DAY 1
The camera jostles a bit as a man in his early forties kneels before it, clearly adjusting its position. He stands before the camera seconds later and grins.
This man is Caucasian, around 5’10”, with broad shoulders and large hands, and his weathered face is surrounded by a mop of wild black hair and a bushy black beard. He is dressed in a dark-blue parka with rugged blue jeans and good, dark-brown, leather, outdoorsman boots.
All around the man is an untamed wilderness of a temperate rainforest accustomed to a colder climate. He turns to wave his hand once at the uninhabited landscape, and then he turns toward the camera to shine a wide grin once more.
“I can’t believe I’m finally here, folks!” he says happily. “Now that I’ve made it as a contestant on Solitary Survivalist, and now that I’m finally here on this lonely little island outside of Canada, I am going to win that six-hundred K, and do you know why?…I’m glad you asked, because here’s why…I love being out here! No more office life, baby!”
He turns once more, stares at the unforgiving landscape, and then turns back toward the camera yet again, his ecstatic grin never leaving his bushy face.
“It’s Season 8 on Solitary Survivalist, and it’s day one, folks,” he says. “It’s day freakin’ one, and I am stoked!”
He claps his hands together and then puts his hands on his hips. He shakes his head once, that grin never leaving his bearded face.
“I’m going to scout around a little for a good place to set up camp—obviously near the beach—and then we’ll get this magnificent vacation going,” he says in excitement. “Day one, baby, yeah!”
He turns his profile to the side, cups his hands to his mouth to form a funnel with his fingers, and then lets out a long and loud howl. He drops his hands and turns toward the camera again. His most defining feature is that indomitable grin, a grin filled with unbroken enthusiasm and a superlative joy that only true freedom can bring.
“No more 9 to 5 for this bad boy,” he says happily. “This is Henry Allan Greene, signing off. So long for now, mis amigos.”
He bends over toward the camera, reaches forward, and shuts it off. The screen goes dark.
*****
DAY 5
The camera focuses on a rough shelter consisting of a green tarp propped up to form a small tent. The ramshackle tent is situated before some tall trees growing out of rough terrain in the background.
Henry stands before the camera, showing off his trademark grin. On his head is a strap camera that he is clearly using as well.
“Here we are again in the land of the truly free!” says Henry in excitement. “It’s day five, folks! As you can see behind me, I’ve set up my little motel for the time being, a temporary shelter in case all of you are wondering about my building skills.
“I’ll be working on a small cabin as soon as I cut down some smaller trees to collect some logs, and then I’m thinking of throwing in a stone fireplace I’ll make from rocks from the beach and clay I’ve found down near the water…”
The camera view switches to Henry’s head cam as he swivels his head in time to look past the original standing camera. The beach is clearly visible from his point of view, a narrow strip of rocky land next to a choppy plain of dark water that stands beneath a grey sky.
“I’ve found a good camping spot down here by the beach,” says Henry. “There’s a little stream to the north of me that has potable water, so we’re all set.”
The camera moves forward as Henry walks toward the beach. His head cam swivels to reveal a large white net strung up between two sets of dark boulders along the edge of the beach.
“There’s my gill net over there,” he explains. “I’ve caught five fish since I’ve been here, three on day two and two on day four, so that evens out to one a day, so I’ve been supplementing my diet with periwinkles and limpets I’ve found in the rocks out here. There are banana slugs out here too, out in the forest, but I haven’t found any yet.”
The camera swivels as Henry’s head turns. The camera view focuses upon the forest, specifically upon a rising mist that permeates the forest floor.
“It’s kind of a wet day out here,” he says unhappily. “Looking at the sky, I’d say there’s rain coming tonight, but that’s uhh…that’s pretty common in this area. The woods are looking pretty ugly, too. There’s a persistent fog around the trees that’s been here all morning…Crazy, crazy, man.”
The camera swivels to turn toward the roughshod tent and then turns to look back out over the dark ocean.
“So, I found some usable clay out on the south side of the beach,” he says in an upbeat voice. “I’ll be working on my cabin tomorrow, but I think I’ll avoid the forest for the time being…I did find some edible mushrooms and plantains—the weed, not the banana—out there yesterday, but I’d rather avoid stepping into that fog that’s been hanging around…Call me superstitious, but I don’t like the look of it.”
The camera swivels yet again to view the misty trees of the murky forest.
“You’re superstitious, Henry,” he chuckles. “Anyway, I’ve already checked the gill net, and there’s nothing in it, so I guess I’ll just have to wait a little longer…Time to go searching for crabs under the rocks! Yeah, they’re small, but they’ll do in a pinch…Get it?…Pinch?”
Henry chuckles as the camera turns toward the rocky beach once more.
The camera view switches to the original standing camera. Henry stands before it, bends over to look directly into the lens, and then shines his wide grin again.
“That was your dad joke of the day, kiddos,” he says happily. “Anyway, this is Henry Allan Greene, signing off. Later gators.”
He reaches forward and shuts off the camera. The screen fades to black.
