When Darkness Fell

Word Count: 5,051

It was a cool, spring Louisiana night and the early season cotton was well on its way to blooming. On this particular day, in April of 1991, my large family came together for an old-fashioned crawfish boil. Many of my uncles raised rice, and during early spring they pulled hundreds of pounds of crawfish from the rice paddies a day. Every member of my family was there. All of my aunts, uncles and cousins showed up to the family event. 

As the crimson sun set, painting the distant clouds a beautiful orange on their underside, the mosquitos came out to feed. My cousin Ricky Ray and I decided to go for a drive. Lifting our cooler full of beer, the two of us walked to Ricky’s pick-up truck. I was checking my pocket for cigarettes when we heard my youngest brother, Justin Paul, calling out our names. I didn’t particularly want him coming with us, but Ricky Ray waved his hand for J.P. to catch up. Making J.P. sit in the middle, we climbed into the truck and headed along the dirt road. 

We headed East. There was a good swimming hole twenty or so miles from here at a bend in the bayou. My oldest brother – who was now away to college – tied a thick hemp rope to a tree overhanging the water. It was a popular spot and there was a good chance we would run into some of our friends there. We saw three trucks already present when we arrived. One belonged to my buddy, Mark Staton. The second truck we did not recognize but the third truck belonged to the Whitten boys. 

My family and the Whittens have carried on a cold-feud for several generations. No one could say for sure what caused the tension between our families. Only two fights between the families occurred over the last decade, but there was the ever-present tension among the clans. We didn’t really want to go swimming with the Whittens, but we were not going to let them keep us from our fun. I hoped they would leave when we showed up. 

I pulled off my socks and shoes immediately after exiting the truck, as did Ricky Ray. The ground was sandy and I always ended up with my shoes filled. The only sounds we heard were the crickets and the wind blowing through the tall grass. In that near silence, J.P’s flip-flops sounded like someone smacking water with an oar. 

“Why don’t you take them damn things off,” Ricky Ray griped at J.P. “People can hear us coming from a mile away.” 

Normally J.P. would have come back with a snappy comment, but because there were Whittens out here he did what Ricky Ray said. Even though there were only a couple of physical altercations between the families in years, we always expected one at any time. If the Whittens did decide to cause trouble tonight, there was no point in announcing our arrival. 

The old oak tree overhanging the water was visible in the near distance. The trunk of the venerable tree was more than four feet thick. It was a sapling long before the bayou ever cut its way through the flat landscape. Mark Sutton and his two younger brothers were playing on the swing when we broke the tall grass and into view. Two other fellows, a couple of strangers I’d never seen before, were standing near a fire.  

I knew the two weren’t from around here because they repetitively swatted at the relentless mosquitos. Everyone around here was used to the Louisiana blood hawks, very rarely even noticing them. The older folks in these parts said that mosquitos get used to the same old meal every night, so it’s like a buffet when new blood comes to visit. 

I learned that the new guys moved into Jep’s old farmhouse just a few miles South of here. Jep passed on some six or seven years ago and had nobody to which to leave his land. Old Jep was a devoted Christian man who likely never neglected a Sunday of church in his life. He put it in his last will and testament that the property was to be sold and the proceeds go to the church. I suppose Reverend Loftus was finally able to unload the unused land. 

I saw no trace of the Whittens and didn’t really care to inquire as to their whereabouts. Instead, we said hey to our old friends and introduced ourselves to our new ones. Come to find out, the new boys moved here from Austin, Texas. They were used to the dry heat of that city and were finding the humidity here to be unequivocally miserable. Setting aside their complaints about the mosquitos and humidity, these boys seemed alright. 

One of them asked me about the Whitten boys; he asked if we were friends. I shrugged my head, lightly shook my head and said, “Naw.” 

“Good,” the younger of the two elaborated. “They seem like a bunch of assholes.” 

“Then we got somethin’ in common,” Rick Ray chuckled as he offered them each a beer. 

These new fellows, Ken and Terry Greyson, brought some dark beer I was not familiar with. Terry offered us each a bottle. It was profoundly terrible, tasting almost burnt. I wanted to be polite, so I complemented the taste and finished it as quickly as I could. If I’m going to sip on a beer, it’s going to be one I like. 

It was Terry who first noticed the darkness. A spot in the sky was completly devoid of stars, and I was not sure if it was always that way or not. We all watched it and it appeared to be drifting slowly. I did not know if the motion was a result of the earth moving, the stars moving or the darkness itself moving. 

