I run a private campground.
It’s been in my family for generations. For those of you with a rich family history, I’m sure you know how stories tend to accumulate. They get passed along haphazardly from one generation to the next, distorting as they do, and the truth grows muddy along the way. Land is like that too, except instead of gathering stories about Aunt Jodi’s scandalous first husband, it gathers monsters.
If you’re new here, you should really
start at the beginning and if you’re totally lost,
this might help.
There’s a lot to do to maintain a campground and I’ve been having to do a lot of the work myself around here. I don’t want my winter staff going into the deep woods without a good reason right now. Normally I’d send Bryan, as he has the dogs to protect him, but those are on loan. Also, I haven’t seen a lot of Bryan. He shows up, he gets the work done that he needs to, and then he just… vanishes for a while. I don’t know if he’s visiting his dogs or the fairy or both. And now that I think about it, Bryan tends to make himself scarce throughout the year. I guess I haven’t paid that close of attention before. He still gets the job done just fine so does it really matter if he’s off visiting his fairy bff in his downtime?
Unfortunately, even with the spiders’ help, I’m still battling the thorns in my chest. It’s taking a lot of my strength away and I’m getting winded easier. It’s made getting rid of these accursed things a priority. I know the fairy said they’d go away when they killed the fomorian, but as many of you have pointed out, they’re taking their sweet time going about that.
I do have a theory about the current stalemate, though. The fomorian probably wants the thorns to cover more of the campground. The fairy probably wants the sun to return, being of the company of Lugh and all. And both of them probably want less treacherous footing for their steeds.
I see the dapple gray stallion’s hoofprints in the snow sometimes. It makes it easy to avoid. I just turn around and immediately go in the opposite direction.
With this surefire way of avoiding my nemesis, I figured it was time to try a gamble. The fairy initially told me that I could try finding a way to banish the thorns by seeking out another entity of disease. I’ve taken that to mean the gummy bears. Their presence has brought sickness and rot before. The only problem was I really wasn’t sure how to find anything out from them. Did I use their bodies in an elixir? Did they have the answers themselves? There
was a human shaped gummy bear, at least until one of Byran’s dogs splattered it. Perhaps there’s more intelligence among them than I thought.
I decided to try out one of Mattias’s strategies. He learned a lot about these creatures simply by being close to them. Following their paths through the woods.
I figured the worst that would happen is I’d wander around the forest for a bit and maybe feel a little stupid.
...okay, that’s really not the worst that could happen, considering the upheaval my land is experiencing, but barring
any other catastrophe it wasn’t that dangerous of a plan.
Or at least, the first part wasn’t.
I got some dead mice from the pet store to bait the traps with. They weren’t very big, so I didn’t expect to attract any of the larger gummy bears. This was perfectly fine with me. I was in no hurry for another encounter like the last one, especially with the dogs on loan to the fairy. I baited the traps and left them scattered throughout the deep woods.
Within a couple days the traps yielded results. I found the jellied remains of a rabbit inside one of the traps, staring at me with glistening eyes, its translucent ears quivering. I crouched beside the cage.
“I’m going to let you out,” I said. “Don’t try to bite me or I’ll drop-kick you into the afterlife.”
Just to be safe, I released the gummy bear with the cage door pointing away from me. The rabbit bolted and I sprinted after it, only to lose it within seconds. So the worst case scenario came true, I felt real dumb there, standing in the woods and belatedly realizing that I couldn’t actually keep up with a rabbit.
The second gummy bear I caught was a raccoon. That’s still not something I was convinced I could keep up with, so I took the liberty of breaking both of its hind legs before I released it. The bones snapped like dry branches. The gummy bear hissed wetly and bared its yellowed teeth at me, but otherwise didn’t seem to be in pain. I’m not sure if this qualifies as animal cruelty and frankly, I’m trying not to think about it too hard.
This time, I had no problem keeping up with the gummy bear once it was released. It dragged itself along by its forelegs, seemingly oblivious to the dangling appendages that trailed behind it. Our progress was slow and I impatiently began to wonder if perhaps I should have only broken one. There was nothing I could do about it now. The gummy bear would turn and hiss at me if I got too close, so I kept a healthy distance between us.
