u/ManyAdhesiveness7626

Snelling

"Thank you, Father, for helping me through the day. I praise you, oh Lord, in all that I do..."

These were the words spoken by Pastor Larry Gates in his country-boy voice before he was abruptly disrupted by a shaking at the front doors of the old church. The white-haired, chubby, Caucasian man was the minister at The First Baptist Church of Snelling, California.

Pastor Larry Gates was there in the church alone, with nothing but the crucifix, his guilty conscience, and the good old Holy Spirit for company. The shaking was nothing more than a slight rattle from the wind on the old wooden doors.

Pastor Larry—or Pastor Larry to some and just Larry to others—smiled at the tiny spook he received from the interruption and went on to finish his prayer. "Thank you, Father, for helping me through the day. I praise you, oh Lord, in all that I do. Lord, please help me on the path to righteousness so that I may join you in heaven one day."

The wind howled outside as Pastor Larry returned to his thoughts.

"Lord, I have sinned greatly on top of my already bad drinking and cursing. I drove up to Yosemite alone last Monday so I could pick up some venison and lumber from old Reverend Thomas Didamos, but I left later than I planned. I enjoyed a meal and an early couple of beers with the man, and before I knew it, twilight took hold of the day. I drink often, Lord; you know of my affliction. But I never touch my flask while I'm driving, my Lord, and I never drive after three beers, either. I couldn’t help but accept my old friend's offer to stay in his spare room, even though I was two beers over my personal 'never drive' limit."

A howl echoed outside of the old church—the howl of fast winds that barely ever hit this area. Pastor Larry pulled a blue bandana from his jacket pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow before he continued speaking.

“You see, Lord, I needed more than just venison and lumber; I needed to get away from home. Even for just a day, my Lord. I've been stressed greatly as of late. My wife is very careless with our finances, continuously buying more than what we can afford, telling me when the bill comes that we must put it in your hands, my Lord, and it'll all be taken care of. Bickering at me when I say that's not how it works. I just couldn’t take it anymore, so when offered a drink, I took one, then another."

He pulled his flask from his jacket pocket and stared at it. The doors at the front shook like something pushed at them. The wind again. Larry went on.

"I got so tired, oh great Father, and the alcohol turned my mind towards sinful things. I saw a place on the side of the road that looked like a hotel with red lights, and I went in. I was so tired, Lord. It’s no excuse, but please forgi..."

A slight pound and a couple of long scratches on the door caught Pastor Gates’ attention. “Damn dogs,” he thought as he turned back to face the crucifix.

Pastor Larry continued on, ignoring the scratching from the "cold dog," and continued his confession.

"I walked into the red-light hotel and was greeted by an older woman. I asked about a room; she set me up with one, then directed me to an area with a bar and music. I didn't think much of it, Lord. I just figured since I'd be falling asleep soon, I could grab a couple more drinks. When I walked past the red beads, I saw where I was. I had entered a house of harlots, my Lord, and upon drinking my couple of drinks, I was overwhelmed by strenuous thoughts of temptation, and not soon after, I was consumed by it."

Pastor Larry Gates looked down from the crucifix. He reached back into his coat and produced the flask. He started to cry. The pastor's cries were full of sorrow, and he began to unlatch the lid of the flask. The door heaved as if something pushed up against it, then the slow scratching began again. Larry became infuriated by this. He quickly turned from the crucifix to the door, throwing the flask in the process. The Pastor was yelling as he did this, but it didn't seem to be the dogs he was yelling at.

"DAMN YOU! Damn you for all you've put me through! Damn you for all the lost nights and sickened mornings! Damn you for clouding my mind along with my judgment! Damn you! You will no longer have a hold over me!"

The flask flew through the air, fast and hard. It curved before it reached the door and hit a medium-sized porcelain statue of Jesus on the cross. The colorful statue one of his congregants had given him a year ago wobbled in place, fell, and shattered. The whiskey that filled the flask was now running over the broken shards of the Messiah's face.

The heaving and scratching at the door went away, and Pastor Larry fell to his knees, crying into his hands.

There were two heavy knocks at the door. THONK, THONK!

The door shook a little at the heavy thudding. Larry looked up from his palms and stared at the door questioningly. Thonk, thonk! The knocking commenced. Pastor Larry stood up now and stared at the doors in a sort of shock as the knocks turned into pounding. Thonk, thonk, THONK, THONK! Larry's mind raced to put together what it might be, hoping it was something logical and easy to deal with.

"The doors of this sanctuary cannot be open to you."

The words slipped from his mouth without any thought at all. The banging stopped. The wood lightly squeaked like pressure was being lifted from it, and Larry reached into the pocket where his flask had been. The flask was gone, and his sorrows returned. Larry folded his hands and prayed. It must have been a drunk, or one of these crystal meth users, he thought to himself.

"Poor, poor person. He should come to Mass this Sunday," he said to himself.

Pastor Larry Gates walked over to the broken statue. When he reached the shattered remains of the porcelain figure, he looked down, but the first thing he saw wasn't the broken face of Jesus; it was the flask, open and leaking.

Pastor Larry picked up the flask and looked at it, the wet stainless steel cold in his hands. He looked inside to see if there was any more whiskey, and there it was.

“Not even a half a shot, but still a sip,” Larry thought, feeling sorrowful once more. The Pastor raised the flask to his lips, then, by surprise, the double doors shook hard, splintering as if someone threw themselves against them. They shook madly as someone tried to force their way in. Larry dropped the flask and fell back, landing on the shattered pieces of the holy statue, cutting his left hand on the broken wrist of Jesus Christ.

The horrid banging ceased. Pastor Larry sat up and rubbed the back of his head. When he looked at his hand, for a moment he thought his head might have been bleeding. The thought was cut away when he realized it was just the gash in his palm. He scurried quickly to the flask, throwing shattered porcelain to the sides. When he looked into his flask again, he noticed all the whiskey was now gone.

"FUCK YOU! You piece of shit druggie! There is nothing here for low-lifes like you! God says the meek may inherit the Earth, but rats like you will burn in Hell! Scum of the earth, you all should be put into one area and BOMBED!"

Larry screamed this out of anger. He blamed the man out front—the one on drugs who, by banging on the doors, had caused Larry the loss of his last few drops of whiskey. Sorrow once again engulfed him, and he cried into his good palm. In his mind, he was begging that God had let him leave an extra bottle of wine in his office. God didn't leave Larry any wine, though. Some people may say God wasn't there for him; believers would say God is everywhere. It doesn't really matter if God was there or not, because no man or divine being came to aid Pastor Larry Gates.

The pastor walked quickly to his office, blood dripping from his hand, fury in his eyes. Just as he was passing the last window in the church, an object flew through the glass and smacked Larry on the right side of his face, hard. Pastor Larry fell toward the pews, and instead of falling into the row, he landed on his ribs against the side of the wooden bench. The pain he felt from his ribs was far worse than the impact on his head; as a matter of fact, the object felt soft, leathery, and wet. He looked down to see what had hit him and was horrified. It was the severed head of a pig, liquid still oozing from the muscle and veins protruding from the neck.

Pastor Larry got to his feet and regained his composure quickly, the eyes of the dead swine staring at him in an eternal expression of fear and pain. Fresh gore seemed to still bleed out onto the church's oak floors. His face was covered in blood—not his own, but the pig's. He wiped the wetness from his eyes and peered out the window, only briefly.

If Pastor Larry Gates ever got a chance to talk to the police, he would have told them that in that brief moment, he saw the outline of a man outside in the windy, foggy darkness. He would have said that the man was far off in the field, but he could still see he was possibly six-and-a-half feet tall, broadly built, but strangely hunched. He also would have said he looked away toward the doors for only a millisecond, and when he looked back, the huge figure was gone.

Pastor Larry ran to the front doors, reaching into his pocket for his keys. He got to the doors, and right before he could put his hand on the knob, the doors themselves shook rapidly. The huge man was back and was more forceful this time around, the wood splintering with each slam. There came a loud, roaring scream from Larry's attacker; it sounded like it came from the stomach and throat, like an animal howling, yet human at the same time. The door let off a loud snap, and the slamming stopped.

Larry wasn't always the smartest man. Some of the choices he made were not good, but as soon as he heard that door snap, he turned and ran toward the office in the back, hoping it would buy him time.

Pastor Larry reached the office with no more thoughts of wine, only thoughts of surviving this maniac. As soon as he closed the door, the front doors exploded open.

Pastor Larry Gates had no window in his office, just a desk with small statues of angels and two pictures of Jesus. There was a photo of a group of people with Pastor Larry in the church yard, and a picture of a beautiful blonde-haired, green-eyed girl in a red graduation gown. Along with them sat an Apple laptop, flipped up but turned off. Larry frantically looked for a weapon, but there was none to be found. Long scratches went down the door of Larry's office. The Pastor turned pale white with fear. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Pastor Larry grabbed the letter opener off his desk at the last moment, and then the door flung open.

What stood in the doorway absolutely scared the piss out of him—literally. A warm stream of urine ran down Larry's right leg. He stumbled back and gasped at the horrid identity of his attacker. No more rational thoughts of truth or falsehood flowed through his mind. In less than five seconds, the things that go bump in the night had become reality.

His eyes widened, and he began to speak his final words.

"It's you! It's... it's... B-B-Bal... Jesus Christ, Lord God! Please have mer—"

Pastor Larry's bottom jaw was grabbed at that moment. Seconds later, it was wrenched away from his face. A loud crack and rip were heard by Larry as the bone snapped and the skin tore. Blood oozed from his face. His tongue, which now seemed to have gained length, dangled where his lower jaw once was.

Pastor Larry never believed in aliens or monsters. No, the Pastor believed in God and the Devil. That night, the last thing Larry Gates saw with his living eyes was, at least to him, the Devil himself.

The murderous assailant ripped the rest of Larry's head from his shoulders, but the killer didn't get the chance to truly feel the life drain from the Pastor's body. That pleasure belonged to the heart attack that claimed Larry the moment his jaw was detached. It looked like, at the last moment, Larry's God showed him some of that mercy he pleaded for.

