IvoryTigress
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2013
- Posts
- 3,396
The saying that the bayou, or wilderness in general, is quiet is a lie. The people who live there know. For those who are quiet enough to listen, the noise is deafening. The millions of insects that thrive in the thick Louisiana heat hum, literally vibrate with the song of their brief lives. Animals scurry on hurried footsteps, searching for that one advantage that will keep them alive longer than their neighbor. The waters flow, splashing against thick, ancient tree trunks and the muddy banks of the smaller streams that feed the larger rivers. The water is the pulsing heart of the bayou, and it is, by no means, silent.
But there are nights when it falls deathly still, when the darkness thickens despite the shimmering light of the midnight moon. Something dark lingers in the air, something that keeps even the most vicious of predators hidden away in their dens. The water stills, murky and waiting. There were nights when time stops.
He ran. His body had chosen flight and his pulse slammed in his throat so hard he thought it would burst through his skin. He couldn’t see his tormentor, but he knew if he did not escape, he would die. The terror that poured through him was not rational. It didn’t quicken his mind or sharpen his senses. He didn’t plan. He had no strategy. There was nothing but blind panic and it consumed him.
He hadn’t prepared for a late night run, but no one ever ran through the bayou. His sneakers were untied bricks of sopping mud that made moving at speed impossible. His baggy sweatpants crept down his hips from the weight of water that was up to his knees. He had no flashlight, so the low branches of trees whipped holes in his shirt and sliced his skin in small, paper thin lines. He didn’t even feel the sting.
He stumbled deeper into the heart of the bayou, the loud splash of each cumbersome step the only noise that echoed in the night. The moonlight faded more the father he went, slowly consumed by the thickening canopy of trees. He spared a glance over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of what pursued him, but all he saw was a blur as sweat dripped into his eyes. Suddenly, his hips slammed bruisingly into a thick, fallen branch. He found himself face down in the turbid water. Scraps of leaves and soil slid down his throat as he scrambled to get up. He wasn’t fast enough. Scorching pain raked down his back, making his entire body burn.
He screamed and rolled over, trying to evade the source of the pain. A new wave of terror momentarily silenced his body as he caught sight of the massive black void that hovered over him, slowly swallowing him in shadows. His skin ripped open everywhere the void touched. Blood poured down his body in thick, crimson trails. Slick, fat maggots crawled and wiggled into the wounds. Leeches slithered underneath his tattered clothing and down his body, sinking their hooks into his skin to drink down every spilled drop.
His screams were born from blinding agony and sheer horror as he desperately tried to slap away the maggots eating his flesh. He scrambled backwards, crab crawling out of desperation and disgust. But his hand soon hit nothing but open water and he fell head first into the river. Startled, but grateful, he kicked off the muddy bank and paddled his way into the middle as fast as his pained body allowed. He barely kept his have above water, his flailing and panicked limbs almost counter-productive to keeping his head above water. When he made it half way across, he paused to tread water and catch his breath. He looked back to the bank as he spat the nebulous water he had choked down gasping for breath. Heated fear was soon replaced with its frigid twin. His pulse paused and his skin chilled despite the oppressive heat. The black void was gone.
He spun around fast, looking all around himself in search of any signs of the strange anomaly. There was no way it could have been that easy. His frantic search was fruitless, as all he saw was black water and looming trees. Silent seconds ticked by. A small ray of moonlight escaped through the trees, giving his sight just a little more range than the moments before. His gaze took advantage and continued to roam, but the void was nowhere to be seen. A disbelieving smile touched his lips. He relaxed to float on his back and let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His eyes closed, muscles quivering with the after effects of terror and pain.
But his relaxation was short lived. Moments later, a massive black claw shot up from the river and yanked him under. The breath he tried to draw for a scream only filled his lungs with water. He choked and thrashed, reaching for the surface, fighting for millimeters. But an unseen force kept him trapped in an iron grip, dragging him deeper and deeper until the moonlight was gone. The minutes passed n burning agony as his lungs cried out for air. But, eventually, the fight left him. His life faded as he drifted into an endless sleep. Silence returned to the bayou.
An hour later, an old woman walked out to where the bank met the river. Her steps were slow, but sure. Her feet were bare, her long skirt hitched up above her bony knees. Weathered skin was the color of cinnamon and her features were sharp, hardened by age and experience. Her joints and knuckles were knotted with arthritis, but she moved with certainty, with purpose. Wiry, ivory locks were twisted together in tight braids that dangled down her back. When she reached where the mud dropped off into the open river, she crouched down. The hem of her skirt skimmed the water’s surface. She placed the tips of wrinkled fingers into the dark fluid and the once calm river came alive with an unnatural current. The body of the drowned man surfaced and hovered at her fingertips.
His empty sapphire eyes stared blankly up at her. She felt not sadness for him. No pity. Her expression was little more than calloused stone. Intense, amber eyes looked over his body. There were no marks or signs of serious injury of any kind. He was nothing more than a man who drank a little too much booze and then drank a little too much of the river. Seemingly satisfied with her inspection, the woman’s gaze traveled to his neck where a simple hemp necklace clung to his throat. It carried the burden of a small, obsidian stone. She carefully lifted the stone off the space in his chest where his collar bones met, and with more strength than her thin, frail arms should have possessed, she tore the necklace from his throat. Thin lips curved in a half smile as she rose and slipped the necklace into a pocket in her skirt.