Our attention turned from the stars to the nearby forest. Someone just exited the forest and we could see the beam of a flashlight. Before long, Billy Whitten and two of his cousins emerged from the tall grass. Insults were exchanged then the Whitten boys hopped in their truck and left. 

As soon as their taillights faded from view, J.P. sprung with excitement and said “They were fuckin’ stoned man.” 

“You sure?” Ricky Ray asked with a new rising hope. 

“Shit yea. Didn’t you see how bloodshot their eyes were,” he said with enthusiasm. “That little Whitten was carrying a paper sack.” 

“We gotta go raid their crops man,” the youngest Sutton insisted. 

I was relieved to see that the Greyson boys had the same positive reaction to this news as we did. 

Someone had to stay with the trucks, so J.P., Terry and the youngest Sutton padded of into the grass. It was easy for them to follow the path beaten by the Whittens as the tall stalks broke easily and left no doubt someone recently passed through. The remaining five of us turned our attention back to that mysterious black spot in the sky. We weren’t sure if it moved, but it was doubtlessly larger than before. Chills ran through me as I noticed the edges of the darkness moving with a shifting fluidic motion. 

Half an hour later it was obvious to us that, whatever it was, it was falling toward the earth and it was falling slowly. A meteorite was immediately ruled out. Falling stars produce bright flames, not fluid darkness. We thought it might be a hot air balloon but that would produce an illuminating fire as well. 

The darkness altered course and now appeared to be descending at an angle. It was apparent that it was decelerating, like a man with a parachute. I attempted to convince myself that was the explanation, but I knew it was a lie. A parachute would block out the stars and produce no illumination of its own, but that theory went out the window as the darkness grew larger and larger. It was falling into the forest, falling toward my baby brother and the others. Clenching my eyes shut, I prayed it was no more than a figment of my imagination. My skin stung with chill bumps as it drew closer, emitting the sound of a thousand tortured screams. 

As if some force suddenly bore its grip upon us, all we did was remain petrified as the thing descended into the forest. In such a state of horror, I did not notice the bottle that fell from my hand. Cold beer soaked my feet, but I did not notice that either. As the bottle gurgled out its contents, all I could think of was that obscurity that fell to the earth.  

A muffled boom was faintly audible when the darkness landed. We tried to rationalize it as a man with a parachute, but the intense feeling of terror that chilled us to the bone told us otherwise. My heart welled up into my throat and I couldn’t breathe. My baby brother was out there somewhere in the forest with that terror from the sky. 

“What the fuck was that?” Mark asked in a whimpering tone. 

No one had an answer for him. 

Turning to Ricky Ray, I could see that he was petrified with the same horror we all felt. Brown beer splashed out of the bottle Ken had in his hand. He grasped the bottle so tightly in his hands, his fingers turned white. I was surprised the glass did not shatter under the pressure of his grip. 

Mark slid out of the truck and struck the ground with a soft thud. Balled up in the fetal position, tears streamed down his contorted face but he made no sounds of crying. Ken tried to help him up, but Ken wasn’t in much better shape than his brother. 

“T-tell me that was something normal,” Ken said in a wavering voice. “Tell me that’s like swamp gas or some shit like that.” 

None of us spoke a word. We were all mortified; none of us had any rational answers for why we were drowning in a quagmire of fear. I can’t say how long we stood there, too terrified to function. When a person is dredged in such terror, time has a way of ceasing to exist. 

Eventually I mustered the courage from deep within me and took a look at my watch. J.P. and the others left more than an hour ago. They should have been back from raiding the Whitten’s plants by now. Looking back to Ricky Ray, I could tell by the countenance of his face that he was thinking the same thing as me. Despite the horror that gripped my throat, I began to call out for my little brother and the others 

Ricky grabbed me by the arm and pressed his index finger against his lips. “Shh, listen,” he whispered. 

Initially I did not hear a thing. There were no insects, no frogs nor any of the myriad of nocturnal noisemakers. The creatures of the night were silent. The only thing I could hear was the light rustling of the leaves and tall grass as the wind pushed its way through the meadow. After a few moments I knew what Ricky Ray was telling me. I became aware of a strange wailing coming from the direction of the forest. The ghastly cries came from the same direction in which the darkness fell, from the same direction my baby brother went. 

It sounded like a choir of people crying out in agony. I felt a chill in my very bones. I knew, deep down inside, the sounds emanated from something not of this earth. 

Mark then insisted that, as a group, we go into the forest to look for our missing kin-folk. God knows that I did not want to go. Everything within me told me to flee, to get as far away from this tainted place as quickly as I could. I could not abandon my little brother though. I had to go find him. 

