Tag: Earth Page 6 of 8

The Pacific Northwest Podcaster

On July 4, 2020

A serial killer mistakenly targets a true-crime podcaster.

Whitney’s heart fluttered. Male, late 20s/early 30s with an alethic build? Check. Shaggy, blond hair? Check. Thick, black plastic sunglasses resting on a curved, wedge-shaped nose? Check. A prominent crescent scar on his right cheek? Check. She was positive the stranger jogging behind her matched the police sketch of the Noon Slayer.

Whitney kept a steady pace as she traversed the dirt trail at Stewart Memorial Park. The summer weather in Washington state never got uncomfortable for her noon jogs. The tall, western hemlocks and various evergreen trees provided ample shade, with the fresh rain bringing its petrichor fragrance.

She tapped on her headphones, which weren’t playing music. They never did. They were only on her ears for the same reason a worm would be on a hook. The serial killer caught up to her. Whiney smirked. He took the bait.

As the Noon Slayer was about to grab Whitney, she spun around and tased him.

* * *

The Noon Slayer’s eyes fluttered open to a microphone attached to a boom arm with a pop filter. White nylon rope strapped him tight on the metal chair.

“You’re awake,” Whitney greeted with the joyful tone of a morning radio host. “Don’t say anything. I need to hit record real fast.” She took a seat on her RV kitchen bench behind the matching microphone she had set up for herself and pushed the record button on her audio recorder. “Hello, crime-heads. I want to start off this episode by thanking my guest. I’ve gotten in pretty good shape since I started jogging about a month ago to get you on my show.”

“Where am I?” the Noon Slayer grumbled.

Whitney pushed the red button on her pop-out kitchen table, sending him a painful electric shock. It wasn’t enough to kill or do any serious harm, but the pain was enough to say, “I’m the one in charge.”

“Hey, I’m the host here,” she playfully scolded. “This is my podcast, so I’ll be the one asking the questions–until the end when I let my guests ask me a question before I let them go.”

He looked around the cozy fifth-wheel travel trailer that held him captive. Everything was clean and neatly organized. His gaze focused on a massive cork bullion board as long as him, pinned with newspaper clippings of all his killings. He nodded toward the murder board. “You a fan of mine?”

“You can say I’ve been tracking you. Oh, wait. That was technically a question.”

She pushed the button, shocking him again. When he settled, she took down the murder board from the easel (revealing another board covered in clippings about a different serial killer). She laid his board on the bed next to him so he could see her research and then returned to her seat.

“What do you think?” she inquired.

He reviewed the large board. In addition to the newspaper clippings, there were crime scene photos, a copy of the police sketch, and a pair of gold foil business cards with the word, “Congratulations.”

“How did you–” he stopped, catching himself. “I mean, I’m impressed you have my calling card. Two of them.”

“Thank you, but truth be told, one is a replica I made. The public doesn’t know about your calling card. I managed to sneak a photo from one of my sources investigating you. The other is the one I pulled out from your wallet, Trent.”

Trent tried not to laugh at his carelessness. “I knew I shouldn’t have kept my wallet with me.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve learned that nobody is perfect in all my years of doing this podcast. On the subject of mistakes, how accurate is my board about you? Are all of those yours? Am I missing anyone?”

“You’re missing my first one.”

Whitney sat up and leaned forward. “I am? Do tell.”

“It was different.” His eyes drifted up as he reflected. “I did it with my car. It was an accident–a complete accident. It was a hilly road. I wasn’t paying attention to the jogger when she ran in front of me. I thought I was going to get caught. But I didn’t.”

“Then let me guess, the thrill of not getting caught become intoxicating?”

“It did.”

“This happened around noon, just like all of the others?”

“Yes.”

Whitney nodded. “That’s what the psychologist Dr. Miller suggested when I interviewed him in episode 215. Well, Trent, you’ve answered all of my questions today. Before I let you go, as per tradition, I like to let my guests ask me a question.”

Trent didn’t say anything. Whitney added, “Don’t worry. I won’t shock you.”

