The Black Forest, known for its insidious reputation, remains to this day a sweeping archive of anomalies, cautionary tales, and unresolved tragedies. Like a siren, it lures its prey with a false promise before dragging it down into the depths of oblivion, kicking and screaming, before hush returns to the surface, moseying indifferently.
Somewhere beneath its all-encompassing shroud, a group of armed forces dare to set foot here, their weathered boots gently crushing the soil as they march along a traced path with calculated purpose. Their unofficial captain, Dylan, spearheads this operation with one crucial objective… to find the Gazer and kill it.
Their only reliance for survival, other than their firepower, are their newly acquired first-person headsets which are supposedly designed to insulate the creature’s lethal gaze—but this has yet to be truly assessed.
It had been arduous hours since they had crossed the forbidden threshold, and they still have yet to encounter anything that resembles the eldritch serpent that was captured in Carol Marston’s phone… supposedly. The prolonged suspense—where every second feels like a minute—has since given way to fatigue, doubt, and anxiety.
It also doesn’t help that the visibility here has since diminished because of the thickening fog smothering the daylight. If not for the group’s protective layering, the chill would have pierced their bones already.
“Uh… Captain?”
“Yeah, Josh?”
“I know I shouldn’t be asking this, but we are still on the right track, aren’t we?”
Dylan lets slip a sigh. “Yes, we ought to be.”
“Ought to be?” Josh frowns under his visor, his mouth hanging bitterly. The unit member decides to keep quiet until something in his limited peripheral catches his interest. “Hey, look… another one.”
“What…?”
The group slows to look where he is pointing, and there they see it. Over on their far left, a peculiar ‘tree’ sticks out from the rest. Not only is it smaller than its neighbours, but its appearance is all brittle and distorted. Its branches look more like twisted limbs, its lower trunk shaped like a crude gown.
“So what of it?”
“You don’t find it strange?” inquires the younger officer.
For a moment, his captain humours the curiosity before shrugging it off. “It does look strange, but we’re not here to sightsee… we’re here to hunt,” he states firmly.
“Right… of course.”
With a brisk nod, Josh picks up his own pace as to compensate for the holdup. The others lag behind to resume their bearish quest.
Admittedly, Dylan himself had already begun questioning whether or not they are in over their heads, something he, as the leader, dares not to vocalize. This waiting game has all five of his senses working overtime, which is something he ought to be accustomed to by now. But even with all this armour and weaponry, this particular forest has an uncanny way of making him feel dwarfed and naked.
Their optical screens don’t do much to alleviate things either, even with all the conditioning and adjustments made to accommodate their sore eyes for prolonged periods, especially in regards to their peripheral vision and depth perception.
“With respect, I don’t know how much longer I can wear this,” bemoans Josh.
Dylan replies without crabbiness, “I share your sentiment, but just remember two things…” he turns to the younger man directly, “… these are only expensive prototypes, and two, this mission is bigger than any of us. You would do well to remember that when you signed up, Josh… or have you forgotten?”
“N-No, sir…” he stutters.
“Good.” Dylan gives him a quick pat on the back. “I need you with—”
Before the commander can finish his sentence, an echoing pop draws his attention back forward. Without a second to spare, he aims the barrel of his rifle at the source of this noise, his team following suit with equal swiftness…
… only to see a doe standing above them on a raised mound of land.
“Hold your fire,” he bids rather breathily.
The doe, somewhat unfazed, observes the oddly clothed bunch through its beady black eyes and dish-like ears before it hops down, prancing out of sight into a vast, curving gutter just up ahead.
“Sir…?”
“Just… come on.”
And so, the team advances through this… meandering ditch… with their trigger fingers tensed and visors ever-oscillating now. This path that they’re in… it stretches far enough to hold a river almost… yet there is nothing natural about this land formation—it looks as though a bulldozer ran through here…
… or something leviathan, Dylan figures.
“What do you think happened here?” whispers Josh.
