The peculiar thing seemed so insignificant, yet I believed it to be the key to the discovery of my career. An entire lost civilization, theorized to be the only of its kind and I held within my grasp the only shred of evidence that it ever existed to make it to the western world. A necklace with engravings so intricate, so marvelous, that it suggests its creator possessed tools and craftsmanship generations ahead of the nearest surrounding civilizations. The way the carvings looped in on themselves, winding in a three-dimensional manner into the interior of the egg like structure that hung from the finely woven plant fiber was utterly mind boggling to behold. The thing was so small, yet the potential of what it might imply was so vast. Just rolling it between my fingers ignited within me a sense of passion, of excitement for what it might lead to. There I sat back in my armchair in utter awe of the thing, for it would be the reason my name would go down in history, or so I thought. I thought that the discovery that necklace would lead to, would be the reason future generations knew my name, but I could have scarcely guessed that it would be the reason no one ever heard from me again.

  That evening though, I was totally oblivious to all the misery that little trinket would lead me to. I was completely sheltered from the horrors that necklace would bring me to know, awash in ignorant bliss of how thin the bubble was that I found myself in. Innocently bereft of the knowledge of the accursed path that it would bring me down. Knowledge that if I had in my possession that night, I would have swiftly cast that necklace into my fireplace so to be rid of it and the whole devastating endeavor it would bring about. That’s what I should have done, what I wish I had done, what in hindsight would have been by far the most sensible course of action. Yet that is the cruel thing about hindsight, it all seems so clear in retrospect, but that will never do any good for the present circumstance. No, that evening, I held the utmost certainty of the course I would take. It would be in less than one weeks’ time that an entire expedition crew and I would set out for the dense foliage of the Amazon Jungle, among the planets most unmerciful of environments, a place that seems as though man was not meant to tread, that would be our destination. We would be travelling to such an inhospitable place because of that necklace I held in my hand, which was stumbled upon by pure chance by a colleague of mine, an explorer by the name of Ernest Crowley. Ernest was most certainly the adventurous sort, he had inherited a considerable sum of money, and instead of purchasing a lavish estate as many in such a position would, he had chosen to live a rather meager lifestyle, in exchange for the chance to see every corner of the world that he could with the vast means left to him. Ernest and I had been childhood friends, and while he had initially pursued a career in law, upon the unexpected inheritance of his wealth, he instead chose a life of adventure while I pursued anthropology.

  It was for this reason that he sent me the necklace during his most recent travel to the Amazon Rainforest. He could scarcely make heads or tails of it, but he suspected I might be able to tell more. Thankfully Ernest never had many other connections within the world of Anthropology, otherwise he would have known that there are many more knowledgeable than I that he could have sent it to for inspection. Still, it was a most fortuitous occasion for me. I may not have been an expert on the Amazon or the various communities that reside there, but I knew a genuine artifact from a fake or a replica and I knew that necklace to be real. But even after days of research, I couldn’t find a single mention anywhere of any human settlement or civilization even remotely near the dense and remote plot of South American jungle where Ernest claimed to pick it up. It didn’t even resemble anything like other known tribes anywhere within the Amazon, none had carving techniques as intricate, or symbology even similar to that oddity of a pendant. It seemed totally foreign to the world where it was supposedly procured. That was my reason for speculating that it belonged to a civilization not yet discovered. Whether it would be a still living people, or whether I would be exploring a ruin, I knew not. I couldn’t even be entirely certain I would find anything, but sometimes, one’s intuition screams just a bit too loudly for it to be ignored. I firmly believe that there are pivotal moments in every one of our lives where our destiny depends on the course we take, and I thoroughly believed that what I would do in response to that letter and the strange necklace sealed within the same envelope, would change my fate entirely. I felt in my soul that to ignore the letter would be to pass up an experience unlike anything else. And so, the date was set. I was to meet up with Ernest in South America, to find out for myself.

  Those next few days before we set off felt more like a month, the anticipation making the time trickle by like an hourglass with the thinnest neck imaginable. Eventually, though, the day finally came. My bags had been packed and waiting in my front room practically since the moment the ink had dried on the documents concerning the arrangements for the expedition. I had utilized some connections from university, as well as some trusted family friends to assist me in undertaking the endeavor. It would be a small but competent crew. We were to meet at the airport, and from there, we would make our way to the remote village within the dense jungle that would serve as the launching point of the expedition proper. That was where my crew and Ernest were to meet up. We had the name of the only inn in the village and were to make our rendezvous at the café within.

  While Ernest had a great sum of financial resources at his disposal, I of course, did not, and that meant that my flight accommodation was modest to say the very least. I was crammed onto a cargo plane and flew in amongst livestock, the sound of clucking chickens and stray feathers whipping about the chamber as the rickety plane rattled through the sky. On more than one occasion I heard the sound of some stray mechanical component of the plane come loose with an alarming clang that brought about the fear that I might not arrive at my destination. It was by and far the most miserable flight of my life, but the anticipation of what was waiting for me kept my resolve. After about eight hours in the air, I began to see the tropical canopy of the rainforest poke through the clouds as we descended, it was utterly majestic, like nothing I had ever seen before. The most vibrant, verdant greens painted an image no artists brush could dare challenge, trees the size of which compared to giants like goliath and polyphemus, towering like an army of arborous titans across the horizon. My breath had been stolen from my lungs, and I could scarcely say it had returned to me until well after we had landed and begun unpacking our supplies, but even then, I felt as though I was dreaming. That period took some time, but this allowed me to take stock of the town. It was far from a bustling metropolis, but rather, it seemed to be a small farming and fishing village, populated by no more than a few hundred I would say. The local culture was fascinating to me, capturing my attention and imagination. The people lived lives so much different from my own. From my perspective, it seemed they lived a slower paced life, predominantly one of looking after their own needs as best they could, bereft of higher academic or worldly pursuits such as the one that had brought me to that place. I took a moment to ponder this and appreciate the circumstance of my life in which it seemed more evident than ever before that I had lived a life of great fortune.

  Suddenly though, I was ripped from those thoughts by a feeling of someone tapping on my shoulder. “Mr. Holbrook?” an imposing voice inquired from behind me. I turned to get a better look at the inquisitor, and was met with the sight of an individual clearly accustomed to the life of a bushman. Quite tall, with broad shoulders, attire fitting one prepared to enter the jungle, green fatigues and a pith helmet adorned with a variety of animal teeth, some of dubious origin. The man had some noticeable scars around the neck area, in fact everything about him painted the picture of one who had repeatedly subjected themselves to the perils of the wild. “Who might be asking?” I asked in return, utilizing as much caution as I could, given my unfamiliar surroundings. “Oh, yes of course, my apologies” such a courteous response coming from such an intimidating figure baffled me. It was such a mismatched demeanor, which resulted in my regarding the figure with increasing suspicion. “My name is Sampson Wilkes; I would have thought Ernest might have mentioned me in your correspondence. You are Owen Holbrook, correct? You seem to match the description he gave me of you. He instructed me to chaperone your crew on our excursion.” At this I was aghast, Ernest had made no mention of that strange gentleman being part of our journey. “I am Mr. Holbrook, but I must confess that this is very strange. Am I no longer to be meeting Ernest at the inn’s café?” He seemed to notice my apprehension about this new turn of events, based on the shifting of his expression to that of one which seemed to express sympathy, or at least the appearance of it. “Mr. Holbrook, I should explain. There had been a new turn of events, as it seems Mr. Crowley had made a new discovery in the area from which he obtained the artifact he sent you, something perhaps even more remarkable than that necklace, among the dense jungle, and he simply wished to waste no time in initiating the survey of the site. He left me with instruction to meet up with you and your crew to guide you there, that you may make your rendezvous at the site itself.” My suspicion regarding the man and his description of the change of events had not subsided, but as he spoke, several of my fellow crewmates and confidants had gathered around to hear what he had to say, and after confiding with them, we had decided that our only recourse was to trust his word, given his intimate knowledge of us and our situation. “Very well, Mr. Wilkes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, when shall we make our departure?” Seeming confident that he had gained our trust, he responded more confidently “I should say tomorrow, we’ve already lost enough daylight” He said as he gazed up to the sky, noting how high the sun had already grown, “and surely you have a fair bit of preparations to make, organizing the boat rental, preparing all your belongings and so forth. Not to mention, I can think of no more foolish of a thing than trying to be caught in that jungle after nightfall unprepared. A great way to meet your grave that is. No, I would recommend you rest for the evening here in town, and we set out first thing in the morning”. “That sounds sensible. We will meet up with you in the morning then?” “Yes, let’s say we meet at the docks at the crack of dawn.” I nodded in agreement and at that point Sampson left us with a strangely cordial tip of his helmet, ducking back into the crowds, I assumed, to take care of whatever affairs he himself needed to before our excursion.

