Shadow Creek

Shadow Creek was never meant to be found. Nestled deep in the woods beyond Applegate Estates, the air itself seemed to bend and twist, the trees crooked and wrong, as if recoiling from something vile hidden deep within. The locals knew better than to venture near it, especially after sunset, when the mist came rolling in like the breath of a thousand forgotten souls. Even the animals wouldn’t drink from the water, and the birds stopped singing near the trees that bordered its black depths. But Jaclyn wasn’t one for superstition. She didn’t believe in old wives’ tales or cursed places. That’s what she told herself, anyway.

The night she decided to prove them wrong, the wind had a bite to it, colder than usual for that time of year. Her breath fogged in the air, a mist of her own, as she made her way down the path toward Shadow Creek. The stories about the water swallowing souls and the whispers of those who’d been lost were just that—stories. But as Jaclyn stepped closer, she could feel it—an unease that crawled under her skin, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The flashlight beam trembled in her hand, the batteries flickering though they were new. A low fog curled around her ankles, winding through the trees like ghostly fingers. Jaclyn paused at the creek’s edge, her heart hammering in her chest. The water was still—too still—black as ink, reflecting nothing back at her. There was no sound. No wind. No rustling leaves. Just silence, deep and suffocating.

Something in the pit of her stomach told her to turn back, but it was too late for that now. She’d come too far. With a deep breath, she knelt beside the water, staring into the abyss. Her reflection should have been there, staring back at her. But the surface showed nothing—just the black, empty void.

And then, the whisper came.

At first, it was so faint that she thought she imagined it. Just the breeze, she told herself. But the whisper came again, louder this time, more insistent.

“Jaclyn…”

Her name, spoken in a voice that didn’t belong to any living thing. The sound seemed to creep into her ears and nestle deep inside her mind, twisting and turning until her thoughts felt foreign, not her own. Jaclyn jerked her head around, her flashlight sweeping the trees. There was no one.

And then, something rippled in the water.

Jaclyn froze, her breath caught in her throat. The water—so still moments before—was now shifting, slowly, deliberately, as though something beneath the surface was waking up. She leaned in closer, her fingers digging into the soft, damp earth.

A face.

It wasn’t hers.

The pale, bloated face of a woman stared up at her from the water. Her eyes were black, empty sockets, her lips cracked and torn, her skin so translucent it looked like she was made of wax, melting slowly under the surface of the water. Jaclyn’s heart skipped, a cold sweat breaking across her skin. She scrambled backward, but something rooted her in place. Her body refused to move.

The woman’s mouth opened wide, wider than any mouth should ever open, and a guttural, gasping moan rose from her throat. It wasn’t a scream—it was worse. A sound filled with the kind of despair that clawed at your insides, that made your heart feel too small to contain the terror welling up within you.

Jaclyn’s legs trembled as more faces appeared beneath the surface, their empty eyes staring up at her. Women, men, children—all dead, all bloated and disfigured, their mouths open in silent screams. They rose slowly, their hands clawing at the water, as though begging for someone to pull them free. But it was the eyes that unnerved her most—those hollow, black voids that seemed to follow her every move, pleading, accusing.

She wanted to run. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She was paralyzed, frozen in place as the mist thickened, coiling around her like a living thing.

“Jaclyn…”

The whisper came again, louder now, from everywhere and nowhere at once. Her name, repeated in that same cold, rasping voice. She turned back to the creek, her stomach twisting in knots as something began to rise from the water—a shape, humanoid but wrong in every conceivable way.

The figure that emerged was impossibly tall, its limbs too long, its fingers too thin, sharp like claws. Its face was a grotesque patchwork of features—multiple mouths sewn together with strands of wet, rotting flesh, eyes scattered across its head like misplaced puzzle pieces. Each mouth stretched wide, and from them came the sound of many voices, all screaming at once, a symphony of agony that made Jaclyn’s blood run cold.

The creature’s eyes—all of them—focused on her, its mouths still screaming, still howling. Jaclyn stumbled backward, her feet sinking into the mud as she tried to escape, but the ground beneath her was turning soft, pulling her down. She gasped, tears stinging her eyes as the mud reached her knees, then her waist. She clawed at the earth, desperate to pull herself free, but the harder she fought, the deeper she sank.

The creature took a step closer, its many mouths stretching into grotesque smiles, revealing rows of broken, jagged teeth. Its skeletal fingers reached out, brushing against her skin with the icy touch of death. Jaclyn screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, but there was no one to hear. No one to help.

The mud closed over her chest, then her neck, cold and suffocating. Her flashlight lay discarded beside her, flickering in the mist, casting weak shadows that danced across the trees. The faces in the creek continued to rise, their mouths moving in soundless screams, their hands outstretched, as if beckoning her to join them.

The last thing Jaclyn saw before the mud swallowed her whole was the creature standing over her, its many eyes glinting in the faint light, its mouths whispering the same thing over and over again.

“Forever…”

The townspeople never found Jaclyn. But sometimes, late at night, when the mist is thick and the air is still, they say you can hear her voice—crying, screaming, begging to be saved. But no one dares go near Shadow Creek anymore.

Because the dead are always hungry.

And now, they have Jaclyn.