This time, Dylan chooses not to answer until they make it through to the other end where he and his group would soon discover something unwonted…
… a ravaged, deteriorating cabin standing on its final leg, its roof sagging inwards.
“Whatever tore through here clearly didn’t finish the job, huh?”
Again, he ignores the nervous chatter so he can study this condition…
… until it clicks— could this be the cabin that Andrew hid in?
“Josh…”
“Sorry, sir…” stammers the younger peer, “… I-I’ll keep my mouth shut—”
“Nah, you’re good,” he assures while motioning for everyone else’s attention. “I just need you all to guard the perimeter while I take a look inside.”
“Y-Yes, sir.” Josh offers his boss a meek salute, the rest nodding along.
Just then, another shock occurs—a sharp bleat from close behind, mixed with hooves drumming on wood. Dylan whips one-eighty to see another deer—or probably the same one—galloping out of the cabin’s demolished entrance with furious urgency before it retreats back into the wilderness, fading into the fog.
Annoyed now, Dylan raises his finger. “Not a word.”
“O-Okay, sir…” Josh turns away, biting back a grin.
With a brisk sigh, Dylan proceeds into the shed, every step feathered into pitch-black darkness before his visual camera adjusts to the indoor lighting conditions.
Immediately, while scanning the ruined interior, the man spots a broken piece of hardware strewn across the floor—a DSLR camera, which has since collected dust in its long absence.
“You’re shitting me…” he utters hopefully.
Squatting over, he picks up the device to inspect it. With measured care, he tries vainly to switch it on with a flat battery still inside. When that doesn’t work, he flips the camera over to find its SD storage… empty, of course.
Rather than waste his time dwelling, the resourceful deputy sheriff unpockets his phone to snap a good enough picture of his finding with the flash on before sending it to Carol… which takes a while due to the poor bandwidth offering him a small window.
But once it is sent, Dylan receives a lightning-fast reply… a thumbs up emoji.
“Josh!” he calls out with a light smirk.
The former hurries inside. “Yeah?”
Dylan stands up, still holding the scrap. “You’ve got one of your baggies with you, right?” he asks him.
With a quick nod, the younger officer digs through one of his pockets to pull out a large sealable plastic bag, then opens it wide for his captain to put in. With the evidence now collected, Josh secures it in his tactical backpack.
“So, uh… what now?”
“What now?” His boss thinks for a bit. “We push on, that’s what—”
The floor—for no reason whatsoever—pushes up against their feet as a tremor surges through the forest, causing everyone to buckle their knees and plant their soles. The roof rains more debris as it sags lower, threatening to crush the inhabiting officers.
“RUN!”
Seizing Josh by the collar, Dylan dashes him through the exit before a plume of dust swallows them whole, followed by spits of grain and wood splinters.
As soon as the earth stills, the team covers their mouths to avoid breathing in the pollution as they try to fan it away. It is thanks to their first-person visors that their eyes are at least protected, though their cameras are now covered in those same particles.
“I-Is everyone…” Dylan coughs raggedly, “… is everyone… ok-kay?”
At first, no one answers him as they are all busy clearing the dry filth out of their own lungs, some having to gag before drooling it out in thick trails… Josh included. Eventually though, they each give him a weak thumbs up.
“Y-Yeah, I…” Josh barks out a sneeze, “… I think so.”
“Alright…”
While the dust settles, the captain takes an extra few minutes to pat off his clothes, then to decompress. With the adrenaline having worn off, he realizes just how fatigued he’s become. In his spot, he stands limply with his head down, his eyes demanding rest with increasing heaviness.
“Captain…”
As of right now, his body wants nothing more than to crash in his nice bed, his lower spine and knee joints strained from continuous exertion. Even his toes now are swelling with blisters; he reckons they are red and pudgy too.
“Dylan!”
With a subdued gaze, he lifts his face to Josh. “What is it?”
His subordinate carefully points him off somewhere, his jaw hanging uselessly.
