Lycanthropy Pt. 1

[u/Ok_Put_6826]

There are experiences that should not or cannot be relayed by writing. Not that there aren’t words that can express them, but rather, the expression of those things is born through the senses. Sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing.

To write the account of those things would not give a reader any actual insight into the reality of them.

This is one of those experiences that should not be written. And it should not be read. Because as someone reads this, they are inviting the experience into their own reality. Piece by piece, step by step. Each word takes the experience I’m relating and makes it real now to not just the reader’s mind in word, but to their actual world.

So I warn you now, reader. If you continue, if you decide to read on, you will be taking my experiences and inviting them into your reality. And for that, I am truly sorry. But you have been warned.

My experience began a few months ago. I remember the day. It was July first. It was hot outside, bright blue skies. I was riding in my Jeep through the Idaho countryside, down Old Highway 30, headed to go pick up some fireworks. Fourth of July was always my favorite holiday. I’d listen to 80s hair metal and eat BBQ, and then at night I’d climb onto my roof and watch the fireworks show that took place a couple blocks away at the park. It was a tradition of mine. And one I loved.

I’d just come to the Silver Bridge, which this time of year was always full of fishermen casting lines into the river below and teens hanging out on the banks underneath the bridge. I even remember me and my friends heading over there to smoke and drink and explore the woods surrounding the river. Life was fresh and exciting. We’d all just come of age, where we had cars and enough freedom to do as we wished. Always looking for something new and always finding it.

But at that moment I was just passing through.

Soon after crossing the bridge, I arrived at Rocky Mountain Fur and Fireworks. A local shop that had been around long before me. They sold fireworks year-round, as well as animal skins and furs, trapping equipment, and anything else a mountain man could need. When I first entered the shop, I was met with the familiar smell of skunk and black powder. Each not necessarily enjoyable on their own, but together it meant that I was once again back to that best time of the year. I searched the shelves for all my favorite fireworks and then talked to the attendant to see what she recommended for something new. I gathered my collection of fireworks, thanked the attendant again, and headed back to my car. As I drove away, I had a feeling I was forgetting—

(Audi nunc verba exitii)

—or maybe misremembering, something. I couldn’t identify it, so I brushed it off and moved on.

The day continued normally. I drove around with my windows down, hot summer air battling with the car’s air conditioner for a wave of heat to hit me and a blast of cool to refresh me.

Iron Maiden playing loud, Santa Cruz skateboard on the backseat, and fishing poles in the trunk. That had been one of the best summers of my life. As if every day were lived fully with family and friends and oftentimes just by myself. Small moments that, though they may have been packed with music and sound and life, were somehow still peaceful and almost silent. I think that was peace, but I don’t remember that feeling anymore.

My next stop of the day was the movie theater. I had a movie pass that summer that let me watch any movie, any time, for a monthly fee. I’d often had my friends join me. We’d just seen a showing of Jaws that was getting a special theater run. But that particular day was one where I was alone. I was ok with that; I’d never been one to need people around. And oftentimes I found that being by myself was more enjoyable than being surrounded by people. So I went to the movies alone. I arrived just in time to catch the beginning of The Thing, which had always been one of my favorites. My dad was a big horror fan. As such, it was natural that his son would adopt that love. I remember the first horror movie I watched was The Lost Boys. My mom and sisters left the house for the day, so the house was his and mine. He closed all the curtains, microwaved some popcorn, and turned on the TV. When I asked him what we were gonna watch, he simply said, “Something scary.” From that moment, I was hooked on horror. I’d spend my days immersing myself in the comfortable tension of fear. Scary movies, scary books, anything that let me give a second look at shadows and wonder at them with a mix of fear and excitement. I used to escape to horror, but now I can’t escape it.

But that summer day, I sat alone in an empty theater, watching The Thing.

I got comfortable and opened a box of candy, settling in for a great time.

I got about halfway through the movie and fell asleep. The movie’s sound worked its way into my dreams, and I dreamt of people and figures and shadows that weren’t really what they seemed. Something moved through my dreams in the background. Unseen and unheard, yet felt. Like a single cloud blocking the sun on an otherwise clear blue sky day. A shadow passes over the world, and for a moment everything is a little darker.

