Upper thoracic hump

What, if anything should I make of this radiology report?

2024.05.15 16:34 SomeWomanfromCanada What, if anything should I make of this radiology report?

I (52F) went to A&E back in late February because I waws having trouble drawing a full breath. Thinking I was going to be Rx'd some inhalers and perhaps referred to the respirology (I've been having problems for years but have never formally been diagnosed with asthma), you can imagine my shock when I was advised that I was being admitted because they were unhappy with some cardiac blood work results (they're working through those as I type).
Anyway, I'm on a waiting list to be seen by the Respiratory service (appointment is in mid July) but I've been given access to the radiology report(s) from all of the film they took on the day of my visit to A&E (X ray/CT scan etc).
A HOSPITAL NEAR YOU Patient Name: SomeWomanFromCanada MIS Number: 8186935918824 Hospital Number: 295375063 10118287 22/02/2024 CT Angiogram pulmonary Clinical Question:SOB intermittent worse this today, raised d-dimer and troponin?PE Findings: No previous imaging available for comparison. Adequate opacification of the pulmonary artery trunk (350HU). No pulmonary embolism from the pulmonary artery trunk to the subsegmental levels. There is reflux of contrast into the hepatic veins, no other radiological evidence of right heart strain. There is patchy atelectasis and parenchymal infiltrate in both lower lobes. There are small granulomas noted in the right upper, lower lobe and the left upper lobe and scattered tiny sub 2mm nodules in the right middle and lower lobes. No pleural effusion or focal consolidation. No endobronchial lesions. No thoracic lymphadenopathy. Unremarkable appearance of the imaged upper abdominal viscera. No destructive osseous lesions. Conclusion: No pulmonary embolism. Non specific patchy atelectasis and parencymal infiltrate as desribed. Dr Cassian Andor Consultant Radiologist GMC 2266977 This report is generated for the referring clinician. Should patients have queries regarding the report, these should be discussed with the referring clinical team. Reported by: Dr Orson KRENNICK
Can anyone please tell me what to make of this report?
I''m most interested in the references to _patchy atelectasis_ and _parencymal infiltrate_
From my limited medical knowledge, there's something going on in my lungs but it's not cancerous or anything icky like that nor is it cardiac in nature or a blood clot.
FWIW, I am prone to getting bronchitis every time I get a head cold (regardless of how mild the cold is); in the winter, cold air triggers repeated episodes of bronchitis (when I lived in Canada, I carried a bottle of Buckleys Mixture and an oral syringe in my purse all winter every winter because it was the only thing that would come close to helping the cough).
I've also recently been prescribed a 'blue' salbutamol (rescue) inhaler and a Clenil Modulite 100mcg (beclamethasone) 'brown' (reliever) inhaler by my GP (while I wait for my appointment with the respiratory service) ... I've felt better since I've started using them (I had a lung function test this morning and haven't had the Clenil Modulite since Monday night and am feeling a little congested in my chest.
Anyway, I am new to all of this and I thank you all for a) reading this far and b) offering your collective wisdom as I try to figure out WTF is going on.
submitted by SomeWomanfromCanada to Asthma [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 10:59 guyrsi Can anyone recommend a primary care doctor in NYC who will actually coordinate care and take an interest in a complex medical problem? (esp if affiliated with Cornell/one of the major health systems)

I'm only 30M, but I started dealing with debilitating health problems 5 years ago. I'm looking for a PCP in New York will actually coordinate my care, as I've been coordinating my own care with the help of an occupational medicine doctor who is a specialist who sort of functions as my PCP but is not a internist and does not have lots of relationships/other doctors he can recommend.