*****
EARLY MORNING, DAY 6
The camera flips on to reveal Henry staring into it. He is lying down with his sleeping bag pulled up around him. The light of the camera reveals the green-tarp walls of his makeshift tent. The sound of heavy rain hitting the tarp is heard over the microphone, a repetition of pattering drops that is like a constant drumroll echoing overhead.
“Hey, mis amigos,” says Henry in a quiet voice. “It’s past midnight. It’s 12:05 in the morning to be exact…I just got woke up by a massive thunderstrike outside, and now I can’t get back to sleep.”
There is a flash of lightning that can be seen through the green tarp of the tent followed by rolling thunder.
“It’s getting closer,” says Henry. “I don’t like this one bit, but least I’m dry…I took the time to dig a flow trench around the tent that heads on down to the ocean, and that’s keeping the interior of my tent somewhat dry, but holy cow is it raining cats and dogs out there!…Yeah, it’s comin’ down, alright, but it’s the lightning I’m worried about. I don’t want to be a crispy critter. I feel kind of vulnerable out here on the beach.”
Henry quickly turns his head and looks behind himself.
“I thought I heard something,” he says quietly. “There’s nothing out in this storm, though. I know there are some big predators around here, like bears and wolves, but with this storm going on, at least I don’t have to worry about—”
Lightning strikes again, a bright flash in the darkness that lights up the tarp of the tent. A silhouette of something is seen beside the tent, a shadow of a form played out by the strobe of bright white that is the lightning.
The silhouette appears to be humanoid, that dark figure hunched over in a crouched position, with long gangly legs and equally long and gangly arms. The arms rest upon the knees with the hands hanging down in a lazy manner, the fingers long, narrow, and tipped by what appear to be sharp nails or claws. The humanoid head of the silhouette is elongated and narrow with a long, pointed, and hooked nose. Wisps of stringy and flowing shadow hang down from the malformed head, those wisps of shadow forming a thin veneer of what appears to be hair.
The flash of lightning is over almost as soon as it had begun.
“What the heck was that!” exclaims Henry in a fevered hush.
Lightning flashes yet again as thunder rolls from the previous lightning strike. The silhouette can be seen once more through the bright flare of the bolt’s descent. The silhouette is unchanged, the humanoid figure sitting, unmoving, next to the tent.
“Are you seeing this?” whispers Henry.
Another lightning strike once more reveals the silhouette on the tarp as thunder resounds outside, echoing closely this time to batter the mic amidst the incessant staccato of rain upon the tent. The silhouette, terrifying as it appears to be, does not move.
Henry turns toward the camera and shakes his head.
“It must be a tree or some debris that’s fallen next to the tent,” says Henry in a quiet voice. “If it’s a tree, I didn’t hear it fall, which means the powers that be must like me, because that means I was this close to getting crushed by a widowmaker.”
Henry holds up his right hand and pinches his index finger and thumb to form a narrow line of open space between the two.
“Still, I checked this area,” says Henry with audible doubt. “I know for a fact that I did not set up camp next to any widowmakers. I know how to recognize a dead and rotting tree as opposed to a healthy live—”
Startled, Henry turns his head to stare at the side of the tent his back is turned to. He stares and listens intently for a few seconds before speaking again.
“I thought I heard something again,” whispers Henry. “It sounded like—”
There is a resounding crash as several lightning strikes light up the pitch sky outside of the rain-pounded tent. The silhouette of the crouching humanoid figure is seen again in the same position as before. The constant flashes of several lightning bolts extend the brief glow that outlines the silhouette long enough to reveal the “head” of the unnerving shadow turning to stare at the tent itself, the shadowy wisps of its hair moving as it normally would by such an action.
Henry noticeably freezes and holds his breath as the lightning flashes end. There is no sound except for the ceaseless rain upon the tent and the rolling thunder echoing all around.
Lightning strikes one more time, a flash of brilliance outlining the exterior tarp, but there is no silhouette anymore, nothing there to indicate there was ever a presence to begin with.
Henry turns toward the camera, his face visibly pale. He looks visibly shaken.
“I really hope that showed up on camera,” he whispers. “I don’t know what that was, and I don’t want to find out…Now, I could hit the sat button and tap out, but no one would ever believe me if I did explain why I tapped out, so I’m not going to do that, but still…that was wild.
“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I mean, my Aunt Margaret used to say she talked to the ghost of my Uncle Joe while he was on the toilet, but she was also prone to falls with a lot of head injuries, if you know what I mean…Personally, if I were a ghost, I wouldn’t want to be stuck taking a crap for all eternity…Then again, my Uncle Joe did die of a heart attack while he was on the crapper, so it makes sense.
“Anyway…Anyway, I don’t know what that was, but I’m going to review the footage as soon as I can. Maybe there won’t be anything on camera…
“If that’s the case, that means I’m hallucinating, which means my water source is no good. Come to think of it, that stream I’m drinking from may be getting a backflow of seawater, and drinking salt water is no good…I don’t know for sure, but I do know that stream is running downhill…
“Still, you can’t be too careful. If I start badly hallucinating, I’ll be forced to tap out, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to give up on day six…I mean, that’s ridiculous…I can do better than this.”