By now, Dylan’s patience has run dry, stonewalling his emotional perception. “If this is about another stupid looking tree, I am not—” but once he sees within the frame of his own screen what has the former so speechless, his own breath too catches in his throat, flipping his mood in an instant. “What in the blue fuckery is this…??”
His troubling reaction persuades the rest of his squad to raise their guard at whatever has their commander so colourfully stunned… only to themselves freeze in a similarly enchanted fashion—whatever this is, it’s as beautiful as it is haunting.
“So…” Josh breathes anxiously, “… it’s not just me who’s seeing this?”
“No,” responds Dylan, his voice barely a whisper.
In front of this audience, there appears a mystic trail floating through the forest… a drove of micro-stars rivering between the trees in a singular, unwavering direction which leads far beyond the now-flattened wood structure.
Without so much as a second thought, the seasoned deputy lifts his protective eyewear so he could chance a glimpse of this majestic, supernatural phenomenon through the film of his own eyes, thereby breaking his own rule… albeit momentarily.
“They look like…”
“The ones filmed at the college the other night?” Josh concludes for him.
Dylan nods, silently agreeing. “Let’s push on,” he then orders.
“Over there?”
Instead of answering, he quite simply marches forward over the splintering debris, his intention crystal clear. The rest of his unit follows suit while sticking close to their leader, their guns covering every possible direction.
The trail, after much deliberation, takes this group down a steep slope…
… eventually leading them towards a vastly obscured clearing.
Further in, they advance, their mouths clamped shut as they breathe through their nostrils forcibly. The less they are able to see, the more unpredictable their path becomes—it’s as if the world around them had been erased, leaving only this rolling patch of grass around their feet.
But very soon, something else in this cursed forest stops the officers cold in their tracks, stupefying them altogether… all except for Dylan, who remains steadfast.
Way out here, in this uncomfortably open space, the team bears witness to what could be described as a congregation of embers, the same ones they were following, spiralling like a dust devil over a massive square-shaped crater before they slow down to a crawl, remoulding themselves into more of a… gravitational sphere.
Next, this gravitational sphere—or whatever this field of energy is supposed to be—makes a careful descent until it touches down on the crater’s epicentre… and then just sits there, its glittered barrier beating rhythmically… like a heart.
“What… is this…??” mouths Dylan through his parched lips.
As if that wasn’t enough, this… emberical sphere… ‘decides’ to do something else. Its round barrier not only begins to shrink, but it also begins to develop what appears to be… some kind of embryo inside its core, much like an egg would.
This embryo, however, skips through the fetal stage entirely as its ‘body’ rapidly grows—or simply expands—into a fully ripe adult, sprouting arms and legs from all the right sides. Its head, on the other hand, remains hollow and featureless.
This thing, as of right now, kneels in a fetal position while its outer shell envelops the ‘body’, adding an extra layer of ‘skin’ to its ghostly humanoid form…
… giving it life.
Andrew Coffey didn’t quite know what he was doing this time. For sure, he had a clear goal, but his means of getting to that point were rather… sketchy at first. On his quiet little boat dock, the blind man followed his usual workout routine before settling into lotus to meditate—he couldn’t wait for anyone this time, not even Alice.
This forbidden zone, harnessed through weeks of practice, had always provided a near-intoxicating comfort, an all-too-inviting escape from his ‘earthly’ burdens. But as of now, he wields this power with a purpose bigger than himself; if he can do his part, then he must do it to its full potential…
… to answer his calling.
This time, however… something had changed.
Instead of a smooth transition out of his own body…
… he was instantly ripped away by a magnetic force so ferocious that he swore he was about to get vaporized atom by atom—except he didn’t… somewhat.
This pain—or whatever shock gave him the illusion of such pain—lasted for only a fraction of a second, though its backwash lingered long after.
Currently, Andrew feels himself slowly reassembling as he, through his disembodied field of vision, gets to observe his new surroundings. This place, he is unable to recognize as of yet since there isn’t much he can see through this volume of fog. No trees seem to exist here, nor even a sky—just a massive ditch of crushed soil curving upwards from his central position like…
… a crater?
