About a year ago I was on a ship with my family in the Pacific. The plan was to go to Palmyra Island, anyone who has read "And the Sea Will Tell" will know what I'm talking about. We got there, oh dear Christ we got there all right. We didn't want to spend more than two or three days on Palmyra. I think that I'm the only one who isn't there now a year later. Every one of their bodies is somewhere on the island...wherever it took them, screaming. Something was totally strange and amiss about the place but we just figured it was just the island's past. It was used as a U.S. Military outpost during World War II, but age has taken its toll on the now all but abandoned island that history had forgotten.
The first to go was my father. By the first evening he was acting paranoid beyond belief. Every little sound, whether it be a bird call or a rat scurrying accross the floor of the top deck, would set him off. I thought nothing of it as it had been a long journey. Then at one point there was just a splash. Whatever, we were all thinking, it was just a dolphin in the lagoon or something. We could not have been more wrong. The screams were what really set us off. Then the crunch. We had found his body on the beach practically torn up. My cousin vomited, and my uncle had just...stood there, with the look of utter shock on his face.
Having thought he had fallen overboard and the sharks had gotten to him, we gave him the proper sea burial. It was so sad but shit happens. That evening we were all on the beach eating the dinner that we had caught. Suddenly everything grew uneasy as a primal fear swept across all of us. We knew that we were being watched. And we somehow made the connection between whatever the fuck it was that was watching us, and my father's death. We sure as hell knew the sharks weren't watching us. Then as I turn around to look at our stalker, a sudden blackness came over me. As I came to, Michael, my cousin, had been in a fetal position on the ground. Rocking back and forth I tried to convince him to come back on the boat, and then it hit me like a fuckin' tour bus punched me in the face. There had been three of us only minutes before. The sun didn't quite set but the surrounding forest took on a darkness that seemed alive. Looking for my uncle I found a pool of blood at the edge of the greenery. Then a spine-chilling crack that seemed louder than any goddamned cannon. I sprinted off to meet back up with Michael, and when I got back to the firepit we had built, I got the sense that I was utterly alone...and believe it or fucking not I was. Screaming "Michael...Michael...MICHAEL!!!!!" between wheezes as I tried to catch my breath I saw whatever it was from the corner of my eye that had taken my father, uncle, and cousin sprint off into the green, lush, void of a forest.
I realized there was no hope for them and I won't lie saying that I tried to be a hero. The brutal truth is that, somehow alive or not, I had left them. And that's not something I'm proud of.Back on land after the one week journey back to Frisco...I knew that I wasn't safe. It was when people I had met, made casual conversation with, or just bumped into on the street started turning up dead is when the shit started to really really hit the fan. I'm still on the run and I'll stay that way. Because the thing with the missing face, the empty eye sockets that radiate a disturbingly beautiful blue, the nose that's not there, and the mouth that only opens to show it's thousands of teeth in a dozen rows is after me. And it will get you if you don't get out of my way. I have one snippet of advice for you, if you are unlucky enough to come across my path...DON'T STOP RUNNING!!!
Here is a list of cities I'll be in for a short period of time:
Boston, Worcester, New York, Augusta, Fairfax, Hartford, Raleigh, Richmond, Atlanta, Tampa, Miami, Atlanta, Philidelphia, Madison, St. Louis, New Orleans, Santa Fe, Phoenix, San Diego, Frisco, Los Angeles, Newport, Seattle, wherever I can get to if I'm still alive.
P.S. Be thankful if I am the one to kill you.