And I followed it. I honestly had no idea where it would lead me, but Mattias’s journal implies that he learned everything he did by being close to these inhuman things. The world is less stable when they’re nearby, he claimed. Things slip through.
It took a
long time. I was tempted to quit and go home repeatedly and each time I had to remind myself to have patience. Mattias surely had, as he didn’t have the siren call of the internet luring him away. The raccoon made a circle of the deep woods, its pace consistent, dragging its broken legs behind it. It moved with purpose. It stayed off the road, but I caught glimpses of gravel now and again through the barren trees. After a little while I realized that it was slowly but surely turning, heading back towards the hill that led up and out of the forest.
I was beginning to think this had all been a waste of time and I should just finish the thing off. Watching it drag itself all through the woods for the past couple of hours had stirred an acute sense of guilt about this entire affair. Killing something was one thing. That’s a matter of life and death, generally. But crippling something like this… perhaps there’s more of my father in me than I thought. He’s in the quiet spaces of my soul and most of the time I can’t hear him over the roar of my anger.
I heard him now.
I steeled my resolve and hefted the crowbar I’d brought along for just this purpose. Blunt weapons are the best tool for destroying gummy bears. Sharp edges can cut pieces off them, but that won’t necessarily slow them down. Even if you cut it in half you could get unlucky and the pieces might reconnect and join back together and then you got a gummy bear with its ass literally stuck to its shoulder flailing around and trying to bite you.
Blunt trauma, however, separated the parts beyond repair. Like dropping a cherry pie on the floor. You aren’t getting that back together in a cohesive form. And like an exploding cherry pie, the gummy bear burst into a gooey red smear that coated the nearby ground and splattered on the trees when I brought the crowbar down into the center of its body.
Something like smoke hovered over the ground. It was only there for a second. I might have missed it, had I not been watching. Ever since my encounter with the human sized gummy bear I’ve been thinking about what I saw and experienced and wondering if I’d imagined it. But there it was. A miasma. An ill wind carrying sickness to anyone that inhaled it. It rolled away from me, traveling uphill, and then it passed between two trees and was gone.
I almost walked away. But something stirred in the back of my mind, sluggishly connecting the pieces. Dropping each thing that had happened into place until the pattern was evident.
I’d followed it around the old woods. We’d made a circle and were now at where we’d begun. Except sometimes… when walking in a circle with intent… you don’t
actually wind up back where you started.
There are other worlds inside my campground. Many more than what I have encountered already, according to my ancestor.
I walked after the smoke and passed between the two trees and they creaked as I went by them, bending their heads to twine their branches so that I passed under an arch and then…
I was elsewhere.
The hall. I’d found the hall of the gummy bears.
I need to stop using such stupid names for the things on my campground.
The structure was of primitive construction. The ceiling was thatched and birds flew between the rafters. There were no windows and the only light came from candles burning in sconces on the wall. The air was thick with the stink of rancid fat and smoke. I tried to take shallow breaths and walked slowly forwards across the rushes strewn over the dirt floor. Small things rolled and broke under my feet. I did not look closer to see what they were. They felt like bone fragments.
The hall continued on for a long time. The darkness swallowed me up and I could only see a handful of yards in any direction. The columns supporting the roof blurred together, each one the same as the last. Round posts with the bark roughly hewn off, painted in ochre tones of yellow and red. Primitive colors made from the earth. This place was very old, a remnant from the earliest edges of human civilization.
I reached the end of the hall. At first I took the back wall for a mosaic, dark wood interspersed with ivory points of varying sizes. Then, as I drew closer, the shapes resolved themselves. Skulls. The back wall was covered with skulls. Animal skulls of all sizes. I recognized groundhogs, squirrels, deer, and a couple coyotes.
A platform of rough hewn stone was built against the back wall. On it sat a chair, backless, with a rounded seat of hide stretched between two ornate arms. The carvings that covered the legs and arms were the only intricate decoration I’d seen in this entire place.
