Things that Creep...

Parvis Creek Ranger Station - 13:30PM

“You boys may want to be a more selective with your footwear.” The blonde haired woman dressed in a brown shirt and green trousers stated, as she watched the group of four young men, as they paid for their rental boat. “Not only are those trainers going to soak up the water like a sponge but they provide no protection from the brambles and briars, not to mention all the things that’ll try to creep inside.”

“Our concerns is the dead Ma’am,” one of the young men stated, “Me and my buddies are going to find the ghost of Lucius Cray and record an EVP session for our video blog. It’s going to make us rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

“Son, I strongly suggest that you don’t go into those woods at night.” The ranger sighed, as she slipped a pamphlet over to the man. “Not only do you have the danger of drowning, but at this time of the year the swamp is crawling with copperheads, black widows and brown recluses. All of those things will kill you if you accidently tread on them, and then instead of talking to a ghost, you’ll become one.”

“We’re from New York, we have ways to deal with silly animals.” A second man told her, as he and the other two ghost hunters hefted the recording equipment past the ranger, a can of bug repellent in his hands. “Come on Peter, we have to reach the old shack before nightfall so we can maximize out time with Old Lucius.”

“Got to go,” Peter stopped and squinted at the name tag on the woman’s shirt, “Ranger Rosy, next time you see us, we’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams.” He added as he sprinted out the door after his friends.

“Idiot city dwellers.” Rosy mumbled, as she looked over to the map of the swamp and the warning stickers for quicksand in the area known as Booger Woods.

**

Cray's Shack, Booger Woods - 18:10PM

The air boat pulled up on the rotten dock that hadn’t been used for decades, with the boys jumping out and walking over to the derelict shack that had once been inhabited Lucius Cray. Taking one of the cameras Peter turned the device to face him, his pale skin glistening with sweat, his arms covered in mosquito bites. “Hi True Believers, Peter here and we’ve arrived in Booger Woods and the house of Lucius Cray, the spirit we’re going to contact tonight. Now this place is swimming in mythology and superstition, as is the man himself, isn’t that right Thomas.” He added, as he pointed the camera at a dark skinned man dressed in jeans and a t-shirt standing by the door.

“That’s right Peter, there are rumours that Lucius Cray was a Rougarou, a Cajun werewolf and that under the full moon he’d get up to all kinds of things not permitted in normal society.” Thomas replied, as he knocked on the door, the rotten hinges causing it to collapse inwards on itself. “While this is just superstition it was widely believed that Lucius would sometimes come out under the light of the moon and dig in the mud like a dog.”

“Hey check this out!” A voice called from the back of the shack causing the boys to come running to the source of the exclamation. There scattered around the back-yard were several rusted mason jars, traces of fabric stuffed inside.

“Nice one Benny, it’s said that Lucius made a fortune conning people out of their money with his swamp-fever cure all. He made some enemies through his shady business deals and retreated into the most inaccessible part of the swamp.” Peter stated as he and his friends headed towards a slither of water at the back of the property, a copperhead snake slithering off the bank as it felt the vibration of feet heading its way. “And this is where Lucius met his end, records show that he was murdered right here on his property by the Crayton brothers in a botched robbery. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for us three of the brothers died here, sucked down by quicksand before they could get back to town. As such we are also going to attempt an EVP session with them as well as Lucius”

“The only reason we know this is because the youngest brother did make it back to Parvis Creek after spending two weeks lost in the swamp. He confessed to the murder shortly before dying from what appeared to be a snake bite.” Benny added, as he and the other man Jacob, fenced off an area of damper mud with luminous yellow tape. “This is the spot where they died and to prevent ourselves drowning in the same way, we’re fencing it off.”

“Hold on boys, look up at that.” Peter called as he pointed westwards to the sun sinking below the rows of bald cypress trees, the light fading until only the pale silver gleam of the stars and a full moon could be seen in the sky. “Okay then let’s go ghost hunting.” Peter chirped, as he switched on the night vision setting of the camera.

**

As hours of darkness passed, the sound of the swamp remained a constant living hiss, with only the calls of living men puncturing the blanket of white noise. Squatting by the ‘grave’ of Lucius Cray, Peter set up a recorder and placed the camera down next to him facing the water. “Okay, so it’s midnight, time to talk to Lucius.” He whispered. “Is there anybody here?” Looking down he saw the lights on the tape recorder scaled up and down briefly, just as something in the shack moved. Turning round Peter saw a hooded figure standing in the doorway just staring at him.

“Very funny guys!” Peter sighed, as he got up and walked over to the hooded figure. “We’re meant to be professionals.” He added, as he walked past Jacob sitting by the pool of quicksand, his own tape recorder and camera set up.

“Keep it down, I think I’ve got something.” Jacob hissed as he turned and looked directly at the hooded figure, before getting to his feet. “What is that?” He asked through gritted teeth, as Peter extended his arm out, “Don’t touch it man!” He snapped, as he pulled Peter’s hand back, just as the hooded figure reached out with its own blistered hand, its nails scratching Jacob. Looking at his hand Jacob looked down at the scratches, before feeling a tickling sensation run up his legs, before spreading up his torso to his arm.