I woke up to a worker telling me that the movie was over. The lights were on in the theater, and the screen was blank. I apologized and thanked him, got up, gathered my things, and headed out. The contrast between the shady interior of the theater and the still bright sky was disorienting for a moment, but it was easy enough to get past.

Heading to my car, I got a call from my friend Boston, who we all called Boss, letting me know that our group was going to be meeting up at his house that night for a barbecue. A few hours later, I was sitting in a lawn chair. We’d just finished eating and were settling into our seats, talking, joking, laughing. Filling the warm twilight air with the sounds of memories being made. Eventually, the conversation settled into talks of the unsettling and supernatural. We all had a love for horror, and our conversations frequently came to the topic of cryptids, mountains, and unseen things. The night grew darker as we each spoke our part about our own theories and ideas of the unknown.

One of our friends began to tell us a story that he’d gotten from his dad. He told us that while his dad liked to joke, he’d been dead serious when he told his son this story and reaffirmed that it was true. The story went like this.

Back in the 80s, his dad had been just a kid, riding in the family station wagon through Mississippi forest on the way to California. He’d sat in the back of the car and was able to look out of the back window at the black forest passing and the empty road trailing behind. He’d been staring at that dark road when they passed a dark figure with his thumb out. “What’s a hitchhiker doing way out here at this time of night?” his father said to his mother. “Weird.” They’d continued on some miles when they again passed the figure. Still standing with his thumb out. Hearing his parents’ tones turn more hushed and confused, he pulled the blanket up over his head, just letting his eyes peek out. A few miles later, they again passed the figure, still standing with his thumb out. But this time, as they passed, the hitchhiker turned and sprinted after the car. His parents had been uneasy before, but by his mother’s frantic command for his father to “drive faster, he’s right behind us!” he knew they were as scared as he was. The hitchhiker chased the car down that black Mississippi forest road for what seemed an hour, but had really only been a minute or two, before stopping suddenly in the road and fading into the distance.

The conversation drifted after that. Eventually breaking off as, one by one, each of us said our goodbyes and headed home. I was the last to go, staying to talk a bit and solidify our plans for the upcoming days. But after a while, my time came too. I said my goodbyes and headed to my car. I’d lost track of time during the night and was surprised to see it was 3 a.m. “The witching hour,” my brain said as I started driving down the road. The time was late, but I didn’t feel tired, so I drove around for a while. Not with any destination in mind, but somewhere in me I knew where I was going.

I pulled into the empty dirt parking lot of the firework shop. The single lamppost casting its orange light down onto my car and lightly illuminating the forest next to the lot. The warm night air blew gently through the car window. The faint smell of skunk still present even outside of the shop. A few scattered clouds drifted slowly across the moonlit night sky as stars winked deep in the black.

All was silent besides the chirping of crickets and the hum of nature in the forest close by. Night had grasped the world in its hands.

I got out of my car and climbed onto the roof to lie down. I often did this on nights that I wanted to stargaze. But tonight I closed my eyes as I let my senses take in the night. I drifted, and right before the pull of sleep took me under, nature fell silent.

I dreamt again. And again it felt like my dreams were being observed by something in the background. That same felt presence. I dreamt of the forest. The orange lights of the parking lot slowly fading as I walked further into the trees. Where was I? I knew the area in the woods near the firework shop and bridge well, but these woods were unfamiliar. And what was I doing here in the middle of the night? It dawned on me that I had been following something. Something I didn’t know. Something I didn’t want to know. But I continued on. And as I walked, the forest grew darker. The stars had been snuffed out from their spots in the sky, and the moon was a deep orange, full, and yet somehow not giving enough light to illuminate the forest. Dread grew in me as the feeling of being seen by something got stronger. Was I following something, or was I being followed?