I crept closer to the chair, trying to get a better look. It was then that I noticed there was something strange about the mortar holding the stones together.
It glistened in the faint candlelight, like a fatty cut of meat.
I drew up short with a sudden sense of unease. Nervously, I hefted the crowbar, taking confidence in its weight. I held still and listened to my surroundings, intently searching for any noise, any sign that something was urgently amiss.
A rattling in the corner. Like the scuttling of tiny claws. I pivoted to face it, just in time to see one of the skulls fall off the wall.
It did not strike the ground. It stopped just short, as if falling into thick snow, and then it tilted gently to one side and went motionless. Smoke condensed beneath it, barely discernible in the dim light of the candles.
It felt like it was staring at me.
Then it was gone, swiftly flowing out of sight the instant I blinked. Heart pounding, I watched the shadows, trying to discern where it had gone. But behind me I heard another noise, like the scrape of claws, and I turned to face it just as another skull fell from the wall. This, too, was caught by the smoke.
I felt like my heart was ready to burst from my chest. The rushing of my own blood echoed in my ears. I licked my dry lips and waited, my eyes darting back and forth in a vain attempt to watch all angles. The room was silent. I couldn’t depend on my hearing. How would smoke make noise?
The first came from my right. It swept in low, the smoke billowing like the incoming tide. I turned on my heel and brought the crowbar down in an overhead swing. It connected just as the creature surged upwards, the empty eye sockets leering. The mid part of the crowbar crushed through the skull and into the brain cavity and the smoke dispersed as if flattened, floating back down to the ground.
Blunt teeth raked against my shoulder. I hissed and spun, swiping sideways with the crowbar as I did. It passed through the column of smoke and the creature faltered, as if losing its balance, and a follow-up swing sent the skull tumbling away in three separate pieces.
More skulls were rattling on the wall. Three fell. Then two more. They were quickly swallowed up in the darkness, only to emerge seconds later, lunging at me from the shadows. I would dispatch one with a well-aimed blow and then turn to counter another. Or feel the bite of their teeth. I could only be thankful there was no jawbone with which to crush whatever limb they latched onto when they had an opening. Still, the teeth broke skin. I barely felt the pain underneath the adrenaline.
They were aiming for my throat. For my abdomen. And for every one I dispatched, another couple skulls would fall.
Then there was another sound, overwhelming the rattling of the skulls or my own frantic breathing. Laughter. A gurgling, wet laugh, emanating from the direction of the throne. I risked taking my eyes off the shadows and saw that the mortar holding the stones together was not… actually… mortar.
It was flesh. Jellied, translucent flesh. And it was seeping upwards, congealing on top of the dais, working its way up the legs of the throne.
And it was laughing.
“Send them all!” I screamed at the dais. “I’ll smash every skull on that damn wall if I have to!”
There were so many now. They crowded between the columns, lines of ivory skulls bobbing on a thick carpet of smoke. I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my nerves. I could do this, I told myself. I was stronger than them. Their teeth could not pierce very far and so I only had to outlast them and protect my vitals. And hadn’t Beau taught me how to outlast?
“Go on,” I growled. “My name is Kate. I’ve killed inhuman things before and I’ll destroy all of you as well if I have to.”
The chuckling finally stopped with a final, satisfied note echoing down the long hall. Panting, I pivoted, watching as the creatures receded into the shadows between the columns. Finally, only once the silence returned and nothing else came out of the darkness at me, did I turn and give my full attention to the mass at the fore of the room.
It covered the throne as a shapeless mound of flesh the color of an onion. A quivering lump fully the height of a human and just as wide, the chair hazy behind the translucent jelly. As I watched, small shapes detached from the dais. Stones, two the size of my fist and the rest the size of walnuts. These slowly made their way up through the entity’s body until they floated in the middle of the space between the arms of the chair. The larger stones positioned themselves as eyes and the rest became teeth. The teeth split apart and it began to speak.
“Have you brought me tribute?” it gurgled.
“No,” I replied.
“Then you are an intruder.”
