo resonó desde lejos pero se acercó. Me asomé por encima del hombro mientras una lancha rápida SeaHunter de alabastro aceleraba hacia la cala. Nuevo y de vanguardia, el fueraborda era una clase por encima de nuestro viejo bote en términos de tecnología y diseño. El "Sheriff del condado de Wake" era una pegatina dorada y blanca en el costado con letras sólidas, con "Unidad Marina" a lo largo de la proa. Un asistente de equipo de buceo estaba sentado cerca de la barandilla. Se puso una máscara y comprobó su regulador. El SeaHunter se colocó junto a nosotros y el Asistente de la consola llamó cuando disminuyó la velocidad hasta quedar inactivo.
"¿Es este el lugar?" "
"Sí, justo al lado de nuestro arco", llamé.
Jeffrey sollozó y puso los ojos en blanco. "Arco. ¿Ah bien? ¿Arco? Solo di la parte delantera del bote, chico.
“Estoy en lo correcto, Jeff. Deberías intentarlo. Me reí un poco cuando me cortó los ojos. Odiaba que lo llamaran Jeff.
El buzo rodó hacia un lado con un chapoteo en el agua marrón. Inspeccioné la orilla del lago, apenas a 30 pies de nuestra popa. Hubo un fuerte descenso desde la orilla hasta donde estábamos flotando. Parecía que había sido un lugar que el Cuerpo había demolido para dejar espacio a los pilones del puente a unos cincuenta metros de distancia. El tráfico ligero pasaba por el puente, el tráfico de la hora punta había desaparecido. Vi los matorrales de la colina que bajaban del puente. Había un pequeño trozo de grava donde los coches podían dar la vuelta o detenerse. Allí la vegetación se aplanaba en línea recta viniendo de la calzada y directamente hacia la orilla. En el mundo de la aplicación de la ley, esto se llama pista, diría Greg. Sherlock ordinario, ese.
Una explosión de burbujas me sacó de mi trance. El buceador salió a la superficie y se volvió, escupiendo el regulador de su boca. "Marcus, es un Jeep", le gritó al asistente a bordo del SeaHunter. Se volvió hacia ella y ella continuó. “Hay un cuerpo en él. Lo que queda de él de todos modos. He estado ahí por un tiempo. El diputado, Marcus, se quitó el sombrero y se ajustó el gorro que cubría las ondas en su cabello. Él asintió con la cabeza preocupado y comenzó a hablar por la radio. Parecía joven. Quizás era nuevo. Un rayo abrió el cielo. La primera gota de lluvia cayó unos segundos después. Mierda, pensé para mí. Parece que me voy a mojar.
Eran las 9:50 p.m. cuando la tienda de conveniencia finalmente sacó el Jeep Grand Cherokee de la agitada oscuridad. La pintura roja resultó gravemente dañada y todas las ventanas se rompieron. Una gran abolladura de un impacto se había derrumbado en la puerta del lado del pasajero. La parrilla delantera estaba dañada y faltaba el faro izquierdo. Agarré los bordes de mi impermeable mientras continuaba el aguacero. El Jeep fue transportado por la carretera hasta la unidad forense que esperaba para fotografiar al ocupante. Mientras arrastraban el jeep por la colina de donde había venido, noté algo extraño. El parachoques del Jeep estaba doblado y torcido en una forma mutilada. La rama de un árbol se atascó por la ventana trasera. Era casi como si alguien estuviera conduciendo el Jeep cuesta abajo en el agua, retrocediendo. El conductor estaba en peor estado que el Jeep. Su ropa estaba hecha jirones y parecía que los peces habían comenzado a devorarlo. Le faltaba el brazo izquierdo justo por encima del codo. Jeffrey hizo una mueca visible cuando una ráfaga de viento sopló hacia nosotros el olor a escoria y estanque podrido.
Toqué mi G-Shock, lo que provocó que se activara la luz de fondo. 22:47. Mucho tiempo de maqueta para este. Habíamos comenzado a retroceder lentamente hacia Rolling View Marina. Nuestro viaje se vio obstaculizado por el aguacero. Finalmente, la lluvia se convirtió en una llovizna. Un espeso banco de niebla se formó a partir de la intensa caída de temperatura. Esto dejó nuestra visibilidad cercana a cero. Jeffrey nos mantuvo en el canal, la parte más profunda del lago, por seguridad. La Mancha fue el último vestigio del Neuse antes de que la presa transformara la región en lo que es hoy. Refunfuñó contra el ritmo, pero no se atrevió a acelerar a más de 3 millas por hora. El enorme proyector de 25.000 lúmenes apenas penetraba la niebla que nos envolvía, y nos vimos obligados a navegar utilizando el GPS incorporado en la consola. La cabina estaba cubierta con una capota rígida, pero el viento sopló la lluvia sobre nosotros desde un costado. Estaba completamente empapado de pies a cabeza. La gabardina hizo poco por ayudarme en este punto, pero me ayudó a vencer la repentina ola de frío causada por la tormenta. Sentí un enamoramiento distintivo en mis zapatos mientras cambiaba mi peso con cada pequeño golpe mientras los Karmanos gateaban a casa.
SILBIDO.
Jeffrey miró la pantalla del sonar y frunció el ceño. Una línea alta y delgada apuntando hacia arriba, indicando un golpe contra un objeto. Jeffrey no dijo nada, no es que lo hubiera escuchado bien de todos modos. Los motores gemelos Mercury eran viejos y funcionaban a un paso extremadamente alto a bajas velocidades. El intenso gemido dificultaba la conversación a menos que estuvieras gritando. No parecía estar de humor para hacer preguntas y yo no estaba de humor para hacerlas. Solo quería volver a casa.
SILBIDO.
La pantalla del sonar Humminbird estaba configurada en modo nocturno y el brillo verde se extendió por mi rostro mientras miraba fijamente la pantalla. Dos pings en los últimos 20 segundos. Apenas se registraron a menos que tengamos el equipo de mapeo. Quizás detectamos troncos que habían sido arrastrados al lago por la tormenta. Con una visibilidad tan baja, podrían ser muy peligrosos para el barco. La Karmanos era casi tan vieja como yo, y ella no estaba exactamente en buena forma. Sin embargo, Jeffrey tenía experiencia en el lago, y me acomodé en mi silla para relajarme un poco mientras nos llevaba a casa.
GOLPEAR.
El bote se inclinó pesadamente hacia un costado cuando chocamos con algo bajo el agua. Jeffrey maldijo en voz alta. La parte trasera del Karmanos giró casi 90 grados. Apagó los motores para evitar que sufrieran daños si nos habíamos caído de un árbol caído. Repentinamente desprovisto del sonido mecánico de la tecnología humana y fui consciente de la rareza de la noche. Esto primero se apoderó de mí y resultó ser inusual. Normalmente, a esta hora de la noche, el lago estaba lleno de sonidos de insectos, ranas y otros animales nocturnos. Pero esta noche no hubo nada. El denso manto de niebla bordeaba lo sobrenatural.
El suave crepitar de la lluvia contra la superficie del lago sólo fue interrumpido por el chasquido amortiguado de pequeñas salpicaduras de agua contra la pintura verde descolorida del casco. Empecé a reflexionar sobre nuestra situación actual y me di cuenta de lo peligrosa que era. Nadie pudo vernos. Nadie podría encontrarnos si necesitáramos ayuda. ¿Qué pasa si el bote se daña por el impacto con el árbol y comienza a hundirse? Yo era un excelente nadador, pero Jeffrey ... su tabaquismo había hecho que su resistencia cardiovascular fuera desear. Su enorme cuerpo llevaba un exceso de peso en sus intestinos, provocando que una panza le cuelgue por encima del cinturón. ¿Podría seguir el ritmo si tuviéramos que nadar? ¿Podría arrastrarlo a la orilla si se lastimaba?