With her fingertips free of the water, the river found its natural rhythm, dragging the man’s body away from the bank and downstream. The woman turned and slowly made her way back in the direction she had come, eventually swallowed by the darkness. When her footsteps no longer echoed in the night…the bayou began to wake.
But there are nights when it falls deathly still, when the darkness thickens despite the shimmering light of the midnight moon. Something dark lingers in the air, something that keeps even the most vicious of predators hidden away in their dens. The water stills, murky and waiting. There were nights when time stops.
He ran. His body had chosen flight and his pulse slammed in his throat so hard he thought it would burst through his skin. He couldn’t see his tormentor, but he knew if he did not escape, he would die. The terror that poured through him was not rational. It didn’t quicken his mind or sharpen his senses. He didn’t plan. He had no strategy. There was nothing but blind panic and it consumed him.
He hadn’t prepared for a late night run, but no one ever ran through the bayou. His sneakers were untied bricks of sopping mud that made moving at speed impossible. His baggy sweatpants crept down his hips from the weight of water that was up to his knees. He had no flashlight, so the low branches of trees whipped holes in his shirt and sliced his skin in small, paper thin lines. He didn’t even feel the sting.
He stumbled deeper into the heart of the bayou, the loud splash of each cumbersome step the only noise that echoed in the night. The moonlight faded more the father he went, slowly consumed by the thickening canopy of trees. He spared a glance over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of what pursued him, but all he saw was a blur as sweat dripped into his eyes. Suddenly, his hips slammed bruisingly into a thick, fallen branch. He found himself face down in the turbid water. Scraps of leaves and soil slid down his throat as he scrambled to get up. He wasn’t fast enough. Scorching pain raked down his back, making his entire body burn.
He screamed and rolled over, trying to evade the source of the pain. A new wave of terror momentarily silenced his body as he caught sight of the massive black void that hovered over him, slowly swallowing him in shadows. His skin ripped open everywhere the void touched. Blood poured down his body in thick, crimson trails. Slick, fat maggots crawled and wiggled into the wounds. Leeches slithered underneath his tattered clothing and down his body, sinking their hooks into his skin to drink down every spilled drop.
His screams were born from blinding agony and sheer horror as he desperately tried to slap away the maggots eating his flesh. He scrambled backwards, crab crawling out of desperation and disgust. But his hand soon hit nothing but open water and he fell head first into the river. Startled, but grateful, he kicked off the muddy bank and paddled his way into the middle as fast as his pained body allowed. He barely kept his have above water, his flailing and panicked limbs almost counter-productive to keeping his head above water. When he made it half way across, he paused to tread water and catch his breath. He looked back to the bank as he spat the nebulous water he had choked down gasping for breath. Heated fear was soon replaced with its frigid twin. His pulse paused and his skin chilled despite the oppressive heat. The black void was gone.
He spun around fast, looking all around himself in search of any signs of the strange anomaly. There was no way it could have been that easy. His frantic search was fruitless, as all he saw was black water and looming trees. Silent seconds ticked by. A small ray of moonlight escaped through the trees, giving his sight just a little more range than the moments before. His gaze took advantage and continued to roam, but the void was nowhere to be seen. A disbelieving smile touched his lips. He relaxed to float on his back and let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His eyes closed, muscles quivering with the after effects of terror and pain.
But his relaxation was short lived. Moments later, a massive black claw shot up from the river and yanked him under. The breath he tried to draw for a scream only filled his lungs with water. He choked and thrashed, reaching for the surface, fighting for millimeters. But an unseen force kept him trapped in an iron grip, dragging him deeper and deeper until the moonlight was gone. The minutes passed n burning agony as his lungs cried out for air. But, eventually, the fight left him. His life faded as he drifted into an endless sleep. Silence returned to the bayou.
An hour later, an old woman walked out to where the bank met the river. Her steps were slow, but sure. Her feet were bare, her long skirt hitched up above her bony knees. Weathered skin was the color of cinnamon and her features were sharp, hardened by age and experience. Her joints and knuckles were knotted with arthritis, but she moved with certainty, with purpose. Wiry, ivory locks were twisted together in tight braids that dangled down her back. When she reached where the mud dropped off into the open river, she crouched down. The hem of her skirt skimmed the water’s surface. She placed the tips of wrinkled fingers into the dark fluid and the once calm river came alive with an unnatural current. The body of the drowned man surfaced and hovered at her fingertips.
His empty sapphire eyes stared blankly up at her. She felt not sadness for him. No pity. Her expression was little more than calloused stone. Intense, amber eyes looked over his body. There were no marks or signs of serious injury of any kind. He was nothing more than a man who drank a little too much booze and then drank a little too much of the river. Seemingly satisfied with her inspection, the woman’s gaze traveled to his neck where a simple hemp necklace clung to his throat. It carried the burden of a small, obsidian stone. She carefully lifted the stone off the space in his chest where his collar bones met, and with more strength than her thin, frail arms should have possessed, she tore the necklace from his throat. Thin lips curved in a half smile as she rose and slipped the necklace into a pocket in her skirt.
With her fingertips free of the water, the river found its natural rhythm, dragging the man’s body away from the bank and downstream. The woman turned and slowly made her way back in the direction she had come, eventually swallowed by the darkness. When her footsteps no longer echoed in the night…the bayou began to wake.