Mark grabbed the two shotguns from the rack on the back window of his pickup. Handing one of the weapons to Terry, Mark asked him if he knew how to use it. 

“I’m from Texas,” Terry replied. “Of course I know how to use it.” 

Mark grabbed a box of ammunition from under the seat of his vehicle. Fumbling the shells with their shaky hands, the two managed to load six shells into each weapon. A while back we modified them so they would hold more ammunition. It was illegal, but right now I was so glad that we modified the guns. I would take a cannon right now if I could get one. 

I took the hunting rifle from the rack of my truck and handed Ricky Ray the .22 caliber pistol I kept in the glove box. We all made sure our weapons were fully loaded then filled our pockets with the rest of the ammo. Unfortunately, there were not enough firearms for everyone, so Mark’s brother was left carrying nothing but a hunting knife.  

Mark and I were the biggest of the group, so we had the honor of taking the lead. We put Terry in the back and kept Ricky Ray and Mark’s brother in the center. Despite our desperate urge to flee, we managed to draw courage from one another. With our weapons in hand, we headed off toward the forest. 

The woodland was gloomier than it should be, even if it was a moonless night. The smell of the fallen pine needles filled the air, but an underlying odor stung my nostrils. The fallen needles and leaves formed a soft cushion over the sandy ground, which helped to muffle our steps. It felt like a beautiful night, but something intangible filled the five of us with intense trepidation. 

The screams seemed to fade into the night until we could hear nothing but our own footfalls. My mind struggled to form a rational explanation for the screams and for the lack of any other noises. We froze, petrified like statues when the unnerving wailing resumed. The screams did not sound to be coming closer; rather, the atrocious wailing appeared to be moving further away. When the cries of torturous agony subsided, there was nothing but silence. There were no birds, no crickets chirping; there was nothing but deafening reticence. 

So far, we could see nothing, but we knew we were close to where that demonic blackness fell from the sky. In the absolute silence, we were all too terrified to call out for our missing kin. Something hellish enough to quiet the calls of the nocturnal animals densely populating the forest lurked about in the night, and it made me sick to think we might draw its attention. I steadied my hand as I mustered up the guts to flip the plastic switch of my flashlight. I was not ready for what we found. 

Everything was dead. All of the heavy vegetation that once filled this area was gone. The once vibrant section of forest was now no more than a perimeter of death. As I shone my light about the area, it was obvious that we found the epicenter of the landing. In the center of the large opening there was nothing. Where we stood, the vegetation was dead, but it still remained. The closer to the center the plants were, the further along they were in their state of rapid decay. Even the skeletons of small animals that littered the area appeared bleached from years in the sun. It was as if something lurched time forward here, aging anything that lived a thousand years. 

On the far side of the impact side, I caught sight of something small glimmering under the light of my LED torch. Motioning with my free hand, I pointed out to the others what looked to be a polished metallic-shine. I apprehensively held my tongue, still too terrified to make a sound. My throat was dry and lips felt swollen. All I could manage was to aim my flashlight at the sparkling gleam and point with a shaky finger. Leading away from us in that same direction was what appeared to be a pipeline clearing. The long stretch of clearing shot out before us. Like an ominous invitation into the bowels of the most horrific, blasphemous abomination ever to be put on this earth, the wide pathway began on the other side of the circular epicenter of decay. 

I did not know if we stood there for seconds or hours. None of that seemed to have any meaning. It was as if the laws of time and space were changing around us. Eventually Ricky Ray bumped my shoulder with his muscular forearm nearly causing me to jump straight out of my own skin. My thoughts were coursing through my head so fast I thought my brain was going to hemorrhage. Snapping my head back, I saw that my cousin was motioning for me to stay at the edge of what was still forest. He indicated that he wanted us to go around, avoiding the center of the ring of decay, to follow the straight pathway on the opposite side. 

As we drew closer the reflections from our flashlights revealed a surface that could have been a long sheet of tinfoil. The gleam was smooth and stretched on as far as our torches could illuminate. When we reached it, we realized it was something entirely different. It was not the shine of metal. Instead, it appeared that something covered the pathway with a thick, viscous liquid resembling overused motor oil. Without a word spoken, the five of us began to follow along the ooze covered pathway. We took great care to stay far away from the trail of death, but in the blackness of the night it became difficult to see. There was no choice but to stay within six or seven feet of the nightmarish route. 