My health problems, in a brief summation are as follows: I developed an upper extremity overuse disorder from repetitive motion, computer and phone use plus poor posture that has ulnar and median neuropathy involvement, unclear whether it's neurogenic thoracic outlet or cubital tunnel as my EMGs are normal but my ultrasounds show thickening & subluxation. I have had normal cervical MRIs. However I've been diagnosed with Anklyosing Spondilitis (HBLA27 positive + chronic sacroiliac inflammation MRI), small fiber neuropathy (positive punch skin biopsy), ligamentous laxity/hEDS. I also now dealing with a calf strain that has not healed in 8 months despite PT, which is unusual.
I feel fatigued and in a low level of pain almost all the time, and my pain get significantly worse with activity (arm use) and stress. When I say stress, I don't even mean necessarily like a stressful event – like the stress of having to sit through a long zoom which I do not view as an inherently stressful event but puts an undue stress on my body, could flare me up and cause my neck to be more tight (the upper trapezius is one of my worst areas). I also developed TMJ like symptoms and pain in my jaw.
I really need a primary care doctor to help me put the pieces together, as this has greatly affected my life and left me debilitated and disabled, and wrecked my mental health along with my physical. If you know of anyone, or are a PCP in New York who would be willing to help, please let me know. I am not medically trained and have been trying to put the pieces together but I know I can't do it on my own
submitted by guyrsi to AskDocs [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 05:00 Sammiesaidso Mystery Back Issues with Sjögren’s 30F

I was diagnosed with Sjögren’s in March, after 2 weeks of right hand swelling. My doctor ran an ANA panel because I had an unexplained miscarriage at 15 weeks last August, and a severe pepper allergy appear 6 months after. My first full-body flare started a week post-diagnosis, lasted 5 weeks, and is still lingering moderately. I also have a Raynaud’s, and a tentative diagnosis of palindromic rhuematism.
After my miscarriage last August, I would have this random tickling/feather-like sensation along my spine, between my shoulder blades, and slightly below. Where one might sprout wings. It would only last a few seconds, lasted sporadically over months, and I thought that it was merely twitches or something. Once my flare hit, it turned into debilitating back pain. It was like I was wearing a heavy backpack all day, and my mid/upper back would just get tighter and more sore as the day went on. Cooking, cleaning, etc was totally off the table. I would cry while cutting vegetables because the aching would be so intense. Oddest of all, the pain resets every morning, unless I really overdo it. I do not have burning, tingling, or pins and needles.
I have since found that I can only wear those squishy Cloud/Recovery Slides on hard flooring/ground. This reduces my overall pain 70%. Laying/lounging and heating pads are extremely helpful. Ibuprofen and Celebrex don’t work. I have had MRI’s done on my cervical and thoracic spine, as well as EMG testing on hands(omfg) and legs. They found nothing. Initially, I was told “We’re catching whatever it is early, because it hasn’t spread to your limbs yet!”. My neurologist is now telling me that it’s not related to my autoimmune disease at all, but merely coincidental timing, and “Not finding anything is a great thing”! Yippee for me! Pain with no solution!!! I’m dumping him.
Has anyone else experienced back issues like this? That do not affect extremities, or that didn’t at first?
submitted by Sammiesaidso to Sjogrens [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 02:10 SomeonekilltheDJbrap I can’t tell if this is a buffalo hump or bad posture

I can’t tell if this is a buffalo hump or bad posture
I was diagnosed with PCOS years ago and I know my fatty arms/shoulders/upper body was due to hormones. Now I’m not so sure if it could also be Cushing’s because of the hump and other symptoms (darkened underarms and neck, insomnia, brain fog, sliigghhtttly elevated triglycerides, apple-shaped body, hirsutism, etc).
I’ve realised over the past decade or so, regardless of massive lifestyle changes the hump is always there. As well as these other symptoms & more. I’ve been vegetarian before, I’ve been eating non-dairy for years, eat meat again, got my degree, was 5kg slimmer, gained weight on purpose (I wanted to put on “healthy” weight). But my fat disposition has never changed and now I’m rethinking everything.