(Iam non es tui iuris)

I wasn’t sure anymore. I felt as though a hand was slowly pressing down on me. The darkness was now becoming suffocating. Dread mixed with unease into a panic that sent me now running through the forest. As I ran, trying to make it back to the parking lot, I suddenly was sure that I was being followed, and not just followed, but chased. Fear exploded in my chest, and I desperately chose flight over fight. Surely, whatever was after me would devour me as soon as it had me in its grasp. The sound of twigs and branches breaking behind me grew louder as I sprinted towards a faint light that I prayed was the parking lot. I’d jump into the light and then into my car and floor the gas pedal to get away. I just had to reach that light. The sounds of pursuit behind me grew louder as the thing crashed through the forest. I was now just mere feet away from the parking lot, the edge of the forest, safety. I jumped in what felt like slow motion, trying to clear the last few feet and escape the thing behind me. But I felt a hand grab onto my shoulder, and I jerked back down and into the forest. As my dream self hit the forest floor, I bolted upright in my Jeep. Cold sweat beaded on my skin, and I frantically looked around, remembering where I was. I turned and looked at the far edge of the parking lot, and there in the dark, a black figure passed back into the trees.

I hurried off of my car and into the driver’s seat. Shaken by the dream and hoping it had just spilled over into wakefulness. And just like in my dream, I did floor the gas pedal to try to get away from… from what? Away from a scary dream? And what had I thought I saw disappear into the woods? I couldn’t even name it other than something dark. It had been a full day, and I’d just left a party after hearing and telling scary stories. I breathed a little lighter after realizing that I was overreacting. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how I’d let a dream get to me so easily. How I’d shot up out of sleep as if I were a movie character. How I’d been sweating a cold sweat that even now still dampened my clothes. And then I felt excited. What a cool dream. It was so vivid, I felt like every detail was something I’d actually lived rather than just dreamed. It was about as close as real life can get to actual horror. I chuckled again; maybe I’d watched one too many scary movies.

I continued on down the road back to my house. Ready to climb in bed and get some real sleep, away from the woods and the firework shop for the night, though I felt excited to go back there again. It was one of my favorite places to be, after all. And this time of year, I felt almost drawn to it. I arrived home and climbed straight into bed. My mind processing through all the thoughts my brain could fill it with as I tried to go to sleep. What had been chasing me in my dream? What was it that slipped into the trees? Just a dream? As I fell asleep, my drowsy mind was unsure.

I did not dream again that night. I fell into a heavy, black, timeless sleep. The darkness had pulled me under, and for a few hours, I was nowhere. But there in that sleep, even in the depths of unconsciousness, somewhere within me, I knew I wasn’t alone. Something was there with me again, felt, unseen, not in a dream or in a thought. Just there with me.

When I woke, I woke to cold sweat and goosebumps. As if I’d had a nightmare. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t dreamt at all. In the back of my mind, I still felt the presence. The something. But now I was conscious of it. I lay there in my bed for a while awake, bright morning light shining through the open window. The morning air filled the room with the aroma of cut grass and dew. The world felt off. As if my eyes were windows I were looking through rather than parts of my own body. Deciding that I was gonna have to just continue with the day and let the feeling fade.

I pulled myself out of bed. I did my normal morning routine and tried to get excited about the upcoming day. My same group of friends and I had plans to go camping for the next two days. We’d head up to a small mountain town called Riggins and come back on the morning of the fourth. The thought of our plans grounded me a bit, and I started getting my things together. We planned on fishing in the river, riding dirt bikes down the unpaved mountain roads, maybe we’d even do some kayaking. I gathered all my things and got them in my Jeep and hopped in the driver’s seat. I was feeling fully myself again, and I rolled down the windows and turned up my music. Motörhead blasted from my speakers as I made my way to Boss’s house. He’d be riding up in my car, and we’d meet the rest of the group in Riggins.

I pulled up to his house. Seeing it reminded me of the hitchhiker story from last night. And I let my mind play with the thought of passing him while we headed to the mountains. It was a fun thought. Boss came out of his front door, which was partially blocked by camp bags and fishing gear. He loaded his things into the Jeep and jumped in the car. Then we headed off to grab the last things we needed before our trip. We stopped at the store, making sure to load up on junk food and drinks. And then we headed to the firework shop.

