The Worst Kind of Monsters

by Elias Witherow

  I cranked the volume to max, listening for anything. About every twenty seconds, I thought I could hear a single bark somewhere offscreen. But it didn’t sound like a dog barking. It was the sound a person makes when trying to imitate a dog bark.

  It was so faint that I put my ear to the speaker, trying to catch it and decipher some sort of clue as to what I was looking at. Another twenty seconds passed and something barked again, ever so faintly. I leaned back in my seat and pushed the mouse around the screen. I was seven minutes in and nothing had changed. The figure continued to stare at the camera, smiling its sick smile, teeth clamped together. Its shoulders rose and fell, neither gaining nor losing intensity.

  I scrolled over to the pause button and clicked it. Nothing happened. I tried it again but got the same result. I clicked to exit out of the video player, but my computer seemed frozen while the video played.

  That’s when the horse head moved.

  In one terrifyingly quick moment, the thing spun toward the camera and let out one loud bark. It was the same sound I had been hearing on loop, but much louder now. As soon as it barked, the video ended.

  I sat, stunned at what I had just witnessed. I didn’t know what to make of it. I realized my heart was racing and despite the AC, I was sweating. A deep uneasiness filled me and I quickly stood up and opened the curtains to reveal a setting sun. I turned on all the lights in the house, knowing I was being stupid.

  Questions raced through my mind. Who had sent this to me? Why? What did it all mean? Was someone messing with me? Something about the deeply serious nature of the video haunted me. I felt an almost intimate recognition of what I had just seen. I was shaken.

  I went outside and sat on the porch until the night put the day to bed. The open air calmed me slightly. I even began to feel rather foolish. Eventually I went inside and started to wind down for sleep.

  It’s 1:57 AM. Something woke me up a few minutes ago. At first I wasn’t sure why I was awake. I lay there in silence, taking account of my situation. Then I heard it.

  Something was barking outside. One single bark about every twenty seconds. That awful, skin-curling human bark from the video. Now I lay paralyzed in fear, just listening, hoping that the sound will stop. It’s distant, but present.

  I’m writing this on a pad I keep by my bed in hopes someone finds it. Something is going to happen to me tonight. I know it and I am so scared I’m crying. The noise keeps repeating. Please. If you ever come across the dvd labeled “horse/8min,” I beg you, do not watch it.

  The barking outside stopped.

  Now it’s outside my bedroom door.

  17

  Deep, Deep Down

  I arrived at the Pine Palaces a week ago. It was as beautiful as the website boasted. This high up in the West Virginia mountains, where the air was untouched by cities and smog, you could feel the purity in every breath. The cabins I would be maintaining, along with the other two summer workers, weren’t quite palaces, but they were elegant in a natural sort of way. Each log cabin was decked out in all the usual outdoor décor. Animal heads hung silently on the walls, polished exposed wood filled the interiors with a delightful smell, and a fireplace sat ready to burn the neatly stacked pile of wood that rested beside it.

  There were eight cabins in total—six for the guests, one for the workers, and one for the owner of the retreat, Ken, who lived there year-round. They formed a semicircle along the parameter of tall trees, where space had been made for a giant fire pit in the center.

  Half a mile down the dirt road there was a lake that Ken rented out paddle boats for the guests to use. I had asked him upon arrival if employees could use them free of charge and he had winked and told me if he liked his workers.

  Behind the cabins, down a path that led into the woods about four hundred feet from the clearing, was where our maintenance supplies were kept. Rakes, leaf blowers, a couple axes, a chainsaw—the usual upkeep wares. I remember on the first day when Ken showed us the old shed, one of my fellow workers, Carter, had asked why he kept the supplies so far back. Ken had chuckled and told us that we’d understand once we got married and went on vacation with our families. He slung his arm around my shoulder and said that he had never seen people fight worse than up here where most modern amenities were unavailable.

  “Wouldn’t put it past one of ’em to take the chainsaw to their significant other,” he had said, throwing Penny a wink. Penny, the last piece to our trinity of workers, looked at Carter and then at me, her face unsure and a little nervous.

  “Don’t you worry,” Ken had said, “I’ve never had trouble up here. Real trouble anyway. Most folks are good people just looking to get away from all the nonsense. They come up here and roast their marshmallows, eat their hot dogs, and listen to the silence.”

  After that, we all went back to the cabins and Ken began instructing us on our daily duties for the summer, and we prepared the site for the arrival of our first wave of visitors the next day.

  Three days later I found that I enjoyed being up in the mountains more than I had anticipated—the quiet days, the chirps, squeaks and groans of nature, the warm yellow sun, and the explosion of bright crystal stars that lit the night.

  Carter, Penny, and myself all got along very well and it felt weird that we had only known each other for three days. We were all outgoing, inspired, and wanted something a little different to fill our time between semesters. We wanted to go back to college in the fall and have unique experiences and adventures to tell our friends.

  And then there was Ken. Ken had been running the place for twenty-eight years. His dad built it, and when he passed away, Ken took over. He was proud of it; you could tell by the way he worked, the way he moved, and the way he talked to the guests. He was about sixty but had the mentality of a man in his early twenties. He was energetic, kind, and made everyone feel welcome. He insisted all the visitors call him Grandpa Ken and if anyone wanted, he’d tell stories at sundown about the history of the mountains and land around us. It was charming and I found myself looking forward to that time of the day.