I thought it was my posture. I think it partially is, but it’s not just the curve that bothers me. It’s the massive fat pads that do. I don’t know how to deal with them and I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t bother me anymore. I go to the gym regularly and I do love it but NOTHING seems to budge my hump.
submitted by SomeonekilltheDJbrap to Cushings [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 01:47 Zealousideal_Drama71 1 yr of muscle twitching

27M and I initially started having symptoms May 2023 that ranged from migraines+auras, left side of body tingling + numbness that lasted for a month. Clean brain, cervical, thoracic, and lumbar MRIs with and without contrast. (8 MRIs and counting wooo)
Labs were normal except for severe vitamin B12 and D deficiency, which I am treating with supplements. Soon after (October 2023) started experiencing muscle fasciculations throughout the body (arms, legs, chest, back, face,etc.) and have not gone away. Also, trigger finger-like symptoms on right pinky finger and what looks like palmis brevis syndrome. Rheumatologist rules out arthritis. Diagnosed with ulnar neuropathy after EMG of upper extremities.
March 2024, I had a clean EMG of lower extremities after experiencing burning and tingling sensation in legs from standing for no more 10mins at a time.
As of now, I have ruled out autoimmune diseases (ANA negative), other neurological issues besides my ulnar neuropathy. Neurologist has no reason to suspect ***…all lab work has been normal. Muscle fascilulations and cramps still present and considered benign (BFS / CFS).
I wonder if anyone has any ideas of what other things I should be looking out for (EDS?). I have health anxiety and having no actual diagnosis has been worrisome.
submitted by Zealousideal_Drama71 to MuscleTwitch [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 19:54 boathouse_floats Meme Stocks On the Rise - Real Wealth Being Made - Boomer FOMO Inbound

Meme Stocks On the Rise - Real Wealth Being Made - Boomer FOMO Inbound
Here's the deal.
There's a lot of chatter about the return of meme stocks and I'm sure you've all seen GME and AMC charts from today. Fucking rockets... but lets talk about meme projects and why I think there is going to be a brand new set of meme millionaires born from the meme action we're seeing today. (I'll save you some time if you don't feel like reading... they'll all be in KENDU).
As you all know, back in the good ol' days of 2021 when we were all face humping masks and rotting in our houses, some real fun was had and a lot of "New Money" millionaires were born. Some of these were from meme stocks, but a lot of people made fat bags on meme projects which they carry with them to this day.
First in Jan/Feb $DOG E pumped. Following this, $SHIB ($KENDU's Chad in Arms) pumped. These projects lost a bit off the top, but have sustained multi-billion dollar market caps to this day. But could they have done it on their own? Was this all just coincidence? Were market conditions so different that these pumps were just a factor of people being stuck at home with nothing better to do than sit there, thumb in ass, trading memes? Science says NAY!!
Please bear in mind that I'm wearing a helmet, which might have restricted some of the blood flow to my brain. This is NFA and you should DYOR... but I'm all in.
To prove my point, I am referencing the paper "The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach" by Yousaf et al. from 2022. Please note that I only have access to the pre-print, so the peer-reviewed edition might be a little different, but I would muster a guess, not really.
These authors are using data from 2020-2022, which includes data outside of the range of what I would consider the "hard" meme squeeze (Jan. 2021 and the few months following). Given the analysis from this paper was done using data from August 2020 to April 2021, I posit that the conclusions the authors draw, can and will apply to meme events outside of the infamous 2021 meme run which some might say is the primary reason meme projects squoze. The HUGE meme project runs we saw in SHIB and DOG E might have been born of the "Funny Money" era, but lock-down degeneracy isn't the end all when predicting price movements.
The meat
"Why, Butt?" I hear you ask. "Why do you bring this paper up?". Surely it can't be because you wanted to "prove" that meme projects can run outside of the golden age of meme pumps? Well dear Redditor... yes and no. I bring it up also because of the interesting point it mentions about how predictive certain market events are for similar market events in other assets.