“Black Widows!!” Peter yelled as he pushed Jacob away, the bulbous black and red arachnids biting his friend, the pain causing him to scream an unearthly yell. Looking back at the window, Peter saw that the hooded figure was gone. Just as his friends arrived, Jacob hit the floor convulsing, his mouth ajar as a few of the spiders crawled inside.

“What the **** happened!!” Thomas swore, as he took a few steps back as a spider scuttled past him. “And who the **** is that!!” He pointed, as he spotted the hooded figure standing by Peter’s EVP equipment. Taking a step forward, the hooded figure extended its hand, the mere gesture causing Peter to bolt, his response knocking Thomas down through the hazard tape and into the quicksand. If he’d bothered to look back he would have seen sand dripped hands rise from the pool dragging Thomas down.

Sprinting along the deck, Peter cut the mooring rope and leapt into the boat before gunning the engine. Turning he heard Benny yell as he came sprinting after him, only for the rotting boards to collapse sending the young man face first into the black water, his body sucked down into the murky gloom. Pulling away from Cray’s shack, Peter stole a glimpse back at the cursed house, only to see the hooded figure standing on the edge of the deck watching him as he headed back for Parvis Creek.

**

Parvis Creek Ranger Station - 05:50AM

Rosy heard the sound of a boat pull up and ran outside, hoping against hope to see the four boys disembark but once she caught sight of Peter, pale faced and trembling she knew that the other three wouldn’t be coming home. Wrapping him up in a blanket and checking him injuries, she went and called the local sheriff, before putting the kettle on to make a cup of coffee.

“It was Lucius Cray, he turned the swamp against my friends.” Peter stuttered as Rosy returned from the kitchen.

“I warned you that the swamp was dangerous.” Rosy told him. “Oh your tape thingy is blinking by the way.” She added, as the kettle pinged. Hesitantly, Peter rewound the tape, and pressed play before hearing the answer to the one question he asked.

“Get out before the swamp gets ya.” A disembodied southern voice snapped. Putting the tape recorder down, Peter suddenly realised that he hadn’t brought the device with him, and that black mud was oozing off the device and pooling on the floor.

“Uh Rosy, Ranger Mullholland, please help me!” Peter yelled, as Rosy came racing out, a friendly hand placed on his shoulder. “Lucius Cray is here! Please we have to get out of here now!!”

“I wouldn’t worry about Cray.” Rosy stated, “I thought you’d be grateful that I returned your tape recorder.” She added, as a red and black corral snake lanced out of her mouth and bit him on the lip before slithering back inside. “I warned you not to go there, warned you about the things that creep and the things that fly.” She continued, as Peter shook and shivered, blood pouring out of his mouth. “Just like I warned those boys before they killed my partner Lucius.” She finished, as Peter hit the floor, his body rotting into black filthy sludge. “You wanted to expose a ghost story, now you’re part of one, for the rest of your afterlife, rest in torment Yankee, rest in torment.”

The Legend of Wooley Swamp

"It was right around these here parts that three young fellas beat down ol' Lucius Clay, tryin' t'get money th' ol' coot had buried in his backyard. Legend has it that they didn't even get past the house before quicksand sucked 'em all down. An' ol' Lucius can still be heard on stormy nights, laughin' like a demon, an' lookin' for his money."

"Oooo," mocked a redheaded boy with freckles. "Scary. Scoutmaster Jim, where did you find this guy? Ghost stories in the middle of some mosquito infested swamp? There's really a badge for this?" he complained.

"Oh, the badge isn't for the ghost stories, Roger. Or the campfire. Or for setting up camp. The badge is for treasure hunting. And that story that Ol' Pete is telling ya has everything to do with it, because it is Lucius Clay's money that we are gonna look for."

Roger looked a little green. "The 'laughs like a demon, an' lookin' for his money' Clay? That guy? Wh-why would we wanna do that? I-it probably doesn't even exist." The other boys in the troop murmured their agreement. "Do... do we have to?"

"Now, come on, Roger, buck up!" chided Jim. "You're not some cubs on their first outing! You're Eagle Scouts! If we find the money, we prove the legend true, and we turn it over to the county museum. If we don't find it, then we practiced some campfire safety, and we call it a fun weekend."

"Well, I guess. S-sure," Roger agreed hesitantly. "We can handle it, can't we guys?" No answer came. "Guys?" Still no answer. Roger looked behind him, and found no one there. "G-guys?" Turning back to Scoutmaster Jim, he found nothing but Ol' Pete, tending to a barely burning campfire. "Sc-scoutmaster Jim?"

"Oh, th' swamp done take dem," said Ol' Pete. "Still t'ink y'can handle it?" And then Pete laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Roger screamed, turned to run, and hadn't gotten five steps before he fell into the quicksand.

And then he woke up.

"Man, I hate that dream," said Roger as he climbed back into bed.