A black Peterbilt 389 roared down the highway. Its driver was tired, waiting on a reply from dispatch to see if he could pull over and crawl into his sleeper. He had about a half-hour left on his ELD, but it had been a long, strange day driving through California. Right now, Todd Malkin wanted nothing more than to go on his ten-hour reset and get some damn sleep.

"These new motherfuckers never text back. At least Rich treats me good, or else I’d find another fucking job. Where the fuck am I at, anyways?” Todd Malkin said to himself.

His GPS had gone out back at the town he just passed through. It seemed to be working again, so he looked down at it to see his general area.

“Snelling, California? Never fucking heard of it.”

Todd Malkin was a company driver for Loaded Trucking Co. out of Greeley, Colorado, and he had been driving for nearly twelve hours. He had driven to Monterey to drop off sheets, then to Oakland for a pickup of exotic rugs. He had gotten screwed over and ended up heading south instead of back toward home. He swore he didn't remember any of that drive, but when he saw he was coming up to the Chowchilla scales, he turned around, getting lost in the backroads heading north.

Todd was about fifty, one of those men blessed to not be balding yet. He was also a recovering addict, and this was the first drive he wasn't on meth. He had spent time in rehab and, after six months of sobriety, went home to his wife and kids. This was his first run back. Even though he was tired and probably wanting to get high, he was not impaired. He was focused—a better man now than he ever was.

Right as he was coming up to the sign that said "Snelling City Limits," something huge ran in front of Todd's Peterbilt. The thing went right; Todd went left, then right again, working his Jake brake and foot pedal until he came to a complete stop.

"What the fuck was that?" Todd asked himself in shock.

He took off his Oakland A's hat and ran his hands through his short hair. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. Todd opened the door of his cab, cautiously stepping out of his truck to investigate. He felt like he landed on something when he jumped out. He lifted his foot, confused. Not quite sure of what he was looking at, he grabbed his heavy black flashlight and turned it on.

It was a finger with a ring on it.

Todd's eyes widened. He continued to shine his light and saw shredded pieces of a man all over the street. He walked to the back of the trailer, passing unrecognizable pieces of flesh, blood, another finger, and a few teeth. Behind the trailer, he could recognize more of the body. He saw a torso missing its left arm and right hand. The belly looked like it had burst open; the innards were spread out down the street. He saw the legs, both mangled—one footless.

Todd Malkin turned around to go to his cab to get his phone and contact the police.

"Why the fuck did you leave that shit in the tractor, man!" he whispered to himself.

Before he was three steps from where he turned around, he heard a whoosh through the air. A squishy flump sounded out behind him, like someone had thrown a big water balloon. A cold sweat ran down Todd's face. A little voice in his mind spoke to him: Don't turn around. Keep going and leave.

That damn human curiosity turned him back around in the end. He instantly regretted it. In front of him was a head, covered in blood, with the bottom half of the jaw missing.

Todd began to tremble. Later on, he would tell his son he had never felt any greater fear than he did that night on the outskirts of Snelling. For reasons only he would know, Todd Malkin stepped toward it, knelt down, and observed the head for a moment. The eyes were off in their own worlds; the left was staring downward, the blood vessels glowing a light red, while the right eye's vessels had exploded, making the whole thing look like a dark purple ball in a drooping socket. The upper lip was moist with blood but looked cracked. He noticed the head had been rolling in grass and dirt.

His mild investigation came to an end when he heard a low grunt from down the road. He shined his light but saw nothing. He put the light down but didn't take his eyes off the source of the noise. A big, dark figure arose from the bushes, standing and staring at Todd. Todd was frozen; he wanted to run for the cab and go.

The truck is running and I'm pretty damn good at hitting them gears; I'll be gone in no time, he thought. But his legs wouldn't react.

The dark figure was huge. Todd would later say to his son, "The son of a bitch had to be some hobo bodybuilder on PCP, how fuckin' huge the crazy motherfucker was."

At that moment, the "bodybuilder" slouched his head and rose his shoulders. Todd could hear deep grunts and hard, raspy breathing. It moved, and Todd jumped back. Something then flew through the air and landed at Todd's feet. It was the bottom half of the jaw.

Todd's adrenaline spiked. He turned and was in his cab in under ten seconds. In his side-view mirrors, he could see the huge dark outline standing over the head. He could see its eyes—terrible, golden eyes with a rainbow shimmer. The way he would explain those eyes was, "Like Vin Diesel's in them Riddick movies, or like a cat or a dog's eyes. Them son of a bitches' eyes was glowing, though, and I'm sure of it."

Todd hit those gears quickly. He didn't look back or stop in Snelling for a rest. Wide awake and with no cares about violations, the DOT, or the dispatch, he drove on through the night. When the sun became visible, Todd pulled into a rest stop. He parked, took a long drag of a Marlboro Red, and pulled a pint of gin from his bag, pounding it in one sitting. Hoping it would help him sleep, Todd laid down and fell into a deep slumber, only to awaken screaming—his mind plagued by visions of those scattered body parts and those glowing eyes.

(This story was written by me back in 2012 I hope you enjoyed the story.)

So I’m pretty nervous here but I’ll be posting my raw unedited first chapter to you all to read. 😬 It is a Horror story I’ve been working on for a while now and would like some feedback. I know Im opening myself to some negative feedback but I feel I cant get better if I don’t take the constructive criticism as it’s give. I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1 of The Things That See and Speak at Night

1

"You have thirty minutes remaining on your drive clock and are in danger of violation. Please pull over and begin your 10-hour restart."

The electronic logging device, or E.L.D. for those in the know, was squawking this phrase over and over throughout the driver's 2024 Peterbilt 389's speakers. It was interrupting Dusty Hill singing about going down to Mexico and Billy Gibbons' hard blues riffs. William Lofax was regretting taking this load of shavings from Quincy, CA, back down to Stockton. The money for the load was good, but his wife was expecting him home; he only took the first load up to Quincy because he knew he could make it back if it was just a drop. Since he picked up that other load, he lost about 3 hours at the loader with delays in the product, and then the road back closed. He's been in worse situations; he called his wife and let her know what was going on and how he had to take the long way. The long way would take him to the end of his time halfway to home base—if there was no traffic, that is.

After traffic was finally split into two lanes, Will got to keep it rolling, up until the voice on the E.L.D. spoke out. He followed every rule with his truck; while others still ran on paper logs, Will signed up and set up an ELD system for himself. He keeps everything squeaky clean, but if he was thirty minutes, maybe an hour from home, he'd pull over and switch to personal conveyance. Three hours was pushing it. So Will kept his eyes open as he maneuvered the curvy road.

As the E.L.D. shucked off its 15-minutes-remaining warning, Will spotted a space to pull over ahead of him to his right; he began downshifting to slow the massive machine as he approached his makeshift rest area. The Pete came to a complete stop, and Will initiated the air brakes. All Will could see were trees in front of him—trees and the winding road. To his right, he saw information placards, four of them with two paths in between them, and beyond that, trees. It was barely 8:00 pm and the sun still went down around 9:00, so he still had time to get out, stretch his legs, and maybe even find a place to take a shit.

William stepped out of the tractor's cab with his backpack, taking in the pine-fresh air. He closed the door and faced the information placards; he noticed the massiveness of the forest in front of him, and before going on, he reached into the back, producing a nine-millimeter pistol. Walking forward beyond the placards, he sees a stream and approaches it; the water was clear and beautiful, bringing a smile to his face. "Well, hell, at least I get to take my reset somewhere like this."

Will awoke in the middle of the night, gut bubbling and bladder yelling; it was 2:47, and Will was dying to get outside to relieve himself. He grabbed his backpack and headed to the trees, using his cell phone's flashlight to guide his way. By the time he broke the tree line, it was already on the verge of coming to an end; he got his pants down barely to the knees before his body let loose and sprayed from both front and back ends, soiling his pants in the process. All the euphoric feelings of his bowels and bladder going from flooded to dry as a 2020 California summer were cut short because of the pants and underwear he just waterfalled his piss with; especially the underwear—being on the road, you enjoy your clean boxers when you have them. Remembering the creek he saw when he first pulled over and thinking of the fact that he is alone out in the woods, he figured why the hell not walk down and clean his pants and himself off. He wiped himself, buried the bio-paper and waste, then headed to the creek, pants in hand.

The creek was a beautiful bright crack in the forest's darkness where the trees opened up, allowing the creek to flow and the banks to hug the sides. The moon sat fat, bright, and shining, reflecting off the water below it. He didn't waste any time as he started walking into the creek. It was a pretty good depth, about to his knees, and he stood around 5'8" the last time he had a check-up. Will squatted down and cleaned himself in the cold mountain water, then he began rinsing his pants. Once he figured it was about as good as it could get, he started to step out; a small gust of wind blew him as he walked out of the water, sending a shiver up his back. He began to put on his drawers when he heard it: a small whimpering coming from the trees on the opposite side he came from. The whimpers became soft sobbing; Will began putting his wet pants and shoes on as the sobbing became crying. Then a shaken voice broke the darkness.

"Heh-hello, is anybody th-th-there? If someone's there, p-p-please, please h-help me."

Will was scared; hell, he just wanted to turn around and leave. Fuck his reset time, fuck company policy, fuck all that; he wanted to run as fast as he could to his truck, hit those gears as fast as he knows how to, and accelerate the hell out of there. But then there was the thought of, what if there was a woman or young girl out there in the woods needing help right now, and what if he did leave her and read about her body being found? His mind shifted then to what if there's some teen girl missing and he might have been able to possibly save her. He knew if that was his daughter, he would want someone to help her; his compassion for others took over his fear, and he walked towards the crying voice.

"Hello?" Will called out towards the sobbing female voice. "Where you at? Are you in trouble?"

The sobbing voice replied back, rushing through her sobs, "Y-y-yes! Th-tha-thank God you're here! Please, oh God, please. B-before he gets back!"

Will hurried his stride.

2

"Before he gets back—what the fuck did you just run towards, William? What the fuck you going to do if there's someone there, William?" he thought to himself as he approached the woman who called out to him.