  Sampson Wilkes projected a great deal of confidence and seemed to possess the knowledge to justify it. It seemed no wonder that such an individual would gain the trust of Ernest Crowley, but still I found myself wary of him. There was an unnerving intensity about him, but even more concerning, was how he seemed to wish to conceal that intensity. He seemed like a tiger trying to convince you he was a house cat. He exuded immense competence in how he spoke and carried himself, yet at the same time the air about him was so nebulous that the competence inspired just as much concern as confidence. He made me uncomfortable, quite plainly, but I had come much too far to be turned back by a gut feeling about a field guide. I put my feelings regarding Sampson aside and did my best to ease my mind as we settled into our accommodations at the inn, which were far from luxurious, but more than comfortable enough to provide a sufficient night’s rest.

  Eventually I was roused from my sleep by one of my companions, one of the hired hands who was brought along to assist with moving supplies. I was informed it was time to move if we were to make it to the site by a reasonable hour. I had expected to be woken by sunrays gleaming through the window as usual, but of course my tired mind had forgotten we were on a strict schedule. I slogged through the fatigue of the early morning hour to get dressed and fed as efficiently as I could, and by the time I was out of the inn, it had seemed that all the other members of our troop had already been dressed and working hard at preparing for the journey. I had to admit I felt some degree of embarrassment at what now felt like blatant laziness on my part. Perhaps I overcompensated with my zeal to assist in preparing for the journey, and the result was a toppled pile of cargo as well as one especially frustrated worker. After that I changed my approach of assistance to making records of the journey, a task perhaps more fitting of my skillset. Not much later we made our departure, having finalized the paperwork for our boat rental. The vessel we had procured was yet another reflection of the modest financial backing of our excursion, the small steamboat seemed as though it was barely held together, with planks of wood jutting out at uncomfortable angles and an engine that made noises that would concern even a nautical novice. Nonetheless, Sampson saw it suitable, or at least adequate, as did those of our crew with river faring experience, so upon that questionable vessel we began our journey into the vast, unforgiving wilderness. It was very shortly after we embarked that the small fishing town seemed to be swallowed up by the dense jungle foliage. It made my heart race how quickly it seemed that we found ourselves surrounded by nothing but jungle. I suppose we had been, for that last night, residing right on the edge of civilization, but still the sudden sense of isolation was imposing. I did my best not to make it too obvious that I was less than experienced when it came to ventures such as the one we were on, but despite my best efforts, I suspect that this was widely known amongst our crew, both the initial members and the new additions of guards that came with Sampson Wilkes.

  As we continued our path along the mighty tributaries of the Amazon, I observed the new additions to our crew and grew less comfortable at their presence. They were rough men, men of the bush. I figured I should have expected nothing less given the nature of our journey but still their presence was disconcerting. They were a loud, brutish sort. Many of them marked up and down with tattoos and scars, also carrying plenty of weaponry not typically seen in polite society. I had to remind myself frequently that of course, we were no longer among polite society, and such tools were necessary among the unforgiving wilderness of the jungle. To distract myself, since we had a several hour journey to the site, I began to take some note of the wildlife and scenery we found ourselves among.

  It was a world, utterly alien. Beautiful and cruel, wonderful, and wild, like nothing I had ever seen before or since. I had thought seeing it from the clouds was breathtaking, but being amongst the wild tangling jungle was an experience, transcendental. The animals were the sort I had only read about in books, colorful plumed birds crooning from the treetops, the occasional serpent of such grand size it appeared as though it could swallow men whole. The waters below our vessel, while often murky, occasionally gave a view of strange and awe-inspiring fish swimming below. It was the kind of world that could only flourish in the absence of the meddling of mankind. As a boy, I recall being taught about the great exploits of the empires of the world, about the wonderful advancements that had been brought to all the mysterious uncharted corners of the world, and how noble of an endeavor it all was. But seeing the untamed majesty of that place along the river made me question what I was told. I wondered if perhaps there were some places that were best left beyond the domain of man. Should we learn to accept that some corners of the world weren’t meant for our boots to tread? At that moment, I began to suspect a degree of separation between the worlds of man and nature might be for the best due to my growing concern for what harm the world of man might inflict upon the world of nature. I worried for how we might transgress against this untamed Eden, the harm that we could bring to it. But in that moment, I failed to consider that harm might be reciprocal. That nature might also endanger man as much as man endangered nature.

  My fellow travelers didn’t seem to appreciate the natural beauty as much, in fact, those men looked to be growing increasingly nervous, the further we drew from that little riverside village. All except Sampson of course, who seemed unbothered by our increasing isolation from the comfortable world of man. Sampson simply leaned against the side of the cabin and whittled something out of a slab of wood he seemed to have found while whistling an unrecognizable tune. It was rather disturbing to me, the level of indifference he seemed to show towards the scenery we glided past, as though it was normal for him, as though he were just another one of the animals of the jungle.

  Seeing as we had some time, I worked up the courage to ask Sampson a bit more about himself. If he was to be our steward for this journey, surely, I thought, I should know him better than I did at that time. When I approached him, he briefly looked up from his whittling and regarded me with a bemused expression, almost as though he were impressed that I had the gumption to approach him. “Mr. Wilkes, if I may, I wanted to ask, how did you up in such a peculiar line of work?” He ceased his whittling. Pausing for a few moments, it seemed like he was taking time to carefully consider his words, like he needed to cautiously curate his answer so as not to reveal any aspect of it he felt he shouldn’t. With a subtle huff, seeming to indicate he was slightly bothered by my intrusion, yet willing to entertain my inquiry for the sake of civility, he answered. “I was a military man before getting into this line of work. Served in the Imperial Army, for many years.” This response didn’t surprise me, since he did somewhat give the impression of a military man, grizzled and marshal in nature, possessing a keen discipline and focused demeanor. “But you can’t stay in forever, I needed to figure out something else to do with myself. After I was relieved of duty, I did my share of odd jobs to keep a roof over my head. As it turns out the service doesn’t prepare one for the civilian world all too well, and I found myself ill equipped for it. Eventually, I found my way into escort service, due to my experience in places such as this” he said while gesturing to the tangled mess of vines hanging from the mangrove trees just a few feet from the boat. He continued “And after a few years bouncing from one corner of the world to another, through some connections from my time in the Army, I found myself here. I took a liking to it, and now I’ve been working as a guide for individuals such as yourself wishing to explore these marvelous jungles for years. That’s how I encountered your colleague, Mr. Crowley.” His story made sense and gave me a better idea of who I was travelling with, but still, I couldn’t help but feel he had left much of his story untold.