El Humminbird mostró que la costa más cercana estaba a 580 pies a nuestra izquierda. Profundidad del agua, 15 pies. El Karmanos era un pequeño emblema caricaturesco de un barco en la superficie del agua. Estábamos en The Shallows. Antes de la construcción de la presa, toda esta área estaba formada por campos con hileras de tabaco y maíz. Las cataratas del río Neuse estaban a la derecha de los bajíos, con colinas onduladas que conducían a unos 30 pies por encima de estos campos. Estas colinas eran ahora la orilla de un enorme parque, lo que le valió el nombre de Rolling View. Los campos estaban ahora de cuatro a seis metros bajo el agua en una vasta extensión abierta de lago conocida como los bajíos. El parque en sí consistía en una enorme península que se adentraba en el lago. Una playa de arena blanca cubría un lado, con un bote de kayak y baños a unos 300 pies de la costa. Un gran estacionamiento con farolas separaba la playa del resto del parque. Este contenía cientos de acres de senderos para caminatas y campamentos. Los afloramientos rocosos masivos también salpican la costa, lo que hace que el área parezca serena cuando no está bajo un aguacero y envuelta en una niebla inevitable. Al otro lado de esos cientos de acres de bosque estaba Blackwater Cove. Entrecerré los ojos hacia la pantalla, ahora empapada en gotas de agua. Obstruyó mi vista e hizo que los detalles del mapa fueran difíciles de ver. Pude ver que estábamos en la punta de la península y que acabábamos de movernos más allá de Blackwater Cove. Limpié la pantalla y noté algo inusual. Un pequeño punto rojo estaba justo al lado del ícono del barco. Impar.
Un ruido rompió el silencio. Fue extraño, casi como el chasquido de un látigo. No pude ubicarlo. El barco giró levemente y el lado de estribor descendió muy lentamente hacia el agua. Continuó buceando y continuó buceando. Los ojos de Jeffrey se agrandaron y su boca se abrió para decir algo, pero no pude escucharlo. Una ola de calor repentina barrió el lado izquierdo de mi cara. Tardé varios segundos en darme cuenta de que las cosas se movían a cámara lenta. El tiempo se ralentizó cuando vi que los pies de Jeffrey se levantaban del puente. Una lata de refresco se resbaló en la terraza. Un bolígrafo y un papel fueron arrojados al aire. Vi que todo mi mundo se inclinaba hacia la derecha. El impacto fue tan poderoso que levantó a los Karmanos a su lado y nos arrojó a Jeffrey y a mí al agua. La lluvia había enfriado considerablemente la capa superior de agua. Mi cabeza salió a la superficie y respiré hondo. Todo estaba iluminado con un tinte azul de otro mundo. Me di cuenta de que era el centro de atención. Todavía estaba encendido y quemó la oscuridad bajo el agua alrededor de los Karmanos inclinados en un verde azulado fresco y calmante.
Su consola estaba parcialmente sumergida mientras estaba acostada de lado. Pateé y agarré la barandilla lateral mientras el bote retrocedía muy lentamente hacia la flotabilidad. Toqué un lado de mi cabeza, haciendo una mueca de inmediato. Un corte corrió cerca de la línea del cabello, la fuente del repentino calor cuando la sangre cubrió mi rostro en una máscara carmesí. Metí la mano en mi cabello y encontré pequeños trozos de fibra de vidrio. Me había golpeado con metralla en el impacto. El lado izquierdo del bote todavía estaba expuesto. Miré para ver que el casco de fibra de vidrio se había roto en un cráter de casi dos pies de diámetro. Las grietas cruzaban el costado del Karmanos hasta la barandilla a la que me estaba agarrando ahora.
"¿Qué diablos pasó?" Dije en voz alta, aunque no había nadie allí.
Grité cuando algo me agarró del brazo derecho. Me di la vuelta y una luz blanca abrasadora explotó directamente en mi cara. Me privó de mi visión nocturna. Después de un segundo y un tirón frenético, sentí la tela familiar de un polo en mi agarre. Los ojos marrones de Jeffrey se agrandaron mientras se aferraba a mí. Le ayudé a subir al barco de escora rápida. Lo agarró y estableció un firme agarre en el costado. Los Karmanos empezaban a hundirse.
“¿Qué tan herido estás?” Jeffrey parecía preocupado.
"Arde. Creo que podría necesitar algunos puntos", respondí.
Me miró y mantuvo la mirada fija durante un buen rato en el corte. Quizás fue peor de lo que pensaba. Me aseguré de que estuviera bien, respiré hondo y me sumergí. Encontrar el compartimento a la luz ardiente del reflector fue bastante sencillo. Saqué dos chalecos salvavidas a un lado y un botiquín de primeros auxilios. Entré en la cabina e intenté activar el botón de emergencia en la radio, que transmitiría nuestra necesidad en los condados de Wake y Durham. Sin embargo, la radio estaba muerta. Había que freír con agua. Estábamos solos. Salí a la superficie y traté de ayudar a Jeffrey a ponerse el chaleco salvavidas. Él se negó y se acostó sobre él como un dispositivo de flotación.
“Tenemos que nadar. Shore está ahí —dije, señalando a nuestra izquierda.
"Hasta dónde", me preguntó. Vi su linterna temblar en su mano.
"No muy lejos. Puedes hacerlo", respondí, sin querer decirle que eran casi seis campos de fútbol. La linterna de Jeffrey está apagada. La palmeó. Varias veces, pero no volvió. El inquietante resplandor turquesa se interrumpió. y miré hacia abajo de nosotros. El foco debe haber parpadeado.
La lluvia se calmó al comienzo de nuestro viaje, pero el viento continuó. Caminamos unos tres metros lejos de los Karmanos cuando se fue la luz. Nuestro mundo entero se ha sumergido en una oscuridad total. El viento continuó y empujó las nubes a medida que pasaba la tormenta. Sentí que me invadía un escalofrío. La niebla sobre el agua era densa pero se rompió para revelar una superficie agitada. Luces suaves y pálidas comenzaron a penetrar la niebla debilitada en la distancia. Cambié de dirección ligeramente y comencé a nadar hacia ellos. Una luna de tres cuartos iluminaba la superficie, proyectando un resplandor incandescente sobre las grietas en el agua. Eché un vistazo a los Karmanos, ahora a 100 metros detrás de nosotros. Se había hundido, su cuerpo de 26 pies sobresalía parcialmente del agua en un ángulo. Los motores se habían hundido en el espeso fondo arenoso. Al menos sería fácil localizarla por la mañana. Un lejano rugido de trueno resonó en la distancia. Pude ver el borde de Blackwater Cove a través de la península cuando nos acercábamos a la playa.
"Creo que Greg te va a patear el trasero mañana", gritó Jeffrey.
"¿Por qué dices eso?"
“De hecho, hundiste un barco. Eres oficialmente peor que Shawn. Ambos nos reímos suavemente, pero el de Jeffrey fue más laborioso que el mío. Él estaba cansado. Dirigí mi atención a la playa.
“Creo que estamos en Rolling View. Puedo ver las luces del estacionamiento desde aquí, le digo a Jeffrey. Él no respondió. Me volví para verlo. Resopló y respiró débilmente mientras luchaba por seguir mi ritmo.
"Estás bien", le pregunté. Gruñó pero no habló de inmediato. Después de varios minutos, respondió. "¿Qué nos golpeó? "
Realmente fue una forma extraña de plantear la pregunta. Supongo que chocamos con algo. Un árbol. Presion. Pero no había considerado lo contrario. Continué mi braza hasta que mi cuerpo de casi seis pies encontró una esponjosa y arenosa compra. Me di cuenta de que había perdido un zapato. “Jeffrey, puedo tocar fondo. ¡Ya casi llegamos! "Jeffrey estaba todavía a diez metros detrás de mí. Apenas podía verlo cuando se acercó dolorosamente al lugar donde encontré mi pie por primera vez. Caminé por el agua hasta las rodillas y esperé a que acortara la distancia. en caso de que necesitara ayuda, se acercó al pecho, luego a la cintura y luego se detuvo.
"¡Eh eh! ¿Que demonios?"
"¿Qué es ésto?" Yo pregunté.
"Hay algo en el agua".
Jeffrey golpeó el agua con las palmas de las manos cuando perdió momentáneamente el equilibrio y luego se estabilizó. Parecía preocupado. No, no me preocupa. Él estaba asustado. Miró a su izquierda, luego a su derecha. Jeffrey abrió la boca para hablar de nuevo, pero no tuvo la oportunidad. El agua detrás de él estalló y las olas se lanzaron en todas direcciones. Fue como si hubiera estallado una bomba. Una sombra de velocidad sobrenatural atravesó la pared de agua y se elevó detrás de él un metro por encima de su cabeza. Se zambulló y se unió a Jeffrey donde el cuello se encontraba con el hombro izquierdo. La oscuridad envolvió casi todo su pecho.