He made it to where he heard the voice and was met with a woman sitting with her back to him; she was naked and seemed malnourished. Her skin was more than pale in the moonlight; her skin almost looked translucent. Blue veins traced her body, accompanied by dark purple and red bruises. Will was about a meter from her when everything felt like it stopped; her breathing was becoming raspy and rapid, and her skin gained a layer of sheen that looked more like oil than sweat.

"Are you…" William clears his throat in between his sentence then continues on. "Are you okay?"

The woman slowly turned to face Will. At first, her facial features didn't dawn on him; what hit him was her eyes. The meager glints of light from the moon hit them and they had a rainbow glow with heavy silver undertones, sort of like a dog's eyes. After the slight shock from the eyes, he began to see what was so off with her face. The bridge of her nose seemed to be bulged forward; her cheekbones were high and bulged forward, squaring off with the bridge of her nose, giving her a distinct piggish look. Her lower jaw scared him the most; it looked like an extreme underbite. Her lower jaw extended forward, saliva hung from her chin and jawline, and to ice the cake, she seemed to be sporting two tusks like lower fangs, shining with spit and blood.

The woman's jaw moved up and down, as if she wanted to close her mouth but couldn't due to the sheer size of the two lower fangs. Still, out of the hole behind those fangs, a soft voice spoke out.

"So did you come here to save me?"

After the voice flowed out of her maw, as if the woman this voice belonged to was speaking from within this monstrous mouth, she began a gruff, inner-chest, heavy breathing. The breathing quickly became bestial growls before she began to make an effort to move towards him. Will didn't hesitate anymore; he turned and tried to run as fast as he could, but it was like he was stuck there in place and he was falling forward in the darkness. He felt a stinging pain flame up his right calf before blackness consumed him.

3

The oak trees rained down red, along with yellow and orange leaves. Brown needles from mighty pines float on light breezes, joining the red, yellow, and orange to rest on the forest floor. The air smells of the saps of the trees, along with apple, dirt, and blood. Freedom is the feeling that every creature feels amongst the wild blackberry bramble and massive trees. This creature feels the same; it walks on two legs, rather runs on them. The beauty of this world, this freedom, has overtaken this being as they run through the trees and bush. Bare skin cut by branches and twigs, the soft feet not made for this type of trek are sliced and bleeding, but the exhilaration of this place was too much to not give into and just run. Smells of berries, smells of leaves—both dead, dying, and green. The pungent smell of rotting wood and dry oak. At some points, it smelled like a thing the creature would call Christmas. The smells of animals and arousal came with the smell of excrement, death, and blood. Birds chirped and screamed, rodents scurried; the natives hid amongst their burrows as this creature tasted their air and ran through their home. This creature, who was raised in a society that feels its naked body was shameful, runs nude and, in its mind, it feels that this is right. Pain arouses in the invasive creature, but not from its many cuts and holes that ooze his crimson life force; the pain is in its gut. He continues his run.

A family of hare, already white for the upcoming snow, try to get to their burrow before the invader comes upon them, but fate wasn't on their side this day; the thing grasped the two smallest hare with its alien paws, and with its strange paws, he snapped their necks, pouring his face into their bellies, ripping away meat and eating the still-warm flesh from inside. The little animal's life fluid covered this monster's face; the bigger hares didn't glance back, just hid away in their burrows. He yelled out in joy, lifting his prize high in the air; this feeling has never come over him, never. His eyes were closed as he screamed to the heavens with his kill; as he lowered his arms, chest heaving up and down in adrenaline, he opened his eyes and he was no longer in the dense wood but on its border—of it and a small field. The small field turned into a high cliffside. In front of him stood a cabin that seemed to be built into the cliffside. The home seemed to be a wooden frame connected to a cave with a thatch and oiled leather roof. The door consisted of wooden poles that varied in sizes, and insulated on the outside with dirt, or maybe clay. He stared at the strange cabin and kept staring in awe and fear even as the door began to open. When she walked out, the man felt nothing he felt as he rampaged through the forest. Now he feels all that he felt as a man before that: shame, fear, guilt. The old, decrepit thing wore small bones and branches in her matted silver hair, her face tattooed with vine-like inscriptions. The clothes she wore were dirty old furs and she smiled with only two teeth that resembled square fangs.

"I've been waiting for you."

She spoke these words as she opened her cloak, pulling from it her bow, an arrow already knocked back by her skinny tattooed arms. As the witch releases the arrow, she cackles.

4

Jumping from his hospital bed screaming in horror, Sandra Lofax, wife of Will Lofax, jumped up as well in shock and terror at her husband's sudden rise from the two-week coma in absolute panic. She stood back to catch herself; Will crouched on the hospital bed, arms sprawled across the backboard in a crude replica of the crucifixion. Screaming in absolute terror, sweat pouring from his face soaking his moments-ago dry hair. Sandra jumped into action, putting her face into his.

"William Lee Lofax, I swear to God you better come out of it or I'll stop waiting on you and take the kids and go right now!"

Sandra yelled these words as she slapped her husband as hard as she could across his right cheek, reddening his face and her hand both. Will's eyes focused on his wife then and his screams started to die down, first to a groan then a soft whimper. She held him and rocked him like a child as he cried in her breast. Two men dressed in nurse scrubs and a doctor with a needle came into the room just then; Sandra hopped up so fast you would've mistaken that lady for a lightning bolt.

"If you motherfuckers try to put him back down, then I swear to fucking whatever lord you praise I'll kill all of you sons of bitches, I swear I will."

Sandra sat watching her husband as he ate the burger she picked up from Carl's Jr. for him. He ate it like an absolute slob, but something about him was emanating sexiness to her. Maybe it was the fact that he grew a thick little beard since he's been gone—from the week he was gone on the road to the two-week coma. Or perhaps it was because he came out of his coma so strong and ready to go; who could tell? She only knew she was extremely attracted to her husband at the moment, and more so than she's been in a while.

"How you feeling, babe, honestly?" Sandra said, concern in her voice.

Through a mouthful of Super Star and waffle fries, Will replied, "I'm fine, babe." (Chews food, and takes a drink of the large Coke.) "I swear, as soon as I fully came out of whatever that was, I started feeling amazing. Well, and hungry too." They both laughed at the hungry remark.

"I don't know, Sandra honey, I just woke up feeling new. More complete, I don't know."

"How complete can a man with a chunk of his right side torn away be? Or with his left shoulder and calf looking like a bear tried to eat them?"

Will stopped eating and stared at his wife with terror and question.

"Can't forget the fact that all that long hair you had is gone 'cause that bear raked its claws or whatever across the back of your head."

Will reached behind his head and felt the puffy flesh of the scar tissue. He reached behind him and felt the shoulder; there was a bandage around it, but when he pressed on it, his fingertips felt the depth. It disgusted and horrified him. He dropped his burger and fell forwards, once again unconscious. Sandra shook her head as she got up to help clean her husband off as the nurses walked back in. Sandra looked at them with a sarcastic look, "Well, hell, I should've just let you put him down earlier; would have saved me the mess."

5

Jolene Lofax was sixteen, beautiful, athletic, and on her way to be valedictorian of her class. Her dad made sure she and her siblings were set up nicely—smart and responsible—and she appreciated it, so out of respect for him, she never did drugs, never drank alcohol, never partied; she was totally respectable, other than the way she dressed, that pissed her dad off.

"What's going on with you, Jolene? My, don't you look fucking gorgeous today."

The voice came from behind her; she rolled her eyes at it like she always does and keeps walking towards class.

"Aw, girl, why you gotta play like you don't hear me like that?" the voice said with a sad, boo-hoo tone.

Jolene just continued on, ignoring the speaker—that was until he grabbed her hand.

"Come on now, baby, I know you can hear me. What's good with you, Jole…"

"If you don't let me go, Ricardo, I'm going to snap your wrist, then I'll break your nose."

Ricardo let go of Jolene and put his hands up like he believed she was capable of what she spoke of; for all he knows, she is.

"Aw, come on, baby, you know I was just playing."

"Don't call me baby, Ricardo. I ain't your baby or your woman of any kind. You can miss me with all that nonsense; I swear on my family I'll hurt you. Don't touch me, fool."

Ricardo smiled at this reply from her; he could always expect it and he liked it.

"You know, Jolene, that's why I like you—you don't put up with no one's shit. I'll holler at you later."

Ricardo turned to walk around when he was stopped by a much shorter but equally active-looking girl. Rosa Sanchez Barron stood there staring up at Ricardo. She was dark-complexioned, with long dyed sandy-blond hair that she had in a high ponytail.

"Qué pasó, little Ricky? You know she too good for you, wey. Cabrón, she don't date lame-ass cholos. Go to class, puto." Another girls voice joined in.

Ricardo smiled and lifted his tagged-up Jansport backpack up on his left shoulder.

"Aw, it's like that, Rosa?"

"It's like that, fool!" Rosa said, standing up on her tiptoes, arms across her chest. Ricardo kept his smile on and started walking down the hall while Rosa kept shouting at him in Spanish.

"Come on, Rosa, I'm sure he got the hint; plus, we need to get to class." Jolene told the shorter girl.

"Alright, alright, that fool's always trippin'. He should've known by now you ain't into that shit or him."

Jolene smiled at her friend and started walking towards class with Rosa by her side.

"So how's the big man doing?"

Jolene's lips went paper-thin for a moment, then she replied to her BFF.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. My mom said he was torn up pretty badly, but then again she texted today saying he woke up and he was eating a burger, so I don't really know. I mean, I guess he's fine."

Rosa Sanchez Barron and Jolene Lofax have been friends since preschool. They were best friends and at times when one or the other was sad, the other knew; this was one of those moments.

"So your mom texted you and told you the big guy was awake and eating? Oh, well, he good then, girl; stop worrying so tough. We're in the clear now, so it's time to relax and get back to it."

Jolene smiled at her bestie; she was thankful in that moment to have her as a friend. Jolene did exactly what Rosa said and started to stop worrying. Dad was awake and doing fine, and he'll be home soon.

6

William Lofax lay in the hospital bed tossing and turning. He was told when he woke up at the beginning of the week that his progress was well enough to let him go by Wednesday, but after that small fainting issue he had, the doctor felt it best to keep him until the following Monday to better observe him. It was smooth sailing throughout the week and now it was 11:30 pm Sunday and Will lies tossing, turning, and dreaming.