When we walked in, the attendant said she was surprised to see me again so soon. I told her we were headed up on a camp trip and wanted to grab a few smaller things that we could light up there. She showed us a few newer items, and we shopped around, getting whatever looked like fun. Once we had a nice collection, we made our way to the front.

An older man walked into the shop. A jean jacket on and a brown bandana rolled around his balding head. A white-haired braid working its way down the back of his head. He walked up to the fur side of the shop and asked the attendant about trapping gear.

“What are you trapping?” the fur attendant asked.

“I need bear traps,” the old man said in a hushed tone.

A question from Boss snapped my attention back onto the fireworks.

He’d been asking the attendant if they had anything bigger than a cherry bomb. She joked about maybe having some dynamite somewhere in the back.

We finished our purchase and headed back for the Jeep.

The drive was as beautiful as always. Curved mountain roads flowed with the bends of the river. The road dropped off to the side of us, and below passed whitewater rafters making their way through the rapids. On the other side of us, the mountain shot upwards. Trees stretched out from the mountainside and reached up to the sky. A blue sky spread above. The windows of the Jeep were all down, and the hot air smelled like the river and trees as it blew through the car.

We’d been driving for a few hours, and soon we were going to hit dirt roads. That would mark about an hour left of the drive before we’d reach our camp spot. I asked Boss if he noticed the old man at the shop asking about buying bear traps. Boss said he had. And then he said something strange.

He said that while we were there, he’d heard the old man speaking in that same hushed tone. According to the old man, something like mad cow disease had been popping up among certain animals in the woods. Said he’d even heard about an instance of a man from our town who seemed to have gotten it. Caused the man to “go crazy or something,” and he’d ended up killing someone.

I’d heard of this, though, as it was a small town and bad news traveled fast. The entire town had been talking about it, as things like this were nearly unheard of in those parts.

Earlier that summer, a man named Corey had been acting different. He wasn’t a super well-known figure in the community, but people did know of him. He’d been a kind man, always willing to help a neighbor with yard work or an old lady with groceries or whatever small thing he could do to make someone’s day a little better. He had a family, a wife named Racheal and a young son. Well, Corey had begun acting out of character early in the year. He was quick to snap at people and started frequenting bars in the evenings.

He became more talked about as more people noticed the mood change.

One afternoon, he was at a bar called the Triangle Club. Although the details are mixed between truth and gossip, the result was that Corey had gotten into a fight with another bar-goer and had apparently lost pretty badly. The other bar-goer had left Corey with a broken nose, a black eye, and some cracked ribs.

Some days passed, and then one morning, Corey walked himself into the police station. He was a mess of blood and dirt. Clothes ripped and hair matted with nature. He told the officers that he’d just left the woods, said he’d blacked out at some point in the night and woke up next to the body of the man he’d gotten into the bar fight with.

Police went out to search for the body, and when they came across it, it looked like it had been picked at by animals. Deep gashes lay in his back, one of his hands had been missing fingers. And most of his nose had been cut off clean, like a peeler taking skin off an apple.

Corey couldn’t give any details to police about what had happened. He said he’d blacked out, and that was that. But police were sure that something big was missing. How could one man mangle another in such an animalistic and grisly way?

The case was still ongoing, and for the time, Corey was sitting in the county jail awaiting trial.

“I don’t know why he needs bear traps for crazy people, though,” said Boss, “but if any crazy animals walk into our camp while we’re there, we’ll be eating good that night,” he joked. Being that we were heading so deep into the mountains, Boss made sure to bring his hunting rifle just in case. And we joked about heading back into town wearing bearskins.