  Before I could ask him anything else, the boat dropped downward in a sharp jutting motion, and I felt my stomach fly into my throat. The shock caused me to fall onto my hands and knees before scrambling back to my feet. I looked up, a bit embarrassed to see Sampson regarding me with a smirk. He hadn’t been phased by the sharp drop, remaining exactly where he had been, and if he had any suspicion that I was ill equipped for this venture before, he was likely certain of it then. I cut our conversation short and told him I needed to go take care of something. He simply nodded. I made my way to the stern of the ship. There I noticed two of the men seemed to be arguing with each other and were pointing into the dense jungle. I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying but as I did my best to appear nonchalant while eavesdropping, I caught the tail end of their conversation. “I swear I saw it.” One of them insisted with a strong dose of panic in his voice. The other stood there, arms folded with a skeptical grimace on his face. “I think you’re jumping at shadows” he retorted with imposing incredulity. “All sorts of creatures live out here, don’t you go spreading rumors of boogeymen. You’ll just make the rest of the crew jumpy.” “But”— “But nothing. After the commotion from those rapids we hit, I doubt you even got a good look at it. Now hush up and let’s get back to work with these riggings.” With that the conversation came to its conclusion.

  I had no idea what he had seen but it drew my curiosity like a bass to the most colorful fishing lure. I took note of what the crewmate looked like in case I happened to build up the courage to ask. He was shorter than most of the crew and wore what looked like more distinctly indigenous clothing than the others who tended to dress a bit more modernly. I tried to turn my focus back to our journey, which seemed to still have a fair stretch left to go. However, trying as I did to focus on the fantastical scenery around me, something about that conversation kept pulling my mind back like a potent magnet. I had been nervous about the expedition like I had any other before, but the words exchanged between those two men resonated with me and made me suspect that voyage we found ourselves on could be unlike any other before it. Above all, I felt the need to know what he saw, the curiosity persisted like an itch concealed beneath a layer of clothing one simply couldn’t get to, the more time went on, the more I craved the satisfaction of having closure.

  I was told the trip would last a few more hours, during which I could continue to keep myself busy with the scenery, the deck hands made it fairly apparent that they had no need for my assistance with anything regarding the ship. I felt somewhat embarrassed at that but knew perfectly well I was there as an academic, and pressing the manner would only lead to trouble. As we continued down the winding jungle river, around one bend an open patch became visible, the thick trees briefly gave way to a clearing of verdant green grasses sprouting from the shallow water. The change in environment granted full visibility of our surroundings from just about every angle, which for some reason made me slightly uneasy. It felt somewhat exposed, which made me frustrated that it was decided to be a good spot to break for lunch, but I was in no position to argue given my role on the voyage, so I bit my tongue.

  The food we packed was nothing luxurious, but it was nutritious. Fresh fruits, sandwiches, bread, and plenty of clean water. I had been in that humid atmosphere so long I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. I took my ration of food and water and walked up to the roof of the boat’s cabin, which seemed to be the one spot where no one else had decided to claim as theirs. It seemed perhaps to be the ideal place for me, as I had the best view of the surrounding jungle out of anywhere else on the ship. I could see the tree line clearly just across the grassy patch before our boat. Sitting down, I quickly opened my canteen and drank greedily. I threw it upwards and allowed the nourishing water to fly down my gullet. As I gradually lowered the canteen, having had my fill, my eyes returned to the tree line, and I saw something that gave me pause. At first, I suspected that my eyes were playing tricks on me, or that it was a quirk of the way the light glimmered through the canopy but as I focused a bit more, I realized that I did in fact see what I thought. I froze up at that realization, not wanting to make any sudden movements. At the very edge of the tree line was the most peculiar sight. It looked like there were people crouching down just behind the trees, cautiously examining our ship. I say people, because that’s what they appeared to be, perhaps an indigenous tribe, I thought, but as I got a closer look, I noticed that they were larger than a typical person, much larger. The fact that they seemed to be standing in the water, which only appeared to come up to their shins, suggested the men must be at least ten feet tall! The more details I could make out, the less I thought them to be an indigenous tribe, and the more I suspected they were something unlike anything else in the world. They seemed to wear no clothing, albeit I doubt that caused them any discomfort due to the sweltering jungle heat. Strangely, I found myself unable to determine any gender identifying traits among them, leading me to suspect perhaps they did not even differentiate between male and female. Their limbs were so much longer than any person I’d ever met, and gangly as well, with each joint all the way to their fingertips appearing absurdly longer than any human. Despite their lengthy build, they were rail thin, almost appearing malnourished. Their faces too were unnaturally long and thin, making for some of the strangest looking creatures I’d ever seen, but even that wasn’t the most peculiar thing about them. As I carefully fumbled through my pockets to find a small telescope I had brought with me, I extended it and looked through to try and get a better view. It took a moment for me to focus the lens but when I did, a wave of regret crashed over me like a tidal wave. I had no idea what those creatures were that lurked at the edge of the jungle across the clearing, but one thing I knew for certain after getting a better look, was that they were not men. Their skin was bizarre. It was white like the ivory of an elephant’s tusk, but somehow sicklier. Their faces were giant with disproportionately large eyes that seemed not to contain pupils or irises but rather were a pure amber color throughout. If they felt emotions such as our own, I could not discern it by the expressions on their faces. They looked simply to be observing our vessel cautiously. I sat there watching them for what felt like hours, gripped by a distinct combination of fear and fascination. They unnerved me with their daunting presence, I had never witnessed anything like them, they looked not like any chimp or ape of the jungle, but none could say that they were men like us, they were something truly undiscovered. It took a moment, but eventually the realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. I gasped at the thought that perhaps those creatures were the creators of the amulet that had brought me to the jungle in the first place.

  The thought made me tense up with a burst of adrenaline shooting through me like a lightning bolt. Looking at the intricately carved amulet I held and thinking that the hands that crafted it could belong to such brutish looking beings made my heartbeat like a hammer in my chest. However, something about it made sense. The artifact didn’t look like anything fashioned by the hands of any known civilization in the area, the idea that it was made by a different species altogether seemed to answer that question- while simultaneously posing at least a dozen new questions. What were they? How long have they been here? What did they think of us, and were we safe within their domain? The latter of those questions convinced me it would be wise to stay out of their line of sight, but surely, they knew of the location of our ship, they seemed to be staring directly at it. Yet strangely, they made no attempt at that moment to come forward into the open clearing towards us. The three that I saw lurking at the tree line seemed disinterested in a confrontation, at least for the time being. They just crouched there, cautiously studying us, as I continued to do the same. I continued studying every bit of those lanky trio of pale hominid-like beings, as they continued to watch the ship, seemingly fascinated by the thing. A few minutes later, they appeared to skulk back into the jungle, evidently having seen enough. The way they moved was unsettling as they lurched out of view, even the way their joints moved was unlike anything I had seen prior, appearing to move in a way that required more twisting of their long limbs to keep them upright. By the time they finally lumbered out of sight, I realized I had been holding my breath the whole time, and I finally released it in a quivering exhale.