He was walking through what looked to be a deserted town, or by the looks of the thatched-roofed, dirt, and lumber houses he saw as he walked barefooted down the dirt road. Some of the homes' roofs looked to be caved in; other homes' whole walls were destroyed, revealing an inside as distorted as the outside. The earth from which he walked seemed to get harder and colder since he'd turned from the destruction of that house. He looked down and saw the road turned from dirt to gray stone. Brick buildings lined the street, some with signs for hotels, pubs, butchers, and meat markets; others seemed to be homes or apartments. Every building had black soot on them with their windows and doors shattered and crushed. The road was sleek with liquid, sidewalks were covered in it; a closer look and Will noticed the wetness was blood. He didn't want to continue on, but when he turned to get away from the blackened buildings and the blood-soaked roads, he saw in the darkness a pair of shimmering eyes. The sounds of guttural growling came from those eyes; Will was trapped in between two hells.

"Hey, William. Over here to your right."

Will heard the whimpering voice and turned to his right. He saw a woman peeking from behind the door of one of the soot-covered buildings; she had yellow blonde hair and possibly blue eyes from where he could see her. The woman waved him over frantically and Will headed towards her, thinking to himself, "Well, since I have to choose, well then I'll choose the woman who knows my name over that bloodied road and death eyes."

When he made it to her, he saw his observations about her eyes were wrong; they were green.

"Okay, now what?" William said, sounding as if he was going to collapse right there on the floor.

She looked at him up and down; she was tall and sported cargo pants and black long hiking boots with a green parka.

"Sit down, William."

When she said this, Will noticed an accent he couldn't pin down—some type of Northwest dialect, maybe even Canadian he thought.

"Sit down? With whatever the hell's out there? And what's going on out there—what happened?" William questioned frantically to this strange woman.

"We aren't there, William. Look out the window, then sit your ass down."

She said these last four words with a slight viciousness in her tone. Will decided it was best to listen to this woman, at least for now, so he approached the window. Outside he no longer saw the decaying and decrepit soot-covered buildings, or the ichor-drenched roads; he saw a vastness of snow and snow-covered trees. He turned to the woman with a look of confusion and awe on his face.

"Strange, yes? I know how you feel, but you aren't dead, so that's something to look forward to for now. You are still in the hospital; by all accounts, you are just in a deep sleep, dreaming, but the reality is you are in between the worlds in some sort of way. It's like being in a purgatory of purgatory is the best way I can explain it to you."

She said this and let it sink in for about 30 seconds then continued. "Would you like some tea, William?"

The question broke whatever hypnosis Will was in at that moment.

"Y... Yeah, tea would be nice."

She went to the kettle and poured him a piping hot cup then handed it to him. As he lifted the mug, he smelled mint and licorice; he sipped and the warm liquid ran through his body and warmed him. After Will finished his tea, he relaxed a bit.

"So you know my name. What's yours?" William asked.

"Rebecca, but that doesn't matter anymore, William. Right now what's important is what I have to talk to you about."

Will straightened up a bit in his chair and shot her a confused look.

"First and foremost, I need to tell you—unlike you, Will, I'm here because I'm dead."

Rebecca stared at him as the revelation sank in. Will just stared back at her with his elbows on his knees and hands folded under his chin. He nodded his head a couple times, "Okay, I see. I'm asleep and you're dead, and this is not a dream."

Will air-quoted the last bit of what he said. Rebecca shook her head and started getting noticeably frustrated.

"Why the hell are you people so damn thick-headed! I know it sounds fantastical, but what the hell—how often are you able to be fully cognitive in a dream? I'm dead, I don't even know what year it is, but I'm dead! My name is Rebecca Calderon, I was 23 years old, I'm from Challis, Idaho. I went hiking with my best friend and our boyfriends. We were on a trip to Eureka, California, to see the beach."

Rebecca put her head down and smiled slightly. "And to get some of that choice herb we were told so much about, but that was just a side thing; we wanted to see the beach. We never made it to California, though."

A feeling of guilt ran over William as he heard her tell her story; he stepped towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She quickly rebuked his willingness to comfort her.

"You don't get it. I was murdered, William—killed by something unnatural. Thus causing me to die an unnatural death and cursing me to walk the earth in limbo until th…"

Rebecca couldn't finish what she had to say; as she spoke, the only door in the cabin shook vigorously. The door rattled; banging, growls, and wet snarls sounded alongside the right side of the entrance. William looked on at the rattling door in horror as he began to step backwards. He heard the banging from the far end of the left side of the room; the feeling of dread washed over him like the suds at a drive-through car wash. The windows shook, seeming to be edging towards their eventual shatter. Now even the wall he backed to started to roar with growls and snarls; he felt the shaking of it vibrate through his body. He felt through the wood the ferocity that was trying to get at Rebecca and he. Barks and whimperings were the companions to the snarls and growls; it felt like there was a pack of dogs trying to get at them.

"Dogs?" his mind questioned. "Sounds way bigger than dogs—maybe wolves?"

His mind questioned again before the wood of the door cracked, sending long splinters to the floor.

"It's time to wake up, William!" Rebecca yelled. "It's time to go home, William. Wake up!" she screamed again as the door once more cracked and splintered.

Will couldn't handle this anymore; his mind gave up. He began clutching his knees to his chest; the door cracked a third time. Grasping onto William's face, Rebecca forced his eyes to look into her own.

"It's time to wake up, William. It's time to get ready and go home. It's time to wake up, William."

Will felt a calm fall over him as he stared into Rebecca's eyes.

"It's time to wake up, William, it's time to..."

So I’m pretty nervous here but I’ll be posting my raw unedited first chapter to you all to read. 😬 It is a Horror story I’ve been working on for a while now and would like some feedback. I know Im opening myself to some negative feedback but I feel I cant get better if I don’t take the constructive criticism as it’s give. I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1 of The Things That See and Speak at Night

1

"You have thirty minutes remaining on your drive clock and are in danger of violation. Please pull over and begin your 10-hour restart."

The electronic logging device, or E.L.D. for those in the know, was squawking this phrase over and over throughout the driver's 2024 Peterbilt 389's speakers. It was interrupting Dusty Hill singing about going down to Mexico and Billy Gibbons' hard blues riffs. William Lofax was regretting taking this load of shavings from Quincy, CA, back down to Stockton. The money for the load was good, but his wife was expecting him home; he only took the first load up to Quincy because he knew he could make it back if it was just a drop. Since he picked up that other load, he lost about 3 hours at the loader with delays in the product, and then the road back closed. He's been in worse situations; he called his wife and let her know what was going on and how he had to take the long way. The long way would take him to the end of his time halfway to home base—if there was no traffic, that is.

After traffic was finally split into two lanes, Will got to keep it rolling, up until the voice on the E.L.D. spoke out. He followed every rule with his truck; while others still ran on paper logs, Will signed up and set up an ELD system for himself. He keeps everything squeaky clean, but if he was thirty minutes, maybe an hour from home, he'd pull over and switch to personal conveyance. Three hours was pushing it. So Will kept his eyes open as he maneuvered the curvy road.

As the E.L.D. shucked off its 15-minutes-remaining warning, Will spotted a space to pull over ahead of him to his right; he began downshifting to slow the massive machine as he approached his makeshift rest area. The Pete came to a complete stop, and Will initiated the air brakes. All Will could see were trees in front of him—trees and the winding road. To his right, he saw information placards, four of them with two paths in between them, and beyond that, trees. It was barely 8:00 pm and the sun still went down around 9:00, so he still had time to get out, stretch his legs, and maybe even find a place to take a shit.

William stepped out of the tractor's cab with his backpack, taking in the pine-fresh air. He closed the door and faced the information placards; he noticed the massiveness of the forest in front of him, and before going on, he reached into the back, producing a nine-millimeter pistol. Walking forward beyond the placards, he sees a stream and approaches it; the water was clear and beautiful, bringing a smile to his face. "Well, hell, at least I get to take my reset somewhere like this."

Will awoke in the middle of the night, gut bubbling and bladder yelling; it was 2:47, and Will was dying to get outside to relieve himself. He grabbed his backpack and headed to the trees, using his cell phone's flashlight to guide his way. By the time he broke the tree line, it was already on the verge of coming to an end; he got his pants down barely to the knees before his body let loose and sprayed from both front and back ends, soiling his pants in the process. All the euphoric feelings of his bowels and bladder going from flooded to dry as a 2020 California summer were cut short because of the pants and underwear he just waterfalled his piss with; especially the underwear—being on the road, you enjoy your clean boxers when you have them. Remembering the creek he saw when he first pulled over and thinking of the fact that he is alone out in the woods, he figured why the hell not walk down and clean his pants and himself off. He wiped himself, buried the bio-paper and waste, then headed to the creek, pants in hand.

The creek was a beautiful bright crack in the forest's darkness where the trees opened up, allowing the creek to flow and the banks to hug the sides. The moon sat fat, bright, and shining, reflecting off the water below it. He didn't waste any time as he started walking into the creek. It was a pretty good depth, about to his knees, and he stood around 5'8" the last time he had a check-up. Will squatted down and cleaned himself in the cold mountain water, then he began rinsing his pants. Once he figured it was about as good as it could get, he started to step out; a small gust of wind blew him as he walked out of the water, sending a shiver up his back. He began to put on his drawers when he heard it: a small whimpering coming from the trees on the opposite side he came from. The whimpers became soft sobbing; Will began putting his wet pants and shoes on as the sobbing became crying. Then a shaken voice broke the darkness.

"Heh-hello, is anybody th-th-there? If someone's there, p-p-please, please h-help me."

Will was scared; hell, he just wanted to turn around and leave. Fuck his reset time, fuck company policy, fuck all that; he wanted to run as fast as he could to his truck, hit those gears as fast as he knows how to, and accelerate the hell out of there. But then there was the thought of, what if there was a woman or young girl out there in the woods needing help right now, and what if he did leave her and read about her body being found? His mind shifted then to what if there's some teen girl missing and he might have been able to possibly save her. He knew if that was his daughter, he would want someone to help her; his compassion for others took over his fear, and he walked towards the crying voice.