Examining again, he notices four visible corners on each end, like whatever could have made this shape in the ground had to be specifically…
… no…
… no, it can’t be.
There is no way he can be back here…
… not this easily.
Could something else… with a will of its own… have transported him here?
For all that this young man knows, he could have been stewing with these thoughts in this one spot for hours or mere seconds, because this particular mental exercise has a funny way of stretching or compressing his perception of time.
As for the circling embers, they shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to him anymore—how wrong he was, considering what they would do next…
All at once, they congregate towards him like moths to a flame, each modicum sticking to his invisible skin like glitter, forming a starlike shell for his spectral avatar… hands, feet, toes, and fingers too. It could also be safe to assume that his head and face are just as visible, though how much of the latter detail remains to be seen.
This power he possesses…
… it—or he —must be getting stronger.
With the materialization now complete, ‘Andrew’ looks up from his kneeling position to see… one, two, three— several armed units peering down from the rim, their shoulders slumped and mouths agape. From their vested uniforms, he can tell these are county sheriffs. They have these weird contraptions on their faces… some advanced-looking VR goggles, with spy cams attached to them— wait… can they see me??
When he tries to stand, two things happen: the officers raise their weapons, threatening to open fire on him—all but one standing in the front and centre of the group—and two, a weight clinging around his ‘neck’ pulls him back down.
Whatever this is, he doesn’t allow it to stop him. With some added effort, the emberical anomaly wrestles against this gravitational force until he is upright on his feet to face those officers directly. The next thing Andrew does is reach for the sky.
This action alone stumps the group further, their heads wheeling to one another for answers, their lips flapping voicelessly… all while their fingers continue itching on their triggers—their bullets shouldn’t hurt him… but he can’t take any chances.
The man front and centre, who is clearly their leader, makes a silencing hand gesture that stands his team down before uttering something to his closest member… something about taking precaution, Andrew reckons.
Their leader proceeds then to make his way down the slope to… actually approach him, his own rifle pointing downwards as if he is expecting to negotiate or something— is he insane? Even Andrew can’t believe it.
There is something oddly familiar about this man too… it feels like they’ve met before. He can only wonder if it’s mutual… though likely not. But when the man lifts his headpiece to properly face him, the boy begins to suspect…
… until he identifies the badge on his vest.
’Deputy Sheriff… Dylan??’
For him to be here, of all places… it can’t be a coincidence, no way at all.
Finally, with enough courage mustered, this man attempts to speak to him, his eyes staring intently while his lips enunciate every word carefully. Unfortunately, his words quite literally fall on deaf ears, leaving Andrew to guess what this officer is saying to him. His two most sensible guesses are, ‘Who are you?’ or ’What are you?’
To communicate this lack of understanding, the spectral phantom shrugs with his glittering shoulders before waving a hand next to his head where his ears are supposed to be… both of which are visually absent as well.
The look on Dylan’s middle-aged face afterwards, a riddle of different emotions combined… what a sight to behold. One can only imagine how bewildering it must be to see something so ‘alien’ acting so… human.
But as soon as that blow wears off, an idea flashes in the officer’s head. Acting with haste, he takes out his phone to type something in it, then displays his screen to the entity while keeping a measured distance with his outstretched arm.
Leaning closer, Andrew tilts his head to read the text…
‘Nod if u can read this,’ it says.
With a ghost of a smile, he does so confidently.
Pumped with excitement now, Dylan writes something else: ‘R u a threat?’
Andrew, through this spectral avatar, shakes vigorously…
… much to everybody’s relief.
Their boss, however, retains some scepticism as he hesitates with his third question, glancing away nervously: ‘Do u know who we are?’
This time, Andrew pauses for a bit, debating whether or not he should answer this one truthfully while assessing the risks. Ultimately, he settles for another yes— this is bigger than you, he reminds himself.