  That was all before I found that fucking well.

  I pulled the paddle boat behind Ken’s cabin and wiped the sweat off my face with a dirty hand.

  “That’s the last of them,” I said to Carter. “Everyone is in for the day. Penny should be done stacking the wood for tonight’s fire. Do you wanna see if she wants to go for a swim?”

  Carter, tall and thin, sporting glasses and blond hair that he was always pushing away from his lenses, nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I feel like I’m going to melt. It’s hot as hay fever today, isn’t it?”

  I snorted, “Got that right. You go check out with Ken, let him know we’re finished for the day, make sure he doesn’t need anything. I’ll go help Penny put the tools away.”

  “OK.”

  I brushed my hands on my jeans and walked around to the front of the cabin. A couple of guests were sitting on their porches, enjoying the shade and winding down for the evening. I spotted Penny by the fire pit stacking the last few pieces of wood.

  “All done?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. “Yeah, that should do it. I hope that’s enough.” Penny was a cute girl. Nothing to write home about, but her charm came not from her looks, but from the adorable way she always worried she was going to get into trouble.

  I smiled back. “It’s fine. You really think Ken has the capacity to yell at you even if it’s not?”

  She shrugged. “I just want it to be right.”

  “It is. Now do you want to go swimming with Carter and I? He’s letting Ken know right now.”

  She lit up. “Oh, that sounds fantastic! Can you put the axe back in the shed while I go suit up?”

  “Sure thing,” I said, bending and picking it up.

  “Thanks, I’ll meet you back here,” she said and scampered off to our cabin to change.

  I slung the axe over my shoulder and made my way to the path that led into the woods, n
odding my hellos to the guests I passed. The woods were quiet today, a low hum of wildlife getting lost in the gentle sway of trees that danced back and forth in the sunlight. My boots kicked up dry dirt as I walked, and I wondered when was the last time it had rained.

  As I was about to round the final bend to the shed, something caught my eye. About thirty or forty steps to my left, off the path, I spotted something coming out of the ground. Curiosity took over and I began to make my way toward it. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed in my previous trips back here, but I had been more concentrated on sticking to the path and not getting myself lost.

  As I walked closer, I saw that it was a well, its stone sides rising up out of the ground in the center of a big clearing. I broke through the tree line and stopped dead in my tracks.

  A heaviness came over me. A thick unease bubbled in my stomach. Something was making my skin crawl and I felt goosebumps form on my arms. I licked my suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard. A warning light was going off in my mind and my unease turned to panicked nausea.

  Suddenly, I didn’t even want to look at the well. I turned my eyes away and stood there, unable to move.

  I tried to tell myself to snap out of it, but the unbearable avalanche of horror that filled me when I tried to look at the well wouldn’t allow it.

  I needed to leave. I felt my hands shaking at my sides and I realized that I had dropped the axe. I couldn’t even will myself to pick it up.

  Why are you being such a baby? I asked myself, still not moving. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew the answer.

  Because there’s something down there.

  I ran. The terror turned to a feeling of haunting danger and I fled.

  I crashed back down the path and back to the cabins, my sudden disruption causing a few of the visitors to look my way curiously. I looked at them and offered a weak smile. Shaking my head and feeling slightly stupid, I went to find Penny and Carter. The terror was fading quickly now that I was back around people, and I was starting to feel ridiculous about the whole incident. My breath steadied and my heart rate slowed. I shook my head, rolling my eyes. Get a grip, man.

  I found Carter and Penny and we all strolled down to the lake and went swimming, the cool water washing the dirt and sweat from us. I decided not to say anything to either of them about the well, but I made a mental note to ask Ken what the deal was after his nighttime stories.

  “Sleep tight, folks, and thanks for listening,” Ken said as the guests offered him a genuine round of applause. We were all sitting around a roaring fire and Ken had just finished telling us about how this place was built. For such a mundane story, Ken had filled it with practiced flair and charm that only old men seem to be gifted with when telling a tale.

  As the visitors thanked Ken and lifted sleeping children over their shoulders to bed, I approached Ken: “Can I ask you about something real quick?”

  Ken, still sitting at his bench in front of the fire, patted the space next to him. “Sure thing, kiddo, have a seat.” He pulled out a cigar and cut the tip off, striking a match against the wood bench.

  I took my place, watching as the last of the guests retreated to their cabins for the evening. Carter and Penny looked at us inquisitively and came over, curious as to what I was going to ask.

  I took a deep breath. “What’s the deal with the well back by the supply shed?”

  Ken froze, his match hovering inches from the tip of his unlit cigar. After a second, he lit it and took a couple of deep puffs from it before answering.

  “What do you mean, son?”

  Carter and Penny had taken a seat on the bench next to us and Carter piped up. “What well? There’s a well back there?”

  “Yeah, it’s in a clearing a little off the path,” I said, pointing in the direction it was in.