Whitney pulled the chef knife from the cutlery drawer, walked over to Trent, and brushed the blade along the rope behind his back.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She sawed the rope just long enough to give him a false sense of hope before she stabbed him in the back. “I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”

Inspired by the writing prompt: “A well-known serial killer has been following you through town. He seems to be has been targeting you for a while now. But you’re not scared, in fact, you’re thrilled about it. Finally, you have a new target.”

I realized I hadn’t set any of my weekly stories in Washington state, where I grew up in my grade/middle school years. I got inspired by the writing prompt to have a serial killer stalk one of the woods there. Since it had been forever since I visited that area, the only park with a hiking trail I could think of was where my parents found a golden ticket for a radio contest. I texted my Mom for the name of the park. She asked why I was asking about it and I told her the premise of the short story. She asked me if I was going to incorporate a golden ticket into it somehow and I said I’ll see what I can do. Then she suggested it should be the killer’s calling card.

That’s the origin of this week’s short story. Thank you for reading!

“You have 1 unread prophecy”

By Dennis

On May 30, 2020

In Imaginary

On the train home, Skylar gets a mysterious notification on their iPhone that says, “You have 1 unread prophecy.”

Skylar took the first available seat with the least amount of people near it on the train. Thankfully, there were only about a dozen other passengers. Skylar had enough of people today when they got doused with a cold brew coffee by some “Karen” for being too cold. On the bright side, the owner promptly and unapologetically kicked the rude customer out. Skylar already thought their boss was the best with how he loved and accepted everyone, including Skylar, but the way he handled the situation further cemented the title. Another customer, a woman with long, blue hair, dropped a $20 in the tip jar after witnessing the incident, further restoring her faith in humanity.

Skylar took a glance at the sun setting on the Atlanta skyline before turning to their phone to find funny memes. Upon unlocking the iPhone, a new notification popped up: “You have 1 unread prophecy.”

Skylar re-read the message several times. They had never seen such a notification and had no idea what app it could’ve generated it. Curious, they tapped the alert. A message expanded on the screen to warn: “At the next stop, the man in the black suit carrying a black briefcase will get off the tram. A woman in a flora sundress with a red purse, silver bracelet, and sunglasses will follow him. The woman will stalk and kill the man for this briefcase.”

Skylar discreetly looked around the tram car and found the two individuals matching the prophecy’s description.

“This is super freaky,” Skylar whispered so softly that no one could hear. “Those descriptions are way too specific to be a coincidence.”

The train came to a stop. As predicted, Skylar watched the two exit. Skylar hastily debated if they should follow or go home, but just as the doors were about to close, Skylar bolted out. As the train went to the next station, Skylar scanned the area, finding the woman following the man with the briefcase while staying several yards away.

Skylar put up the hood from their Legend of Zelda hoodie and proceeded after them. Skylar wasn’t sure what to do if–or when–the attack happens. Skylar kept their phone out, ready to record, but pretended to be scrolling social media like a typical millennial. It seemed to work as no one paid attention.

A few minutes of stalking, they all arrived at the Atlanta Underground. The historic shopping and entertainment center had little to offer that interested Skylar other than the rare concert. Most of the places were vacant or under construction, which equated to a lack of visitors this Wednesday evening. The man with the briefcase pulled aside a sheet of plastic tarp and entered a construction site. The woman glanced around the area, peeked inside, and cautiously pursued.

“Okay, this is suspicious,” Skylar admitted. Skylar looked around the empty tunnel. “You got this, Skylar. Just stay back, film, and get justice.”

Skylar started recording the video and followed inside. The area with its modern furniture made Skylar suspect it would be an office space for a trendy startup or a coworking venue. Neither the man nor woman were in sight.

“About time,” a deep voice grumbled in the distance.

“This took longer to make than I calculated,” the briefcase man replied.

Skylar kept low to the ground, staying behind desks, quickly reaching the conversation’s source. Using the phone like a periscope behind a cubicle, Skylar saw into an unfinished room with various wires hanging from the ceiling. The man with the briefcase stood professionally in front of a bald man in a brown suit with dark red, reptilian skin. Skylar covered their mouth as their heart began to race. Skylar tried to hold the camera steady as they trembled from the sight of the alien.