"Hello?" Will called out towards the sobbing female voice. "Where you at? Are you in trouble?"

The sobbing voice replied back, rushing through her sobs, "Y-y-yes! Th-tha-thank God you're here! Please, oh God, please. B-before he gets back!"

Will hurried his stride.

2

"Before he gets back—what the fuck did you just run towards, William? What the fuck you going to do if there's someone there, William?" he thought to himself as he approached the woman who called out to him.

He made it to where he heard the voice and was met with a woman sitting with her back to him; she was naked and seemed malnourished. Her skin was more than pale in the moonlight; her skin almost looked translucent. Blue veins traced her body, accompanied by dark purple and red bruises. Will was about a meter from her when everything felt like it stopped; her breathing was becoming raspy and rapid, and her skin gained a layer of sheen that looked more like oil than sweat.

"Are you…" William clears his throat in between his sentence then continues on. "Are you okay?"

The woman slowly turned to face Will. At first, her facial features didn't dawn on him; what hit him was her eyes. The meager glints of light from the moon hit them and they had a rainbow glow with heavy silver undertones, sort of like a dog's eyes. After the slight shock from the eyes, he began to see what was so off with her face. The bridge of her nose seemed to be bulged forward; her cheekbones were high and bulged forward, squaring off with the bridge of her nose, giving her a distinct piggish look. Her lower jaw scared him the most; it looked like an extreme underbite. Her lower jaw extended forward, saliva hung from her chin and jawline, and to ice the cake, she seemed to be sporting two tusks like lower fangs, shining with spit and blood.

The woman's jaw moved up and down, as if she wanted to close her mouth but couldn't due to the sheer size of the two lower fangs. Still, out of the hole behind those fangs, a soft voice spoke out.

"So did you come here to save me?"

After the voice flowed out of her maw, as if the woman this voice belonged to was speaking from within this monstrous mouth, she began a gruff, inner-chest, heavy breathing. The breathing quickly became bestial growls before she began to make an effort to move towards him. Will didn't hesitate anymore; he turned and tried to run as fast as he could, but it was like he was stuck there in place and he was falling forward in the darkness. He felt a stinging pain flame up his right calf before blackness consumed him.

4

The oak trees rained down red, along with yellow and orange leaves. Brown needles from mighty pines float on light breezes, joining the red, yellow, and orange to rest on the forest floor. The air smells of the saps of the trees, along with apple, dirt, and blood. Freedom is the feeling that every creature feels amongst the wild blackberry bramble and massive trees. This creature feels the same; it walks on two legs, rather runs on them. The beauty of this world, this freedom, has overtaken this being as they run through the trees and bush. Bare skin cut by branches and twigs, the soft feet not made for this type of trek are sliced and bleeding, but the exhilaration of this place was too much to not give into and just run. Smells of berries, smells of leaves—both dead, dying, and green. The pungent smell of rotting wood and dry oak. At some points, it smelled like a thing the creature would call Christmas. The smells of animals and arousal came with the smell of excrement, death, and blood. Birds chirped and screamed, rodents scurried; the natives hid amongst their burrows as this creature tasted their air and ran through their home. This creature, who was raised in a society that feels its naked body was shameful, runs nude and, in its mind, it feels that this is right. Pain arouses in the invasive creature, but not from its many cuts and holes that ooze his crimson life force; the pain is in its gut. He continues his run.

A family of hare, already white for the upcoming snow, try to get to their burrow before the invader comes upon them, but fate wasn't on their side this day; the thing grasped the two smallest hare with its alien paws, and with its strange paws, he snapped their necks, pouring his face into their bellies, ripping away meat and eating the still-warm flesh from inside. The little animal's life fluid covered this monster's face; the bigger hares didn't glance back, just hid away in their burrows. He yelled out in joy, lifting his prize high in the air; this feeling has never come over him, never. His eyes were closed as he screamed to the heavens with his kill; as he lowered his arms, chest heaving up and down in adrenaline, he opened his eyes and he was no longer in the dense wood but on its border—of it and a small field. The small field turned into a high cliffside. In front of him stood a cabin that seemed to be built into the cliffside. The home seemed to be a wooden frame connected to a cave with a thatch and oiled leather roof. The door consisted of wooden poles that varied in sizes, and insulated on the outside with dirt, or maybe clay. He stared at the strange cabin and kept staring in awe and fear even as the door began to open. When she walked out, the man felt nothing he felt as he rampaged through the forest. Now he feels all that he felt as a man before that: shame, fear, guilt. The old, decrepit thing wore small bones and branches in her matted silver hair, her face tattooed with vine-like inscriptions. The clothes she wore were dirty old furs and she smiled with only two teeth that resembled square fangs.

"I've been waiting for you."

She spoke these words as she opened her cloak, pulling from it her bow, an arrow already knocked back by her skinny tattooed arms. As the witch releases the arrow, she cackles.

4

Jumping from his hospital bed screaming in horror, Sandra Lofax, wife of Will Lofax, jumped up as well in shock and terror at her husband's sudden rise from the two-week coma in absolute panic. She stood back to catch herself; Will crouched on the hospital bed, arms sprawled across the backboard in a crude replica of the crucifixion. Screaming in absolute terror, sweat pouring from his face soaking his moments-ago dry hair. Sandra jumped into action, putting her face into his.

"William Lee Lofax, I swear to God you better come out of it or I'll stop waiting on you and take the kids and go right now!"

Sandra yelled these words as she slapped her husband as hard as she could across his right cheek, reddening his face and her hand both. Will's eyes focused on his wife then and his screams started to die down, first to a groan then a soft whimper. She held him and rocked him like a child as he cried in her breast. Two men dressed in nurse scrubs and a doctor with a needle came into the room just then; Sandra hopped up so fast you would've mistaken that lady for a lightning bolt.

"If you motherfuckers try to put him back down, then I swear to fucking whatever lord you praise I'll kill all of you sons of bitches, I swear I will."

Sandra sat watching her husband as he ate the burger she picked up from Carl's Jr. for him. He ate it like an absolute slob, but something about him was emanating sexiness to her. Maybe it was the fact that he grew a thick little beard since he's been gone—from the week he was gone on the road to the two-week coma. Or perhaps it was because he came out of his coma so strong and ready to go; who could tell? She only knew she was extremely attracted to her husband at the moment, and more so than she's been in a while.

"How you feeling, babe, honestly?" Sandra said, concern in her voice.

Through a mouthful of Super Star and waffle fries, Will replied, "I'm fine, babe." (Chews food, and takes a drink of the large Coke.) "I swear, as soon as I fully came out of whatever that was, I started feeling amazing. Well, and hungry too." They both laughed at the hungry remark.

"I don't know, Sandra honey, I just woke up feeling new. More complete, I don't know."

"How complete can a man with a chunk of his right side torn away be? Or with his left shoulder and calf looking like a bear tried to eat them?"

Will stopped eating and stared at his wife with terror and question.

"Can't forget the fact that all that long hair you had is gone 'cause that bear raked its claws or whatever across the back of your head."

Will reached behind his head and felt the puffy flesh of the scar tissue. He reached behind him and felt the shoulder; there was a bandage around it, but when he pressed on it, his fingertips felt the depth. It disgusted and horrified him. He dropped his burger and fell forwards, once again unconscious. Sandra shook her head as she got up to help clean her husband off as the nurses walked back in. Sandra looked at them with a sarcastic look, "Well, hell, I should've just let you put him down earlier; would have saved me the mess."

5

Jolene Lofax was sixteen, beautiful, athletic, and on her way to be valedictorian of her class. Her dad made sure she and her siblings were set up nicely—smart and responsible—and she appreciated it, so out of respect for him, she never did drugs, never drank alcohol, never partied; she was totally respectable, other than the way she dressed, that pissed her dad off.

"What's going on with you, Jolene? My, don't you look fucking gorgeous today."

The voice came from behind her; she rolled her eyes at it like she always does and keeps walking towards class.

"Aw, girl, why you gotta play like you don't hear me like that?" the voice said with a sad, boo-hoo tone.

Jolene just continued on, ignoring the speaker—that was until he grabbed her hand.

"Come on now, baby, I know you can hear me. What's good with you, Jole…"

"If you don't let me go, Ricardo, I'm going to snap your wrist, then I'll break your nose."

Ricardo let go of Jolene and put his hands up like he believed she was capable of what she spoke of; for all he knows, she is.

"Aw, come on, baby, you know I was just playing."

"Don't call me baby, Ricardo. I ain't your baby or your woman of any kind. You can miss me with all that nonsense; I swear on my family I'll hurt you. Don't touch me, fool."

Ricardo smiled at this reply from her; he could always expect it and he liked it.

"You know, Jolene, that's why I like you—you don't put up with no one's shit. I'll holler at you later."

Ricardo turned to walk around when he was stopped by a much shorter but equally active-looking girl. Rosa Sanchez Barron stood there staring up at Ricardo. She was dark-complexioned, with long dyed sandy-blond hair that she had in a high ponytail.

"Qué pasó, little Ricky? You know she too good for you, wey. Cabrón, she don't date lame-ass cholos. Go to class, puto." Another girls voice joined in.

Ricardo smiled and lifted his tagged-up Jansport backpack up on his left shoulder.

"Aw, it's like that, Rosa?"

"It's like that, fool!" Rosa said, standing up on her tiptoes, arms across her chest. Ricardo kept his smile on and started walking down the hall while Rosa kept shouting at him in Spanish.

"Come on, Rosa, I'm sure he got the hint; plus, we need to get to class." Jolene told the shorter girl.

"Alright, alright, that fool's always trippin'. He should've known by now you ain't into that shit or him."

Jolene smiled at her friend and started walking towards class with Rosa by her side.

"So how's the big man doing?"

Jolene's lips went paper-thin for a moment, then she replied to her BFF.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. My mom said he was torn up pretty badly, but then again she texted today saying he woke up and he was eating a burger, so I don't really know. I mean, I guess he's fine."

Rosa Sanchez Barron and Jolene Lofax have been friends since preschool. They were best friends and at times when one or the other was sad, the other knew; this was one of those moments.