  My mind scrambled to figure out what to do. My first instinct was to tell someone, but just as I scrambled down the stairs back towards the others, I thought about the interaction I had overheard not but an hour earlier between those two men, where one of them professed to have seen something like a ‘boogeyman’ and was rebuked by his crewmate. I surely thought the reaction to my ramblings of giant pale men of the jungle would be met with a similar response. After all, the very notion sounded like a fever dream. I wouldn’t have blamed blame anyone if they suspected I were succumbing to such delusions because of the jungle heat, in fact I wasn’t completely convinced that wasn’t the case myself. So, what was I to do? After a few moments of thought I deemed it the wisest course of action to simply keep what I saw to myself, but to do my utmost to make sure the remainder of our voyage proceeded as securely and promptly as possible. Silent vigilance would be my course of action. Still, the sight of those monstrous figures in the distance, and the knowledge that they lurked about the shadows of that isolated jungle filled me with tremendous unease. Having finished my lunch, I returned to the group, trying my best to keep my composure. Preparations to resume our voyage were already underway. The men were scrambling about to get our patchwork of a steamboat back into motion. I took my spot back at the bow of the boat and did my utmost to convey the appearance that all was just as it had been at the start of our voyage. Just as I began to think I was putting on a convincing display, confidently pulling out my notebook to make it look as though I were diligently studying it, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned back to see Mr. Wilkes, with a suspicious look painted on his gruff face. “Yes?” I asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost Mr. Holbrook.” His words made my tongue dry. I thought I had masked my fear so well, but it seemed that my expression betrayed my intent. “Care to share what’s got you looking so shaken?” I paused to consider what I should say. For fear of being called mad, I simply said I believed my eyes to be playing tricks on me, and that I thought I saw some dreadful beast lurking in the trees across the clearing which we then found ourselves gliding past. “Something tells me you’re not being completely honest Mr. Holbrook.” Sampson sighed. “You don’t have to omit details for the sake of keeping up appearances. If you saw something, it might do us all good if you tell me what it was, that way I might be better prepared should we run into it again.”

  “You’d never believe it” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t? You’d be surprised, Mr. Holbrook. I’ve been across this world from the Nile to the Australian bush, yet still I’m sure there’s more than a few things I haven’t seen yet. It seems the more of the world one sees, the more open to the idea of new oddities one becomes. You grow to have an open mind in my world, you see. So why don’t you tell me what’s got you looking white as a sheet.” I took another moment before responding. “Across the clearing. I thought I saw, what looked like men. But they weren’t men.” I grew slightly frustrated with myself over my inability to articulate more clearly and tried more earnestly to walk the razor thin line between a more honest description, and not seeming entirely mad. “They were too large, and their limbs were too long. Skin white as bone, and their eyes.” – “Pure amber with nary a pupil or iris to be seen?” He cut me off. I froze. How on earth could he have known? Had he seen them too? Or did he know about those fiends in the woods from his various journeys into those jungles. By my surprised look, it seems he’d figured his guess was correct. “Oh, my, that complicates things, it really does.” He sighed as he shook his head. “What are they?” I asked in a frantic whisper. “How do you know about them? Are they dangerous?” “Try to keep yourself together Mr. Holbrook.” He crouched down. “I’d heard of such creatures from the locals, but with them being such a superstitious lot, I figured it was just folklore to keep the children out of the jungle. Fairy tales and nothing more, but lord knows the locals don’t think so.” I hung on to his every word as he began to iterate a condensed description of the local folklore. “I can’t even begin to pronounce the local word they have for them, but the closest thing to English that they call them, is the wicked ones.” “The wicked ones?” I asked. “They say that the jungle belongs to them, that they had been here before the jungle existed, some argue that they even planted the seeds that grew into the trees here today. They regard them as foul vengeful spirits that would slaughter anyone arrogant enough to trespass upon their domain with inhuman cruelty, they are the very reason most in that village we left believe us to be insane for venturing more than one mile from those docks. Sounds like you caught sight of a local legend.” I think I somehow grew even paler after his description, but Sampson wore an expression completely different. He almost seemed entertained or intrigued by the knowledge that murderous ancient beings might be in our midst, his demeanor was utterly baffling to me. Perhaps more baffling was that he seemed to take me at my word. Perhaps he really was open-minded, or perhaps he was simply more unhinged than I had considered, maybe more open to the strange superstitions of the local population than he let on. Either way he seemed to regard my story as the truth so he was at that present moment, the only one I knew I could confide in regarding the matter.

  “So, what should we do? Turn back?” I asked, part of me hoping he would say yes. He didn’t answer immediately, scratching his stubbled chin as though that would coax a plan to form within his head. “Don’t think that would do much good. If you already saw them, we’re already trespassing. But the thing is, if you’ve already seen them, they know we’re here, and yet….” “Yet, what?” I interjected, eager to hear his thoughts. “Yet they haven’t attacked us.” He was right. Who could say how long they’d known of our presence yet allowed us to carry on undisturbed. “Could they be letting us through for some reason?” I inquired dumbfoundedly. “I can’t imagine why on earth they would.” Sampson responded, the befuddlement palpable in his voice. “While their motivation may be a mystery to us, that doesn’t change the fact that at this moment, I would argue that we’ve crossed our Rubicon. I say we keep our wits about us but proceed as planned.” His words sent a pang of frustration through me. Truly Sampson Wilkes was a madman, I thought. “I would also caution you against any mention of the wicked ones to the men, best to avoid a panic if we can help it.” I nodded shakily in agreement. Sampson’s eyes then watched the tree line like a hawk, his guard clearly having been heightened. With that our conversation seemed to reach its natural conclusion, yet I could scarcely say it gave me any closure.

  From that moment on the journey seemed to last an eternity. When you’re consistently wary of the slightest movement of shadows, even the tiniest rustle of leaves is sufficient to raise one’s blood pressure. Though we were assured by Sampson and our navigator that we had but a few hours left until we reached the coordinates of the rainforest that marked our destination, this news, which under different circumstances would have brought joy, was of no comfort. As my eyes darted across the jungle foliage in frantic paranoia, scanning for even a glimpse of those glaring amber eyes, I realized my appetite for the whole journey had been thoroughly depleted. It’s astounding how quickly mortal fear supplants any other emotion, how it immediately swallows up ambition, pride, excitement, smothers them like flowers under the fridged coating of an abrupt snow squall.

  Sampson, though he had not seen the creatures himself, also seemed to experience a distinct shift of demeanor. He seemed almost excited. Perhaps it was no more than a masquerade to conceal his fear, pure bravado, but I must confess he did seem to have a new excitable facet to him that at least seemed genuine. Not since our conversation regarding the wicked ones had I witnessed his hand stray far from his pistol. He had a wilder look in his eyes, I could practically feel the adrenaline in his presence. I couldn’t discern whether he feared the wicked ones or desired the challenge of a confrontation with them. I pondered if he had seen them personally as I had if he would be as eager.

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  Not long after the announcement did our surroundings change once more. We came to a dense portion of the jungle yet again, and I could feel my knuckles grow white from clenching as the trees enveloped us so completely that even in the early afternoon, so thick was the canopy that it became almost as dark as night. The ship was equipped with a flood light that constantly flickered, and each time it went out, my heart skipped a beat for fear it wouldn’t come back.