The man opened the briefcase. All Skylar could see was a green glow and a smile from the alien. An icy blue bolt of light struck the man, causing him to drop the suitcase on the concrete floor. Before the alien could react, another bolt hit him, dropping him to the ground. The women in the flora sundress walked over to the briefcase and looked inside.

“Contraband secured,” she reported into her silver bracelet as she slammed the briefcase shut with her foot.

Freaked out, Skylar decided to sneak out, but immediately in their haste, tripped over a paint can. The woman readied her weapon, and attentively walked over. Skylar gave up the stealth plan and ran. She fired her gun at Skylar, paralyzing them. The woman rushed over, keeping an eye out for anyone else.

“Sorry, kid,” the woman apologized as she bent down. “You were just somewhere you shouldn’t be, but you’ll forget all about this.”

The woman picked up Skylar’s phone, tapped on it with her bracelet, which unlocked it. She deleted the video and found the prophecy alert. The woman let out a frustrated sigh.

The woman spoke into her bracelet. “We got another innocent human getting one of those ‘prophecies’ to our operations.”

This week’s story was my take on a simple writing prompt about a phone buzzing with a “You have one 1 unread prophecy” notification. As of right now, I’m almost at 18,000 words from all of the short stories I’ve written every week this year!

Be sure to join my email list to be notified whenever I made a new post, including my short stories.

I’ve written another story about a different person that also gets a prophetic warning in You Have 2 Unread Prophecies.

Interview Spoilers

By Dennis

On May 23, 2020

In Imaginary

A time traveler’s interview goes sideways when the interviewee accuses him of having met in the past.

The audio recorder Quis held was real but fake in that he disguised the device to match Earth’s technology in the 2010s. The name on his fictional press badge clipped to his unremarkable black suit identified him as “Hank Williams.” The name was phony, too, of course. However, Quis had grown accustomed to the alias, regularly using the persona for interviews.

Quis carefully constructed a different identity for each interview, usually working for a local publication. Big names tended to be open to talking to local nobody journalists, Quis had discovered. Plus, the background helped with his forgettable persona so people wouldn’t follow up with someone who didn’t exist.

“Mr. Praevalens will see you now,” the secretary informed him.

From the photos on her desk, Hank bet she was a grandmother. She had that kind, grandmotherly vibe. She happily led the way to the office of John Praevalens, the CEO of Close Ground. The technology company dabbled in various avenues, catering to security for governments and businesses.

The golden doors to John’s office were a statement. They weren’t massive–they were standard size for French doors but with a pocket design. The doors depicted a battle in an Aztec-influenced art style. Quis made a note to ask John about the doors as the secretary separated them.

Upon entering, Quis felt a slight buzzing sensation. He almost overlooked the unnatural protection, but he recognized the technology.

Why would they have anti-teleportation security? Quis thought. This planet doesn’t have that at this time. It must be something else I’m sensing.

As an end-timer, Quis wasn’t concerned about having an exit strategy. He could phase through any material and retreat to his time machine. Still, he planned his interviews to avoid resorting to dramatic tactics.

“Hey, old sport,” John greeted with genuine kindness as he firmly shook hands with Quis.

The spry, 30-something John wore his trademark black pinstriped suit. Around his neck was a gold medallion depicting the sun in the same style as his door. The flat medallion was palm-sized. Quis had read an article about John’s devotion to the family heirloom, but seeing the necklace for himself added questions.

First, anti-teleportation and an artifact crafted by a deity or one of us, Quis thought. I’m starting to feel I did not prepare for this interview.

The secretary softly closed the doors behind her as she left the room.

John led Quis to a modernism lounge area with an artistic golden coffee table and curvy, white leather sofas.

“Feel free to set your equipment on the table,” John offered as he took a seat on the couch. “Anything I can get you? A drink?”

Quis sat his audio recorder on the table and took a seat in a matching armchair. “I’m good, thank you. We can get started right away. Your time is valuable, so I appreciate you chatting with me.”