The ceaseless pattering of the rain starts to slow as both lightning flashes and thunder begin to spread further and further apart.
“It looks like things are starting to calm down out there,” yawns Henry. “I think I’m going to turn in, ladies and gents. This is to be continued…This is Henry Allan Greene, signing off. Good night, my little ghost chasers.”
Henry reaches forward and shuts off the camera. The screen is plunged into darkness.
*****
DAY 6
The camera reveals Henry standing in front of his makeshift tent. He is wearing his portable strap camera around his head.
Even though the sky is somewhat cloudy overhead, he appears upbeat despite his harrowing encounter during the storm and the general condition of the weather.
“Well, mis amigos, I’m up and running and ready to go,” says Henry.
He moves his arms in circles and then moves his head to the left and to the right.
“Getting a little stretchin’ done,” he says with a grin. “I’m off to cut down some smaller trees and then stack some logs. I think it’s time to build my cabin…Checked the gill net this morning, but there’s nothing in it…It was pretty beat up after the storm, and I’m really surprised it survived at all, so I’ll be repairing the damage with some paracord.”
The camera’s view switches to Henry’s headcam. The camera moves forward as the camera’s gaze focuses upon the rocks littering the forlorn beachfront.
“I found a few limpets and some periwinkles this morning, but there’s not much in the area,” he says. “I hope I can catch some fish soon. I’m starting to get hungry.”
The camera swivels to view the murky forest. A thick pall of fog covers the forest floor, obscuring it entirely.
“That fog’s been hanging around since yesterday,” he says, a tinge of unhappiness in his voice. “I can’t really search the vegetation for any edibles like this, and I can’t see the terrain to judge how it is. I could step into a hole or a drop-off and break an ankle. Can’t have that.”
The camera moves forward as it moves down to show Henry’s boots trudging across muddy, rocky beachfront, and then the camera’s view rises to show the forest edging closer and closer, only to stop right before the line of trees and rough terrain covered in thick fog.
Henry’s left hand reaches down and tries to scoop up the thick mist covering the forest floor, though his hand simply passes through it.
“This stuff is so thick, I can feel it,” he says quietly. “It feels cold, true, but I mean I can almost touch it, like it’s made of watery velvet…I wonder if this is what clouds feel like?…Weird.”
The camera swivels back around to view his tent.
“I’ll guess I’ll limit my chopping to the edge of the forest,” he says firmly. “I’m going to get busy today and try to keep my mind off of what I saw during the storm…It’s best not to think about it…Anyway, I’m going to get to work, so I’ll see you all later…This is Henry Allan Green, signing off. See you when I get something done, kiddos.”
The camera flips off, resigning the screen to darkness.
*****
DAY 11
The camera flips on to reveal Henry looking haggard, sleepless, and pale. He is standing outside right in front of the entrance to the forest. He has his strap camera around the top of his head.
“Whelp, mis amigos, I’m back,” he says with a distinct tinge of unhappiness in his voice. “I’ve just been too busy looking for food to actually deal with the cameras, so I’ll just recap what’s been going on.”
The camera’s view switches to Henry’s head cam, and his gaze is centered over the barren, rocky beach and the great expanse of the choppy ocean beyond it. Dark clouds roil overhead, yet there is no rainfall.
“So, there has been nothing…whatsoever…to eat,” he says grimly. “The periwinkles and…uhh…limpets disappeared three days ago. No little crabs, either. My gill net has caught nothing, and I’ve been fishing with pole and line since day eight, and still nothing. Nothing’s even nibbling at the bait.
“I’ve…uhh…caught a couple of mice with some Paiute-deadfall traps, but that’s dried up…Nope…Nope, nope, nope. No mice, no fish, no crabs or seafood of any kind…Nothing…It’s like everything but me has fled…Don’t believe me?…Listen…”
The view switches back to the standing camera. Henry stands stock still and holds his breath. Only the sound of the wind blowing over the beach can be heard. There are no sounds of wildlife coming from the forest.
“You hear that?” frowns Henry. “There’s nothing out here…Nothing…I should be hearing birds and the rustling of wildlife, sometimes the calls of bigger animals, but there is nothing out here right now. Not a thing…
“And that fog in the forest is still there. It’s still covering the forest floor, so I can’t look for any edibles in the vegetation. It’s not so cold that there’s nothing to eat in the way of greens, but I can’t search for anything like this. I mean, look at this…”
He steps aside to reveal the murky forest behind him. There is a distinct blanket of opaque fog that covers the forest floor. However, there is an open path through the fog directly behind him, a line where there is no thick mist, that path revealing the brown of dead vegetation upon the rough terrain. The open path leads off into the wild forest.
“Wait, what the…?” says Henry in audible confusion. “Where in the hell did that come from? That wasn’t there before…What is this? What’s going on?”