  Ken turned his head and looked directly at me. “Don’t go near there, you understand me?” The seriousness in his voice shook me. His grandpa persona was gone and his eyes were cold black rock. “I mean it, son. Ain’t nothing good back there. Just steer clear of it, OK?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Penny asked.

  Ken took another drag, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, before answering. “It’s dangerous. There’s something wrong with it. I don’t know what it is, but I know for a fact that…well, that people aren’t supposed to be around it. There’s something…unnatural about it. Best you all keep your distance.”

  Carter leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. “Is it haunted or something?” I could hear the excitement in his voice.

  Ken shook his head. “No. Ain’t no such things as ghosts, kid. But there are other…forces of nature that humankind just aren’t meant to find.”

  I swallowed hard, remembering the terror from earlier. “Ken…is there something down there?”

  Ken was silent for a moment, the crack of the fire popping sparks around us. Then he whispered, “Yes.”

  “What is it?” Carter pressed. “Have you ever looked down there?”

  Ken shook his head. “Can’t bring myself to get near the thing, truth be told.” Suddenly his head whipped around and he was looking hard at me again. “You didn’t look down it, did you?!”

  I shook my head: “No. Honestly, I got spooked just being around it. That’s why I asked; it seemed so jarring compared to the peace these mountains hold.”

  Ken let out a sigh, but Carter wasn’t done asking questions. “How do you know something’s down there then?”

  Ken tapped his cigar and a hearty piece of ash floated to the ground. “I had a horse back when I first took over the camp,” he started, then looked at Penny and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to go scaring Penny; just take my word on this and stay away.”

  “I want to hear,” Penny said. I didn’t blame her; something about the sober tone in Ken’s voice begged for explanation.

  “I suppose you’re all adults,” Ken said, staring into the fire, “but let me warn you that what I’m about to tell you is rather…unsettling.” With a giant sigh, he continued, summoning the old memories. “Back when I took over this place I had a horse. I named her Cherry. Beautiful creature. For the first couple weeks, it was just me and Cherry. I was working on fixing the place up and getting it ready again for guests. During the evenings I would ride Cherry all through these mountains,” he said, sweeping his hand across the dark horizon. “Let me tell you, you haven’t seen a sunset ’til you’ve seen one up here when the leaves are changing. Anyway, one evening I tied up Cherry to that tree over there,” he said, pointing toward the path that led back into the woods. “We were about to go for our evening trot. I went inside to wash my face and change out of my trousers. Wasn’t gone but five minutes. When I came out, Cherry was gone. I didn’t see her anywhere. But I could hear her,” he said, his voice quieting and shaking slightly, “and she was screaming.”

  “Screaming?” Penny asked softly, eyes wide.

  “I ain’t ever heard anything like it before,” Ken continued, “but I took off down the path toward where I heard her. And that’s when I found the well for the first time.” He paused, silently puffing on his cigar. After a few moments, he continued, “Cherry was trying to force her way down the well. She was too big, though. She was stuck, her rump sticking up in the air, her head down the hole. And let me tell you…she was going mad. Her hind legs were kicking and scraping against the stone walls of the well, trying her hardest to push the rest of her body inside. She was thrashing and wriggling about, all the while screaming down into that hole,” his voice started shaking again, “but there was nothing I could do for her. I was too afraid. Something was keeping me from getting close to that well. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Pretty sure I wet my trousers at some point as I stood there watching. Oh, I was frightened,” he said softly.

  “What happened then?” Carter said quietly.

  Ken looked around at all three of us, then said, “She eventually squeezed down into the blackness. T
ook her the better part of an hour to do it. She wriggled and kicked ’til she scraped off her skin and she fit. I ain’t seen so much blood before in my life. How she was still alive, I don’t know. But I stood there and watched, paralyzed, as she grated herself against the stone ’til eventually, she slipped down inside and immediately she stopped screaming.”

  We were all quiet as he finished. Ken idly flicked more ash from his cigar and stared at the ground. The unbelievable events he had just shared with us chilled me. I remembered the feeling of being close to the well. I shivered.

  “It’s getting late,” Ken eventually said, standing and tossing his cigar into the fire. “Why don’t you kids get some sleep, huh? Going to be hot tomorrow, I think a lot of the guests are going to want to use the paddle boats.”

  We all stood up and wished him a good night, all of us somber and a little rattled. Except for Carter. His eyes buzzed with light. We retired to our cabin and began preparing for bed. Penny slept in her own room and after brushing her teeth and washing her face, she bid us goodnight.

  Before she closed her door, I asked, “You OK, Pen? You’re not freaked out?”

  She gave me an uneasy smile. “I’m not sure if I believe everything he said, but it was a pretty creepy story nonetheless. I’ll be OK; thanks, though.” And with that she shut her door.

  I went to the room Carter and I shared and stripped down to my boxers and laid down on my bed. Carter followed and turned the lights off. We were silent for a while and then I heard him sit up.

  “Dude, let’s go check it out.”

  I sat up, slightly alarmed. “What? No way, man, you heard Ken. We should stay away from it.”

  “Oh, come on,” he pleaded, “it’ll be spooky. You know how great it’ll be to tell Penny in the morning that we went and looked down the well?”