“You know, you remind me of someone. Have we met before, Hank?”

“No, I would remember you.”

John shifted around on his couch. “Odd. I’m pretty good at remembering people. Anyway, carry on.”

Quis pushed the record button. “I want to start by talking about your passions. What are some of the projects at Close Ground that excite you the most?”

“Starting deep, are we?”

“The best way to warm up is to jump in.”

John laughed. “You know, this one will surprise you, but I have to say, Exploring Earth.”

“The travel site?” Quis questioned.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Why?”

“I believe if people traveled more, and spoke with people from around the world, so much of our animosity would be gone. We got some fantastic contributors too. Amber Way showcases places with such enthusiasm that I swear, I want to visit every place she writes about.”

“There are countless stories to be collected,” Quis commented.

“Are you certain we hadn’t met before?” John asked, almost accusing him of lying.

“People tell me I have a familiar but forgetting face,” Quis joked.

John didn’t laugh. He leaned forward. “Everything about you seems familiar.”

“This is my first time interviewing you, sir,” Quis calmly reaffirmed, trying not to be annoyed.

“Yes, but I tend to remember everyone I’ve met. What are you?”

“I’m Hank,” Quis responded, unsure how to answer.

“I asked, what are you? You haven’t aged since you saved my life.”

Quis was now confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Command Blackout,” John shouted into the room.

The window blinds dropped close. The buzz Quis had first felt when he entered intensified. All the lights went out except for the lamp that stood beside John. Hank’s recorder was still on.

“Your recording device should’ve lost power, which means it’s not from this world. Care to explain?”

“I-I don’t know what to tell you,” Quis stumbled. “Maybe you can tell me who you think I am, and we can figure this out.”

John took a deep breath and relaxed back into the couch. “You saved my life a hundred years ago, Quis.”

Quis’ jaw dropped. “Wait. You know my real name and a hundred years ago?”

John revealed his fangs. “Vampire.”

“Of course, that makes sense,” Quis said as he leaned back into his chair. “But how do we know each other?”

“You rescued me from that theatre fire in New Orleans and helped me fake my death there. Don’t you remember?”

“I’m a time-traveler,” Quis confessed. “For me, I haven’t saved your life yet.”

“Oh.” John was silent for a moment. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything by spoiling that for you.”

Quis chuckled. “It’s probably good that you told me because, unlike my others, I don’t interfere with the past. I only interview people for prosperity and to understand the universe’s life.”

“Well, shall we continue with the interview?”

“I’d like that,” Quis replied.

With the interview over, Quis returned to the alleyway where he left his time machine, a plain brown wooden door in a wood frame. Next to his door was a familiar green door and a familiar face inspecting a flame thrower.

“Gia!” Quis warmly called out to his fellow end-timer. “Good evening.”

Gia put away the flame thrower in her black leather jacket pocket, which was much larger on the inside. She shouted his name and ran up to him with a big hug. Quis returned the hug.

“Who were you interviewing this time?” Gia asked as she let go.

“John Praevalens. Did you know he was a vampire?”

“I didn’t know that. Fascinating.”

“What was that device you were toying with?”

“Just a flame thrower. I borrowed it from the labs at Close Ground. I need it for my play tonight. Want to come along and watch?”

Quis shrugged. “I’m up for a show. When and where?”

“New Orleans, 1919.”

This week’s short story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “You are the world’s only time-travelling journalist. You use carefully constructed false identities to secretly record your conversations with famous historical figures, and are sworn never to alter the past. However, when you meet with your latest unsuspecting interviewee, they recognize you.”

I took the basic premise of a time-traveling journalist and fitted it in my 16th Phoenix Universe, getting to introduce a new end-timer character, Quis. Quis (which is Latin for “who”) is one of a dozen people from the end of time, along with Gia, Slayer, Loki, Raven, and Kojack, who I’ve also written stories about. More to come as I explore and expand the universe.

Thank you for reading! Be sure to join me on Patreon for early access to my short stories and listen to my exclusive podcast.