Sus ojos estaban saliendo de su cabeza. Un sonido de gorgoteo emanó de lo profundo de su garganta cuando gotas de sangre brotaron de su boca. Sus brazos estaban congelados, una mano se extendía hacia mí. Estaba temblando. la otra mano agarró la cosa insidiosa que se había adherido a su cuerpo. La piel negra era suave y reflejaba la luz de la luna con un brillo aceitoso. Estaba congelado. El miedo y el horror se apoderaron de mí. Mi mente no podía entender lo que estaba viendo. Cuatro ojos de pesadilla, anaranjados y reflectantes en la oscuridad, se abrieron. Los párpados se abrieron en un ángulo extraño. Una gruesa hendidura negra cruzaba cada pupila. Revelaron ojos que no eran como un ojo humano. Eran los ojos de algo desalmado e indiferente. Un depredador.
Parecían mirarme directamente, dos conjuntos a cada lado de lo que ahora podía distinguir como una cabeza larga y sólida. El lugar donde estarían las fosas nasales solo tenía un hocico redondeado. Una espantosa mandíbula se separó del cráneo. Pude distinguir unas encías rosadas y carnosas envueltas firmemente alrededor de filas gemelas de docenas de colmillos en forma de gancho. La sangre bombeaba con regularidad desde los pinchazos hasta el cuello y el hombro de Jeffrey. Gruesas líneas carmesí atravesaban la cabeza de la cosa. Un pequeño fragmento de su espalda rompió la superficie mientras se envolvía alrededor de Jeffrey por la cintura como una serpiente. Gran parte de su tamaño real todavía estaba en algún lugar bajo el agua.
Hubo un chasquido repugnante y Jeffrey se dobló sobre sí mismo. El sonido brutal del aire siendo expulsado de sus pulmones hizo eco cuando vi su cuerpo acurrucarse sobre la caja torácica. Una pierna se cayó innecesariamente del agua y se dobló en sentido contrario cuando a mi amigo le arrancaron los pies. El lago se abrió y la cosa desapareció, ondas masivas perturbaron la pacífica superficie. Una piscina aceitosa flotaba en la superficie del agua, balanceándose hacia adelante y hacia atrás por la perturbación. Lentamente se acercó a mí y dejó manchas rojas en mi camisa. Retrocedí lo más rápido humanamente posible. Me senté en la playa en Rolling View, mirando el oasis de aguas tranquilas como si fuera la primera vez. Me senté muy quieto durante mucho tiempo. No me moví hasta que la luz rompió las copas de los árboles para señalar la llegada del amanecer.
Alguien tardó siete horas en encontrarme. Fueron necesarios cuatro días para encontrar el cuerpo de Jeffrey. Estaba de pie en la proa de la oficina del Sheriff SeaHunter. El sol me golpeaba en una ola implacable, pero no me importaba. Me ajusté las gafas de sol para aliviar la presión del brazo en los 11 puntos en el costado de mi cabeza. Nos sentamos en el ancla cerca del centro de Blackwater Cove. Blackwater Cove tenía unos 150 metros de ancho y el agua era tan profunda que adquirió un tono azul marino. Era la alcoba más grande del lago y estaba escondida en el borde del campamento de Rolling View Park. Le côté gauche de la crique en forme de croissant de lune était le plus proche du lac et était une paroi rocheuse abrupte de dix pieds de haut, avec un petit chaume d'herbe poussant au sommet. Quelques arbres parsemaient le bord éloigné, mais beaucoup étaient tombés dans la crique à cause des tempêtes au fil des ans. Il a diminué en hauteur pour devenir un petit banc de sable alors qu'il empiétait plus loin dans le lac jusqu'à ce qu'il disparaisse sous l'eau. Le côté droit de l'anse jouxtait les terrains de camping et était séparé des emplacements trente-huit, trente-neuf et quarante par d'énormes chênes et caryers. Les campings se trouvaient sur une belle clairière assez grande pour plusieurs camping-cars si besoin est. Un sentier pédestre serein traverse le chaume de la forêt entre le camping et l'anse. Il menait directement à Blackwater Pier. La jetée n'avait rien d'extraordinaire, mais ses planches de bois vieillies et sa fine balustrade ont été soigneusement construites et bien tenues contre les éléments. La jetée mesurait près de soixante-quinze pieds de long et se situait à quatre pieds au-dessus des eaux d'un bleu profond.
J'ai regardé les adjoints du shérif à bord du deuxième SeaHunter tirer le cadavre tordu et mutilé de mon ami d'un bouleau tombé coincé contre le rivage. C'était un spectacle vraiment terrible. Pour une raison quelconque, je ne pouvais pas supporter de détourner le regard. Le bras gauche de Jeffrey a été arraché à l'épaule. Ses côtes ont été sauvagement brisées dans un affichage macabre, révélant la cavité vide où ses organes auraient dû être. En raison du traumatisme massif subi à l'épaule gauche, sa tête a été presque complètement coupée de son corps. Seules de fines bandes de peau le maintenaient attaché. Sa colonne vertébrale n'était plus attachée à la base de son crâne. Les vertèbres dépassaient de son corps écrasé avec de minuscules morceaux de chair suspendus comme un drapeau grotesque. Pire encore, le visage de Jeffrey était presque toujours intact. Ses lèvres étaient retroussées par l'agonie et ses yeux étaient restés ouverts, d'un blanc laiteux et glacés d'une teinte verte maladive.
Le bureau du shérif m'a longuement interrogé à l'hôpital sur ce qui s'était passé. J'étais, après tout, le seul témoin survivant. Ils m'ont demandé n'importe quel indice que je pourrais donner sur le moment et l'endroit où Jeffrey avait disparu après l'accident. Je ne savais pas comment leur dire ce que j'avais vu sans être qualifié de fou, alors j'ai feint l'ignorance. Ils sillonnèrent le chenal et toutes les criques au sud de l'épave du Karmanos, suivant chaque cap possible où le courant aurait pu l'entraîner. Tout cela a été vain. Jeffrey avait été traîné loin de la plage où nous nous étions réfugiés. Il a été repéré par un pêcheur local. L'homme était descendu à la jetée et au quai de canoë avec son fidèle Jack Russel, Charlie, et s'apprêtait à pêcher tôt le matin lorsqu'il a vu le corps de Jeffrey. Je suis sorti de ma transe lorsque le SeaHunter a accosté et que les députés ont débarqué. Deux hommes du bureau du médecin légiste ont emmené Jeffrey dans un sac en plastique noir sur une civière. Dans la vie, il avait été un grincheux, bien sûr. Mais il était gentil à sa manière et prenait toujours soin des autres. Maintenant, il était assis dans quelque chose juste au-dessus d'un sac poubelle. La mort était si indigne. Le garde forestier Urquhart s'est approché de moi et a posé sa main sur mon épaule.
« Tu vas bien ? »
— Question stupide, Greg, répondis-je.
"Je connais. Mais c'est ce que les gens font quand quelqu'un meurt. Ils posent des questions comme « ça va » et « avez-vous besoin de quelque chose ? » Les gens le font tout le temps, sachant que c'est le pire jour de la vie de quelqu'un. »
« Il n'est pas mort. Il a été tué."
"Les députés vont toujours avec un accident de bateau", a déclaré Greg. Comme je n'ai pas répondu, il a poursuivi : « Etes-vous sûr de ne vous souvenir de rien ? »
"Blessure à la tête. Je ne me souviens même pas d'être arrivé à terre.
"Je comprends. Je te mets en congé pour la semaine. Vous avez besoin de prendre du temps. Pas pressé de revenir à moins que vous ne soyez prêt.
Greg m'a ramené au bureau principal du parc en silence. Je suis monté dans mon SUV et j'ai commencé à rentrer chez moi. Mon esprit était rempli d'images que je ne pouvais pas repousser. Le visage de Jeffrey était gravé dans mon esprit. Je pouvais encore voir le regard de terreur dans ses yeux, figé dans le temps à jamais pour que je me souvienne. J'ai traversé le Northside Bridge sur le lac. Il mesurait près de 700 mètres de long et offrait une vue imprenable sur le lac. J'ai vu un bass boat assis près de Blackwater Cove. J'ai regardé le soleil couchant pendant quelques instants, et je pouvais à peine distinguer un homme assis dans le fauteuil du capitaine, une canne à la main. C'était comme si personne n'était jamais mort à cet endroit précis. Le monde a continué à tourner sans mon ami. Plus loin, je pouvais voir The Shallows. Un objet solitaire surgit du lac. C'était le Karmanos partiellement submergé. Mon esprit s'emballa en pensant aux derniers instants de Jeffrey. La peur qu'il a dû ressentir. Alors que je continuais vers la maison, j'ai jeté un dernier regard sur le lac. Un seul sillage a ondulé à Blackwater Cove, puis j'ai traversé le pont et je suis parti. Je suis resté 6 jours à la maison pour me reposer et récupérer.