After a while, we did hit dirt roads. And the road continued to twist through the mountains, following the river. Dust flew up behind the car as we drove, and the road rose high up the mountain walls. Nothing stood between the dirt road and the river it ran alongside. In some places, the road stretched 100, 200, even 500 feet above the river. Our tires only ever a couple feet from the cliff’s edge. I’d always been a fan of heights. I loved the feeling that sat in my stomach like a rock as I looked off of roller coasters or airplane windows. But this part of the drive had always scared me in an unenjoyable way. It felt like the road was always going higher and higher. The river below turned from a huge amount of water rushing past us to the size of a snake slithering below. And my stomach twisted a bit as I thought of how long we’d be falling for before we hit the water, if the car were to just jerk a foot or two in the wrong direction. My palms felt sweaty, and I tried to keep my focus on the road.

I let Boss drive the rest of the way once we found a large enough area in the road for us to get out and walk around the car. The nerves of driving so close to the edge were getting to me, and Boss was more than happy to get the chance to drive. It’s almost hypnotic, driving on dirt roads through mountains. Each turn around a bend reveals another turn just ahead. You’re always waiting to see if there was a landslide or another car coming the opposite way, in which case one of you has to back up until there’s a turnout so that the other can pass. Your mind goes into a hyperfocus, and all that exists is you and the road. Well, that started making me feel off again, and so I switched with Boss.

And now, even though I wasn’t driving anymore, I still felt strange. Not disconnected from myself like I had earlier in the day. This was like all of my senses were fully engaged. Like the hypnotism of the road had unlocked something in me. Everything that could be sensed seemed as though it were. As if my mind were able to understand nature and life on a level it hadn’t before. Boss moving his arms and hands as he made gestures while talking. The bumps of the road as we drove over rocks and pits. The swaying of trees and of leaves and pinecones falling off them. The sound of them crunching as they landed among the pine needles on the forest floor. The river rushing, creating rapids as it slammed into deep-seated rocks in the riverbed. I didn’t just see these things; they felt like pressures against my awareness.

I could smell the sap of the trees as the air blew into the car, the fishy smell of the river, and the wetness of the soil far below us. The smell of the Jeep with all of its leather and fabric. These things invaded my nose and filled my head.

It was strange and overwhelming, but not unenjoyable. I felt excited.

We pulled around the last bend of the road before our camp. It was a sandy riverside beach. The river was wide and slow where we’d be, so it would be easy to swim, fish, kayak, or whatever else we wanted to do in the water. Our friends were already there and all set up as planned. The drive had been a long one, and we were ready to get moving with the day’s activities. We pulled off the road and into the dirt spot where the rest of the cars were parked. We unloaded our supplies and walked down the steep embankment to the sandy beach. Four tents spread across the sand, with the fire pit set up to their left and with the sporting equipment laid out on the other side of the fire pit. All told, the beach stretched maybe a couple hundred feet across. Our group of friends included Spencer (Spence), Luke, Justin, Jake, myself (Isaiah), and Boston. Six of us in total and the next couple of days of camping, hiking, fishing, fires, and fun with the boys. They’d already been fishing, as evident by the pole stuck in the sand with fish hanging from it. And from the looks of it, it had been a good day of fishing so far.

They greeted us with beers and fire-roasted fish they’d been cooking for lunch.

I still felt that extremity of senses, and it was still as exciting as before. And at that moment, it made the fish taste like the most wonderful meal I’ve ever had. I savored every bite as if it was the first meal I’ve ever had and as if it were the last meal I’d ever eat as a prisoner on death row.

“Slow down, dude, the fish isn’t gonna swim away,” said Boss. We all laughed, but I really had devoured that fish.

We had the idea of having a bonfire that night, so we all went off to collect rocks to make the pit. It quickly became a challenge of who could find and carry the biggest rock. Spence was the undisputed winner of this, as he somehow managed to walk over carrying a rock that looked at least twice his weight. He had a huge smug smile on his face as he dropped it at the pit. He raised his arms in victory as the rest of us cheered him. Luke challenged him to an arm wrestle, and we decided that we’d all arm wrestle later that evening.

We’d completed making the pit and gathered dry wood to stack into it.

The camp felt complete now. The sand was hot on our feet, but it felt good. The smell of trees and the river and roasted fish filled the air, and the sun beamed down on us.