Just then, before anyone can process this revelation, the visible phantom snaps his head in a far-off direction—for the first time ever, he hears a sound originating from beyond his physical confines… whispers from beyond the grave…
… voices he can soon recognize, just beyond this crater.
“Andrew!?”
No way… it can’t be.
“Edge!?” he hears his own voice cry out. “Edge, is that really you!?”
“Oh, thank fuck!”
Realization hits him like a truck—this is a memory… from that night.
But how…? How is he reliving this… like pre-recorded messages in his mind?
“It was RIGHT THERE!” shouts his past self.
“Alright, alright!” his best friend tried to assure him.
“It was right there!” Andrew knows exactly what he was referring to; he even remembers pointing as best as he could to this crater that he now currently stands in, which was just after he lost his eyesight, the pain still fresh. “I saw it with my own eyes before…”
There is one—or maybe two possible answers…
… this could either be the work his third eye… or something else entirely.
Either way, he decides to use this concession to his advantage. Not only can he recall their past voices, but he can also reconstruct the sound of their movements… such as the splashing of water and wet rustling of clothes leading back out of this previously flooded clearing.
“It’s here.”
“Let’s go.” The ghost of Edge can be heard grunting while doubling his efforts to limp the former Andrew away… exactly as he did that night. “Next time, let’s just go to a beach or movie…” he commented afterwards, his voice gradually fading.
Without any consideration, the present Andrew walks straight through Dylan, terrifying the seasoned officer as he chases the echo, eager not to lose its trail, the only hindrance being his unexplainable heaviness—it’s like trying to walk underwater.
All the other officers waiting at the top divide hurriedly, opening a wide berth for the projected entity as he climbs out of the crater in their exact direction. One of them in particular, another man who appears younger than Dylan but older than himself, has his trembling rifle trained on him, his evident fear standing high above the rest…
… until his boss prompts him to stand down once more.
Andrew, barely fazed by this instance, continues his stride indifferently. He shortly discovers that the closer he stays to the echo, the clearer it aligns in relation to his position, both past and present—it makes him feel like a time travelling bat.
Eventually, the awaiting tree-line waxes into view, its towering, rugged, vegetative outline billowing through the fog. Pausing briefly, the astral entity looks back to see whether or not he is being followed.
Judging by the team’s finicky body language and inaudibly tense chattering, there are obvious signs of mistrust, not that he can blame them. They idle for a moment until their captain, who ascends from the crater himself, gives his subordinates a firm check before leading them all to follow after Andrew, donning his visor again.
If Andrew could smile in gratitude, he absolutely would. But without a clear visage, he instead nods at the man… simple enough.
The day coasts by, its muggy lambency refusing to let up anytime soon, resulting in an atmospheric, heavily diffused Tyndall effect that shimmers through the curdling grove, its viewing radius having only improved slightly.
“I still don’t know about this…” murmurs Josh into Dylan’s ear, his mouth curled in a grimace, his nostrils flaring restlessly. “Can we really trust this… thing, boss??”
“Right now… we need all the help we can get.”
This answer doesn’t satisfy him. “How can you—actually… never mind.”
“No, no… you aren’t far off actually,” Dylan assures as he ponders himself. “Call it intuition,” he surmises. “I genuinely don’t think it wants to hurt us.”
“And… what if you’re wrong?” challenges the younger sheriff…
… only to be met with a palpable silence.
As for their… aberrant guide, whose unsettling presence has become both a source of aversion and enticement for the brigade, he endures the speculation while transfixing his focus on the budding path ahead.
Andrew Coffey, in his already puzzled mind, finds himself still wondering what could have changed in the earth’s gravitational field to have him lagging this way, especially since his followers appear to share no such problem—it’s as if something had latched itself onto his metaphysical form, piggybacking off of him.
It feels neither static nor stable…
… it feels alive.
But what could—no!