J'ai pris mon téléphone lundi matin et j'ai appelé Ranger Urquhart. - Greg, c'est moi. Je pensais que je devrais retourner travailler. Est-ce OK?"
"Sûr! Venez au poste des gardes forestiers. On peut parler. Je n'ai rien à faire dans le parc jusqu'à la tombée de la nuit.
Le parc était en grande partie calme, probablement en raison de la forte présence des forces de l'ordre pendant que les députés terminaient leur enquête. Je me suis garé dans le poste des gardes forestiers et me suis garé à côté du Dodge Ram blanc du garde forestier Urquhart. Je suis entré dans le bureau de style rustique et j'ai pris une bouffée de climatisation au visage. Ma peau est devenue chair d'oie au changement de température. Il faisait peut-être 85 degrés Fahrenheit à l'extérieur à 9h00, mais il faisait 69 degrés à l'intérieur. Je pouvais voir Greg dans son bureau à travers les grandes baies vitrées du hall. C'était un homme de grande taille, près de six pieds trois pouces. Ses cheveux châtain foncé étaient coupés près et il arborait une barbiche bien taillée. Son visage rond était tout sourire alors qu'il me surprenait du coin de l'œil et me faisait entrer avec sa voix tonitruante. Je suis entré dans son bureau, qui était décoré d'affiches représentant la flore et la faune locales et d'un bâton de hockey dédicacé des Hurricanes. Un grand bureau en bois dur était assis d'un côté, avec le mur du fond entièrement recouvert d'étagères contenant des montagnes de livres. Une autre étagère plus petite était posée sur son bureau, contenant certains de ses textes les plus fréquemment référencés.
« Le surintendant des gardes forestiers Urquhart. Qu'est-ce que ça fait de ne répondre qu'au gouverneur maintenant, ai-je demandé en entrant dans la pièce. Il pivota sur sa chaise et hésita à l'annonce de son titre.
« Ne commence pas par cette merde. C'est bien de voir que vous guérissez, cependant. Comment tenez-vous?"
« Aussi bien que possible, je suppose. J'ai quelques questions à vous poser si vous avez le temps.
"Allez-y. Personne ne vient vraiment de toute façon, pas jusqu'à ce que le shérif dise que le parc n'est plus une scène de crime. Cela et le fait qu'il fera 104 degrés Fahrenheit à midi. Nous avons quelques campeurs mais c'est tout. Qu'est-ce que tu as ? Greg’s eyes beamed at the thought of doing something other than organizing park pamphlets for the thirtieth time this week.
“What do you know of the people who lived here before us? Not the settlers from Europe. The indigenous people, I mean.”
Greg immediately reached for a leatherbound book tucked neatly on his desk shelf. “There were several tribes that lived in this area for thousands of years. Any one you particularly want to know about?”
He leaned back deeply into his plush chair and began to nonchalantly flip through the pages, looking for some chapter he felt would be helpful. I thought carefully for a moment. Greg was trustworthy, a friend. He hired me. Greg had worked with Jeffrey for years. But could I tell him this? Would he think I was crazy? I decided it was worth the chance.
“Any tribe that may have talked about a monster in the old river,” I said in a shaky voice.
Greg’s mouth opened as if he were about to speak, but then he closed it. He opened it again and furrowed his brow. “Not where I thought you were going with this but go on.”
“Is there anything local, Greg? I don’t really know how else to put it.”
“Native people didn’t really talk about monsters. Things were more like spirits or animals from nature. Not big on monsters in those days.”
Greg rotated in his swivel chair and stood, crossing the room to the larger bookshelf. He thumbed through several different ones until he settled on an ancient looking green hardback. It must have been more than a century old. He settled back into his tall backed swivel chair and laid it down before me on the desk. Legendary Spirits and Malformations of the Indian Culture and other Curiosities, Vol. 3: Piedmont Rituals, Legends, and the Like.
“What a title,” I said.
Greg smiled. “Written in 1876. It’s very wordy.”
He flipped to a page already held with a lime green strip of paper. “I marked this for the animal seminar. Elementary school was supposed to come tomorrow. Not happening now, obviously.” He spun the book around and tapped a paragraph towards the middle of the left page. I scanned down and read the passage aloud to no one in particular.
“Curiously, the ancient tribes of the Neusiok river basin described such wondrous creations of the mind which paid visit upon their villages in vivid detail to us. Albino deer herds glistening in moonlight, foxes prattling foreboding messages from the Great Spirit and the queer Inadu Tagaluna scooping up children to drag back to its underwater cave. The Inadu is first described by Explorer Phillip Amadas in 1586 in detail as a water spirit of great evil…”
“The Inadu? Evil water spirit,” I did not like the language at all.
“The Eno people talked about it a little with explorers. Inadu Tugaluna at its root was a Cherokee word. It meant fish snake. Or snake fish, I suppose they were interchangeable. It was a river spirit that ate children who misbehaved near the banks. The Neusiok was renamed the Falls of Neuse River when the English settled. It’s an old legend, and an obscure one at that. Even though this area was a main trade route, the story stayed local.” Greg stared at me. His eyes cut to my left hand, and I realized it was visibly shaking.
“What’s this about?”
“Jeffrey. He didn’t drown. He was killed.”
Greg sat up in his chair. “You said that on the SeaHunter.”
“I didn’t have a concussion. I remember everything. Jeffrey was killed.”
“How was he killed?” Greg’s face took on a hard demeanor.
“He was attacked by something. I don’t know how to describe it other than a thing.” I kept my head down. I didn’t dare make eye contact; I was scared to tell the truth about what I saw.
“SOMETHING? You’re going to have to do better than that,” Greg retorted. He leaned forward and placed his hands together and interlocked his fingers. He stared at me over his glasses, waiting for me to continue.
“A thing. A creature. A water spirit. A monster. I don’t know what it was. It was strong and it was fast. Pitch black with four orange eyes. I think it rammed the Karmanos and sank it. I saw it come out of the water and attack Jeffrey. It practically tore him apart and dragged him away six feet from me.” I felt lightheaded, and I reached for the spare chair across from Greg’s desk. He pushed it out towards me and helped me sit as the weight of what I had said washed over me. “I couldn’t tell the deputies. They would have sent me to Holly Hill in two seconds. I am not crazy.”
Greg took a deep breath. “So, you’re telling me, in a lake frequented by tens of thousands of people every year for the last forty years, there is now all of a sudden a monster in it that’s decided to start eating people.”
“No. I’m telling you there’s a monster in the lake and I think it’s been eating people for a long time. Remember the Jeep we pulled out of the water? The back of it was all mangled and twisted, and the guy inside was torn to shreds. Dozens of people disappear in this lake every year. We always chalk it up to accidents or suicides or boating mishaps. It sounds like it’s been doing this since the indigenous people were here.” I tapped the book between us.
Greg sighed. He rubbed his jawline and chin with a hand as he carefully thought out what he would say next.
“460, 469. Greg, you there? Come in.” A female ranger’s voice broke the silence in the room through Greg’s radio on his belt.
“Yeah I’m in the office.”
“Need you at campsite 39. Some customers want to talk to the boss.” The radio chirped as the transmission ended.
Greg frowned at the prospect of a camper dispute. “Wanna take a ride?” I got the feeling Greg didn’t want to let me out of his sight. Nodding my head, we got into his truck and we drove deep into the park. The route took us down winding roads through picturesque natural areas. Large picnic and patio tables dotted the shoreline overlooking the lake. As we approached campsite 39, I could see a cluster of people standing on the shore. Greg quickly activated the emergency lights on his truck and a steady blue glow illuminated the trees and surrounding clearing for a moment to get everyone’s attention. I could see four tents set up around the fire pit and plenty of assorted gear. Two people came walking out of the wood line towards the truck. A female deputy and female ranger were in a heated discussion with several campers and when we arrived, they all began to speak at once. A dispute over who occupied the campsite was quickly squashed as Greg played diplomat. The campsites at Blackwater Bay were prime locations for fishing, boating, hiking, and seeing the stars without the hindrance of light pollution.