All around me, the skulls shifted, moving forwards a pace. I resisted the urge to raise my weapon once more.
“That is not my intent either.”
“Ahhhhh.” The teeth spread into a smile. “Then you are a
supplicant.”
“Are you a king of the Partholanians?” I asked.
Those ancient people of Ireland who died of disease.
“It has been a long time since I’ve heard their name,” it replied thoughtfully. “We are
of them. They had a name for our hall. It has since been forgotten.”
I briefly considered telling it what we call them, but quickly squashed the idea. I didn’t want to cause myself more problems by naming it and I certainly didn’t want to name it “the hall of the gummy bears” I mean that’s a terrible name.
DO NOT CALL IT THAT IN THE COMMENTS.
“There’s thorns on my land,” I said. “They’re rotting the trees.”
“So you seek us?”
“They say the Partholanians died of disease.”
“You
are a supplicant, here to beg a boon,” it hissed.
My heart sank. Another bargain. It named what it wanted with no small measure of malicious joy and I knew before it finished that I would not be able to grant what it wanted.
It asked for bodies. Human bodies. Not these weak animals that they steal here and there, filling their wretched, dead corpses with the spirits of its people until the flesh dissolved to pieces around them and they came fluttering back here, to this last refuge of its kind. It wanted living flesh. Strong flesh, that they could inhabit and walk among the living once more.
I said that wasn’t possible. I offered it dead human bodies. It was something, at least, and I could obtain those. The funeral home might be willing to help. I only needed to fulfill the bargain long enough to get a remedy for the thorns, I thought desperately.
The creature refused. They were tired of inhabiting dead things, bodies that had already given up on life and could not be restored. It wanted a heart that remembered how to beat and lungs that knew how to breathe.
“And what of the person that inhabits that flesh?” I asked.
“Perhaps the soul will stay. Perhaps it will depart. I do not care.”
If I did this, it said, it would give me what I needed to stop the rot. I took a deep breath. And I agreed to its bargain. It shook with pleased laughter.
“One last question,” I said. “Why can’t you get a body of your own making, like how the other creatures on my campground have?”
Beau says he remembers being on my land, walking down the road looking for someone to share his drink with. He came from
somewhere, as did the hammock monster and the lady with extra eyes and all the others.
“The watcher will not let us pass,” it hissed. “We are too weak. We cannot take form. We can only steal, scavenging the scraps. It is a shameful survival. Do you pity us?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Nor do we pity
you. We see your death sometimes, lurking in the woods.”
“My death?” I asked desperately. “The beast? Or something else?”
It chuckled, a sickening gurgling sound, like boiling mud.
“Bring me bodies,” it said, “and perhaps I will tell you more.”
I recognized the dismissal. I turned and walked away, the skin on the back of my neck crawling under the weight of all those empty eyes watching me go. The doors to the hall hung open for me and when I passed through, the trees unwound themselves and the arch and the hall were gone. There were only the snow-laden branches of the campground.
I’m a campground manager. I have no intention of honoring this bargain. I admit that it
is tempting to give some of my more problematic campers to them. Heck, for some of them, being a flesh vessel for the decaying soul of an unborn monster of ancient times would probably be a personality improvement. However, as I’ve discussed before, the town does not look kindly on bargains with evil things. They turn a blind eye to the campground for the most part since we contain the evil things, but I feel this might cross a line. There’s no direct benefit for the townsfolk, after all. I’m not keeping something away from them. The gummy bears are stuck here already. If anything, I’m throwing innocent people into their maw just to make them stronger.
I don’t think they’d accept it being worth the sacrifice to get rid of the thorns, either. They tend to be rather short-sighted. It would take the thorns consuming the campground and overflowing into
their land for them to accept the necessity of such a bargain. I don’t have enough time to wait for that.
And I don’t know… it’s kind of nice to be the heroine sometimes. Maybe this is my father’s legacy coming out. He always wanted to save people.
So I’m going to cheat. That’s one of the strengths of humanity. We can freely use deceit. I just need a willing accomplice.
And I know exactly who to ask.
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