  As that flickering light guided our path through the murky waters, I could swear I felt our boats pace begin to slow. Perhaps the sediment in the waters were growing thicker as we waded further into that dense mire. The further we pressed on through that dreary estuary, the more water seemed to turn to mud. We waded through that viscous portion of the river for a few minutes, all the while my fear of getting stuck rose higher and higher. For a moment the boat seemed almost to stop. The brief pause made my teeth clench as my eyes frantically scanned the treetops. But it seemed that our vessel pressed onward. My sense of dread gradually began to abate as the muddy mixture gave way to the more natural waters we had been moving through before. That brief relief was quickly snuffed out by a sudden jolting crash that sent me tumbling to the floor. With a resounding crack, and a series of excruciating metallic tearing sounds, the entire crew was strewn across the deck like debris after a storm as whatever object we collided with caused the small vessel to tilt starboard, hard. Our ship’s pilot tried to stop as quickly as he could as soon as he realized he had struck something, to the point where I could see beads of sweat rolling down his face, but I felt in my gut it was clearly too late. When the ship finally came to a screeching, groaning halt, sounding as though the vessel itself was reeling in pain from its wound, it was plain to see that the damage had already been done. Along with several other crew members, I frantically searched the side of the boat from where we heard the damage being inflicted. Several long gashes could be seen all along the side of the boat, into which inky water was rapidly pooling, but that wasn’t the most distressing sight. The sight of our boat, likely damaged beyond repair, paled in comparison to the realization of what caused the damage. As our eyes followed the series of oddly symmetrical tears, the cause of the devastation became dreadfully apparent. What wrecked our vessel, and stopped our journey dead in its tracks was not an unfortunate run in with a wayward branch or jagged rocks we could not see, but in fact appeared to be a trap fashioned by intelligent hands. Towards the stern of our vessel, still impaling its side, was what looked like intricately carved and sharpened spears, tied together with twine in a cross hatched fashion, and deliberately placed jutting out of the thick sediment to maim any ship unfortunate enough to draw too close. We had been ensnared by a wicked device which appeared to be fashioned by human hands, or perhaps, by some other intelligent beings, and that was the thought that made my blood run cold.

  A cloud of panic began to set in, descending upon the crew all at once, as the implications of our situation consumed us. I cursed everything about the situation, I cursed the trap, I cursed the boat, I cursed the pendent that brought me out there, and I cursed my colleague, Ernest. At that time, I wished I had never met him, I wished someone else would have been invited out to that death trap of a jungle. I felt a pang of guilt as my thoughts of Ernest Crowley played out a bit more. He was supposed to be somewhere out in that jungle, and I wondered what could have become of him. Then like a whirling dervish, my thoughts spun back to my own circumstance, and what would become of all of us on that now partially submerged ship. The crew members shuffled to the bow which remained above the water, as the reflection of that disgusting water could be seen slowly rising in the reflection of the somehow still flickering floodlight. It appeared that the portion of the marshy river we were trapped in was at least shallow, as the stern seemed to conclude its journey to the bottom, the rising tide of river water concluding its consumption of our vessel as it seemingly settled on the bottom, while leaving a fair bit of the ship still above the surface. This was of course very little consolation.

  The gravity of the situation was becoming increasingly apparent. The worst possible case scenario had come to pass, I could feel the beginnings of a panic attack welling up within me. I began to hear frantic murmurs begin to crescendo into hysteric cries from a handful of the crew, making it clear that I was in good company. Talk of cannibals and vicious beasts of the jungle, licking their chops at the sight of our helplessly stranded crew began to ensue. As their troubled voices grew louder, they were suddenly silenced by the discharge of a pistol coming from the other side of the cabin. The crew went silent as our attention was drawn to the source of the gunfire. Sampson stood there, his feet firmly planted on the deck, his eyes ferociously narrowed, thin wisps of smoke still billowing from the barrel of his weapon he still held towards the sky. “That’s enough, all of you!” He barked, the flickering light of our few lanterns cast a dim glow displaying his face looking more severe than ever before, each wrinkle on his cheeks seeming to have grown deeper. “One bit of adversity, and you’re all ready to fall apart? I thought you were men!” The venom in his voice was potent, his words clearly meant to sting. A few voices retorted back, inquiring what was to be done about our dire predicament. “We came out here to rendezvous with another team, at the site of some ruins, were we not?” I looked over at the faces of the crew, noting that many were fearful, some confused, but all of them gave Mr. Wilkes their undivided attention. He had clearly taken charge and, being the only one seemingly unshaken by the dire turn of events, drew the crew towards him as a beacon of stability. “That team obviously didn’t swim all the way out here. They came in a boat as well, a boat, we could reasonably assume to be somewhere within this vicinity, given that we know we are not but a few kilometers from our destination.” The realization of the point he was driving at began to dawn on us. I noticed a flicker of hope register on the faces of some of the other crewmates. Sampson continued, “Should we manage to locate that vessel, and what remains of its crew, I would wager that would be our best chance of making it out of this godforsaken place. Wouldn’t you agree?” Despite all my suspicions of Sampsons character, I couldn’t deny he was a formidable speaker. Nor could I deny he seemed to be familiar with working under pressure. “What I say we do,” he continued as he began to pace through the ranks of our team, the floorboards of our half sunken vessel creaking under the weight of his boots. “Is find that vessel. The waters here are shallow, and we all noticed that parts of this area are solid enough to wade through. We have within our supplies four emergency flares. Unless anyone has a better plan, I say we split up into four groups, fan out in all directions, north south, east and west, and should any of us happen upon the other boat, promptly shoot your flare directly upwards to signal the remaining groups where the vessel is located. From there we’ll assess the condition of the ship and plan our departure accordingly.”

  Sampsons plan seemed to be met with reluctant acceptance None among the crew appeared pleased with the idea, I personally loathed the notion of setting foot in that vile water, exposing myself to all the grime, bacteria and lord knows what creatures may be slithering within, but couldn’t manage to think of any other course of action. I knew I had taken every vaccination against tropical diseases available to modern science, but as I looked at the water below, noting how opaque it was with all the various muck, silt and plant matter, I feared those antibodies would be pushed to their limits. Despite my reservations, there was no point in waiting for rescue since I was under no illusion that any other ships might just happen by us in such a remote stretch of the Amazon jungle. The pit in my stomach grew exponentially the more I thought about how truly isolated we were, and how our fates were truly in our own hands. I looked around the men once more and saw the resolve on their faces as they sorted themselves into four groups, rising to the occasion, knowing that their survival hinged upon a willingness to stick to Sampson’s plan and follow through no matter what. The difference between them and myself was more apparent at that moment than ever before. I was filled with self-doubt as the fact that I was the type of person not suited to that harsh environment, like a fish in the desert, was more evident than ever before. I was a man of academia, amid men of the wilderness. The frustration of feeling useless started to become overwhelming, but I was quickly pulled out of my thoughts by Sampson pulling me by the arm towards him and two of the men, one of which, I noticed was the man claiming to have seen those creatures earlier. “I’m sorry my friend, but you’re coming too. We need all the hands and eyes we can get. Everyone pulls their weight, especially in a crisis.” Sampson said with a dour expression, seeming not to want to bring me along, but knowing his own words to be true.

  Under any other circumstance, I would have dwelled more upon the slight insult of the tone in which he spoke to me, but I was more preoccupied with the fact that I noticed the sun beginning to lower in the sky through the tiny openings in the canopy from which it could be seen. Our hours of daylight were limited, and the dreadful thought of remaining in that cruel wilderness, with those beings, the wicked ones, still lurking about inspired within me a dread so consuming that it easily eclipsed my pride. Though I wished for nothing else than to remain on the dry portion of our wrecked ship, I knew I would not be allowed that option. Whether I liked it or not, I too would be searching for the vessel of my old colleague. Once the four groups had been sorted out, each containing within their ranks one of the emergency flares, a lantern, and sufficient arms for defense against the variety of predators prowling the jungle, one by one they set out in different directions away from the ship.