Little Shop of Personalities

By Dennis

On May 9, 2020

In Imaginary

During her morning jog, Janelle comes across a mysterious new boutique selling personalities.

Janelle halted her morning jog when she came across an intriguing new boutique as yesterday, the retail space was empty. Through the glass windows, Janelle would’ve for sure seen people installing the drawers that covered the walls from the floor to ceiling. The shop was part of her apartment complex in Film Row, and she couldn’t recall reading about it in the Oklahoma Gazette or her neighbors talking about it. As Janelle thought back, she could’ve sworn when she passed by during the start of her daily run there was a “For Lease” notice on the door instead of a cheerful “Open” sign.

With time to spare and her curiosity piqued, Janelle went inside. All three walls were covered in drawers of varying shapes and sizes but had a matching white, rustic farmhouse esthetic. The beach lavender aroma put her in a relaxed state of mind. Janelle walked over and inspected a label on a drawer. It read, “Brave.”

“Good morning!” a cheerful female voice called out, catching Janelle off guard.

Standing in the center of the room was a young woman in a red satin dress holding a transparent tablet device. Next to her was a taller, slim man in a pink suit with bold, black outlines. Both had black hair and lanyards holding placards with their names, Raven and Loki, respectively.

“Welcome to Little Shop of Personalities,” Loki greeted with what Janelle thought was more energy than any average retail worker would have this early in the morning.

“Shop of Personalities?” Janelle repeated, confused.

“Yes. We sell a wide assortment of personalities that you can give yourself to change your life,” Raven explained. “If you want to be more likable, we can help.”

Janelle kept her skeptic tongue to herself. She figured this whole ordeal was some pop-up artistic expression or experience. She scanned the drawers and noticed they were all labeled with various personality traits, including negative ones.

“Why would anyone want something like an ‘obsessive’ or ‘creep’ personality?” Janelle inquired.

“You can give them to others,” Loki revealed.

“Including your enemies,” Raven added with a wink and a wave of her finger.

“Weaponize them to get rid of unpleasant coworkers,” Loki commented, and Raven nodded in agreement.

“Buy as many as you like.” Raven smiled. “But no returns.”

Janelle turned her attention to the drawer that caught her initial focus, the one labeled, “Brave.” She opened it up and pulled out a white index-sized card with the word written in a bold font fitting of the name. Even if the card didn’t magically give the trait, she thought it would make for a cute decoration for her desk.

Janelle showed the shopkeepers the card. “How much for this one?”

“Since you’re our first customer,” Loki started.

“Your first personality is free,” Raven finished.

Janelle closed the drawer. “So, how does this work?”

“Simply put the card on the forehead of the person you wish to give the personality trait,” Loki explained.

“I’ll take this one and try it out,” Janelle said, still skeptical. “Thank you.”

To keep the card from getting bent, Janelle held it until she returned to her apartment. Once inside, she tossed her keys on the kitchen counter. She looked at herself in her hallway mirror and put the card up to her forehead. The card faded like her body had fused with it. Instead causing her to freak out, the new personality had filled her with excitement.

Janelle went about her morning routine with vigor as she arrived, first as usual, to the law firm. She took one look at her desk, marched to the break room for a box, and pushed all of her belongings inside. Her boss, whose name was on the sign outside, found Janelle packing up.

“Everything okay?” Janelle’s boss asked her with concern.

“Never better. I’m going to start the yoga studio that I’ve always been too afraid to do.”

“Good for you, Janelle! If you ever do a beginner’s class, I’ll sign up.”

“Thank you. That means so much. Everyone here has been so great to me, but I must move forward.”

Janelle left the law firm with her box, her mind racing with a business plan. In the cleanup process, she decided to open her yoga studio in her apartment complex. There were several vacant spots. She knew one of them would be perfect.

As she walked back to her place, a dog ran across the street, chasing a squirrel. Janelle could see the bus hitting the dog. Without hesitation, she dropped her box and pushed the dog to safety and the bus hit her.

