It’s been 2 weeks since this whole thing started.
It all started with a tanker accident. It was all over the news. Everyone thought it was just another oil spill. There were plenty of volunteers. Plenty of people wanting to help the poor defenseless animals. Plenty of victims. Within hours of the tanker accident, it started happening. The animals had gone crazy, they were scratching and biting the clean up volunteers. They said that it was an adverse effect to whatever was in that tanker.
Rescue workers were still trying to get the crew out of the ship. They could hear screaming inside. Screams to open the doors. But that’s when it all went to hell. As soon as they cut the door out.
There was 6 minutes of broadcast before it went silent. 6 minutes of screaming and agony. The ship crew attacked the rescue workers like rabid baboons. Breaking bones and tearing flesh. The people on the shore weren’t fairing any better. Those that had been attacked by animals were attacking everyone else. It was worse than any war zone report, it was sheer brutality, and yet the broadcast still went on for 6 minutes. 6 minutes and then blank faces. Nobody could explain what was happening. They tried to continue with regular news, the economy, the weather, a cute human interest story, but they couldn’t make us unsee what we saw.
There’s a local legend where I come from. They’re simply referred to as the willow men.
There’s hardly a need for the law enforcement in this town. The willow men take care of all that. Every single step taken, every word spoken, every drop of blood spilt.. The willow men know about it before anyone else. Believe me, anyone that has invoked the wrath of the willow men has gone missing without a trace.
That’s why when I realized what I had done it was too late. The willow men were coming.
She just wouldn’t shut the hell up. No matter what I said and what I would do she was just hysterical. She kept pacing about the house screaming. She said she found this and that and knew I was cheating on her. She’d ask me who it was and I told her she was crazy. I guess I wore that excuse out. After a while, I couldn’t take her damn voice anymore. I’d walk room to room and she’d follow me. When we got to the kitchen I had my fill.
I reached for the first knife I could find and jammed it into her throat. The face of anger and sorrow melted into one of despair and disbelief. The crimson fluid ran freely all over her blouse and she dropped to her knees, scrambling around on the floor. She clawed at the tile and made gurgling noises which only served to infuriate me. I grabbed an iron skillet that had been pre-heating on the stove and took a swing at her head. A wet crack followed the impact and while I didn’t need to keep going I did.
I lost count of the number of times I hit her but I had a good deal of blood on me. What was left of her head was being held together by thin particles of bone and blood continued to rush out. I dropped the skillet to the floor with a loud clang. I wish remorse could have followed so I would’ve felt a least a bit human but it didn’t. I was just happy to be rid of her. With a grunt I picked her body up off the floor and hoisted it unto my shoulder. Her face hung next to me, dead eyes staring with conviction. I could only chuckle. As soon as I got outside, I dropped the ragged heap onto the ground and went to find a shovel. That’s when I knew they were watching.
If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of “sound” of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique; everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. This ringing sound actually serves a more arcane purpose, covering up a noise we are not meant to hear. This noise is not impossible to hear, and if you are persistent you can effectively “break” the cover-up sound.
The next time you are silent and hear the ringing, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then be abruptly silent. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might pick up soft murmuring. A special few auditory heroes might clearly make it out on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It’s like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring ten seconds into the future.
As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Such ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch this ability entails. Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again.
Of course this isn’t the case, though, it’s a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, and it’s simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, where there is a voice, there is a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.
Created by: Jesse M
Come little children, come with me
Safe and happy you will be
Away from your homes, now let us run
With Hypno, you’ll have so much fun
Oh, little children, please don’t cry
Hypno wouldn’t hurt a fly
Be free, be free be free to play
Come down in my cave with me to stay
Oh, little children, please don’t squirm
Those ropes, I know, will hold you firm
Hypno tells you this is true
But sadly, Hypno lied to you
Oh, little children, you mustn’t leave
Your families for you will grieve
Their minds will unravel at the seams
Allowing me to haunt their dreams
But surely, all of you must know
That it is time for you to go
Oh, little children, you weren’t clever
Now you shall stay with me forever
The cabin was in the middle of nowhere, at the end of a bumpy dirt road and surrounded by thick woods. It needed a decent amount of work done to make it inhabitable, which is why we got it so cheap. My husband loved it. He loved the location, the privacy, the chance to make it his own. He spent every weekend that the weather allowed up at the cabin doing the renovations himself. He left me at home, partly because I’m useless with tools and partly because he wanted the finished product to be a surprise. I was okay with it. I was enjoying the “me” time.
He was close to finishing the last of the repairs, and was so excited that he used some vacation time from work so he could complete the project and we could spend the next available weekend in our new getaway spot. He left our home Friday night after dinner. His plan was to return the following Saturday so that he would have all day Sunday to spend with me and rest up before returning to work on Monday. The first few days, he called me every night after putting away his tools. When he didn’t call on Tuesday, I assumed it was because he was too tired or that he lost track of time and didn’t want to call too late. When he didn’t call on Wednesday, I called him and left a half-playful, half-annoyed voicemail. When I still hadn’t heard from him after I got off of work on Thursday, I decided to make the 2 hour trip to our cabin to check on him.
The last time I had seen our cabin, it was obvious that it had been deserted for some time. My husband had been working on it every weekend for over a year, so I expected it to look much better. It didn’t. The front yard was still overgrown, the steps leading to the front porch still broken, the windows still covered in grime. The only evidence of my husband being there were the tire tracks worn into the grass where the dirt driveway ended. You could tell by the divets that he would pull up to the porch, then turn around in the yard to return to the driveway to leave. I made my way to the front porch, careful not to trip on the broken step, and peered through the cleanest spot on one of the windows. The scene inside made me run to my car and make the 45 minute drive to the nearest town.
The police found the den of a mad man in what was meant to be my cozy little cabin. The only renovations that my husband had actually done were those that allowed him to hold the women he had abducted for who knows how long while he raped, tortured, and eventually butchered them. The 5 bodies left in shallow graves in the woods were eventually identified as homeless women who were likely only missed by their drug dealers. The 6th woman found in my husband’s truck, which was at the bottom of a hill wrapped around a tree about 5 miles from the cabin, was the same. She was naked, malnourished, and covered in deep cuts and bruises. The knife she had somehow gotten and used to stab her captor, my husband, in the chest and throat repeatedly sat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. They said the high speed impact killed her instantly. The other women weren’t so lucky. I wouldn’t have been so lucky.
The room at the front of the cabin where the women were restrained and violated on a stained mattress that lay on the floor, where I found my husband naked in a bloody heap, was decorated with photos of me. Seven blood spattered pictures were nailed to the wall, and 5 of them had scratches over my throat so deep that they cut through the paper.