To do this, the authors use Quantile Connectedness (QC) to analyze Meme stocks, Meme projects, and some more traditional asset classes like USD, Treasuries and Gold. QC is a concept used in economics to measure the degree of interdependence (how connected things are) among different segments of financial markets. The method uses some fancy stats and math to do so, and the analysis done in this paper says some interesting things about the interplay between traditional assets, meme assets and meme pumps (summarized in the following screen grab).
https://preview.redd.it/ct2y9qjdkf0d1.jpg?width=668&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=098c7aa633414af26bc8b33142e23575e7f6c1a2
Memes go brrrrrr... other things do too
Yousaf, 2022 - The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach.
So... market events in the upper extreme quantile (or in laymen terms, extreme upwards market movements) in meme assets tend to cause spillover events into both meme assets and traditional financial assets. That's interesting... You know what we saw today? An extreme upward market movement. Specifically GME and AMC, which are both up over 100% (in after hours) from previous close.
Second, and perhaps more of a bull case for me... the spillover events are even more well predicted by movement in meme stocks than they are by movement in BTC (please see the useful red circle in the screen-grab below). Higher number = better prediction of spillover event. So, SO often, I hear people predicting runs in the smaller meme projects based strictly on what BTC is expected to do. But it turns out, there's an even better predictor!!! Meme stocks!
Please also note: The authors state "All meme assets are highly positively skewed, which reflects their price surges during short squeezing periods." Pretty sure this means, green begets more green for these spillover events.
The spillover effects from extreme moves in GME, AMC, and BTC as they relate to DOG E and SHIB.
https://preview.redd.it/ovfnecrekf0d1.jpg?width=1480&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f80466578a455e997a9f817d049b22d4d1689f15
All this brings me to my last point. What does this all mean for meme projects and for $KENDU?
I hear you thinking "Why not just choose SHIB or DOG E, Butt?" and I get it... safe bets that will for sure "moon". Yes... "moon" :eye roll:
These projects are fine and good if you want to just grow the bags you've been holding and just keep, HODLing... but I know the real reason you all are playing meme projects, and it's that sweet, sweet alpha. You don't want to see the 2x, or 3x that these bigger memes might fetch during the next run. You're looking to eat zeros... and the only way to do that is to get in early with a project that is going to FUCKING RUN!
Enter KENDU INU... it's the project that "Can do"
Arguably, the most important fundamental for a meme project is the hype that it generates and how infectious its energy is. Well, you're not going to find a more hype community with a more infectious can do attitude than the KENDU community. The TG is wild, memes are on point, new art being made ALL THE TIME, and so much love and support for every single member in the Kendu clan.
Ignoring the fluffy feel good stuff though (NO DON'T DO THAT), what does this project really have going for it. I'm glad you asked.
  • We have strong support in the 40M range right now and are primed to run.
  • There are ABSOLUTELY (and we mean stay TF away if your looking to trade capital for services) no paid shills. Everyone is working hard to get this to project1BN+ and to get there organically! We know we can do it!
  • Shytoshi Kusama (the project lead for SHIB) has been following the project since 300 xitter followers. Shytoshi has also joined our Telegram community and said that he wants to feature KENDU in Shib Magazine (Look for the screen grabs in the comments).
  • The mega-chad developer, Kendu Miyazaki, has run multiple projects to 100M+ and is an incredibly active part of the community.
  • Kendu recently been listed on some BIG crypto tracking platforms like CMC.
  • 3 top 10 exchanges are lined up to launch KENDU when the time is right. One of these exchanges is a top 5 CEX !!!
  • The community! The community! The community!! (One more time for those who didn't hear: The Community!). This community is unhinged in the best way. So many people dedicated to the success of the and project to keeping positive vibes going ALL THE TIME in the Telegram.
  • What more sorta hype could you ask for!!
