The Lost Chapter: Night Terrors & The She-Demon
…or The Desolation of Mr. Bobby
By Rogue Survivalist Mr. Bobby
May 9, 2014, sometime after nightfall
A hard hike completed, a well placed camp set, a hearty meal in place, The Survivalist was ready to settle in for a good night’s rest.
All about, the animals of the night took flight, as night transitioned from day.
Bats flew silently through the twilight sky, snatching up the unexpected. Frogs and insects began their songs of love and filled the air like a warm blanket. The canyon was comfortable and inviting.
With the “good nights” said to new friends, The Survivalist anticipated a well deserved sleep and visions of new adventures for tomorrow danced across his mind.
He settled in with the sounds of the night. Flashes of light shown through the tent, with crunches of dirt and stone created by passersby.
The night’s noises about, the Survivalist turned to music to soothe his restless mind. An unsettling calm started to grow within him.
The warm night soon turned into an ocean abyss. The bats fell away to darkness, the frogs and insects were silenced. The warmth was pushed away by the cold menacing pressure and darkness.
The sound was faint at first. It was shapeless and translucent, like the shadow of a great white swimming out of the cold vastness. And just like a shark circling its prey, The Survivalist treaded water in the night stillness, knowing the only outcome was survival.
The sound began to take shape and increase in intensity. The rhythmic moans became familiar and with that, the unsettling dread.
He wiggled in the sleeping bag, like a worm caught on a hook.
“There’s nowhere to run,” he thought.
The moans quickly turned to shrills. The She-Demon calls for her master’s approval echoed through the canyon.
The Survivalist escaped to his music but soon discovered there was nothing that could silence the unpleasantness that fired from outside.The passersby only added to the uneasiness he was feeling.
As the calls grew louder, the feelings of distance within him increased. He was a lost pilgrim in an unholy land.
With each shriek, he retreated further and further into the recesses of his mind. Nothing he did helped; nothing he could do to stop it.
Just as the vocals and cries climaxed, they immediately died away.
The She-Demon was silenced in contentment. The night however, did not return to its former warmth.
The animals remained quiet and hidden. Even the passerby’s frequency diminished in the aftermath. The Survivalist did not dare venture out. He remained cocooned.
To some, the experience was as normal as the wind blowing or the river flowing. But for him, the noises and imagery will remain a part of him for years to come.
There was no rest for me this eve. The best I could hope for is to survive. #truestory
Thanks for the donation, Mr. Bobby – What is said and heard at camp, stays at camp – It’s Vegas! Geeeeesh!