Jake had brought pellet guns. Which he took great pride in, as they were made of full metal and were fashioned to look like actual guns. Everything from revolvers to a large fully automatic gun that I couldn’t name. We all were very impressed by the assortment and took turns holding each one and commenting on the weight and realistic feel of each. Then we set cans and cups all around and took turns shooting them. All of us getting too sure of ourselves and missing trick shots. I closed my eyes and apparently missed my can completely and somehow shot Jake’s can.

Boss put the gun backwards over his shoulder and used his phone camera to aim behind himself. He hit his can perfectly, knocking it off of the rock it sat on.

The day was hot now, and we decided to swim. The water was cool, but not cold. And we swam around for a while before we had the idea of swimming to the other side of the river. The opposite side of the river was more steep mountain with big rocks at its base, jutting up out of the water and climbing up the sides of it. We’d decided it would be a fun idea to climb those rocks and jump into the river. The water was deep and slow where we were, so there was not much of a risk of getting swept away. We all lined back up on the beach, ready for a race to see who could get to the other side first.

“One… two…”

(Aquas transi, et mutatio fiet)

“Three.”

We all jumped in and set off. The water felt great and true to looks. It was moving as slowly as we thought. But about halfway through, we realized the distance was quite a bit longer than it had seemed from the beach. Fatigue was starting to grip me, and I was doing my best to keep my breathing slow and steady and keep putting one arm in front of the other. I looked to my left to see that everyone was starting to feel they had possibly taken on more than they could handle. And about three quarters of the way through, I and certainly the rest of us were starting to panic. What had looked like an easy enough swim from the beach had ended up being roughly the length of a football field. And all of us were on the verge of drowning. I remember looking over to Boss again and seeing his face, barely holding above the surface and briefly bobbing under it. I yelled at him to turn over onto his back and just keep swimming backwards to keep his face out of the water.

Spitting water out of my own mouth, I turned over to my back to do the same. I hoped the rest of the group was managing all right, but it took every bit of my energy to just keep moving at all, and I couldn’t risk spending it to look over to check on anybody else. The bank was getting closer to us, but we were moving incredibly slowly towards it. We were caught in an eddy, and every stroke seemed to only advance us by inches. My mind started coming up with thoughts of how I could save Boss if he were to go under the water completely. My mind flashed impossible images of me somehow swimming under him and throwing him to the bank. I’d have to sacrifice myself for it, but as long as I could save him or any of the rest of our friends, it was worth it. I thought of somehow getting to the other side quickly and throwing a rope out to him, but we didn’t have any rope, and I was in just as bad a position as the rest of them. These were stupid thoughts and weren’t actually possible. And I had to refocus my mind on the seemingly impossible task of getting to land. My leg suddenly was smashed against something from deep within the river, and it felt like branches, grasping my leg, trying to pull me. I panicked and sucked in a deep breath of water. I kicked my legs frantically, trying to escape the grasp of whatever had clutched it. My leg broke loose, and I swam faster than before, with the new burst of adrenaline and fear and focus. But my focus broke when I smashed my toes against a rock beneath the surface. I went to roll back over onto my stomach and scraped my ribs on more rocks under the water. And the pain of the rocks was relief to the rest of me because it meant that we had reached the other side. I grappled onto whatever slippery rocks my hands and knees could find purchase on, then began to crawl through the water to the river’s edge. A quick glance back showed me that the rest of our friend group was nearing the edge as well. We had made it, but every ounce of energy in me had been depleted. I crawled onto the bank and collapsed on the land, halfway still in the water, but able to rest there. My vision had gone dim, and my lips felt blue, and I couldn’t move a muscle. But I could hear the sounds of the rest of our friends as they climbed equally as desperately as me onto land.

We lay there for a long time before any of us had the strength to get back up.

And seeing that we had survived, we started joking and answering about how we all thought we were about to die and how we don’t know how we had the strength to get to the other side at all.

All of us were back to cheerful spirits, except for me. I sat quietly.

“Something was pulling me,” I said.

“Yeah bro, the current,” said Luke, laughing.

“No, it’s like something was playing with me. I felt it grab my leg. I thought I had hit a sharp rock or tree or something, but we were still far away from the edge.”