I will leave you with this. Dump those trash projects, put your M-Effin helmet on, and join the KENDU Clan!
https://preview.redd.it/b0emrzkgkf0d1.jpg?width=873&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a16c5b7c18fea419ccf0da30c1292a2d126dcfdd
Screw these JEET ass meme projects. KENDU is the only play
TLDR:
  1. Huge meme alpha was not strictly generated from pandemic lock-down funny money degeneracy.
  2. The GME and AMC pumps we saw today are a good predictor for what's to come with meme projects.
  3. You want alpha and to add to zeros to your portfolio. Bigger projects WILL NOT do that as well for you.
  4. Those other meme projects don't hold a candle to the dedication and spirit that all my fellow KENDU Chad's have!
  5. IT'S STILL FUCKING EARLY!!!
TLDR the TLDR: Meme projects are going to run and $KENDU is going to own the day!
submitted by boathouse_floats to memecoins [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 19:43 boathouse_floats Meme Stocks On the Rise - Real Wealth Being Made - Boomer FOMO Inbound

Meme Stocks On the Rise - Real Wealth Being Made - Boomer FOMO Inbound
Here's the deal.
There's a lot of chatter about the return of meme stocks and I'm sure you've all seen GME and AMC charts from today. Fucking rockets... but lets talk about meme projects and why I think there is going to be a brand new set of meme millionaires born from the meme action we're seeing today. (I'll save you some time if you don't feel like reading... they'll all be in KENDU).
As you all know, back in the good ol' days of 2021 when we were all face humping masks and rotting in our houses, some real fun was had and a lot of "New Money" millionaires were born. Some of these were from meme stocks, but a lot of people made fat bags on meme projects which they carry with them to this day.
First in Jan/Feb $DOG E pumped. Following this, $SHIB ($KENDU's Chad in Arms) pumped. These projects lost a bit off the top, but have sustained multi-billion dollar market caps to this day. But could they have done it on their own? Was this all just coincidence? Were market conditions so different that these pumps were just a factor of people being stuck at home with nothing better to do than sit there, thumb in ass, trading memes? Science says NAY!!
Please bear in mind that I'm wearing a helmet, which might have restricted some of the blood flow to my brain. This is NFA and you should DYOR... but I'm all in.
To prove my point, I am referencing the paper "The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach" by Yousaf et al. from 2022. Please note that I only have access to the pre-print, so the peer-reviewed edition might be a little different, but I would muster a guess, not really.
These authors are using data from 2020-2022, which includes data outside of the range of what I would consider the "hard" meme squeeze (Jan. 2021 and the few months following). Given the analysis from this paper was done using data from August 2020 to April 2021, I posit that the conclusions the authors draw, can and will apply to meme events outside of the infamous 2021 meme run which some might say is the primary reason meme projects squoze. The HUGE meme project runs we saw in SHIB and DOG E might have been born of the "Funny Money" era, but lock-down degeneracy isn't the end all when predicting price movements.
The meat
"Why, Butt?" I hear you ask. "Why do you bring this paper up?". Surely it can't be because you wanted to "prove" that meme projects can run outside of the golden age of meme pumps? Well dear Redditor... yes and no. I bring it up also because of the interesting point it mentions about how predictive certain market events are for similar market events in other assets.
To do this, the authors use Quantile Connectedness (QC) to analyze Meme stocks, Meme projects, and some more traditional asset classes like USD, Treasuries and Gold. QC is a concept used in economics to measure the degree of interdependence (how connected things are) among different segments of financial markets. The method uses some fancy stats and math to do so, and the analysis done in this paper says some interesting things about the interplay between traditional assets, meme assets and meme pumps.
https://preview.redd.it/98fou369if0d1.jpg?width=668&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1cc6dd32821d50138f4cc0466b2dce8f4e182dc7
Yousaf, 2022 - The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach.