Right now, this should be the least of his worries— just do your part to find Edge and worry about it later… you owe him at least—
Out of nowhere, the phantom stumbles backwards before collapsing onto his knees, clutching his ‘nose’ as if he had walked headfirst into an invisible barrier—a violating stench, more repugnant than anything he ever encountered, needles its way into his ‘nostrils’ like a pair of talons…
… it smells like he had stumbled into a hellscape of rotting corpses.
Worse still, his mouth was also open—like a tube being forced down his throat, he wants to throw up… but can’t. To add more insult to injury, nothing he tries is able to block out this malodour— curse his phantom hands.
But how…
… how could he be smelling this? Unless…
Before Andrew could capitalise on these thoughts, the leading officer kneels down beside him, his physical demeanour expressing… concern… as he flashes him an OK sign, to which the latter nods again. Despite their past differences, Dylan’s grounding presence provides enough encouragement for the projected entity to rise back up and persevere— remember, Andrew… this is bigger than you.
And so, the carcass smell only strengthens as he stalks closer to the source… wherever it is. If he can’t trust two of his five senses, then he may as well rely on his sixth… which he is now beginning to have second thoughts about.
In the meantime… he hears a monstrous echo… a leviathan creature slithering through the ground towards his position… and their past voices crying out.
“RUN!”
“Andrew, the tail… it’s huge!”
“DON’T LOOK AT IT!! JUST FUCKING RUN!!”
But of course, no matter how many times he replays this scene, wishing for some miracle to change it… the result will always be the same.
“I’ll buy you some time.”
“Edge, n-no…”
“COME ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!”
And here it is… the climax of Andrew’s trauma in all its gratuitous glory. Overwhelmed again, he finds a tree to slump against, which funnily enough supports him, while his memory delivers the curtain call to this formative tragedy…
… a bloodcurdling shriek from his best friend before he is promptly torn apart…
… followed by a reverberating, all-consuming silence.
As of now, the stench is worse than ever, which threatens to suffocate him if he so much as breathes one more time. What he doesn’t know is whether it’s coming from his mental location… or his physical location, back home on his dock.
Right now…
… he can barely think, let alone concentrate…
… yet he hangs on…
… just long enough to see what lies in front of him…
… in the exact spot where the final screams of his best friend were heard.
Officer Dylan, having witnessed this abnormal behaviour along with everyone else, exercises caution as he looms over the entity to observe his condition. This entity, whom he can safely assume is male, appears to be… hurt, or distressed even… from what the man can deduce.
When he checks over his shoulder for a moment, he notices the team behind Josh documenting this incident with their own phones, much to his annoyance; this is supposed to be a team of professionals. On the other hand, he can’t entirely fault them for doing such a thing either…
… because without proof, how else would they explain this?
Turning back to the entity, Dylan squats to the latter’s ‘eye level’. Very soon, as he methodically scans their environment, he begins putting the pieces of this area together, and more particularly, this tree that they are currently occupying…
“No fucking way…” he whispers.
… this has to be the exact spot where they found Andrew.
Right then and there… the biggest suspicion worms its way into the deputy sheriff’s mind, compelling him to type something, a single word, into his phone before he waves it in front of the emberical entity to get its attention again…
… and when he does, he tentatively utters the name lit on its screen:
“Andrew…?”
For maybe a delayed second, the entity freezes like a statue before it perks towards the curious officer, its hollow face darting between him and his phone like a caught suspect before it bows its head to the ground, deeply contemplating…
… then nods once, giving in at last.
“You’re shitting me…” Dylan shakes in disbelief, almost smiling; he didn’t think he would actually be right— Carol, Carol, Carol… you magnificent little shit!
“Is everything okay, sir?” asks Josh while inching towards them.
Dylan hides his phone. “Yeah… we’re good.”
Josh remains doubtful, but he chooses not to push the matter.
The now-identified entity, with enough strength mustered, extends one of his arms, and with his visible index, points beyond the seasoned officer’s shoulder with trembling urgency. Following ‘Andrew’s’ finger, Dylan pans along the forest floor, squinting with focused intensity until his visor reveals…
… a distorted-looking tree over at the end.