He turns toward the camera and then turns back toward the open path that leads into the forest.
“Are you seeing this?” he asks. “What do you think we should do, kiddos?…I guess I’m gonna find out where this little path leads…This is crazy…”
The camera view switches back to Henry’s head cam. The camera moves forward as Henry moves, the view capturing the open path as Henry enters the forest and travels upon that path through the fog.
“This is definitely crazy,” says Henry in a quiet voice. “There are, like, no sounds in the forest right now, and there’s this open path in the fog, and I have no idea where it goes…I may not be an expert on weather, but I’m pretty darned sure fog doesn’t behave this way, my fellow explorers.”
Henry’s head cam moves right to left and then back to center as Henry scans the thick trees around him. There is a blanket of persistent fog beneath the trees except upon the narrow path on which Henry is trudging forth.
“Beneath me is all dead vegetation, like it’s gone through the Fall season already,” says Henry. “All around me is this soup of a fog, but even weirder is the fact that this path is going through open spots in the trees, like the easiest walk through this nightmare terrain that I’ve ever had. It’s like a walk in the park…
“Hey, wait…I see something…Do you see that? There’s a clearing up ahead…”
The camera view moves forward as Henry moves forward. Up ahead is indeed a large clearing, that clearing consisting of some downed tree branches with sparse vegetation, most of that vegetation withered and brown. There are pink and reddish-pink flowers that have been plucked from their stems scattered here and there around the ominous clearing.
In the center of the clearing is a flattop tree stump, and upon that tree stump rests a large vanilla cupcake in a pink wrapper, multicolored sprinkles upon the swirled pink frosting that tops it.
“What the…?” asks Henry. “Are you seeing this?…I know I’ve said that a lot lately, but…are you seeing this? It’s not my imagination, right?…What in the hell is going on around here?”
The camera moves forward a bit and then stops its advancing motion.
“Nope…Nope, nope, nope,” says Henry. “I’m not walking into that…This…This is…I’m getting goosebumps. I’ve always heard that…that they tell police that when the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, you get the heck outta there…I’m hungry…Hell, I’m starving, but I ain’t falling for this…I don’t like this…I don’t like this…at…all…”
The camera centers on a large tree at the edge of the clearing. The camera zooms in on a what appears to be a large and gnarled grey hand with black nails upon spindly fingertips, that strange and warped hand clutching the edge of the tree. That horrifying hand slowly pulls back to disappear behind the tree.
“Yep, I’m outta here!” says Henry quickly.
The camera view turns and quickly rushes forward along the open path that leads back to the beach and back to Henry’s ramshackle tent. The sound of Henry’s crunching footsteps upon dead foliage is overlapped by his heavy breathing. The speed of the camera’s advance is quickened as thick and menacing fog rolls in to cover the path ahead.
“Not stopping now!” exclaims Henry.
The camera darts forward and then swivels down to reveal Henry’s dark-brown boots crunching onto beach rocks and grey soil. The view raises as it advances to the edge of Henry’s tent, and then that view lowers once more to reveal Henry’s weathered hands upon his black jeans as his breath is heard in ragged bursts.
“I’m tapping out,” he says between labored breaths. “I’m tapping out. I’m getting the hell outta here. I don’t know what’s going on, and don’t know what that was, but I am not cut out for this Blaire Witch BS. Six-hundred K is not worth getting slaughtered by…something…out in the middle of nowhere.”
The camera’s view switches back to the main standing camera. Henry opens up a large, black, leather, strap holster on his belt and pulls out a sturdy, yellow, veritable brick of a satellite phone. He hits a large red button in the center of it and patiently waits for a voice to answer.
“Yes?” comes a young female voice over the phone.
“This is Henry,” states Henry.
“Yes, Henry?” asks the voice.
“Yeah, I’m tapping out,” he says firmly. “I need you to come get me.”
There is a long pause over the phone that lasts for around thirty seconds.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Henry,” says the voice.
Henry’s rugged and bearded face works up in confusion before he replies a few seconds later.
“Excuse me?” he asks. “You…You have to come get me. I’m tapping out…I’m officially tapping out. Come get me.”
There is another pause of about fifteen seconds before the young female voice replies once more.
“Are you hungry, Henry?” asks the voice.
Henry shakes his head as a short but very noticeable mask of fear covers his face. He sucks in his breath and then swallows once, his throat visibly moving up and down.
“W…Who…?” he stammers. “Who is this?”
“Good little boys eat their treats, Henry,” says the voice.
Henry immediately hits the big red button on the sat-phone and then tosses the yellow brick away from himself. He stands before the camera for a few seconds, his brown eyes wide, those eyes darting back and forth as he appears to be thinking at light speed.
“I can’t tap out,” he says in a shaky voice. “I can’t tap out; I can’t…I can’t call out, but…but there’s a wellness check after the first twenty days…It’s day eleven…All I have to do…All I have to do is make it till day twenty. That’s it…I just have to make it till day twenty, and it’s all good…”
Henry reaches up and pulls the strap camera from off the top of his head. He stands there within the main camera’s view, his eyes wide, his hands shaky.