So... market events in the upper extreme quantile (or in laymen terms, extreme upwards market movements) in meme assets tend to cause spillover events into both meme assets and traditional financial assets. That's interesting... You know what we saw today? An extreme upward market movement. Specifically GME and AMC, which are both up over 100% (in after hours) from previous close.
Second, and perhaps more of a bull case for me... the spillover events are even more well predicted by movement in meme stocks than they are by movement in BTC (please see the useful red circle in the screen-grab below). Higher number = better prediction of spillover event. So, SO often, I hear people predicting runs in the smaller meme projects based strictly on what BTC is expected to do. But it turns out, there's an even better predictor!!! Meme stocks!
Please also note: The authors state "All meme assets are highly positively skewed, which reflects their price surges during short squeezing periods." Pretty sure this means, green begets more green for these spillover events.
The spillover effects from extreme moves in GME, AMC, and BTC as they relate to DOGE and SHIB.
https://preview.redd.it/i4arrdgcif0d1.jpg?width=1480&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f5d9aa40c5b30fceb98050530ce0897c9abc8dba
All this brings me to my last point. What does this all mean for meme projects and for $KENDU?
I hear you thinking "Why not just choose SHIB or DOGE, Butt?" and I get it... safe bets that will for sure "moon". Yes... "moon" :eye roll:
These projects are fine and good if you want to just grow the bags you've been holding and just keep, HODLing... but I know the real reason you all are playing meme projects, and it's that sweet, sweet alpha. You don't want to see the 2x, or 3x that these bigger memes might fetch during the next run. You're looking to eat zeros... and the only way to do that is to get in early with a project that is going to FUCKING RUN!
Enter KENDU INU... it's the project that "Can do"
Arguably, the most important fundamental for a meme project is the hype that it generates and how infectious its energy is. Well, you're not going to find a more hype community with a more infectious can do attitude than the KENDU community. The TG is wild, memes are on point, new art being made ALL THE TIME, and so much love and support for every single member in the Kendu clan.
Ignoring the fluffy feel good stuff though (NO DON'T DO THAT), what does this project really have going for it. I'm glad you asked.
  • We have strong support in the 40M range right now and are primed to run.
  • There are ABSOLUTELY (and we mean stay TF away if your looking to trade capital for services) no paid shills. Everyone is working hard to get this to project1BN+ and to get there organically! We know we can do it!
  • Shytoshi Kusama (the project lead for SHIB) has been following the project since 300 xitter followers. Shytoshi has also joined our Telegram community and said that he wants to feature KENDU in Shib Magazine (Look for the screen grabs in the comments).
  • The mega-chad developer, Kendu Miyazaki, has run multiple projects to 100M+ and is an incredibly active part of the community.
  • Kendu recently been listed on some BIG crypto tracking platforms like CMC.
  • 3 top 10 exchanges are lined up to launch KENDU when the time is right. One of these exchanges is a top 5 CEX !!!
  • The community! The community! The community!! (One more time for those who didn't hear: The Community!). This community is unhinged in the best way. So many people dedicated to the success of the and project to keeping positive vibes going ALL THE TIME in the Telegram.
  • What more sorta hype could you ask for!!
I will leave you with this. Dump those trash projects, put your M-Effin helmet on, and join the KENDU Clan!
https://preview.redd.it/9hx6ts0eif0d1.jpg?width=873&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d896fdca50601ee956590ecd87e9446215c8113d
Screw these JEET ass meme projects. KENDU is the only play!
TLDR:
  1. Huge meme alpha was not strictly generated from pandemic lock-down funny money degeneracy.
  2. The GME and AMC pumps we saw today are a good predictor for what's to come with meme projects.
  3. You want alpha and to add to zeros to your portfolio. Bigger projects WILL NOT do that as well for you.
  4. Those other meme projects don't hold a candle to the dedication and spirit that all my fellow KENDU Chad's have!
  5. IT'S STILL FUCKING EARLY!!!
TLDR the TLDR: Meme projects are going to run and $KENDU is going to own the day!
submitted by boathouse_floats to TokenWallStreet [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 18:12 boathouse_floats Meme Stocks On the Rise - Real Wealth Being Made - Boomer FOMO Inbound

Meme Stocks On the Rise - Real Wealth Being Made - Boomer FOMO Inbound
Here's the deal.