"So your mom texted you and told you the big guy was awake and eating? Oh, well, he good then, girl; stop worrying so tough. We're in the clear now, so it's time to relax and get back to it."

Jolene smiled at her bestie; she was thankful in that moment to have her as a friend. Jolene did exactly what Rosa said and started to stop worrying. Dad was awake and doing fine, and he'll be home soon.

6

William Lofax lay in the hospital bed tossing and turning. He was told when he woke up at the beginning of the week that his progress was well enough to let him go by Wednesday, but after that small fainting issue he had, the doctor felt it best to keep him until the following Monday to better observe him. It was smooth sailing throughout the week and now it was 11:30 pm Sunday and Will lies tossing, turning, and dreaming.

He was walking through what looked to be a deserted town, or by the looks of the thatched-roofed, dirt, and lumber houses he saw as he walked barefooted down the dirt road. Some of the homes' roofs looked to be caved in; other homes' whole walls were destroyed, revealing an inside as distorted as the outside. The earth from which he walked seemed to get harder and colder since he'd turned from the destruction of that house. He looked down and saw the road turned from dirt to gray stone. Brick buildings lined the street, some with signs for hotels, pubs, butchers, and meat markets; others seemed to be homes or apartments. Every building had black soot on them with their windows and doors shattered and crushed. The road was sleek with liquid, sidewalks were covered in it; a closer look and Will noticed the wetness was blood. He didn't want to continue on, but when he turned to get away from the blackened buildings and the blood-soaked roads, he saw in the darkness a pair of shimmering eyes. The sounds of guttural growling came from those eyes; Will was trapped in between two hells.

"Hey, William. Over here to your right."

Will heard the whimpering voice and turned to his right. He saw a woman peeking from behind the door of one of the soot-covered buildings; she had yellow blonde hair and possibly blue eyes from where he could see her. The woman waved him over frantically and Will headed towards her, thinking to himself, "Well, since I have to choose, well then I'll choose the woman who knows my name over that bloodied road and death eyes."

When he made it to her, he saw his observations about her eyes were wrong; they were green.

"Okay, now what?" William said, sounding as if he was going to collapse right there on the floor.

She looked at him up and down; she was tall and sported cargo pants and black long hiking boots with a green parka.

"Sit down, William."

When she said this, Will noticed an accent he couldn't pin down—some type of Northwest dialect, maybe even Canadian he thought.

"Sit down? With whatever the hell's out there? And what's going on out there—what happened?" William questioned frantically to this strange woman.

"We aren't there, William. Look out the window, then sit your ass down."

She said these last four words with a slight viciousness in her tone. Will decided it was best to listen to this woman, at least for now, so he approached the window. Outside he no longer saw the decaying and decrepit soot-covered buildings, or the ichor-drenched roads; he saw a vastness of snow and snow-covered trees. He turned to the woman with a look of confusion and awe on his face.

"Strange, yes? I know how you feel, but you aren't dead, so that's something to look forward to for now. You are still in the hospital; by all accounts, you are just in a deep sleep, dreaming, but the reality is you are in between the worlds in some sort of way. It's like being in a purgatory of purgatory is the best way I can explain it to you."

She said this and let it sink in for about 30 seconds then continued. "Would you like some tea, William?"

The question broke whatever hypnosis Will was in at that moment.

"Y... Yeah, tea would be nice."

She went to the kettle and poured him a piping hot cup then handed it to him. As he lifted the mug, he smelled mint and licorice; he sipped and the warm liquid ran through his body and warmed him. After Will finished his tea, he relaxed a bit.

"So you know my name. What's yours?" William asked.

"Rebecca, but that doesn't matter anymore, William. Right now what's important is what I have to talk to you about."

Will straightened up a bit in his chair and shot her a confused look.

"First and foremost, I need to tell you—unlike you, Will, I'm here because I'm dead."

Rebecca stared at him as the revelation sank in. Will just stared back at her with his elbows on his knees and hands folded under his chin. He nodded his head a couple times, "Okay, I see. I'm asleep and you're dead, and this is not a dream."

Will air-quoted the last bit of what he said. Rebecca shook her head and started getting noticeably frustrated.

"Why the hell are you people so damn thick-headed! I know it sounds fantastical, but what the hell—how often are you able to be fully cognitive in a dream? I'm dead, I don't even know what year it is, but I'm dead! My name is Rebecca Calderon, I was 23 years old, I'm from Challis, Idaho. I went hiking with my best friend and our boyfriends. We were on a trip to Eureka, California, to see the beach."

Rebecca put her head down and smiled slightly. "And to get some of that choice herb we were told so much about, but that was just a side thing; we wanted to see the beach. We never made it to California, though."

A feeling of guilt ran over William as he heard her tell her story; he stepped towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She quickly rebuked his willingness to comfort her.

"You don't get it. I was murdered, William—killed by something unnatural. Thus causing me to die an unnatural death and cursing me to walk the earth in limbo until th…"

Rebecca couldn't finish what she had to say; as she spoke, the only door in the cabin shook vigorously. The door rattled; banging, growls, and wet snarls sounded alongside the right side of the entrance. William looked on at the rattling door in horror as he began to step backwards. He heard the banging from the far end of the left side of the room; the feeling of dread washed over him like the suds at a drive-through car wash. The windows shook, seeming to be edging towards their eventual shatter. Now even the wall he backed to started to roar with growls and snarls; he felt the shaking of it vibrate through his body. He felt through the wood the ferocity that was trying to get at Rebecca and he. Barks and whimperings were the companions to the snarls and growls; it felt like there was a pack of dogs trying to get at them.

"Dogs?" his mind questioned. "Sounds way bigger than dogs—maybe wolves?"

His mind questioned again before the wood of the door cracked, sending long splinters to the floor.

"It's time to wake up, William!" Rebecca yelled. "It's time to go home, William. Wake up!" she screamed again as the door once more cracked and splintered.

Will couldn't handle this anymore; his mind gave up. He began clutching his knees to his chest; the door cracked a third time. Grasping onto William's face, Rebecca forced his eyes to look into her own.

"It's time to wake up, William. It's time to get ready and go home. It's time to wake up, William."

Will felt a calm fall over him as he stared into Rebecca's eyes.

"It's time to wake up, William, it's time to..."

So I’m pretty nervous here but I’ll be posting my raw unedited first chapter to you all to read. 😬 It is a Horror story I’ve been working on for a while now and would like some feedback. I know Im opening myself to some negative feedback but I feel I cant get better if I don’t take the constructive criticism as it’s give. I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1 of The Things That See and Speak at Night

1

"You have thirty minutes remaining on your drive clock and are in danger of violation. Please pull over and begin your 10-hour restart."

The electronic logging device, or E.L.D. for those in the know, was squawking this phrase over and over throughout the driver's 2024 Peterbilt 389's speakers. It was interrupting Dusty Hill singing about going down to Mexico and Billy Gibbons' hard blues riffs. William Lofax was regretting taking this load of shavings from Quincy, CA, back down to Stockton. The money for the load was good, but his wife was expecting him home; he only took the first load up to Quincy because he knew he could make it back if it was just a drop. Since he picked up that other load, he lost about 3 hours at the loader with delays in the product, and then the road back closed. He's been in worse situations; he called his wife and let her know what was going on and how he had to take the long way. The long way would take him to the end of his time halfway to home base—if there was no traffic, that is.

After traffic was finally split into two lanes, Will got to keep it rolling, up until the voice on the E.L.D. spoke out. He followed every rule with his truck; while others still ran on paper logs, Will signed up and set up an ELD system for himself. He keeps everything squeaky clean, but if he was thirty minutes, maybe an hour from home, he'd pull over and switch to personal conveyance. Three hours was pushing it. So Will kept his eyes open as he maneuvered the curvy road.

As the E.L.D. shucked off its 15-minutes-remaining warning, Will spotted a space to pull over ahead of him to his right; he began downshifting to slow the massive machine as he approached his makeshift rest area. The Pete came to a complete stop, and Will initiated the air brakes. All Will could see were trees in front of him—trees and the winding road. To his right, he saw information placards, four of them with two paths in between them, and beyond that, trees. It was barely 8:00 pm and the sun still went down around 9:00, so he still had time to get out, stretch his legs, and maybe even find a place to take a shit.

William stepped out of the tractor's cab with his backpack, taking in the pine-fresh air. He closed the door and faced the information placards; he noticed the massiveness of the forest in front of him, and before going on, he reached into the back, producing a nine-millimeter pistol. Walking forward beyond the placards, he sees a stream and approaches it; the water was clear and beautiful, bringing a smile to his face. "Well, hell, at least I get to take my reset somewhere like this."

Will awoke in the middle of the night, gut bubbling and bladder yelling; it was 2:47, and Will was dying to get outside to relieve himself. He grabbed his backpack and headed to the trees, using his cell phone's flashlight to guide his way. By the time he broke the tree line, it was already on the verge of coming to an end; he got his pants down barely to the knees before his body let loose and sprayed from both front and back ends, soiling his pants in the process. All the euphoric feelings of his bowels and bladder going from flooded to dry as a 2020 California summer were cut short because of the pants and underwear he just waterfalled his piss with; especially the underwear—being on the road, you enjoy your clean boxers when you have them. Remembering the creek he saw when he first pulled over and thinking of the fact that he is alone out in the woods, he figured why the hell not walk down and clean his pants and himself off. He wiped himself, buried the bio-paper and waste, then headed to the creek, pants in hand.

The creek was a beautiful bright crack in the forest's darkness where the trees opened up, allowing the creek to flow and the banks to hug the sides. The moon sat fat, bright, and shining, reflecting off the water below it. He didn't waste any time as he started walking into the creek. It was a pretty good depth, about to his knees, and he stood around 5'8" the last time he had a check-up. Will squatted down and cleaned himself in the cold mountain water, then he began rinsing his pants. Once he figured it was about as good as it could get, he started to step out; a small gust of wind blew him as he walked out of the water, sending a shiver up his back. He began to put on his drawers when he heard it: a small whimpering coming from the trees on the opposite side he came from. The whimpers became soft sobbing; Will began putting his wet pants and shoes on as the sobbing became crying. Then a shaken voice broke the darkness.