Once things calmed down, Greg decided to conduct his rounds while the female ranger returned home. The female deputy left as well, speeding off in her white Dodge Charger. We stood near the grassy opening between the campsites and the trees near the walking trails and spoke to a polite gentleman in his early sixties. He told us he was the fisherman on campsite 37 who first saw Jeffrey. He took the short walk over to do a bit of night fishing from the pier. The sun was setting quickly below the trees at this point. The sky blazed with fire in the dying light in a dazzling display of yellow, orange, red, and purple. The man was accompanied by Charlie, his faithful Jack Russell Terrier. Charlie couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds but stood with his chest puffed out like a dog ten times his size. I bent down and petted the little fellow on his head as they walked to the end of the pier. The man was carrying a small waterproof speaker that blazed with LED lights of green, purple, and pink in tune to the rhythm of the music. It was playing an old song I had heard somewhere before but couldn’t place the title. I could clearly make out the lyrics as they carried across the open air above the water.
“I’ll be sittin’ when the evenin’ comes, watching the ships roll in, then watch ‘em roll away again yeah…”
I remarked to myself how pleasant and calm the tune was. Greg stopped to write a citation to some campers caught with liquor in the park. As he explained the ins and outs of the charge, I became distracted by Charlie. He had run the entire length of the pier and was standing at the very edge by the wooden rails. He was barking over and over. I noticed the old man had left his bucket of bait at the entrance to the pier. He sat his rods and speaker down on a small bench and made his way back for his minnows. Charlie was practically jumping with excitement as he waited for his owner to return. But as I looked, I noticed Charlie wasn’t facing his owner. He was looking at the water below. He bounded up and down and continued to bark while looking straight down. I felt a knot begin to tighten in my stomach. Oh no. Oh dear God no. I began to walk towards the pier over Blackwater Bay.
“I left my home in Georgia, Headed for the Frisco Bay…”
The knot in my stomach tightened as the deep waters came into view. An iridescent orange hue from the dying light stained the surface and made them flash brilliantly as the sun fell below the tree line. There was a ripple at the bottom of the pier, directly below where Charlie was. Concentric circles slowly drifted in unison in all directions, breaking against the tiny legs of the pier. I caught sight of a small pontoon boat as it loitered some fifty yards outside of the Cove. The elderly gentleman retrieved his bucket of minnows and began to sing along with the song as he walked back to his prime fishing spot.
“Hey,” I shouted as loud as I could. “There’s something in the water! It’s at the edge of the pier!”
He turned with a smile plastered on his weathered face. “I certainly hope so!” He tossed up a hand to wave and placed his belongings on the edge near the railing as Charlie’s barking became feverish. “What you see down there, boy? Is it a fishy?”
I screamed to Greg as I began to run to the pier some fifty feet ahead. A family was on that pontoon boat, drifting carefree in the current of the lake. They were completely unaware of what was out there. Greg began to follow me as I broke into full sprint. I felt my heart racing as the knot in my stomach threatened to turn me inside out, squeezing bile into my throat as horrifying memories flashed before my eyes. The man set his hook, completely ignorant to what I was saying. I shouted as loud as I possibly could to get his attention. He leaned over the rail of the pier as Charlie’s barks reached a crescendo. He released the line and dropped a weighted hook down into the rippling murk.
A geyser of water erupted, and the end of the pier shattered. Planks of splintered wood tore through the air and embedded themselves in the bank some seventy feet away. Boards cracked and nails popped for a third of the length of the pier due to the raw power of the impact. A loud, high pitched yelp sounded momentarily but was swiftly silenced. Greg nearly slid to a halt in the grass as a large chunk of wood landed just a few feet in front of him. Amidst the ruined wooden frame, a mass of muscle coiled at the end of what remained of the pier in the dying light. A monstrous serpentine creature at least twenty feet in length with jet-black oily skin sat before us. Twin pairs of orange eyes were fixed and stared us down. I could see small pieces of skin flittering on each side of the head, denoting the location of gill slits. A small row of bony spines connected by a thin membrane ran from the base of the skull down the length of the heavily muscled body to form a kind of sail or fin. A large bristling caudal fin in the shape of a leaf waved back and forth. It sat at the end of a disgustingly powerful tail. The speaker had been launched into Blackwater Cove and bobbed up and down, igniting a strange pink glow in the water as it continued to blare music.
“Oh my God,” Greg whispered.
The creature gained its bearings and set its sight on the old man, who was face down and semiconscious on the pier a mere five feet from it. Lying between them sat the shattered remains of Charlie. He had been pulverized upon impact when the pier was destroyed. As the old man let out a soft moan of pain, the beast indiscriminately flicked Charlie’s crushed body off the broken planks and into the lake with its tail. With a clear path, it moved in for its meal. It attacked with a strike like a rattlesnake and bit down on his left thigh. The poor man let out a wailful scream. The horrifying jaws clenched until the needlelike fangs sank through the muscle to bone and out the other side. The fisherman’s leg snapped in the creature’s mouth. Greg stepped in front of me onto the damaged pier. He drew his sidearm and took aim.
The creature lifted the man off the pier six feet in the air and shook him violently from side to side as a dog shakes its favorite toy. He screamed for help momentarily until my ears were filled with a disturbing popping sound. It was the sound of the fisherman’s joints dislocating from sheer physical force. The creature ceased and let him hang limply from its mouth. The fisherman’s arms dangled at awkward angles and his right leg hung over his torso, dislocated at the hip. He let out a soft sigh as air escaped his lungs from agonal breathing. The horrifying behemoth in front of us hoisted the fisherman in the air and slammed him down three times against the pier. Each blow was delivered with such savage ferocity that his bones broke and it snapped the man’s neck. Broken splinters of wood embedded themselves in his torso with each strike and skewered his torso. Massive streams of blood poured from his mangled body and fell through the pier planks to the water below. Greg fired several rounds from his Glock, but I could not tell if they found their target. The monstrosity unleashed its coiled frame and dragged his prey down into the dark below. My heart pounded in my ears. Greg sat like a statue in utter shock. I fell to my knees in the grass and vomited. As I gagged on my own stomach acid, I could still hear a pleasant melody drifting across Blackwater Cove.
“I’m sittin’ on the dock of the bay, wastin’ time…”
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Randi Ayala with CBS 17 News. I am reporting live from the banks of Rolling View park in Durham. An incredible scene just behind me as law enforcement presence and park officials have blocked the entrance to Rolling view since 8:45 PM last night. An accident at Blackwater Cove claimed the lives of a fisherman and his dog. We have been told by visitors leaving the park that Blackwater Pier, a signature landmark of the area has collapsed into the lake. No word yet on if these two incidents are related…”
Greg made the decision to close the park down that evening. Campers currently staying were given refunds and when the last patron left, we closed the large steel gates at each entrance. A rumor began to spread that the fisherman had been killed in an animal attack, but no one would comment on such rumors. The remnants of the pier were cordoned off as a crime scene. Several fishermen spread stories at the Marina of seeing a dark shape in Blackwater Cove, and a blurry, shaky photo from an old phone showed a black object cutting across the surface. The next day, I patrolled the park as usual to make sure no one wandered in through the hiking trails. I finished my last round and made my way back to the ranger station to waste the last bit of my shift.
I sat in one of the plush office chairs in the conference room and scrolled on my phone. It was nearly 8:00 PM, and my shifted ended in one hour. I was about to play a game when I received a text from a friend from college. He told me there was someone live streaming from the park and forwarded me the link. A live video was playing with 17 people viewing. The numbers changed every few seconds, rising and falling as emojis floated across the comments box. I thought I might as well also have a look.
“Nick Darby, PhD. Professor of Zoology and expert in cryptozoology. There is a creature in your lake my good North Carolinians, and I am here to classify it, just for you!” The skinny little man barely filled the seat of the kayak he was balancing on. His oily, slick black hair was thick with product and his face was coated in a layer of sweat as he baked in the southern summer heat without sunscreen. He spilled a bit of coffee onto his orange Hawaiian shirt as he rambled into a camera mounted onto the end of his kayak. His page link indicated he was indeed a professor of zoology, though he seemed to have dedicated more time towards the hunt for mythical creatures than real ones over the years.
“I have studied this lake for literally days and recorded as many firsthand accounts as I have been allowed. I and I alone have determined our newest cryptid is indeed an offshoot of the anguillidae species spread throughout the world. Oui. You heard it here first! The Beast of Blackwater Cove is a heretofore unknown and undiscovered species of gigantic carnivorous eel! And I, Dr. Nicholas J. Darby, am here to find it, classify it, and scientifically name it! I have carefully tracked sonar movements over the last week from every fisherman willing to help and have determined the Beast is patiently waiting for nightfall to leave it’s lair, Blackwater Cove!”