  It was a clumsy show of trial and error among the various parties to find their way to the portion of our surroundings where solid footing could be attained. More than one tumbled clumsily into the murky shallows, shakily coming back to their feet as they frantically ripped various vines and muck from their bodies. Thankfully my team went last, so we had the minimal luxury of watching the first three groups splash and flail their way to what looked to be a portion of the estuary that was at least shallow and sturdy enough to wade through. The first group struggled immensely to find solid footing, but luckily found their way to that thick portion of the river we had just passed through. From there, various degrees of wadable paths extended in all directions, it seemed. As each of the groups fanned out, I was shocked by how quickly they disappeared within the dense jungle brush. The first two groups had to strenuously chop through thick vines to remain on a path of walkable ground, the leaders sweating profusely as they hacked at the thick vines with machetes. Even though we were spared the discomfort of falling completely into the water, Sampson, our two companions and myself still found ourselves up to our shins in the mire. I could feel the water penetrate my shoes, soaking my feet and it made me shiver. None the less, I followed Sampson as he led the way, a lantern in one hand, and his pistol gripped tightly in the other.

  Each group took as much care as possible not to deviate from a straight path out from our marooned vessel, so as not to find themselves unable to find their way back. I was skeptical as to how effective that tactic would be, given the sheer density of the jungle, but followed suit regardless. All four of us within our group searched in every direction for any sign of the party we were supposed to meet. I inspected every inch of jungle my eyes could see in the dim light of our lantern, attempting to mimic the diligence of a seasoned detective in my efforts. Perhaps I thought the more effort I put into the search, the more it might alleviate the guilt I felt for being the reason we were there in the first place. As we continued, I remembered the conversation between the man in our group with the native style clothing and the other crewmate from earlier, about how he had claimed to see something within the forest. Seeing as I found him and myself trailing ever so slightly behind Sampson and our other companion, I found myself compelled to ask him about what he had seen. I dreaded the thought that he would confirm the sight of those strange and gruesome beings, but there was an insatiable curiosity within me to find out, and I knew not of another time when I would get the chance. “Excuse me” I whispered cautiously in his direction. He eyed me skeptically in response. “I’m sorry to ask, but…” I hesitated for a moment, however realizing I had already initiated the conversation, and had his attention, I followed through. “Earlier I overheard you telling another one of the men about something strange you saw in the jungle.” His expression remained stonelike, continuing to regard my every word with reservation. “I also think I saw something when we had stopped to eat. Maybe you won’t believe me, and if so, feel free to disregard all of this, but I saw what looked like, maybe odd-looking men out in the jungle. By any chance was that like what you saw?” His curiosity was clearly piqued at that, his expression shifting promptly to one that seemed more receptive the moment I mentioned the strange men of the forest. I waited with bated breath, part of me beginning to regret speaking to him, the longer the silence went without a response. Then he finally spoke. “The wicked ones” he said, gravely. Before I could respond, he continued in his somewhat broken English. “Yeah, I saw them. Saw them watching. Not everyone believes they’re real, but they’re as real as anything else. As real as these vines, as real as the water we’re walking through. They know we’re here.” His words, and the confidence with which he spoke them shook me to my core. “Sampson told me they can be violent.” I whispered, taking great care not to raise my voice loud enough for anyone else to hear. “If so, why haven’t they done anything to us?” He paused for a moment before responding. “I think they’re still deciding what to do with us.” Something about that answer felt especially ominous. He finished by simply saying “I don’t think we should have come here, but the sooner we make our leave, I think the better our chances that they show us mercy. We should find that other ship as soon as we can.” I nodded nervously in agreement. The very moment we all saw the trap that felled our ship, I think every man among us knew we were amid a malicious, intelligent presence, yet I did not know if all of them subscribed to the same superstitions. Perhaps they did, but wished not even to speak of it, as though mere mention of the wicked ones would give them even more power over our fate. Considering his words, and the confirmation that I was not alone in having witnessed those creatures, it was then plain to me the initial purpose of our venture was null and void. I no longer about finding the ruins, my reputation, career, prestige, all of it was whisked away, replaced by one thing, the desire to simply survive.

  Onward we waded, frequently stumbling over tangled vines, and having to swat various insects from our faces. I had been vaccinated for malaria before our journey but as we stumbled through a cloud of mosquitos, the fear that it may not have been sufficient began to dawn on me. I wretched as I had to close my eyes for a moment to blindly swat away a particularly thick cloud of vile insects. As the cloud gradually abated and I rubbed the remaining insects off my face, I resumed my search of the jungle and noticed something crucial. It was so insignificant that had I not turned my face downward to spit out a stray pest, I might not have noticed the slight glint of the thing sticking out of the water. I called out to the other three members of our group so that we all might get a better look at it. It looked like the glint of something made of glass, surely nothing found naturally in the jungle. We all crouched down to get a better look; Sampson cautiously reached into the muddy waters to retrieve the source of the reflection. What he pulled out caused me to gasp audibly. What he held in his hand, even as cracked, and covered in muck as they were, I recognized instantly as pair of spectacles. More significant still was that they were not just any pair, they were the same specially designed frames I knew belonged to one person. The initials engraved on the side confirmed it. E.C.: Ernest Crowley. My throat grew dry as a bone at the sight, if his glasses were there, surely Ernest couldn’t have been far away. I knew my old colleague was as short sighted as one could be, he physically couldn’t have migrated far from that location. The more I thought about it, the larger the knot in my stomach grew. “Those belong to Ernest; those are his initials on the frame.” I stuttered. “He can’t be far from here; we have to find him!” I shouted with perhaps more aggression than I intended, but my concern for my colleague was growing more desperate by the second. A moment after my outburst came Sampsons voice, but his tone was unexpectedly somber. “Unfortunately, it would seem you are more correct than you may have wished.” I paused for a moment at his words, the tone in his voice briefly perplexed me, until I turned my head to him and noticed him looking straight up into the canopy. My eyes followed the direction he appeared to be gazing and once I saw what he was looking at, my vision grew blurry due to the sheer horror of the sight. Soon after, the contents of my stomach emptied themselves into the water below my feet. My whole body and soul wretched physically and mentally at the sight of the mangled and mutilated form of my former colleague, my friend, Ernest Crowly, hanging in the treetops in several pieces.

  My vision continued to whirl at the sight, the confirmation of my worst fear sent my whole world into a tailspin. He wasn’t just dead; he had been twisted and mangled in such a brutal manner. Hung up in those trees in a macabre display, bones jutting out at jagged angles, his dead, glassy eyes bloodshot, one partially hanging from its socket. Even the more hardened members of our company joined me in a chorus of gags at the horrific display. Even though every reasonable part of my psyche was screaming at me not to, I returned my gaze to his remains, for I had to confirm one more thing I believed I saw. Upon that subsequent inspection, I was horrified yet further to confirm it was true, that the body of Ernest Crowley appeared to have been disemboweled, drained of his innards for whatever gruesome reason his murderers had. We all stumbled back at the wicked sight, except for Sampson, who remained where he stood, statue-like. For most of this journey, I simply thought him to be a man hardened by many excursions into the wilderness, but in that moment, seeing him witness the same horror we had, while retaining his resolve, I grew to suspect there was more to him, a darkness within that I could hardly fathom.