"Heh-hello, is anybody th-th-there? If someone's there, p-p-please, please h-help me."

Will was scared; hell, he just wanted to turn around and leave. Fuck his reset time, fuck company policy, fuck all that; he wanted to run as fast as he could to his truck, hit those gears as fast as he knows how to, and accelerate the hell out of there. But then there was the thought of, what if there was a woman or young girl out there in the woods needing help right now, and what if he did leave her and read about her body being found? His mind shifted then to what if there's some teen girl missing and he might have been able to possibly save her. He knew if that was his daughter, he would want someone to help her; his compassion for others took over his fear, and he walked towards the crying voice.

"Hello?" Will called out towards the sobbing female voice. "Where you at? Are you in trouble?"

The sobbing voice replied back, rushing through her sobs, "Y-y-yes! Th-tha-thank God you're here! Please, oh God, please. B-before he gets back!"

Will hurried his stride.

2

"Before he gets back—what the fuck did you just run towards, William? What the fuck you going to do if there's someone there, William?" he thought to himself as he approached the woman who called out to him.

He made it to where he heard the voice and was met with a woman sitting with her back to him; she was naked and seemed malnourished. Her skin was more than pale in the moonlight; her skin almost looked translucent. Blue veins traced her body, accompanied by dark purple and red bruises. Will was about a meter from her when everything felt like it stopped; her breathing was becoming raspy and rapid, and her skin gained a layer of sheen that looked more like oil than sweat.

"Are you…" William clears his throat in between his sentence then continues on. "Are you okay?"

The woman slowly turned to face Will. At first, her facial features didn't dawn on him; what hit him was her eyes. The meager glints of light from the moon hit them and they had a rainbow glow with heavy silver undertones, sort of like a dog's eyes. After the slight shock from the eyes, he began to see what was so off with her face. The bridge of her nose seemed to be bulged forward; her cheekbones were high and bulged forward, squaring off with the bridge of her nose, giving her a distinct piggish look. Her lower jaw scared him the most; it looked like an extreme underbite. Her lower jaw extended forward, saliva hung from her chin and jawline, and to ice the cake, she seemed to be sporting two tusks like lower fangs, shining with spit and blood.

The woman's jaw moved up and down, as if she wanted to close her mouth but couldn't due to the sheer size of the two lower fangs. Still, out of the hole behind those fangs, a soft voice spoke out.

"So did you come here to save me?"

After the voice flowed out of her maw, as if the woman this voice belonged to was speaking from within this monstrous mouth, she began a gruff, inner-chest, heavy breathing. The breathing quickly became bestial growls before she began to make an effort to move towards him. Will didn't hesitate anymore; he turned and tried to run as fast as he could, but it was like he was stuck there in place and he was falling forward in the darkness. He felt a stinging pain flame up his right calf before blackness consumed him.

4

The oak trees rained down red, along with yellow and orange leaves. Brown needles from mighty pines float on light breezes, joining the red, yellow, and orange to rest on the forest floor. The air smells of the saps of the trees, along with apple, dirt, and blood. Freedom is the feeling that every creature feels amongst the wild blackberry bramble and massive trees. This creature feels the same; it walks on two legs, rather runs on them. The beauty of this world, this freedom, has overtaken this being as they run through the trees and bush. Bare skin cut by branches and twigs, the soft feet not made for this type of trek are sliced and bleeding, but the exhilaration of this place was too much to not give into and just run. Smells of berries, smells of leaves—both dead, dying, and green. The pungent smell of rotting wood and dry oak. At some points, it smelled like a thing the creature would call Christmas. The smells of animals and arousal came with the smell of excrement, death, and blood. Birds chirped and screamed, rodents scurried; the natives hid amongst their burrows as this creature tasted their air and ran through their home. This creature, who was raised in a society that feels its naked body was shameful, runs nude and, in its mind, it feels that this is right. Pain arouses in the invasive creature, but not from its many cuts and holes that ooze his crimson life force; the pain is in its gut. He continues his run.

A family of hare, already white for the upcoming snow, try to get to their burrow before the invader comes upon them, but fate wasn't on their side this day; the thing grasped the two smallest hare with its alien paws, and with its strange paws, he snapped their necks, pouring his face into their bellies, ripping away meat and eating the still-warm flesh from inside. The little animal's life fluid covered this monster's face; the bigger hares didn't glance back, just hid away in their burrows. He yelled out in joy, lifting his prize high in the air; this feeling has never come over him, never. His eyes were closed as he screamed to the heavens with his kill; as he lowered his arms, chest heaving up and down in adrenaline, he opened his eyes and he was no longer in the dense wood but on its border—of it and a small field. The small field turned into a high cliffside. In front of him stood a cabin that seemed to be built into the cliffside. The home seemed to be a wooden frame connected to a cave with a thatch and oiled leather roof. The door consisted of wooden poles that varied in sizes, and insulated on the outside with dirt, or maybe clay. He stared at the strange cabin and kept staring in awe and fear even as the door began to open. When she walked out, the man felt nothing he felt as he rampaged through the forest. Now he feels all that he felt as a man before that: shame, fear, guilt. The old, decrepit thing wore small bones and branches in her matted silver hair, her face tattooed with vine-like inscriptions. The clothes she wore were dirty old furs and she smiled with only two teeth that resembled square fangs.

"I've been waiting for you."

She spoke these words as she opened her cloak, pulling from it her bow, an arrow already knocked back by her skinny tattooed arms. As the witch releases the arrow, she cackles.

4

Jumping from his hospital bed screaming in horror, Sandra Lofax, wife of Will Lofax, jumped up as well in shock and terror at her husband's sudden rise from the two-week coma in absolute panic. She stood back to catch herself; Will crouched on the hospital bed, arms sprawled across the backboard in a crude replica of the crucifixion. Screaming in absolute terror, sweat pouring from his face soaking his moments-ago dry hair. Sandra jumped into action, putting her face into his.

"William Lee Lofax, I swear to God you better come out of it or I'll stop waiting on you and take the kids and go right now!"

Sandra yelled these words as she slapped her husband as hard as she could across his right cheek, reddening his face and her hand both. Will's eyes focused on his wife then and his screams started to die down, first to a groan then a soft whimper. She held him and rocked him like a child as he cried in her breast. Two men dressed in nurse scrubs and a doctor with a needle came into the room just then; Sandra hopped up so fast you would've mistaken that lady for a lightning bolt.

"If you motherfuckers try to put him back down, then I swear to fucking whatever lord you praise I'll kill all of you sons of bitches, I swear I will."

Sandra sat watching her husband as he ate the burger she picked up from Carl's Jr. for him. He ate it like an absolute slob, but something about him was emanating sexiness to her. Maybe it was the fact that he grew a thick little beard since he's been gone—from the week he was gone on the road to the two-week coma. Or perhaps it was because he came out of his coma so strong and ready to go; who could tell? She only knew she was extremely attracted to her husband at the moment, and more so than she's been in a while.

"How you feeling, babe, honestly?" Sandra said, concern in her voice.

Through a mouthful of Super Star and waffle fries, Will replied, "I'm fine, babe." (Chews food, and takes a drink of the large Coke.) "I swear, as soon as I fully came out of whatever that was, I started feeling amazing. Well, and hungry too." They both laughed at the hungry remark.

"I don't know, Sandra honey, I just woke up feeling new. More complete, I don't know."

"How complete can a man with a chunk of his right side torn away be? Or with his left shoulder and calf looking like a bear tried to eat them?"

Will stopped eating and stared at his wife with terror and question.

"Can't forget the fact that all that long hair you had is gone 'cause that bear raked its claws or whatever across the back of your head."

Will reached behind his head and felt the puffy flesh of the scar tissue. He reached behind him and felt the shoulder; there was a bandage around it, but when he pressed on it, his fingertips felt the depth. It disgusted and horrified him. He dropped his burger and fell forwards, once again unconscious. Sandra shook her head as she got up to help clean her husband off as the nurses walked back in. Sandra looked at them with a sarcastic look, "Well, hell, I should've just let you put him down earlier; would have saved me the mess."

5

Jolene Lofax was sixteen, beautiful, athletic, and on her way to be valedictorian of her class. Her dad made sure she and her siblings were set up nicely—smart and responsible—and she appreciated it, so out of respect for him, she never did drugs, never drank alcohol, never partied; she was totally respectable, other than the way she dressed, that pissed her dad off.

"What's going on with you, Jolene? My, don't you look fucking gorgeous today."

The voice came from behind her; she rolled her eyes at it like she always does and keeps walking towards class.

"Aw, girl, why you gotta play like you don't hear me like that?" the voice said with a sad, boo-hoo tone.

Jolene just continued on, ignoring the speaker—that was until he grabbed her hand.

"Come on now, baby, I know you can hear me. What's good with you, Jole…"

"If you don't let me go, Ricardo, I'm going to snap your wrist, then I'll break your nose."

Ricardo let go of Jolene and put his hands up like he believed she was capable of what she spoke of; for all he knows, she is.

"Aw, come on, baby, you know I was just playing."

"Don't call me baby, Ricardo. I ain't your baby or your woman of any kind. You can miss me with all that nonsense; I swear on my family I'll hurt you. Don't touch me, fool."

Ricardo smiled at this reply from her; he could always expect it and he liked it.

"You know, Jolene, that's why I like you—you don't put up with no one's shit. I'll holler at you later."

Ricardo turned to walk around when he was stopped by a much shorter but equally active-looking girl. Rosa Sanchez Barron stood there staring up at Ricardo. She was dark-complexioned, with long dyed sandy-blond hair that she had in a high ponytail.

"Qué pasó, little Ricky? You know she too good for you, wey. Cabrón, she don't date lame-ass cholos. Go to class, puto." Another girls voice joined in.

Ricardo smiled and lifted his tagged-up Jansport backpack up on his left shoulder.

"Aw, it's like that, Rosa?"

"It's like that, fool!" Rosa said, standing up on her tiptoes, arms across her chest. Ricardo kept his smile on and started walking down the hall while Rosa kept shouting at him in Spanish.

"Come on, Rosa, I'm sure he got the hint; plus, we need to get to class." Jolene told the shorter girl.