A few hours later, Janelle woke up in a hospital bed. Every part of her felt numb. She rolled her head and saw Raven and Loki standing over her.

While Raven wrote notes in her tablet, Loki held out a bouquet of spring flowers. “All sales are final.”

This short story was first published on the Oklahoma Gazette for their Writers of the Quarantine series. The Loki and Raven story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “A new shop shows up in town. Upon entering the walls are made entirely of drawers, each with a different personality trait written on them. The shopkeeper smiles – ‘Buy as many as you like, but no returns.'”

If you enjoy my story, please share it! I would love to have more readers. If you want to help me more, join me on Patreon and you’ll get beta access to my novella, Intertwined by Cracks. The urban sci-fi story follows Amber Way who can make doors lead to other doors as she deals with cracks leaking monsters from other planets in a plan from a stranded time traveler to harness her powers.

Story Artwork by Keith Zarraga at Design Pickle. Get a discount off your first month of Design Pickle via this affiliate link, which full disclosure, I earn a small commission as a discount for me as well.

Campfire Monster Creation

By Dennis

On April 25, 2020

In Imaginary

During a race to get back to camp first, a pair of teens stumbled upon a paper cube that grows a monster.

The story I am about to tell you happened on a starry October night at a place called Lake Thunderbird. Some of the locals referred to it as Lake Dirtybird on the count of the lake being murky from the clay soil. Still, it was a beautiful and beloved state park. Many of the trees were still green as Mabry and Heide raced passed them along the dirt trail. Earlier, the two had made a bet that the first one to the campfire would get the loser’s s’more.

“That s’more as good as mine,” Heide shouted from the lead.

“Don’t count your desserts just yet,” Mabry snapped back as she went off trail to get ahead.

Mabry’s shortcut did work. She did surpass Heide – until she tripped. Mabry cursed, causing her friend to stop.

Heide stopped and helped Mabry get back on her feet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mabry groaned. “Let’s call the race a tie.”

Heide laughed. “Only because I’ll feel bad eating your s’more. What did you trip on anyway?”

Mabry shrugged and pulled out her cellphone from her jeans. Using the flashlight feature, she scanned the area and found a cube of newspaper about the size of a baseball. The cube was densely packed. She picked it up.

“This is heavier than it looks,” Mabry commented.

“Really?” Heide questioned. Mabry handed her the cube. “Wow. This is heavy. Do you think it’ll burn?”

“Maybe. We can put it in the fire and find out.”

Heide tossed the cube back to Mabry, and the two walked back to the campsite where they joined their fellow students around the fire. The intimate group of teenagers were united for a weekend improv retreat. Standing together facing the teens were two of the “camp counselors” or improv teachers, Jessie and Nick, both in their mid-30s. As part of their improv troupe wardrobe bit, they wore matching short black ties and black fedoras.

“Heide, Mabry, so glad you’re finally here,” Jessie said in a cheerful team mascot tone. “We got plenty of marshmallows and chocolates still.”

Nick noticed the dirt scuffle on Mabry’s clothes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I tripped over this,” Mabry explained as she held out the paper cube. “Thought we could add it to the fire.”

“Go for it,” Nick encouraged, and Mabry tossed it in.

Jessie clapped her hands, getting the group’s attention. “While everyone enjoys dessert, let’s play an icebreaker game where we each reveal something that scares us. We’ll go clockwise, and I’ll start first. I’m Jessie, and I’m afraid of ostriches.”

Jessie’s reveal garnered some giggles in the crowd.

Nick went next, holding a flashlight under his face. “Reverse Vampires. They crave sunlight! Also, Land Sharks.”

“Disease,” Mabry somberly answered, thinking of all the family she’s lost to sicknesses.

“Being burned alive,” Heide said as her marshmallow caught on fire from her impatience.

Robyn pushed aside a streak of her white hair. “Being Followed.”

“Robyn, you’re like a black belt,” Jessie commented. “People should be worried about you following them. Michael, your turn.”

Michael adjusted his metal glasses and stumbled to confess, “Drowning.”