“I…uhh…” he says in a tremulous voice. “I…I’m going to get my axe. I’m going to get my axe, and we’ll…uhh…cut down some narrow trees to make some defenses. I think lining the area around my tent with some pikes is a good idea…Yeah, that sounds like a good idea…”
He turns to look back toward the murky trees behind him. The dark forest is thick with fog to the point where nothing can be seen within it.
“Yeah…Yeah, I think that’s what I’m going to do,” he says more firmly. “I think I’ll be keeping my axe by my side, too.”
Henry turns to look back at the camera. His brown eyes slowly wander from side-to-side as he visibly thinks.
“I normally don’t film every day, but due to extenuating circumstances, that has changed,” he says. “I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll check in with you all tomorrow morning…This is Henry Allan Greene signing off…See you tomorrow…hopefully.”
The screen goes dark as he reaches toward the camera and shuts it off.
*****
DAY 12
The camera flips on to reveal Henry standing before it. He looks haggard and worn out, as if he has had no sleep. He has his strap camera back upon his head.
“Hey, campers,” he says wearily. “This is Henry again…I did some work yesterday, but I couldn’t get much done…I’m just so hungry…There just isn’t anything to eat, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m a big guy, and I need a lot of calories…Plus, I was in shape before coming on the show, so it’s not like I have a lot of fat to burn. I guess this hunger is just hitting me harder than it would other people…
“There’s just nothing to eat. There are no fish, no animals, no edible vegetation, nothing. Everything’s up and gone, just gone. It is dead silent out here…However…However, that’s not the worst of it.”
The camera’s view switches to Henry’s head cam. The camera moves as Henry’s head moves, revealing the immediate area around his roughshod green tent.
There are large vanilla cupcakes with pink frosting placed carefully upon the rocky beach ground around his tent, along with a couple of large round cakes with pink frosting, all of the baked confections covered in multicolored sprinkles. Around the camp are scattered pink and reddish-pink flowers devoid of their stems.
“I discovered these this morning,” says Henry with audible unhappiness. “I’m not touching ’em, and I sure as hell ain’t eatin’ ’em…Yep, you heard it right, folks…There’s food right in front of me, and I ain’t touchin’ it, even though I’m starving to death.”
The camera raises as Henry looks toward the sky. Grey clouds roll across the sky, virtually blocking out the sun.
“The weather’s been this way for days now,” states Henry. “It’s just grey and miserable, yet it never rains…
“I can’t call in to tap out, and there’s nothing to eat, so I’m just going to have to wait eight more days for the crew to come check on me…I’ve been in some rough situations before, but nothing like this…Definitely nothing like this.
“I do know one thing for sure…I’m not eating any of this food.”
The camera turns to reveal the dark forest behind him. The fog is so thick within the forest now that even the trees are obscured.
“Unless I swim in that choppy, freezing water, I ain’t walking outta here,” he says. “I mean, I could handle a bear or a mountain lion or wolves, but this…What’s going on right now?…I don’t even know. This is too much.”
The camera swivels to center upon one particularly large cupcake.
“I’m not eating this crap,” he says with audible viciousness.
The view switches back to the main camera. Henry turns in place to where he is facing the murky forest, his back to the camera.
“Do you hear me!” he calls out. “I’m talking to you!…I’m not eating this! I’m never going to eat this! I’ll starve to death before I touch this!…Do you hear me! DO YOU HEAR ME!”
Henry turns back toward the camera. His expression is nothing short of helpless fear.
“I’ll try and put some pikes up around my tent,” he says shakily. “I’ve just been too weak to really do anything. Even thinking is becoming hard…Ugh…I’ve got work to do…or try to do…so I’ll check in later. This is Henry Allan Greene, signing off.”
The camera blacks out as Henry reaches forward and shuts it off.
*****
EVENING, DAY 12
The camera switches on to reveal the inside of Henry’s tent. The camera’s light shines upon his panicked face. He is rolled up inside his sleeping bag.
“I just got woke up,” says Henry in a hoarse voice. “I thought I heard—”
The mournful call of several wolves resounds from outside. Their lugubrious voices sound close.
Henry’s expression sparks to fear as his eyes widen.
“I can’t stay in here,” he says in a near whisper. “I’m putting on my strap camera and grabbing the road flares.”
Henry bolts upright in front of the camera. The camera’s view switches to Henry’s head cam, the camera revealing the bright flash of a road flare as the tip of the orange stick bursts into crackling flame. The view is already outside upon the rocky beach. Henry’s weathered hands reveal he is holding a road flare in his left hand and his woodcutting axe in his right.
“I don’t see anything ye—” starts Henry.
The howls begin again, only this time they are loud, so loud that Henry’s startled cry can be heard just beneath the audio of the sonorous calls. Large grey wolves appear from out of the darkness, their eyes a glowing red. There is a circle of at least ten of them around Henry’s camp.