"Alright, alright, that fool's always trippin'. He should've known by now you ain't into that shit or him."

Jolene smiled at her friend and started walking towards class with Rosa by her side.

"So how's the big man doing?"

Jolene's lips went paper-thin for a moment, then she replied to her BFF.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. My mom said he was torn up pretty badly, but then again she texted today saying he woke up and he was eating a burger, so I don't really know. I mean, I guess he's fine."

Rosa Sanchez Barron and Jolene Lofax have been friends since preschool. They were best friends and at times when one or the other was sad, the other knew; this was one of those moments.

"So your mom texted you and told you the big guy was awake and eating? Oh, well, he good then, girl; stop worrying so tough. We're in the clear now, so it's time to relax and get back to it."

Jolene smiled at her bestie; she was thankful in that moment to have her as a friend. Jolene did exactly what Rosa said and started to stop worrying. Dad was awake and doing fine, and he'll be home soon.

6

William Lofax lay in the hospital bed tossing and turning. He was told when he woke up at the beginning of the week that his progress was well enough to let him go by Wednesday, but after that small fainting issue he had, the doctor felt it best to keep him until the following Monday to better observe him. It was smooth sailing throughout the week and now it was 11:30 pm Sunday and Will lies tossing, turning, and dreaming.

He was walking through what looked to be a deserted town, or by the looks of the thatched-roofed, dirt, and lumber houses he saw as he walked barefooted down the dirt road. Some of the homes' roofs looked to be caved in; other homes' whole walls were destroyed, revealing an inside as distorted as the outside. The earth from which he walked seemed to get harder and colder since he'd turned from the destruction of that house. He looked down and saw the road turned from dirt to gray stone. Brick buildings lined the street, some with signs for hotels, pubs, butchers, and meat markets; others seemed to be homes or apartments. Every building had black soot on them with their windows and doors shattered and crushed. The road was sleek with liquid, sidewalks were covered in it; a closer look and Will noticed the wetness was blood. He didn't want to continue on, but when he turned to get away from the blackened buildings and the blood-soaked roads, he saw in the darkness a pair of shimmering eyes. The sounds of guttural growling came from those eyes; Will was trapped in between two hells.

"Hey, William. Over here to your right."

Will heard the whimpering voice and turned to his right. He saw a woman peeking from behind the door of one of the soot-covered buildings; she had yellow blonde hair and possibly blue eyes from where he could see her. The woman waved him over frantically and Will headed towards her, thinking to himself, "Well, since I have to choose, well then I'll choose the woman who knows my name over that bloodied road and death eyes."

When he made it to her, he saw his observations about her eyes were wrong; they were green.

"Okay, now what?" William said, sounding as if he was going to collapse right there on the floor.

She looked at him up and down; she was tall and sported cargo pants and black long hiking boots with a green parka.

"Sit down, William."

When she said this, Will noticed an accent he couldn't pin down—some type of Northwest dialect, maybe even Canadian he thought.

"Sit down? With whatever the hell's out there? And what's going on out there—what happened?" William questioned frantically to this strange woman.

"We aren't there, William. Look out the window, then sit your ass down."

She said these last four words with a slight viciousness in her tone. Will decided it was best to listen to this woman, at least for now, so he approached the window. Outside he no longer saw the decaying and decrepit soot-covered buildings, or the ichor-drenched roads; he saw a vastness of snow and snow-covered trees. He turned to the woman with a look of confusion and awe on his face.

"Strange, yes? I know how you feel, but you aren't dead, so that's something to look forward to for now. You are still in the hospital; by all accounts, you are just in a deep sleep, dreaming, but the reality is you are in between the worlds in some sort of way. It's like being in a purgatory of purgatory is the best way I can explain it to you."

She said this and let it sink in for about 30 seconds then continued. "Would you like some tea, William?"

The question broke whatever hypnosis Will was in at that moment.

"Y... Yeah, tea would be nice."

She went to the kettle and poured him a piping hot cup then handed it to him. As he lifted the mug, he smelled mint and licorice; he sipped and the warm liquid ran through his body and warmed him. After Will finished his tea, he relaxed a bit.

"So you know my name. What's yours?" William asked.

"Rebecca, but that doesn't matter anymore, William. Right now what's important is what I have to talk to you about."

Will straightened up a bit in his chair and shot her a confused look.

"First and foremost, I need to tell you—unlike you, Will, I'm here because I'm dead."

Rebecca stared at him as the revelation sank in. Will just stared back at her with his elbows on his knees and hands folded under his chin. He nodded his head a couple times, "Okay, I see. I'm asleep and you're dead, and this is not a dream."

Will air-quoted the last bit of what he said. Rebecca shook her head and started getting noticeably frustrated.

"Why the hell are you people so damn thick-headed! I know it sounds fantastical, but what the hell—how often are you able to be fully cognitive in a dream? I'm dead, I don't even know what year it is, but I'm dead! My name is Rebecca Calderon, I was 23 years old, I'm from Challis, Idaho. I went hiking with my best friend and our boyfriends. We were on a trip to Eureka, California, to see the beach."

Rebecca put her head down and smiled slightly. "And to get some of that choice herb we were told so much about, but that was just a side thing; we wanted to see the beach. We never made it to California, though."

A feeling of guilt ran over William as he heard her tell her story; he stepped towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She quickly rebuked his willingness to comfort her.

"You don't get it. I was murdered, William—killed by something unnatural. Thus causing me to die an unnatural death and cursing me to walk the earth in limbo until th…"

Rebecca couldn't finish what she had to say; as she spoke, the only door in the cabin shook vigorously. The door rattled; banging, growls, and wet snarls sounded alongside the right side of the entrance. William looked on at the rattling door in horror as he began to step backwards. He heard the banging from the far end of the left side of the room; the feeling of dread washed over him like the suds at a drive-through car wash. The windows shook, seeming to be edging towards their eventual shatter. Now even the wall he backed to started to roar with growls and snarls; he felt the shaking of it vibrate through his body. He felt through the wood the ferocity that was trying to get at Rebecca and he. Barks and whimperings were the companions to the snarls and growls; it felt like there was a pack of dogs trying to get at them.

"Dogs?" his mind questioned. "Sounds way bigger than dogs—maybe wolves?"

His mind questioned again before the wood of the door cracked, sending long splinters to the floor.

"It's time to wake up, William!" Rebecca yelled. "It's time to go home, William. Wake up!" she screamed again as the door once more cracked and splintered.

Will couldn't handle this anymore; his mind gave up. He began clutching his knees to his chest; the door cracked a third time. Grasping onto William's face, Rebecca forced his eyes to look into her own.

"It's time to wake up, William. It's time to get ready and go home. It's time to wake up, William."

Will felt a calm fall over him as he stared into Rebecca's eyes.

"It's time to wake up, William, it's time to..."

As the title says, I’m interested in hearing what your favorite monsters are to read or write about. What are your favorite novels featuring the creatures of your choice?

I absolutely love werewolves and enjoy reading novels with them as the main beast. Some of my favorites are:

• Bestial and Ravenous – Ray Garton

• The Howling Trilogy – Gary Brandner (I prefer the first novel, but the second and third are okay)

• Undertaker’s Moon – Ronald Kelly

• The Wolfen – Whitley Strieber

• Those Across the River – Christopher Buehlman

• Cycle of the Werewolf – Stephen King

I also enjoyed the High Moor trilogy, but I felt like the second and third novels kind of sunk it for me. The first book was great, but I felt like it turned into a "superhero-ish" story with the sequels (just my opinion). I feel like modern werewolf novels took the teeth and tragedy away from the beast. Turning the curse into a super power and making the monster an anti hero.

I look forward to hearing what your favorite monsters and the books they appear in are!

As the title says, I’m interested in hearing what your favorite monsters are to read or write about. What are your favorite novels featuring the creatures of your choice?

I absolutely love werewolves and enjoy reading novels with them as the main beast. Some of my favorites are:

• Bestial and Ravenous – Ray Garton

• The Howling Trilogy – Gary Brandner (I prefer the first novel, but the second and third are okay)

• Undertaker’s Moon – Ronald Kelly

• The Wolfen – Whitley Strieber

• Those Across the River – Christopher Buehlman

• Cycle of the Werewolf – Stephen King

I also enjoyed the High Moor trilogy, but I felt like the second and third novels kind of sunk it for me. The first book was great, but I felt like it turned into a "superhero-ish" story with the sequels (just my opinion).

I look forward to hearing what your favorite monsters and the books they appear in are!

I’ve been working on a manuscript since late 2024. Writing has always been a hobby for me; I used to write short stories and read them to friends while we were hanging out or sitting around a fire. They always seemed to enjoy the horror shorts, but then again, they’re my friends and beer was usually involved. I didn’t get serious about this novel until recently when life stabilized enough for me to really commit. I’m currently 12 chapters into a 20-chapter project, sitting at just over 50k words with a 80 to 90k goal in mind. Chapter 10 was the big milestone I’d been building toward for over a year. After hitting that peak and taking a short break, Chapters 11 and 12 just spilled onto the page. Now even though I have the rest of the story mapped out and know exactly how it ends, I’m stuck. The "bridge" to the finish line feels like a massive mission. Is it normal to hit a wall right after a major payoff? How do you guys deal with writer's block when you know the destination but are struggling with the journey to get there?

I’ve been working on a manuscript since late 2024. Writing has always been a hobby for me; I used to write short stories and read them to friends while we were hanging out or sitting around a fire. They always seemed to enjoy the horror shorts, but then again, they’re my friends and beer was usually involved. I didn’t get serious about this novel until recently when life stabilized enough for me to really commit. I’m currently 12 chapters into a 20-chapter project, sitting at just over 50k words with a 80 to 90k goal in mind. Chapter 10 was the big milestone I’d been building toward for over a year. After hitting that peak and taking a short break, Chapters 11 and 12 just spilled onto the page. Now even though I have the rest of the story mapped out and know exactly how it ends, I’m stuck. The "bridge" to the finish line feels like a massive mission. Is it normal to hit a wall right after a major payoff? How do you guys deal with writer's block when you know the destination but are struggling with the journey to get there?