“Asphyxiation!” Shai jumped with an unexpected burst of excitement, eager to share.

The last person, Jeff, took a deep breath and, with a serious face, answered, “Sandpaper.”

The group laughed.

“What?” Jeff huffed. “It’s a texture thing.”

“Okay, okay,” Nick instructed, “let’s play another–”

The crackling fire collapsed into itself. The group went silent as they watched the paper cube pulsate with a rainbow of colors. The cube began to expand, like one of those black snake fireworks that grow when lit on fire. Then, it ramped up in speed, growing and forming an ash black ostrich with a shark’s dorsal fin on its neck and pectoral fins instead of wings. A green sewage cloud of disease-ridden gas seeped out of its mouth.

The creature let out a terrifying screech. The campers scattered every which direction as it whipped out its monstrously long tongue around Jeff’s body and Shai’s neck. The tongue was rough like sandpaper. Jeff and Shai pulled, clawed, and fought back. In retaliation, the creature flung them into a tent.

The creature spotted Heide running down a trail by herself. It spat out a fireball, catching Heide on fire. While Heide rolled around on the ground, the creature scurried down another path.

“What the hell is that?” Robyn asked Mabry as they and Michael ran as fast as they could.

“Like hell, if I know,” Mabry snapped back.

“It’s like an amalgamation of our fears,” Michael commented, struggling to keep up.

Robyn turned her head back. “It’s following us!”

“Just keep running,” Mabry encouraged.

The trio burst out of the woods, leaving them nowhere else to run with the lake before them.

“Great,” Michael grumbled.

Mabry pointed across the lake. “Let’s swim to the other side. It’s not a long stretch. Maybe it can’t swim.”

“But who knows what’s in that lake,” Michael exclaimed. “There could be alligator snapping turtles.”

“It’s either that or face the monster,” Mabry laid out.

The creature screeched, prompting the three of them to jump and swim, with Mabry leading the charge. The teens were halfway across when the beast arrived at the shore. The creature paused as a powerful beam of light from a park ranger’s flashlight shined on it. The monster hissed and charged at the park ranger.

Mabry was the first one across. She watched as the park ranger firmly stand his ground as the monster lunged at him. The park ranger opened fire, his gun emitting an icy blue beam. The creature burst into a puff of smoke.

Before Mabry could process what she witnessed, her fellow campers walked out the water only to be greeted with the light of another park ranger. She had buzzcut hair, black skin, and was short, at about five-feet tall, but stood with a calm authority that made her appear taller. The name patch on her green uniform shirt read, “Ranger Mists.”

“Are you all okay?” Mists asked, concerned.

“This–this land shark ostrich monster is chasing us,” Michael blurted out with no regard for how crazy he sounded.

Mists pointed her flashlight at the park ranger across the lake. He gave her a thumbs up. She shined the light back at the teens. “You’re safe now. My partner took care of it. Where did you first see it?”

“I found this weird cube of paper that I tossed in our fire, and it grew from that,” Mabry explained to the ranger.

“Where’s the rest of your group?”

“At the Post Oak campground,” Mabry said. She started to feel uncomfortable with how comfortable Mists was with believing them. Does she really believe all of this? she thought.

“We’re part of an improv retreat,” Robyn added in a panic. “There’s us plus our teachers, Nick and Jessie, and then Heide, Jeff, and Shai. You got to help them. They’re all probably hurt.”

Mists put her hand on Robyn’s shoulder to reassure her. “Don’t worry. We’ll help them, and then this will all just be a bad dream.”

The silver bracelet around Mists’ wrist that was resting on Robyn’s shoulder emitted a calming white aurora that put the teens to sleep.

I made a post on Facebook, “It’s my Birthday and I’ll kill you off at a summer camp if that’s okay with you. Leave a comment with something that scares you.” I took the fears they responded with and named a character after them. When writing this story, I wrote with the intent of telling this at a campfire.

Story Artwork by Chen Kang at Design Pickle. Get a discount off your first month of Design Pickle via this affiliate link, which full disclosure, I earn a small commission as a discount for me as well.

Sleep well!