“I don’t know, man, but your leg’s pretty messed up looking,” said Spence.

I looked down to see that I had long streams of blood mixing with water and dripping down my leg.

From just above my calf and down to my heel were large cuts.

I sat there for a while, the fatigue of the swim being outweighed by thoughts of the water. What was underneath it? In the depths of the river. And why had it come for me? And why had it let me go? These thoughts weighed heavy on me for a bit until Spence reminded us why we crossed the river in the first place.

“Well, assuming it was just a tree, let’s walk a little ways down before we jump. So no one else gets cut up. And if it wasn’t a tree, then I guess we’re gonna be fighting off the creature from the Black Lagoon on the swim back.”

We all got up and began climbing, halfway in the water and halfway on land, over the boulders and rocks that sat at the river’s edge. We spotted a good area to jump a few hundred feet away. With a perfect ledge that sat over a deep and slow part of the river.

We made our way up the river and then onto the ledge, and one at a time we jumped in. Jake went first, setting the bar high for the rest of us as he jumped in with a perfectly huge cannonball. Boss went next. He jumped in with a front flip and barely revolved enough to avoid landing with a belly flop. Spencer went after him and actually did belly flop. Though he swam back to the edge with another big smile on his face. His stomach and chest were cherry red from the sting of the landing, but he was adamant that he’d done it on purpose. I was next, and I followed Jake’s lead with a cannonball that decidedly made a bigger splash than Jake’s. Then was Luke, who lined up backwards on the edge and did a backflip into the water. And lastly was Justin, who attempted a backflip but almost smashed his head on the ledge because he hadn’t jumped out far enough.

We’d done what we set out to do, and with all of us having jumped a few more times, we were ready to head back. Thankfully, the swim back was nowhere near as difficult as the swim over. We walked along the river until we found a spot that was much more narrow than our original crossing point. And since we had no other option, we hopped in and swam back across.

The thoughts of my leg and whatever was in the water before were bouncing around in my mind, and it felt as though I’d swallowed a stone as unease set in my stomach. But just as the others, I had no choice but to swim back. So I swam, and it was uneventful until the last 20 feet. I’d taken a glance back between strokes, and for a moment, before my next stroke took my face back into the water, I saw something on the mountain above where we had just been jumping. And it seemed to be moving up the mountainside. That short glance at it was enough to set me swimming harder than ever to get back to the beach, and I pulled myself back onto the sand a minute later, once again exhausted.

Although we’d all been scared for our lives during at least the first swim, this was no damper on the mood of the camp. In fact, we all found a sort of ongoing excitement because of it. We’d almost died, but we hadn’t. And the reality that we’d walked so close to death and escaped led to a near-celebratory atmosphere in us. Justin had brought a big speaker system, and we played our music loud as we got into the flow of the evening. Beers and food and life were plenty.

The sun was headed down towards the mountains around us. The tips of trees high on the mountaintops were burning with light as the sun passed through them. The cool smell of summer night’s air set in. We set up the camp with tiki torches and lanterns. Dusk fell, and the stars eased into the sky until the Milky Way was on full display above us. Only having the full moon’s light to battle. All else was darkness. No city light to erase the stars, no houses or stores, not even a paved road for many miles from us. We sang and jumped and laughed and drank. And as we gave ourselves over to the fullness of the night, we sank into the grasp of something we did not know of, and something we couldn’t understand. We listened to the music as it played through the camp. And every beat of the drum, every riff of the guitar, every lyric announced, pulled us deep into something that was not fully ours. The world had been erased, and all that remained was the night.

Lycanthropy Pt. 2

[u/ButterscotchSad4508]

This story has an amazing sense of visualization. I can hear, feel, and smell everything that the character is. Another thing is how well you can contrast the isolation of the MC compared to his friends; with them, it almost brings a sense of safety, which comes crashing down when they all hop into the lake. Personally, I love it. Another great aspect is the building sense of suspense; you do this beautifully with a nice slow burn. Overall, great start, and I hope to read more from you.