I hadn’t noticed Greg as he walked up behind me to look at my phone. He stared, almost dumfounded. “How long has he been doing this? Why does he talk like that?”
“According to his stream, he’s been live for hours. It looks like he has been setting up cameras all along the Cove. I think he may have put his kayak in at Ledgerock or Woodpecker Point and paddled over.”
The sun was arching downward as the day passed. Dr. Darby did not adjust the camera and he was badly backlit, casting him in almost perpetual shadow as the water around him sat overexposed. The wall of limestone making up the eastern edge of Blackwater Cove was visible in the right corner of the screen, with the open expanse of Falls Lake behind on the left. Darby rattled on about the possible similarities between the aptly named Beast and other proposed cryptid lake monsters throughout the world as he hoisted a large black case into view of the camera.
Darby popped the case open and lifted what appeared to be a cross between a sting ray and a torpedo from the thick foam padding. The drone was black on the sides and white on top, with the words Power Vision painted in lighter grey on the left side. A small camera was mounted directly into the front of the body, with two little lights on each side. Darby fiddled with it for a few moments and the lights activated. He dropped it over the side and picked up a tablet to send the little drone off.
“Due to the unique placement of Blackwater Cove, it is directly adjacent to the channel which used to be the Neuse River, and the sweeping currents turn the waters in the Cove into a murky, swirling abyss. Visibility in the dark below is near zero, so I am sending in my trusty underwater drone to explore this realm for us. Our instruments indicate the bottom is 76.37 feet below us, and the cove is at its deepest point here, on the western side.”
The image flipped suddenly to a light brown, with particulates floating through the water as tiny white flecks. Occasionally, a leaf would float by. After thirty seconds, the water turned to a dark brown, almost black. The bottom came into view, and the little drone righted itself from its nosedive, so it was level again. The current wasn’t as strong at the bottom and allowed for much better visibility. The drone swiveled into a position Darby approved of and shot off.
“I am taking the drone to the western cliff, where I have determined there to be an anomaly in the current,” Darby said via voice over.
The western face of the Cove came into view. I inhaled slightly as I heard Greg swear under his breath. It was a graveyard. Bones littered the floor of the Cove by the thousand. Deer skulls stared at us with empty eye sockets. the drone slowly swept the area with its tiny lights. Human waste such as beer bottles and soda cans stuck out from the sand and mud like little headstones. As it approached the western wall, a darkness deeper than the water itself took form. A void.
“Oh my goodness,” Darby exclaimed. “The lair! What a find!”
The cave was roughly semicircular in shape, slightly tilted to the right, and maybe twelve feet high. A skeletal human hand stuck out of the mud as if beckoning the drone to turn back. That’s when I saw it. My heart skipped a beat, I could feel it. Fear wrapped itself around my chest. The soft orange glow from the four eyes pierced the darkness like twinkling stars. The blackness in the mouth of the cave seems to manifest and writhe to life as the Beast detected the drone as an intruder. The screen was filled with a burst of bubbles and disturbed soot before cutting out. After staring at a blank screen for a few seconds, the camera feed cut back to Mr. Darby, staring dumbfounded into the lens.
“We um, seem to have—”
Darby’s sentence was cut short when everything turned upside down. I watched on in a mixture of fascination and shock as the kayak was launched five feet into the air. The red plastic flexed under the impact and cracked. The blunt, thick head of the Beast of Blackwater Cove climbed into view. The powerfully muscled body pushed itself out of the water in an up and down motion. The kayak slammed back down and rolled upside down with Darby still buckled in. It rolled ride side up and Darby gasped for air as water spewed from his mouth. The Beast’s back came into view as it rammed the side and flipped the kayak back over again. The waterproof camera Darby had been using was jostled at an odd angle and now showed him from mid torso up as he struggled to unhook himself from the safety harness which connected him to the kayak. The camera otherwise continued to film the murky abyss.
A growing shadow from below signaled its arrival. The Beast slowly, almost elegantly, slid into view. Its four orange eyes had an animalistic glow from reflected light in the darkness and its mouth hung open slightly as if it wanted to taste the water. Darby ceased his struggle momentarily as the monstrous face eased up towards his. They stared at each other, eye to eye for just a moment to stare in disbelief. The Beast wasn’t coiled up on itself and let its body hang in the water. I could see just how massive it really was. The tail fin fluttered in the edge of the darkness. The bony spines on its back sail were fully visible. They started at the base of the creature’s skull and ran all the way down to the tail, where it merged with the massive leaf shaped tail fin. The Beast lunged forward and snapped powerful jaws shut around Darby’s entire head and neck. All I could do was watch in horror as the Beast opened its mouth and its gums retreated, revealing hideous rows of needle-like teeth. A red cloud formed and began to float around the screen as blood leaked from the dozens of puncture wounds to Darby’s body.
The Beast revealed itself to be more monstrous than I had imagined. I realized it still maintained its grip on Darby’s head even though its mouth was open. A second set of hideous pharyngeal jaws sat where a tongue should have been. They held fast as their own set of teeth sunk into his face. A muffled cry sounded out and a torrent of bubbles escaped from the Beast’s inner mouth. I thought it might have been from Darby as he futilely screamed underwater. After flexing and unhinging its outer jaw, the Beast slammed it shut on Darby’s head and neck again. It coiled around Darby’s body, which was still out of view because of the camera angle. He twitched and his arms flailed as it began to wrench him back and forth. The violent assault shook him loose of the kayak, and it bent in half roughly down the middle. Red plastic floated by in strips as the camera bobbed up and down. The tail fin flashed into view and slapped the twisted kayak as the Beast retreated. The camera detached and floated into pure darkness, landing lens down in the mud.
Greg shook his head in disgust and stepped out of the room as his mobile phone rang repeatedly. After several minutes of staring at a black screen with the sound of water rushing by the camera, I turned my phone off. Greg re-entered the room shortly thereafter and told me to go home. I had the weekend off and decided I would avert myself from anything to do with the Beast of Blackwater Cove. This proved difficult. While Mr. Darby’s page did not allow for his videos to be shared, rumors began to pop up about a monster being recorded in Falls Lake. Many quickly said it was faked for media attention. It wouldn’t have been the first time Darby faked finding a monster. Several commenters on his page said this was even worse than the time he was trapped in a cabin by the Werewolf in Arkansas. By Sunday evening, the video was ruled a hoax and quickly forgotten about.
I entered the office Monday morning and walked into the conference room. Greg was sipping from a mug of coffee as he stared at his work in front of him. The news played at a low volume on the wall-mounted television. A large map some eight feet wide had been laid out on the oak table in the center of the room. Blackwater Cove was depicted in shades of green and blue on the topographical display. Red pins were placed throughout the map, each showing the last known location of a missing person. The sum totaled 147 in all, going back thirty years.
“I didn’t think our little friend was this active, but it looks like he has been, all this time,” Greg said matter-of-factly. “It obviously hunts regular wildlife. There have been stories about a creature in this river for hundreds of years… and we never noticed it. How is that possible?” He looked up at me, but his body remained hunched over. A heavy weight sat on his shoulders.
“We began mapping the lake,” I said. “The sonar equipment emits a powerful sound wave. I don’t know for sure, but that could be it. It attacked the Karmanos after we pinged all day near the bridge, the Shallows, and Blackwater Cove. Maybe it thought we tried to challenge it in its home. Look what it did to Darby.”
“It has proven to be extremely dangerous. Darby’s body has not been found yet, but he has been reported missing. I had no choice but to tell the Sheriff what happened. They did not believe me, of course. But in the meantime, I have been forced to close all the parks on the lake down.”
“Are we going to try to kill it, Greg?”
“That does go a bit against our motto of protecting wildlife. It might be a new species. But… most new species we find don’t kill and eat five people, Including our Jeffrey.”
“Five?” Who else had died? I shook my head at the thought.
“Two guys from Nat Geo went missing on Saturday, the day after the attack on the zoologist in the Cove. The Fish and Game guys have done a good job of keeping people out of the parks so far this weekend, but some have snuck in. We haven’t found their bodies yet, but we found a big camera on the shoreline and some gear covered in blood. We looked all weekend but did not find any other trace. I assume they are dead at this point,” Greg tapped a red pin on the map. He marked two more spots after double checking his phone for the correct positions.
“They had a few documents in their gear which may have been given to them by Darby or Darby’s assistant. Could have been a tip for some show they wanted to make.”
“Sucks to suck, I guess.”
Greg arched an eyebrow at the expression, and I left the office.
