The Roar in the Dark

The Roar in the Dark

The jungle didn’t sleep at night. It waited.

Ethan had always been the kind of man who needed answers. As a wildlife documentarian, he had trekked through deserts, swamps, and tundras in search of stories that the world had forgotten. But nothing had prepared him for the uncharted forest of Kalunga, deep in the heart of Africa—rumored to be cursed, avoided by locals, and whispered about only when fires burned low and voices dropped to murmurs.

But Ethan wasn’t superstitious.

He had come with two guides, both of whom left the moment the sun dipped below the trees on the third day. “We don’t stay when it gets dark,” they said, eyes hollow with fear. “There’s something that hunts in Kalunga. Something with a roar that never fades.”

Ethan laughed it off and stayed.

He pitched his tent near the clearing and set up his cameras. The moon had just started to rise when the jungle fell silent. Not the usual stillness of night, but an oppressive, unnatural hush. No insects. No wind. Even the leaves seemed to freeze.

And then he heard it.

A roar—not just loud, but ancient. It wasn’t the call of any lion he’d recorded. It didn’t echo like sound normally would. It felt like it moved through him, bypassing his ears entirely and shaking his bones from the inside. His flashlight flickered.

He stepped outside, gripping the torch tighter, sweeping the area.

Nothing.

Then he noticed the cameras. All had shut off. Battery full, memory cards intact, but dead. Only the red LED of his recorder blinked, as if mocking him.

He turned toward the treeline. Two golden orbs stared back—eyes, low to the ground but wider apart than any predator should have.

Another roar shook the air. Ethan stumbled back, heart thudding against his ribs. His instincts screamed to run, but his feet stayed rooted.

And then it stepped into the light.

It was a lion. But not like any he had seen before.

Its body was emaciated, but unnaturally large. Its mane was matted with dried blood, and its claws—far too long—scratched deep gouges into the earth. Its eyes weren’t just golden—they glowed, like embers in a dying fire. Around its neck hung bones strung together with sinew—human bones.

Ethan whispered, “What… are you?”

The beast tilted its head, as if it understood. Then it growled, low and rumbling, and stepped forward.

Ethan backed away slowly, torch trembling in his grip. He’d seen enough to know this wasn’t just hunger. This was something old. Something cursed. He remembered the legends he’d laughed at—of spirits trapped in beasts, of men turned into monsters for killing sacred animals, of predators possessed by wrath.

He turned and ran.

The jungle swallowed him whole.

Branches lashed at his face, roots tripped his feet, and the air grew thicker with every step. Behind him, paws crashed against the earth with horrifying rhythm—never fast, just steady. Like it knew it would catch him eventually.

Ethan burst into another clearing. A stone altar stood in the middle, half-buried in vines. Symbols were etched deep into the sides—warnings, maybe. Or prayers. He scrambled behind it, trying to catch his breath.

Silence again.

Then—the roar.

Closer. Louder. The trees trembled. Birds took flight in the distance, but nothing moved near him.

He peeked around the stone. The lion stood on the edge of the clearing, unmoving, watching.

And then—another shape emerged from the trees.

A second lion. Sleek. Normal. Real.

It stepped beside the cursed beast. The two locked eyes. No sound. No motion.

Then, like a shadow peeling from the body, the darkness slipped away from the monstrous lion. It staggered, as if suddenly weak, and collapsed. The glowing eyes dimmed.

The normal lion roared—loud and natural—and vanished into the jungle.

Ethan didn’t sleep that night.

By morning, the cursed lion’s body had vanished. Only the claw marks and the disturbed earth remained.

He left Kalunga the same day.

The footage from his cameras was corrupted, and no one believed his story. But Ethan didn’t care. He had heard the roar in the dark.

And he would never forget it.