The Suspect in Bonemeal Woods

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Alisson Tovar, Staff Writer

Scotsman was your average detective, solving small cases of theft, kidnappings, and murders. How he found himself here in a big forest in the middle of the night puzzled him. Scotsman was following a suspect and then before he knew it, he was here, alone. What’s worse is that his lead was long gone into the fog of the isolating woods. The dead leaves underneath his feet crunched like bones as he continued to walk warily through the cold and uninviting fog. He heard a small rustle behind him, snapping his head to the sound expecting an animal. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he looked forward to his lead, just standing there. The suspect’s head slowly tilted as they inched closer. Things didn’t feel right, his stomach churned with a bad feeling, but he swallowed down his fears and approached the figure, reaching for his badge and showing it to the watching eyes of the lead.

“The name Detective Scotsman, you’ve been suspect to several kidnappings in the past couple of months, I–uh–sir?” he slowed to a mumble, “Sir, are you alright?”

Scotsman slowly lowered his badge to look deep into the suspect’s eyes. Empty and cold but not hollow, just… empty. They didn’t look right and staring for too long sent a sharp shiver down his back, a ball forming in his throat. Scotsman couldn’t seem to be able to form a coherent sentence as he stared, cold sweat running down his rough face. The forest became all too loud and yet all too quiet at the same time, further confusing the already fearful man.

The suspect smiled as Scotsman took a step back. The fog closed in around him, his breaths were short and quick like that of a cornered animal. He’d never felt such a way, not in his 5 years of work had he seen such eyes, not in any criminal, coworker, or civilian. No, this was… something else. Not that he knew anything of the paranormal, quite the opposite, as he always kept away from such things. He seemed lost in thought and frozen, badge slipping from his hand as Scotsman’s eyes glossed over with gold. His vision blurred as the figure in front of him twisted into something massive, bones cracking and leaves rustling. Long ragged golden hair, unnaturally long arms, legs, and big hands for grabbing was all that Scotsman could see through the blur of his vision. His breath hitched when he seemed to finally find his voice, screaming bloody murder out into the empty forest and backing up from the large being in front of him. A thick root that wasn’t there before tripped him as he fell on his hind-side, though the stubborn detective stumbled back still, the fog closed in further along with the beast’s dry laughter. The wet dirt on his hands felt strange, too cold and familiar, then the stench hit his nose. He couldn’t see it, but he could certainly smell it–rot and flesh–The ground was rot and flesh and he was crawling all over it. His screams broke as his throat hurt, disgust filled him and so did the need to spill out his lunch all over the floor, but he refrained, more focused on getting out from wherever he was.

But as he was lost in thought, a sudden pain filled his body, looking down to see that the creature’s bony fingers were tight around him. In a rush of adrenaline, Scotsman flailed in its grasp with pained sobs, his tough detective persona fading as he was lifted from the meaty ground. The beast’s hand felt bristled and hard, slowly squeezing him in its grasp, Scotsman’s vision only getting worse and darker as the world around him spun. He couldn’t breathe and he felt isolated. He was tired, oh so tired, and the beast was too strong. Even if he got away, what would he do then? Fear and be hunted for the rest of his life? Perhaps this was better. And with a final snap, he felt everything go cold and dark around him.