“Get back! GET BACK!” shouts Henry.
The camera shows Henry waving his flare at the encroaching wolves. The pack’s growls and barks echo around the beach as the beasts hunch down as if ready to charge. Their eyes glow with an internal red light, a crimson glare that is unnatural in origin.
Henry’s left hand slings forward as the lit road flare is tossed at the nearest wolves, and the beasts dance aside to avoid the crude missile. There is a sound of clicking, and then Henry’s left hand moves up into the camera view to reveal a can of bear spray.
The camera rushes forward as Henry’s left hand is out in a stiff-armed position, the can of bear spray pointed and ready to use. The camera rushes the nearest wolf as Henry sprays a full blast at the ferocious creature. The wolf yelps and then runs off into the darkness.
The camera bobs up and down as Henry runs toward the lit road flare resting upon the rocky beach. A couple of more wolves charge toward the camera, but Henry’s bear spray wards them off.
The wolves break up after that, fleeing into the choking darkness.
Henry’s ragged breath can be heard as the camera swivels as if searching for more threats. After a few frantic circles of the camera’s view, the camera rushes forward toward Henry’s ramshackle tent as the sound of Henry’s boots crunching across beach rock is heard alongside his heavy breathing.
The scope of the tent appears as Henry enters the temporary shelter. His hands set down both the axe and the bear spray, and then his right hand picks up the yellow brick of the sat-phone from the rocky beach floor of the tent.
Henry’s right thumb presses the big red button on the sat-phone.
“This is Henry,” says Henry in a cold, angry voice.
A few seconds pass before a young female voice replies.
“Yes, Henry,” states the voice.
“Did you send those wolves after me?” asks Henry in barely contained anger. “I noticed all of the ‘treats’ you left are gone, so I know something’s up…Those wolves weren’t natural. There was something wrong with them, so I’m gonna ask you one more time…Did you send those wolves after me?”
“Of course, Henry,” states the young female voice. “Bad little boys who don’t eat their treats get punished.”
“Is that right?” hisses Henry. “Well, I got news for you. I’m not eating anything you give…In fact, I am never eating anything you give to me.”
There is a long pause that lasts for twenty seconds. The voice that eventually replies is no longer the voice of the young woman. The voice that replies is a withered and husky female voice full of rage, a voice that warps into something monstrous.
“You will eat your treats, HENRY!” screams the monstrous voice along with an electronic whine and the crackle of static.
Henry’s right hand trembles as he takes in several shaky breaths. It takes about twenty seconds for him to return his reply, the same amount of time it took for the changed voice on the sat-phone to reply.
“I don’t know who you are,” says Henry in a cold voice. “Hell, I don’t know what you are…but I’ll starve to death before I eat anything you leave behind…You want me?…Huh?…Is that it? You want to take me? You think you can take me?…Well…let’s find out…Come on, you fugly freak…Come get me.”
“This is a mistake, Henry,” comes the young female voice again. “Good boys need to eat. You’re making a mistake.”
“The only mistake I made was not taking my axe to your fugly face the first time I saw you outside my tent,” grunts Henry. “Now come get me, you pitted old prune…if you can.”
“NYAGH!” screeches the withered and ancient female voice.
The sat-phone whines with a high electronic pitch as it sparks in Henry’s right hand. Henry’s hand tosses it aside just as the device shorts out.
“That’s all she wrote, folks,” says Henry grimly. “I think I’ve pissed her off now…I’ve got the feeling she’s gonna show up directly…and soon. Lucky for me, I’ve still got enough energy to swing my axe…
“Huh…They don’t teach you about this when you’re learning survival skills.
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough…If I don’t make it, then it’s been fun. In fact, if I don’t make it, and you see this, tell my mom I love her…That’s right; I love you, Mom…
The camera’s view swivels from left to right and then right to left as if Henry is shaking his head.
“Unbelievable,” mutters Henry. “I guess we’re going freak huntin’, kiddos…Ugh…This is Henry Allan Greene, signing off, maybe for the last time. Later, gators.”
There is a brief click and then darkness as Henry’s head cam shuts down.
*****
EARLY MORNING, DAY 13
Henry’s head cam flips on to reveal the flapping and fluttering of the green canvas of his roughshod tent. A tremendous howling of wind is heard from outside along with the hammering of rain upon the shelter’s tarp. Lightning flashes outside as thunder rolls in a furious crescendo. The combined noise is deafening.
“This is Henry Allan Greene!” yells Henry over the cacophony of the storm. “The wind and the rain have really picked up! This started like five minutes ago, just past midnight! I don’t know how much longer the shelter can la—”
There is a cracking noise and the sound of tearing as the entire top of Henry’s shelter comes apart within the camera view. Rain comes down upon the camera lens as lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and the wind howls. The camera swivels from right to left and then right again as the shelter completely falls apart.
Rain drops splash across the camera as it focuses on Henry’s right hand. His right hand is holding his woodcutting axe, but that axe flies from his hand and off into the night sky as if yanked from his grip by an invisible force.