“Another one?” blurts Josh, his mouth agape.
“What about it?” Dylan questions, his tone reverting to its usual stoicism. Facing ‘Andrew’ again, he types another message for him to read: ‘Investigate tree?’
This time, the corporeal phantom raises his thumb.
Standing up, the commanding officer motions to Josh. “Come on… we’ve got a funny looking tree to investigate, so… it looks like you were maybe onto something.”
“W-Wait…” stammers the young sheriff, “… are you serious?”
Dylan gives him a vague sigh. “I hope so.”
And so, with Josh’s assistance, he gathers his crew around the abnormal tree. Silently, they each take in turns inspecting its condition…
… it looks almost exactly like the last one they saw, porous and misshapen, except its roots are noticeably different—its bottom resembles a crooked pair of legs that converge into one mutated torso of a trunk, two of its many branches mirroring a pair of arms on each side too.
“What do you think, Josh?”
“Huh?” The latter is confused. “You’re asking me?”
“Yeah,” states Dylan simply.
“Okay, um…” Nervously, his young subordinate steps back to study its overall form. “It kind of resembles…” he holds his tongue for a bit, “… a person?”
“A person?”
“Y-Yeah…” he clears his throat while licking his lips, “… I mean, if you just look at it—hey, what are you doing!? Boss!”
Officer Dylan, in an almost trance-like state, closes his distance to the tree. Grabbing one of its branches with his gloved hand, he wrenches his wrist…
SNAP!
… breaking it off with extraordinary ease.
The rest of this branch crumbles away like charcoal until the trunk’s hollow is exposed, causing the entire unit to recoil in disgust—the same odour that lumbered Andrew is now plaguing everybody else, unleashed upon them like Pandora’s box.
“W-What th-the… f-fuck!?” Dylan can barely string together a sentence as he fights the urge to throw up—it’s like his stomach is getting turned inside out.
“W-What…?” Josh splutters, faring no better than anyone else. “Where is that…?” He covers his mouth with the crease of his arm while holding his breath. “Where is that… c-coming from!? It smells like—”
“Death,” grunts his captain. “And it’s emanating from… inside!”
By this point, Andrew Coffey can no longer tell where he is, let alone recognize what he even is anymore. This is by far the longest he has ever been out of his own body, all whilst having to endure the brunt of that smell from two different locations at once. What started off as a ‘power fantasy’ has long devolved into a torturous sensory overload that he wouldn’t wish on anybody…
… yet he holds on, breaching his limits to see their efforts through.
‘Do this for Edge…’
Summoning his courage, Andrew wills his avatar to move…
’… do this for Alice…”
… with maximum effort, he pushes against the earth to stand back on his feet.
‘… and do it for all the victims.’
Glaring ahead with a slight waver in his stance, he sees the rest of Dylan’s squad huddling around that tree, their hatchets chipping away at the charred wood. Piece by piece, they take it apart in surgical succession…
… until something inside—pale and fleshy, but partially obscured from his view—flops to the ground like a pile of overstuffed laundry. A cold knife pierces his heart as he hovers on over, taking his sweet time for whatever reason.
“Carol, do you copy?” speaks Dylan into his communicator.
The closer Andrew gets, the tighter it twists… all while he begins to hear whimpering from close by… but not from his own voice, nor anyone else’s here.
“Dylan, thank God!” The lady’s voice pipes from the man’s speaker. “What’s happening? Where are you?” Her tone is urgent, laced with apprehension.
“We found him, Carol…”
“Found him??” she clamours excitedly. “Who the hell did you find??”
As soon as the squad notices the spectral phantom approaching, the officers jostle out of his way to grant him an uncensored view of a rotting, mangled body… with a decaying face that he recognizes all too well from his days on campus.
“We found Edge,” Dylan states with morose finality. “We… found his body.”
For the third time this day, the ghostly projection of the victim’s friend collapses on all fours, this time out of pure despair, while the unknown voice sobbing in his ear escalates into anguished wailing, causing his persence to destabilize…
… a voice of whom he can shortly identify.