The stuff bore the nauseating stench of rotten fish, and it appeared that anything that black discharge touched instantly commenced to decomposing. Even at the edge of the contamination, the plants withered swiftly. So much so, it was visibly perceptible. We trudged onward, doing our best to continue to remain as far away from the trail of putrefied, fetid remains of what was very recently forest. I dared not even consider what the ooze would do if it were to make contact with one of us. 

Thorns tore at our clothes and skin like a thousand talons. Ken quietly murmured several complaints about the shrubbery tearing his arms, but none of us replied. His whispered voice seemed to echo in the silence of this abysmal night. Ken was the first to notice; the only foliage the ghastly substance appeared to spare were the thorns. As everything else decayed right before our eyes, the briars remained unchanged. I asked myself why the putrid goo only spared the thorns. It made no sense.

What nightmarish thing created this path of decomposition? 

A glimpsed of relief filled me when I spied with my flashlight someone up ahead leaning against a tree. Ricky Ray softly called out several times, but whoever it was did not answer. Mark vociferously shoved his way through the merciless undergrowth, reaching the silent person before the rest of us. My long-time friend rounded the large pine and froze, his face contorted in absolute panic. 

“Who is it?” Ricky Ray asked. 

Mark was paralyzed in sheer terror and made absolutely no response. I motioned for the others to stay in place and drudged my way through the ripping thorns so that I could see what was going on. I could swear that most of the damnable briars only recently appeared. The pain was unbearable and I could feel the blood trickling down my arms, legs, and torso. A dense thicket prevented me from walking directly to the tree, so I poked whoever it was with the tip of my shotgun. With that little push, the body propped against the tree fell to the sandy ground. It was the youngest Sutton boy, or at least what was left of him. 

No visible wounds were apparent on the body. There were no cuts, no tears from the briars, no damage what-so-ever. I prayed that I was caught in the midst of a cruel nightmare. I could not understand how God could let something like this happen to a person. What I saw was more gruesome, more repugnant than anything I could create in my own imagination. The head on the Sutton boy’s body was gone. His head was not cut off; there was no blood and no stump where his neck should be. It was like there was never a head on the body in the first place. There was nothing but undamaged flesh stretched from shoulder to shoulder. 

The body of the youngest Sutton boy laid there on the ground, its chest heaving up and down as with panicked breaths. Mark fell over the body and cried. I grabbed the boy’s right wrist and found that the headless body still had a pulse. I never heard of any such blasphemous thing in my life, and neither had any of the others. I was past the point of fear, or terror and of shock. Everything around me became a haze as I glared down at the atrocious thing that lay before us. It seemed impossible, but Mark’s headless youngest brother was still alive. 

Mark must have seen something. Waves of terror coursed through me as I heard my friend fire off two shots. In the dead silence of this unbearable night, the blasts from his shotgun caused my straining ears to ring. Fire was clearly visible in the unnatural darkness that surrounded us. He screamed in uncontrollable anger as he sprinted across the clearing. As soon as that poor boy touched the viscous blackness it climbed up his body and engulfed him in less than a second. Terry fell to the ground retching and Ricky Ray averted his eyes. Right before me I watched as Mark’s flesh melted off the bones like hot wax. He tried to call out, to beg for help, but only scarlet blood mixed with thick ooze emanated from his mouth. 

The scene continued on for an eternity; although, it only took thirty seconds for the boy’s body to melt. There was no doubt that he felt every bit of it. I staggered and fell as the skeletal remains of my friend clattered to the ground like a pile of dry sticks. The atrocious death of that poor kid ran through my mind over and over, playing like a skipping CD. The darkness that fell from the sky consumed the soft tissues of that boy’s body and made him suffer through it all. It must be the end. God set the devil loose on us. 

Ken must have seen something because he fired off two shots then ran along the side of the trail with astounding speed. I could not see what it was, but my new friend spotted something. I did not know what to do. I just watched the ooze consume Mark Sutton, and the other Sutton lay before me with no head atop the body. Ricky Ray, unable to stay at this appalling site, set off after Ken. I resolved to the fact there was nothing I could do here and followed the others. Ignoring the searing pain, I followed Mark for around a hundred yards or so and the demonic trail ended. Whatever created it, it took a sharp left toward the direction from which it came. Ken already rounded the bend and with incredible speed, disappeared into the night. 

Ricky Ray and I tried to keep up with the Austin boy, but he was moving too fast for us. I could no longer ignore the tears that covered my flesh; trickles of blood dripped from every part of my body. Cautiously, we moved further away from that putrid trail and found that the thorns thinned to virtually nothing. The trail was no longer visible, but we could clearly see the wall of thorns that ripped at our flesh. 