  While still reeling at the discovery of my old friend’s demise, I wished for nothing more than to wake up from that whole gruesome endeavor. To find myself jolting up from under my covers back in my modest apartment would have been the most welcome turn of events. To realize all of it had been nothing but a wretched dream was what I prayed for but knew in my heart of hearts was not to be. As horrible as it all was, it was too real to be a dream. I simply stood there for a few moments, wracked by the traumatic experience, crouching down in the mire, mourning for the loss while attempting futilely to keep myself from vomiting once more. As much as I desired to stay in that position longer, to recover as much of my psyche and composure as I could, it was not long before I was unceremoniously wrenched from my grief by the sound of a guttural inhuman howl somewhere in the distance. The sound echoed through the trees and made my very bones shiver as it assaulted my eardrums. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. The bellowing howl, with a distinct gurgle at the end, made me feel a deep resounding dread, it was the sound of demise. I knew it could be nothing other than the war cry of the wicked ones. While it sounded distant, it was still close enough for concern. It was clear the others felt the same based on the gaping mouths and sunken eyes it inspired among them. “We can mourn for him when we’re out of this jungle Owen. I’m sorry, but now isn’t the time.” Sampson said with a new tinge of urgency in his voice. I knew Sampson was right. We had to find the boat, we had to escape, lest we meet the same ghastly end as poor Ernest Crowley.

  Our search resumed with a renewed vigor, the fear of encountering the source of the Ghoulish wail proved to be all the motivation we needed to move as though our lives depended on it, since it was more than apparent that they did. We combed through the tangled branches of the jungle in a frenzy, at that point no longer concerned with the insects or the mud, or any of the other aspects of the jungle that would have otherwise concerned us in less dire circumstances. The desire for survival took hold of us entirely, and all other concerns were cast aside. As we continued our search, we could hear the same cry from earlier, being joined by others, it sounded like at least six of those creatures were prowling about the jungle, marauding about on their ghoulish hunt, and it sounded like they were getting closer. With each howl that pierced our ears, we moved more quickly, growing more desperate by the moment. I noticed all the other members of my group had their weapons drawn, grasped with white knuckles, and I felt almost naked without similar arms, despite my lack of proficiency with such weapons. The cries stopped for a moment. I knew not why until they resumed then accompanied by the unmistakable sound of men screeching in utter agony, screaming with the abject pain and terror of knowing their demise was imminent. The wicked ones had clearly found one of the other groups, those screams would haunt me for as long as I lived, and in that moment, I feared that might not be much longer.

  At the sound of the tortured wails of our crewmates, we began running, or moving as closely to running as we could in that snarled brush. I noticed the sun had just about fallen below the horizon, and the knowledge that we would soon be wrapped in total darkness as those abominations pursued us increased my desperation exponentially. We ran until I noticed something that made me stop dead in my tracks. In the branches I began to see what looked like supplies; a few ropes, some remnants of crates, a stray lantern or two none of which belonged to our troop, leaving me no other conclusion to come to than that we had stumbled upon the remnants of the previous expedition’s equipment. The others took notice as well, and we slowed our pace, carefully searching for any sign of their boat. As we followed the trail of loose boxes, riggings, ropes, and even the occasional piece of food, I briefly experienced a flicker of hope. That spark of optimism, however, was quickly dashed by something else I noticed. It started with the smell. It was a distinct coppery odor, I soon realized, was that of blood. Then I saw it in the water, the lantern cast its rays into the inky waves, revealing pools of crimson fluid churning into the river. We had found the other crew, and it seemed they had met the same demise as my poor departed colleague.

  Most people aren’t mentally equipped to witness the kind of carnage we beheld at that fateful scene. Outside of seasoned military men with years of experience in battle, most are spared the egregious imagery of human remains torn apart and strewn about with such cruel disregard. It’s the sort of thing that makes one briefly disassociate from the world around them, I think it’s something of a defense mechanism to go temporarily insane at the sight of a massacre such as that. I belief that was what we all did when we found the source of that blood. We had found the ship, but it was a pyrrhic victory as the vessel was damaged even worse than ours was, practically torn in half. But that wasn’t the worst of it. We also witnessed at least a dozen bodies, ripped up like tissue paper, some half submerged in the water, some hanging from the trees like Ernest. One was just a lower torso propped against the base of a tree. Blood, organs, and sinew scattered like grotesque confetti. I think I heard two of my crewmates screaming, I may have been screaming as well, or perhaps it was just my ears ringing from my descent into total madness. It was hard to be sure, because everything had blurred together in a haze of utter horror that damaged my psyche more than I could even understand. I simply shut down. I gave up. I had sunk to my knees as I heard those guttural shrieks closing in on us, knowing those horrible amber eyes were encircling our position, those elongated limbs were climbing through the brush making their way closer and closer with every moment that passed. I truly believed in that moment, my time on earth had concluded. Complete and total despair consumed me. It was then that I pulled out the amulet, that accursed artifact that had brought me to such a cruel fate, and I threw it into the jungle. I cast it away with all the strength I had left as tears began to flow freely like waterfalls down my cheeks. It was one last futile act of defiance, as I saw imposing forms shuffling through the trees. I believe I caught sporadic glimpses of orange eyes glowing through the limbs of the trees. I wept knowing they were there, gazing upon us with their horrible, hateful eyes. Despite all our efforts, we had no way out, it was over.

  Three of those horrific beings emerged from the brush, and for the first time I got a good look at them up close. Thinking back to when I saw them at a distance, and how unnerving I found the beings, it paled in comparison to seeing them mere meters away. The details were maddening. For one thing, the smell that assaulted my nostrils was so atrocious that if I had anything left in my stomach, I would have vomited again. Instead, the smell of those beings, which could only be compared to that of a festering carcass, made me gag painfully. Each one of them had bits of gore covering some portion of their giant gangly bodies. Their limbs twisted and turned in such an unnatural way as they climbed through the branches, but worst of all were their faces. I had not gotten a good look at them earlier aside from their giant mouths, and of course those glinting yellow eyes, but as they stood before us, I saw their teeth, jagged fangs each one of them pointing in different directions, with bits of flesh still hanging loosely from those horrendous maws. As they drew closer, they each began to make an expression like a sick impersonation of a smile. I knew very little of these beings, but I felt in my very soul that they did not feel the same things we did. They did not experience sadness, happiness, anger, or any emotion familiar to humans, but rather a simple predatory malice and cruelty. At most I felt those ‘smiles’ were meant to mock our pain and distress. I believed they were relishing their triumph and savoring our despair. I prayed for it all to end, for them to simply make it quick, although I strongly suspected they wouldn’t. As they approached closer still, and I waited to be snatched by them, I was suddenly struck from behind by some blunt force. In an instant everything went black. After all that I had been through, being knocked unconscious was a welcome mercy, and I embraced the abyss like a dear old friend.