Like a fireman, James Coffey drops whatever he was doing as he charges out of his lodge to their lakeside jetty, his chest thundering over the worst possibilities. Over there, the old man bears witness to their guest, Alice, rocking like a possessed individual on their platform while engaged in a fit of hysteria.
Past the girl, he glances at his son, Andrew, whose unworldly stasis contrasts with her madness as he sits with his back to her… still in his meditation, it seems.
“Alice!” He runs over to her, extending his arms. “Alice, what’s wrong!?”
Pulling herself away, she lifts her face to the concerned father, revealing her grossly pinked nose, her tear-streamed mascara, and her horribly bloodshot eyes. “He’s…” her lips quiver as she chokes out, “H-He’s… dead.”
He freezes, first with confusion… then with knowing sapience. “Who—”
But before he can clarify anything, the young woman wrestles away from his grip as she flees into the house with frightful speed, leaving him and Andrew behind.
“Alice!” he calls after her, only to be answered with silence.
Shifting his attention to his son next, James circles around the boy…
… discovering to his own horror that his face is equally warped in paralysing sorrow, his teeth clenched while there are tears leaking from his own sealed eyes. Worse still is his glowing scar—not only is it pulsating more aggressively, but it has since turned a bright shade of crimson.
“Andrew!” Grabbing him by the shoulders, he shakes him. “Andrew! Son!”
But no matter how hard Mr. Coffey tries to stir him out of his… trance… the young man just won’t budge—he seems almost… trapped in this state.
“Come on, Andrew!” He shakes him harder, still with no luck.
Something else he notices is this gust of steam… emitting from his body too.
“What the fuck is going— ANDREW!!” he screams now at the top of his lungs in helpless desperation. Despite being at a loss, he refuses to relent for his son’s sake.
Back in the forbidden forest, Officer Dylan carefully examines Chord ‘Edge’ Castor’s body until he extracts something from one of his pockets… the SD card, from Andrew’s camera. “This is it,” he declares flatly. “Looks like we have what we came for.” Standing up, he hands the card to Josh for him to put away. “Zip him up,” he orders the crew with haste. “Let’s get him out of here.”
With disciplined care, the other sheriffs work sullenly to fit Edge into their body bag before they seal it up, ready to take him home.
“Why does this feel too easy?” wonders Josh out loud. “I don’t like it…”
“What are you talking about now?” inquires his captain dryly.
“The Gazer?” he answers simply. “I’m just wondering why we haven’t encountered it… after all this time.”
Dylan turns to the junior with visible ire. “Are you trying to tempt fate??”
“No, sir.”
“Then shut the fuck up!”
Unlocking his phone again, he quickly scrolls through his chat history with Carol just to make sure she’s received all their digital evidence, which includes graphic images of the crime itself, before sending his partner a quick message: ‘Otw.’
Shutting his eyes tightly now, the seasoned sheriff attempts with all his might to exile these gruesome images from the recesses of his recently branded memory, failing of course. In all his years of service, no crime scene could have prepared this man to behold such a desecrating sight…
… there were black vines protruding from every imbrued orifice on his face like a shapeless parasitic alien… from his mouth… his nostrils… his ear canals… and his eye sockets especially—a sickening depiction of body horror.
Shrugging it off, Dylan shifts his attention back to the visibly distraught entity, who now appears to be having some sort of seizure. He approaches this thing… Andrew… unsure of what to really do except—
“S-Sir…!?”
“What is— oi… what’s the matter?”
Josh stands apart from everyone else, the colour draining from his own face as he stares off somewhere, his mouth stretched open in a hissing, soundless scream.
“Josh…?”
With one trembling finger, he points away.
As soon as Dylan sees for himself what has the young cadet so petrified…
… a kind of fear, which one could describe as primal, coils through his entire body like a viral infection, churning him in ways that he never thought imaginable.
“Mother of God…”