Ten minutes or so later we could hear something thrashing in the briars. A foreboding thickness filled the air as we warily approached the sound. It was Ken, or what was left of him. Like the youngest Sutton brother, Ken had no head. My friend suffered even worse of a fate than the Suttons. Not only was he missing his head, both of his hands were gone along with his right leg. What remained thrashed in the thorns, no blood dripping from tears in his flesh. 

The stillness of the night suddenly rang out with the agonizing cries of hundreds of wailing voices. I knew that hell itself came to claim us when I saw the thing. Having the shape of a giant slug, the surface of the abomination was coated in a dark leathery flesh. It was pocked with the twisted faces of countless people, calling out in agony and begging for death. 

The horror pushed its massive body by means of a series of legs. Like a centipede, this thing of the nether reaches of existence pushed its way along using a series of appendages lining both sides of its horrendous body. The appendages were not legs, not in any normal sense of the word. Some were human arms, only with feet. Some were human legs ending in a random assortment of hands and feet. Scared beyond all rational thought, all we could do was stand there. 

The demon from the sky reached Ricky Ray first. A mass of faces screamed in unison as they stretched and twisted, creating a long pseudopod. Ken’s tortured face was at the tip, which widened large enough to engulf my cousin’s head. Falling to the ground, the head from his body was gone. Another mass of damned faces reached out and consumed both of his legs. 

Suddenly the thing froze, the voices falling to weeps and sobs.  A grouping of faces screamed out in pain as they began to stretch apart. Pushing its way into the thick hide of the nightmarish thing was my cousin’s face. New legs sprouted out from each side of the thing and it again moved forward. I fired all six of my rounds at the monstrosity approaching me, but all it seemed to do was cause the assimilated heads of countless people additional pain. 

I heard this behind me because I turned and ran. My gun and flashlight were gone. I aimlessly ran away from the trail of that ungodly entity. I ran until I was exhausted and my body burned with fatigue, then I ran some more. The sun broke the horizon and I collapsed. My skin stung all over from the talon-like claws of the briars, my muscles ached from being pushed beyond the point of exhaustion. 

The glorious rays of the sun shone down upon me like a blessing from the angels. For over an hour, I laid there basking in the holy warmth. When the pain subsided enough that I could move, I climbed back to my feet. For hours I wandered without any idea of where I was. The sounds of the frogs, crickets and other insects began to sound, and I found the simple songs of the forest to be the most beautiful thing I heard in my life. 

Eventually I again found the wide trail that abysmal thing left in its wake. The ooze was dried and flaking away in the morning breeze. I located the mutilated bodies of everyone but J.P. I even found the stacked remains of that poor Sutton’s skeleton. Some force drove me to gather the bodies of Ricky Ray, Ken, and Mark together. It may have been my own will, but that was something I would never learn.  

I could not allow them to remain in such a condition. Retrieving one of the shotguns from nearby, I loaded its empty chamber with six shells. The first I fired directly into the chest of the Austin boy. The smoke cleared and no wound appeared on the body. The aberration that lay before me thrashed and lurched. All I did was cause it additional pain. My soul went cold as I fired another shot into Ken’s torso, only to repeat the same results. That thing from the darkness that consumed their body parts would not let them die. 

By the time I reached my truck, it was already close to nightfall. Using the pathway the horror from beyond created as it pushed its unholy form through the forest; I drove my truck to where the three bodies were stashed. Along the way I picked up the jerking, kicking body of the youngest Sutton. I removed a shovel from the bed of my pickup and began to dig. Deep into the late hours of the night I forced my wary body to dig a pit in the sandy ground large enough to accommodate the four bodies. After tossing the living remains of Ricky Ray and those other three boys, I threw the sand back over them until I could see no more motion underneath. 

Throwing my shovel to the side, I drove my truck and stopped it directly over the buried remains of those undying bodies. In the bed of my truck was a large plastic gas can that was used primarily for my boat. I removed it and emptied its contents into the sandy ground, making sure to splash plenty in and on my truck. I almost passed out from the dense fumes when I climbed into the cab of my old Ford. My eyes and nostrils stung, but I was already in so much pain I barely noticed. 

Word of this cannot get out, I thought to myself as I placed a cigarette between my lips. No one can know what happened, which included me. As I struck the flint on my lighter and the flames engulfed me, I said to myself, ‘No one can know of the night when darkness fell.’ 

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