“God—freak took—axe!” yells Henry from within the deafening roar of the storm. “Can’t—out here! Got—find somewhere—I’ve—to shelter!”
The camera swivels upwards just as lighting strikes in an arc across the black sky. A figure dressed in black rags appears high above, that figure growing larger as it zooms down toward the camera.
“Here—comes!” yells Henry.
The figure of an ancient, decrepit, warped, and freakish woman swoops down into the camera view, her grey and monstrous face right within the center of the camera. This woman has a stone-grey and withered face, a balding head with wispy, greasy black hair, a long and pointed hooked nose, and dark eyes that are almost black. Her black lips are pulled back to reveal blackened and yellowed teeth, those wicked teeth gnashing in rage.
The camera jostles back and forth as Henry’s right hand grasps upon strands of the withered old woman’s black hair upon the left side of her head. There is a shaking of the camera as the roar of the storm overtakes any other sound.
There is a whirling of scenery in the background of the camera, rain drops like frozen tears in the night sky. The camera swirls in a dizzying motion, but the rocky beach can be seen far below within the flashes of lightning.
The camera shakes as a line of blood splatters across the terrifying old woman’s horrific grey face. Henry’s brief cry of pain can be heard, but it is nearly drowned out by the rage of noise echoing from everywhere.
Lightning flashes in the distance.
The camera shakes and whirls more and more as Henry’s right hand pulls hard upon the hanging strands of hair, pulling the ancient woman’s head to her own left. His right hand rips out those strands of greasy black hair a moment later. The old woman’s eyes squeeze shut as her mouth opens wide in a gnashing scream, and then the camera is falling away from her, her figure lost within the black depths of the night sky.
The ancient old woman’s dark form vanishes as the camera turns to reveal the strip of rocky beach growing larger and larger until the camera strikes the rocks. The lens cracks as the camera view goes black.
*****
DAY 20
A camera picks up showing two large men in rugged outdoorsman clothes and bright orange safety vests running toward a downed figure on the rocky beach. One of the men wears a faded blue baseball cap, while the other is holding a large, red, medical kit.
“There he is!” yells the man in the baseball cap. “Sasha, where is the sat-phone?”
“It’s not on the beach!” calls back a young female voice, that voice originating from the camera itself. “The coordinates are farther east, somewhere close by in the forest!”
“Just keep that camera on!” yells back the man in the baseball cap. “We found the remains of his shelter, but I don’t know what’s going on…We…Oh, my God…”
The camera lens zooms in on the prone figure on the beach. The downed man on the beach is Henry, though he is quite dead. Parts of him are missing, and small crabs swarm over his partially-eaten corpse.
The man with the large red medical kit turns to his right and vomits.
“Oh…Oh, no…” says the young female voice, that voice tremulous with emotion.
The camera zooms to zero in on Henry’s right arm, that arm stiff with rigor mortis and bent wrong at the elbow to where the right hand is up in the air, the arm bent backwards at a 90° angle. Henry’s right hand is balled up into a fist, and there are some greasy, black, wispy tufts of hair in it.
“What is that he’s holding?” asks the man in the ballcap.
“It looks like hair…” says the young female voice, though it is evident the young woman the voice belongs to is in audible shock.
The man in the ballcap waves her off as the man with the medical kit stands up straight and wipes his mouth clean.
“Don’t film this, Sasha,” says the man in the ballcap. “Just go find the sat phone.”
“I…I…uhh…Okay,” says the young woman behind the camera.
The camera swivels out toward the ocean. There is a rescue boat at the shore, but there are also three other people, two men and another woman, on the boat. The camera swivels back around, this time centering on the murky forest at the edge of the beach.
The voices of new people can be heard as the camera travels forward toward the forest.
“What’s going on!” yells a new male’s voice.
“The storm must have picked him up and tossed him like a baseball!” yells back the man in the ballcap. “We don’t really know, but we need to contact the authorities!”
The camera turns downwards to showcase the marching forward of tan outdoorsman boots as they crunch over rocks and then over the dead foliage of the forest floor.
“It was bound to happen,” comes the young female voice, the one known as “Sasha.”
The camera turns back up to show the tall and dark trees of the forest as the camera view moves steadily forward.
“It’s a survival show,” says Sasha in a quiet, shaky voice. “Someone was bound to fail the ‘survival’ part.”
The camera swivels left and then right as the typical sounds of the forest go silent. A thick mist forms around the trunks of the trees, impeding Sasha’s way forward. A path within the mist opens up that leads toward her destination, and the camera follows the path without hesitation.
“These places always creep me out,” says Sasha. “It’s like there’s nothing out here but me and the boogeyman…I don’t know…I don’t like it.”
The camera turns downwards to show Sasha’s outdoorsman boots steadily crunching forward over dead foliage. A thick mist roils around the base of the forest trees and over the forest floor, save for the path Sasha’s boots find footing upon.