  I was uncertain how much time had elapsed since I had been struck from behind and was still experiencing a thick mental haze as I gradually came to my senses. I looked around, swiveling my head as well as I could, my vision gradually swimming back into focus. I soon noticed that my hands were bound above my head, and that I was pressed with my back against a wall, like I was a prisoner in some kind of medieval dungeon, hanging from crude shackles. I cursed God in that moment that I was still alive. As I grew more aware of my surroundings, I noticed other details. For one thing, it appeared that at least six or so of my crewmates were bound against the wall along with me, all in various states of injury, many featuring dried blood in a trail emanating from the backs of their heads, trickling down their necks, leading me to suspect that they had suffered similar assaults as myself. A chorus of pained groans began to arise from my unfortunate companions as I took further note of our surroundings. We no longer appeared to be in the jungle but rather to be in some kind of chamber. It looked to be a vast stone ruin, like nothing I had ever seen in all my years of archaeology. The room was circular, with long slitted openings all around it, letting dim sickly moonlight illuminate the chamber. There was a large gateway opening at the other side of the room, and between the wall to which we found ourselves bound, and that entry way appeared to be a raised platform with strange hieroglyphs that outlined its base. The more I looked around, the more it seemed that place was some kind of ceremonial temple. My vision came into focus more, and I noticed the same strange markings bordering the perimeter of the room along the floor and ceiling, further convincing me of the religious nature of the place. As my vision returned to me completely, I noticed that the dim moonlight reflected off piles of faintly glittering objects on either side of the gated doorway. Upon focusing closer, I noticed that it appeared to be piles of treasure, mounds and mounds of strange gold coins that seemed to be spilling from outside that entryway into the chamber. Of course, given our current predicament, the sight of gold meant nothing to me. I then looked back to my fellow prisoners to take stock of who had seemed to be spared alongside myself. I recognized some of them, but what was most striking was who had been absent from the group. Sampson was not among our ranks. I pondered briefly what could have become of him. Perhaps he managed to escape somehow, I theorized. But my theory was abruptly disproven by what happened next. I heard the echo of footsteps approaching that entryway. It was totally dark within, so it wasn’t until the footsteps were directly outside that I could even make out the source of the footsteps. My heart sunk as the form of none other than Sampson Wilkes entered our chamber.

  As if that wasn’t baffled enough, I quickly noticed that he appeared completely unharmed, as though the wicked ones hadn’t laid one wretched finger on him. The look on his face was difficult to describe. He appeared as serious as ever, but there was something new. Part of his iron resolve seemed to have been chipped away, and beneath it seemed to be an expression of dread, or perhaps even guilt. I didn’t know what to think, but at the very least I wasn’t left to stew in confusion for long. Sampson spoke. “Gentlemen, you have my sincerest apologies.” He said, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I haven’t been entirely forthright with you. In fact, you could say I’ve been quite deceptive.” He began pacing the room, making his way towards us, and casually eyeing the piles of coins as he did so. “I’m sure you thought that our excursion had met with an awful derailment, that the terrible misfortune that has befallen you, was the product of cruel chance. I regret to inform you, that it was not.” My jaw hung slack. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I knew there was something suspicious about Sampson, but never could I have fathomed the depths of his treachery. “You see, this was all orchestrated, as part of an accord I’d made with original inhabitants of this jungle.” As he continued, the forms of several of those monstrous creatures began to crawl through the entry way, shambling along with those horrible, jagged limbs. I trembled at the sight of the abominable creatures but continued to listen to the wicked words of our maligned guide. “Everything from the boats to the traps, to the artifacts I had sent our poor departed friend, Mr. Crowley”, he paused before glancing at me with a look of regret in his eyes as he continued, “as well as the one you received Mr. Holbrook, was all designed to lure you to where you are now. Even that letter you received Mr. Holbrook, was simply an especially convincing forgery.” As he continued his speech, the creatures grabbed one of our crewmates, I think he was the navigator. The man yelped as his restraints were unceremoniously broken and the wicked being dragged him to the raised platform in the middle of the room. He wailed in despair the whole agonizing way. They threw him onto the platform as Sampson continued.

  “I had long known of the wicked ones. In fact, my father had discovered them before myself. He had meticulously studied them, albeit from a distance of course.” My head was still spinning in disbelief of it all. I briefly wondered why he would even bother telling us all of it, then thought maybe he was just trying to ease the pang of his own guilt. This somehow made me even more resentful of his treachery. Not only did it seem he was offering us up to the wicked ones, but trying to relieve his own guilt for doing so. He continued. “My father learned so much about them. They really are extraordinary creatures, in a peculiar way. He compiled his studies and passed them on to me.” While Sampson spoke, the man on the platform whimpered as the pale monstrosities encircled him. “We had even studied them side by side for a few years. Incredibly enough, after listening to them long enough, we even believed to have learned how to communicate with them, albeit in a crude fashion. However, after one excursion, it seemed my father had gotten too close, overestimated the tolerance they seemed to have had for him.” Sampson did not finish detailing the fate of his father, but I understood what he implied. The man on the platform was weeping openly as the monstrosities opened their mouths, and sickening fleshy tubelike appendages emerged from their gullets, slowly extending towards the now panicking man, held in place by those brutish clawed hands. Sampson at that moment was facing us with his back turned to the man on the platform, seeming to be doing a poor job of convincing us he was not affected by the sounds of screaming as the tube-like appendages had latched on to the poor soul. They hooked into him at various locations, one on his chest, one on his neck, another on his lower side. Sampson remained facing us, his feet planted firmly, seemingly resolved not to dare turn one inch towards the horrendous scene unfolding directly behind him. “I began to fear for my own life. I feared I too would fall victim to their brutal desires, but then I discovered that there could be mercy for me, though it would be conditional. You see, the wicked ones, as you know them, are peculiar beings. They will gladly consume just about anything, humans included. But throughout my time studying them, out of all the questions I had, the one answer that remained elusive was how they reproduced. I had never seen them mate, and it didn’t seem like they laid eggs, so I often wondered how they maintained their ranks, as I had witness some grow old and perish.” I began to connect the dots in my head and wretched yet again with such force that I was certain blood vessels burst in my eyes. The poor man on the table writhed in agony as those tubes of flesh appeared to be pump some kind of black viscous substance into his body, his face was contorting in an agony I couldn’t begin to imagine.

  “I did eventually get my answer.” Sampson went on. “The process is obscene, I’m aware, but without assistance they have great difficulty in finding new beings with which to replenish their ranks. After I unintentionally led them to an unfortunately lost fishing crew many years ago, I learned that they would spare me, if I could give them other subjects in my place. What’s more, I soon found, that with my cooperation, not only would they spare my life, but they would reward me handsomely for my services.” As he spoke, he looked at the piles of riches on the floor of the chamber. The tubes retracted back into their gaping maws after seeming to conclude pumping the man with God knows what. As they retracted, thin webs of vile liquid fell from them and the open wounds they left on the man, who promptly began shrieking in agony as he writhed on the platform. One of the beasts approached the piles of coins and in its wretched hands grasped a generous portion of them, which it promptly dropped at the feat of Sampson. “So, you must understand gentlemen. That this is not personal. I bear you no ill will, and once more, I am deeply sorry for this.” Sampson bent down and collected his blood money, shoving the strange coins into his pockets as the man behind him began making indescribable gurgling sounds. “If there’s one thing these creatures have taught me, it’s that only the fittest survive out here. Our symbiotic relationship has allowed me not only to survive, but thrive in this wicked, far-flung corner of the world.” Sampsons face looked wistful, as he seemed to be performing some kind of mental trick to take himself out of the situation. As he did that, the man on the platform was undergoing a gruesome metamorphosis. His body began to contort, bones could be heard snapping and reforming within him, his entire skeleton looked to be rearranging. Surely his mind had shattered from the ungodly pain of the unholy process he was undergoing. His limbs began to elongate as his eyes opened, revealing his pupils to have disappeared, replaced with nothing but ghoulish amber. “I am only fulfilling an accord I have made. It’s only business.” Sampson concluded, as the poor soul’s gruesome transformation appeared to have finished its course. The human man that was laid down on that platform was no more, what remained was one of those despicable creatures. He laid still for a moment, on that mysterious platform, before he rose in the same shambling, unnatural motion as the others and joined their ranks. At the sight of this, I then began to laugh, an uncontrollable chuckle bubbled from my mouth. I had embraced insanity for my last remaining moments in response to the understanding of what would become of me. Perhaps that was for the best, that I would totally lose my mind, before inevitably joining the ranks of the wicked ones.