We conducted some rounds and it was business as usual that day at work. No one came in or out, and I got to enjoy a morning of relative quiet. I dared not go near the water, though. I ate lunch in the office and spent the afternoon walking a trail. That evening, I headed back into the office. I met with Greg in the parking lot. I was about to suggest dinner when Greg’s radio came to life.
“Ranger Urquhart,” the radio squawked from Greg’s belt.
“Go ahead,” he answered.
“Sir, this is deputy Jones with the Sheriff’s Office. Four boats just put in at Ledge Rock Boat Ramp. They are headed for Blackwater Cove. Sir, Hoyt Grayson is on one of them.”
“Damn it. Okay. We can meet you at the marina. Mind if we catch a ride on your SeaHunter? Our boat is still out of commission.”
“Hoyt Grayson? That stupid monster hunter from TV” I exclaimed. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Guess we get out there and stop him. I need a vacation.”
Hoyt Grayson, the intrepid host of A&E’s In Search of Monsters, had never actually found anything larger than a catfish in 88 episodes, but he played the part well enough for the cameras to keep the show running. His eccentric attitude and pseudoscientific mumbo jumbo fit in well with the late-night stories about aliens and the ghosts. We left the office as Greg made the necessary phone calls to get manpower on the water. The Sheriff’s Office deployed both SeaHunters, each manned with five deputies from the Marine Unit. We left the Marina at 7:00 PM. Greg and I were on board one of the SeaHunters. I found myself suddenly uncomfortable being back on board a boat, knowing what lurked below us. The SeaHunter cut through the water with ease as we passed through The Shallows. We passed the wreck of the Karmanos, and my uneasiness grew. Both boats made their way towards Blackwater Cove.
As we made our approach, I scanned the surface with my binoculars. I could make out four boats near the mouth of the Cove, spread out at equidistant intervals. Three boats were roughly twenty-five feet in length, but one was much larger than the others. They all were stark white with “ISOM” painted on the hull for In Search of Monsters. The A&E logo was stitched into a flag which fluttered of the end of each boat. A tall, tanned man in a sleeveless khaki button-down shirt, khaki shorts and a large cowboy hat was standing on the bow of the largest boat, labeled ISOM One. He was talking animatedly to a camera crew as they filmed his every word.
“Hoyt Grayson. Look at this jackass,” Greg muttered.
We watched as the crews of the other boats began prepping massive nets, which they stretched out onto small cranes on the deck of each boat and attached weights to their undersides. The men hooked the nets to lines to cover as much of the mouth as possible. They were then raised up out of the water and bundled up, weights hanging just at the edge of the surface to deploy. We moved the SeaHunters nearby, then stopped.
“Hoyt Grayson, this is the North Carolina Park Service. I am Ranger Greg Urquhart, assisted by members of the Wake County Sheriff’s Office Marine Unit. You are currently trespassing in a restricted waterway,” Greg spoke calmly and evenly through the loudspeaker on the SeaHunter.
Hoyt turned to us, his face displaying mild annoyance. The cameras continued to film him.
“Ahoy. I’m Hoyt, this is my team for In Search of Monsters. Now that we are done with pleasantries, you can kindly fuck off now. I have a monster to catch!” He turned, looked back at Greg, and gave a curt “Thank you.” He then went back to the camera. Greg’s face showed more than mild annoyance. The vein in his forehead started to bulge.
“Alright. We tried nice. Deputy bring us alongside him, please. Someone needs to go to jail.”
I glanced at the furthest boat, ISOM Four, which was hovering near the far wall of the Cove. It was the spot just above the cave. A crewman threw an object over the side, then another. A soft thump echoed from somewhere below. Then, the water seemed to vibrate slightly. The deputies glanced around at each other in confusion.
“Hoyt, what the hell are you doing,” Greg demanded an answer as he tossed a line to a concerned crew member.
“Just a little firecracker in the water to wake sleeping beauty up. This is going to be my highest rated episode ever!”
The radio on the SeaHunter burst to life. “Sonar contact, Cove side. Depth is seventy-five feet, distance, one hundred feet out from our position and rising, sir. I think it knows we are here.”
The ISOM crew member tied the rope to connect the two boats. After a minute of silence, Greg picked up the microphone to radio the other SeaHunter.
“Give us updates, please.”
“Speed is two knots. It’s closing in on us slowly,” the deputy said.
I felt a surge of adrenaline as I pictured the Beast sizing us up from below. I could imagine those four menacing orange eyes burrowing into mine. Fight or flight response kicked in and my legs felt jittery. Would it attack us instead of trying to escape? There were six boats in total here. It couldn’t possibly try to challenge all of us… could it? Lights on board the boats activated, and cameras and boom mics were put into position with the assistance of the last rays of daylight.
“Seventy feet out and closing. It’s rising, again as well, sir. Fifty feet. Now forty-five feet. Still closing, sir.” There was a painfully long silence. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.
“It is forty feet off the front of ISOM One, sir. Depth is fifteen feet. Still rising. It stopped sir. Depth is nine feet. Distance, twenty feet from ISOM One.” The group held a collective breath. But nothing happened. The Beast did not surface. Complete darkness settled upon us, save for the powerful flood lights.
“Come on you bastard,” Greg swore softly as he gripped a shotgun.
“Kill the lights,” I said suddenly. “It’s a marine predator that lives in the dark. It hunts primarily at night. The lights are keeping it down.”
Greg hoisted the radio to his mouth, “shut down the spotlights. Burn the scene lights. All other lights off.”
A moment, then the ISOM boats shut down all their lights. The crews of the SeaHunters activated their scene lights, bathing the area in soft LED white and casting an eerie glow on the surface. The lights illuminated only a fraction of the dark water which surrounded us.
“It’s rising, sir. Five feet to breach.”
Ripples appeared on the surface of the water. The crew cheered as a dark, elongated object pierced the inky depths. One pair of orange glowing eyes opened, followed by another. They reflected the scene lights and gave the Beast an otherworldly appearance. It surveyed the boats, unsure of what to make of the array of challengers before it.
“Drop the nets,” Hoyt whispered to his helmsman. “Start closing from the left and we can nab it.” There was a sharp metallic click as the clamps holding the nets in place released their hold, sending the weighted lines dropping just behind the blockade.
“Shit, we lost visual. Sonar, do you have it,” a deputy asked over the radio. I looked back and it was gone. It left no sign that it had ever even been there. It reminded me of when a crocodile retreated underwater.
I stared into the deep and could see it approach like a submarine, four glowing orange orbs penetrating the darkness above it. It accelerated forward and the orange glow went out. A sudden crash rocked ISOM One as the crew were thrown sideways. There was a screeching of metal and the hull gave way. Hoyt’s eyes widened and he realized his boat was sinking rapidly. The impact knocked ISOM One away from us and pulled the tie line taut. A deputy hit the line with an axe, and we began to drift away. We scrambled to restart the engines of the SeaHunter to get underway. A scream brought everyone’s movement to a halt. I turned to my right and saw the Beast had jumped clear out of the water and landed on the deck of ISOM Four, which had been dropping depth charges on its home.
The weight of the Beast caused the ISOM to lean and it mercilessly mauled a crew member, ripping his right arm off at the elbow in one bite before smacking him off the side of the boat with its powerful tail fin. It then lashed out, snapping another crew man up in its mouth. It slammed him against the soft top roof over the center console and caved it in. He shattered the windscreen and gouts of red sprayed across the pure white decking. The man let out a scream and was tossed into the lake. A third crew man grabbed a magnesium flare and lit it, casting a bright crimson hue over the scene. The creature appeared to be momentarily blinded and recoiled from the brilliant flame. It closed its eyes and blindly dove back into the water, smashing the Honda engine off the back of the boat. Gas began to pour from severed lines onto the deck. The sudden shift in weight caused the ISOM to rise suddenly and the crew member stumbled and fell over.
A brilliant orange fireball erupted from the deck of ISOM Four as the entire boat exploded. Screams pierced the quiet as a man began to drown in the water, his arms and head on fire. He suddenly jerked to the left and was dragged rapidly towards the next ISOM boat by an unseen force from below the surface. He continued to scream until he smacked against the hull of ISOM Three and was pulled under. Debris had begun to rain down from the disintegrated ISOM and the surface of Blackwater Cove was ablaze from motor oil and fuel. A large piece of deck from ISOM One landed against the rail of the SeaHunter, tiny flames burning at the end like a torch.