“What in the hell is this fog?” asks Sasha. “It’s pulling in from everywhere except where I’m going, and the sat-phone is right in the direction of this path I’m on…This is f’d up. Look at this! I’m getting goosebumps.”
The camera pulls up to show the fine hairs standing up on Sasha’s bare left wrist, the portion of her arm visible due to the sliding back of the cuff of a black parka.
The camera swivels to show a large smartphone in Sasha’s right hand, a large smartphone with a tracking GPS on the screen, and then the camera turns upwards to show a clearing in the distance as the camera view steadily marches forward.
“There it is up ahead,” says Sasha quietly. “This fog seems to be going away, and I’m glad too…Can’t believe someone died on the show for this frickin’ pit…This whole place is really beginning to creep me the fu…What the…?”
Within the clearing is dead foliage along with a scattering of small pink and reddish-pink petals. Within the center of the clearing is a large tree stump, and upon the ground in front of that stump is the yellow brick of the satellite phone.
“There’s the sat-phone,” breathes out Sasha. “What’s with all these flower petals?…I don’t like this…I can’t believe somebody died out here…This is creepy as F, this whole thing, this whole freakin’ thing. That fog was really the cincher…It was like a horror movie out here…Hey, wait…That fog hasn’t gone away…”
The camera swivels from center to left and then from left to right and back to center as the view reveals the fog thick and roiling all around the clearing. The fog is a white wall of mist so thick that even the closest trees are obscured.
The camera marches forward and then turns downwards as Sasha’s left hand reaches forward to grasp the yellow brick that is the satellite phone.
“I’m gonna get this phone and get the hell out of here,” mutters Sasha. “Someone’s already died because of this hell hole, and I don’t do this ‘liminal spaces’ bullsh—”
The camera turns upwards as Sasha cuts short her own complaint. The camera view settles upon the old tree stump and stays motionless. Only Sasha’s obviously-fearful quick and heavy breathing can be heard over the microphone. The rest of the forest remains silent.
Upon the previously bare and flat surface of the tree stump is now a large vanilla cupcake in pink wrapping, pink frosting swirled high upon that confectionary delight, multicolored sprinkles topping that frosting like a horrifically happy shower of birthday joy.
BONUS STORY…A LINE OF APPLES
George woke up to start the day with a groan. He was old, he was tired, and his trailer was still falling apart. He lived out here in the actual sticks, right next to Carley Woods, and people thought him crazy for that, but it was all he could afford. No one from around here lived this close to the C.W…They weren’t stupid…or desperate, in his case.
These woods were a legend in these parts. There were a lot of missing-persons cases on hold here for the last two hundred years, going way, way back, probably further back, if the old tales were true. Nevertheless, he lived out here on a meager pension and whatever he could make doing odd repair jobs around town. Town was fifteen miles away, but out here, it might as well have been a million.
He was at the hiatus of his life, anyway. He’d had a job and a woman way back in the day, but that was a lifetime ago. Now he just kind of existed, and he drank himself to sleep whenever he could afford strong booze. As it was, that activity had lost its charm a long time ago.
He stood up from his ragged couch and tried not to move too quickly.
He had a craving for apples, Granny Smiths, to be exact, because they were his favorite, tart and delicious with that crunchy texture he so loved. He sometimes splurged and bought them from the supermarket, but they were expensive, and no one grew them around here, so when he did buy them, it was a big deal.
He opened his front door and stretched, and that’s when he saw them, a line of apples, pristine and untouched, glistening with dew to form a green trail that led out toward the tree line and into the thick of the woods.
He quickly grabbed an empty burlap sack, a sack once filled with potatoes but now ready to be filled with something much tastier.
He put on his jeans and boots, walked out into the leaf-strewn copse his trailer was parked in, and went to work collecting apples.
They were indeed perfect in every way, and they looked above delicious, but he was old, and he had been around the block more times than he could count, so he waited on giving them a taste test.
He followed the trail out into the thick of the woods, but he kept a cautious eye about him the whole time, for he did not know who had left him this wonderful boon.
He saw the delightful cabin ahead; it looked warm and inviting, and it had a historic feel to it, with its cobblestone steps, red brick walls, sloped thatched roof, and circular windows. There was even an old rocking chair on the front porch.
George swore under his breath and shook his head in frustration. He knew these woods, and no house had existed here yesterday.
He upended his bag of apples, pouring them out upon the cobblestone walk, and then he cursed to himself yet again.
“Hey!” he called out loud and clear. “You can have your apples back! I may be old, and I may be poor, but I’m not stupid!…I’ve seen this movie.”
He walked back to his trailer emptyhanded. It was a huge letdown, but these things happened out here. He would just have to get his apples the old-fashioned way.
Come Get Me Copyright © 2024 bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott
A Line of Apples Copyright © 2017, 2018, 2020 100 Tall Tales Matthew L. Marlott
A Line of Apples Copyright © 2024 bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott
Note: This picture for this story was generated via artificial intelligence courtesy of Canva.com.