Hoyt’s crew continued to film as we moved the second SeaHunter in to look for survivors. Onboard ISOM Two, the crew was trying to salvage the net for another attempt at capturing the Beast. ISOM One, fatally wounded and drifting, lazily floated out of the Cove, losing its battle with gravity as it took on more and more water. The soft canopy over the cockpit was on fire, and embers floated off to meet the stars against the dark backdrop of Falls Lake. ISOM Two and Three remained afloat, with Hoyt finding safety as the crew transferred to ISOM Two. He practically bellowed into the microphone, trying to describe what had happened for future viewers.
The inferno continued to burn on the surface, and I could just make out the long, webbed dorsal fin and bony spines on the back of the Beast as it accelerated towards Hoyt’s position. It rammed the ISOM at the bow. Already dangerously close to the western wall of the Cove, it made impact with the limestone and the grating sound of rock against metal reverberated across the water. ISOM Three abandoned its net and fired up its engines. It turned and made its way out of Blackwater Cove with all haste. Hoyt, his boom mic operator, and his camera man climbed off ISOM Two as it began to list to port. They found purchase on the sheer stone of the western edge of the Cove and slowly made their way to safety.
The Beast broke the surface, streaking towards the stricken vessel in an up and down motion as he gained speed. I watched as it elevated out of the water with amazing power and speed. It bit down on the left leg of Hoyt Grayson and he tried to scale the side of the Cove and snatched him into its mouth. The cameraman steadied himself and found solid footing, then focused the camera as the Beast pulled him underwater. A few bubbles broke the surface, then Hoyt’s head rose above it. His eyes were filled with terror as he continued to rise out of the water. Thick frothy blood was falling from his open mouth in chunks. The Beast had now latched onto him around the waist and hoisted him skyward. His mangled left leg spewed blood and his femur stuck through the skin. The needlelike teeth had punctured his chest cavity and skewered his lungs. The Beast shook him from side to side and the inner mouth bit down on his spine, nearly ripping it from his back. The crunch as his ribcage collapsed was like a gunshot. The Beast fell backward, and Hoyt disappeared.
“We need to move,” the deputy driving the SeaHunter said.
The SeaHunter’s engine began to hum as the deputy turned us broadside against the wall of the Cove. We made our way to the camera crew and assisted the lighting man and boom mic operator aboard. The cameraman tried to hand the deputy his camera and cited the importance of the footage. A cacophony of screams caused the cameraman to drop the camera. It cracked open against the limestone wall and fell into the lake. I saw that ISOM Three had nearly escaped the Cove. It was rocking back and forth but it was too dark at that distance to see what was happening. One by one, the screams died out until silence once more filled the night. The only sound I could hear was the burning of the oil on the lake. The ISOM continued silently into the darkness as a huge splash disturbed the water near it.
“Get us the hell out of here,” Greg bellowed into the radio.
The SeaHunter turned and accelerated to the mouth of the Cove. The other SeaHunter joined us and we powered towards the lake. The Beast lashed out from the water and ran headlong into the side of the boat near the engine. The force of the impact bent the side railing in nearly two feet. It shook its head and sank back into the dark waters as everyone stumbled to find footing. The engine sputtered and we lost speed immediately. We watched as the second SeaHunter sped forward to loop back around.
“SeaHunter Two, we are losing power. We need you to take on all crew and continue to evacuate the area,” the deputy at the helm said.
Another impact rocked the SeaHunter as the Beast rammed us again. It jumped out of the water and landed with a wet, repulsive splat on the deck, its oily skin reflecting the glowing flames around us. It extended its serpentine body up, rising nine feet above the deck and looked down upon us. Its massive tail fin backhanded the engine of the SeaHunter and it bent in the frame, rendering the boat powerless. Greg leveled his shotgun, but the Beast’s coiling body slammed him against the side of the boat. The shotgun fell overboard into the Cove. The four glowing eyes locked on me. The jawline flexed and the pink gums became visible. I snatched up the four-foot piece of decking lying against the rail. The fire had burned out, but it was my only protection.
It struck me so fast I could barely react. I involuntarily snapped my eyes shut and raised the piece of deck like a shield. Searing pain ripped through my right arm and I was thrown backward into the windshield of the SeaHunter. I gasped as the air was forced out of my lungs by the impact. The deck plank had blocked most of the teeth, forcing the Beast’s mouth open and not allowing it to clamp down on my body. It was barely a foot away from my face, and I stared right down its open mouth into its throat. The massive jaws gaped open but were stopped from crushing me by the decking. It was wedged in the mouth of the Beast and had stabbed its lower jaw in the soft tissues. The fangs wrapped around the board, and my right forearm was pierced by seven of them. They penetrated on the outside of my forearm and went straight through the other side. I could feel them press against my radius. I wanted to scream in pain but could not get enough breath in me to do so. The Beast had me pinned against the smashed windscreen. A vast spiderweb of cracks formed as the glass gave way to the pressure being applied. My entire right arm went numb and I could see an irregular lump jutting through my shirt where my collarbone should have been.
I felt sick to my stomach as the stench of the Beast’s gullet wafted out and burned my nostrils with the odor. My tunnel vision broke as a deputy came from seemingly out of nowhere and slammed an axe down on the side of the Beast’s head. He struck it again and again. The fangs buried into my arm snapped and I was suddenly free of its grasp. Greg opened fire with his sidearm, emptying the magazine into the right flank of the Beast. It forced air from its gills, causing them to flutter and create the sound of a menacing hiss. Its mouth now free of the board, it turned towards its latest attacker as Greg reloaded and fired again, aiming this time for the head. Rounds struck the skull of the Beast but didn’t seem to cause fatal injury.
Greg was out of ammunition, but the other SeaHunter was swiftly approaching. Two deputies onboard readied Remington 870 shotguns and took aim. Blood was pouring in a steady stream from my forearm. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I felt like I was about to lose consciousness. The Beast cast its gaze upon me, orange eyes mirroring the flames around us. Blood oozed from a brutal cut on the right side of its head and another near its gills. The left side of its mouth was split open where the axe had struck it in the jaw. Several bullet holes were visible along the side of its body. A shotgun blast rang out, and I collapsed to the deck of the SeaHunter. As the world around me faded to black, I saw the massive tail fin flutter off the deck over the side railing. I vaguely remember hearing a splash before I was swallowed by darkness.
“Can’t make it up,” a voice said matter-of-factly.
I opened my eyes for the first time in two days. A massive headache immediately welcomed me to reality. A numbness had settled over my entire body, but I could feel a dull ache in my arm and chest. I glanced over to see Greg sitting in the chair next to my bed, reading the News and Observer.
“Your parents just left to go get lunch. I told them I would sit with you in case you woke up.”
“What, what happened? Why am I in so much pain,” I weakly asked.
“Four broken ribs, broken forearm, broken clavicle, dislocated right shoulder, and some nasty puncture wounds. Should make for some cool scars. Also, you are the only person I know that can break and dislocate their shoulder at the same time. Just pick one.”
“The Beast?”
Greg paused. “We don’t know. It was wounded when it decided to make a run for it. But I don’t know it was enough to kill it. The Lake has been closed until further notice to all visitors, effective immediately. Campgrounds, boat launches, hiking trails, all of it. I took a deep breath, feeling a wave of narcotic induced nausea sweep over me.
“It’s still out there.”
“Afraid so. A lot of people are dead. Some folks high up the food chain want to turn it into a publicity stunt. Our own Loch Ness Monster. But others just want to cover it up and be done with it. There’s a plan for that, for better or worse. Someone very high up doesn’t want the public to know about this.” Greg sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair.
A small container was on a table on the left side of my bed. I stared at it for a moment, and realized it was a plastic jar containing the seven teeth pulled out of my arm, each over six inches long. I glanced up at the television through the mental haze. I used the tiny white controller next to my left hand to turn the volume up to an audible level. A nurse walked in to check and record my vitals. A young woman spoke into the camera from the local CBS 17 news desk.
“…Meanwhile, Mark Calloway, president of Duke Energy, touted the decision to close Falls Lake to all visitors effective immediately as a necessary act. We have been told by a government official speaking on condition of anonymity that Falls Lake will continue to operate under the Department of Natural Resources as a quarantine zone until further notice. Scientists from several prominent watchdog groups have petitioned to establish research sites near the lake. The 50,000 metric tons of coal ash dumped into the drinking water of 2.5 million people is already being called the worst natural disaster in the company’s history. The decision comes just days after authorities confirmed toxic gases from the accident killed all seventeen crew members of a documentary program filming around the lake…”
Credit : t4bullock
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