There's a lot of chatter about the return of meme stocks and I'm sure you've all seen GME and AMC charts from today. Fucking rockets... but lets talk about meme projects and why I think there is going to be a brand new set of meme millionaires born from the meme action we're seeing today. (I'll save you some time if you don't feel like reading... they'll all be in KENDU).
As you all know, back in the good ol' days of 2021 when we were all face humping masks and rotting in our houses, some real fun was had and a lot of "New Money" millionaires were born. Some of these were from meme stocks, but a lot of people made fat bags on meme projects which they carry with them to this day.
First in Jan/Feb $DOG E pumped. Following this, $SHIB ($KENDU's Chad in Arms) pumped. These projects lost a bit off the top, but have sustained multi-billion dollar market caps to this day. But could they have done it on their own? Was this all just coincidence? Were market conditions so different that these pumps were just a factor of people being stuck at home with nothing better to do than sit there, thumb in ass, trading memes? Science says NAY!!
Please bear in mind that I'm wearing a helmet, which might have restricted some of the blood flow to my brain. This is NFA and you should DYOR... but I'm all in.
To prove my point, I am referencing the paper "The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach" by Yousaf et al. from 2022. Please note that I only have access to the pre-print, so the peer-reviewed edition might be a little different, but I would muster a guess, not really.
These authors are using data from 2020-2022, which includes data outside of the range of what I would consider the "hard" meme squeeze (Jan. 2021 and the few months following). Given the analysis from this paper was done using data from August 2020 to April 2021, I posit that the conclusions the authors draw, can and will apply to meme events outside of the infamous 2021 meme run which some might say is the primary reason meme projects squoze. The HUGE meme project runs we saw in SHIB and DOG E might have been born of the "Funny Money" era, but lock-down degeneracy isn't the end all when predicting price movements.
The meat
"Why, Butt?" I hear you ask. "Why do you bring this paper up?". Surely it can't be because you wanted to "prove" that meme projects can run outside of the golden age of meme pumps? Well dear Redditor... yes and no. I bring it up also because of the interesting point it mentions about how predictive certain market events are for similar market events in other assets.
To do this, the authors use Quantile Connectedness (QC) to analyze Meme stocks, Meme projects, and some more traditional asset classes like USD, Treasuries and Gold. QC is a concept used in economics to measure the degree of interdependence (how connected things are) among different segments of financial markets. The method uses some fancy stats and math to do so, and the analysis done in this paper says some interesting things about the interplay between traditional assets, meme assets and meme pumps (summarized in the following screen grab).
Memes go brrrrrr... other things do too
Yousaf, 2022 - The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach.
So... market events in the upper extreme quantile (or in laymen terms, extreme upwards market movements) in meme assets tend to cause spillover events into both meme assets and traditional financial assets. That's interesting... You know what we saw today? An extreme upward market movement. Specifically GME and AMC, which are both up over 100% (in after hours) from previous close.
Second, and perhaps more of a bull case for me... the spillover events are even more well predicted by movement in meme stocks than they are by movement in BTC (please see the useful red circle in the screen-grab below). Higher number = better prediction of spillover event. So, SO often, I hear people predicting runs in the smaller meme projects based strictly on what BTC is expected to do. But it turns out, there's an even better predictor!!! Meme stocks!
Please also note: The authors state "All meme assets are highly positively skewed, which reflects their price surges during short squeezing periods." Pretty sure this means, green begets more green for these spillover events.
The spillover effects from extreme moves in GME, AMC, and BTC as they relate to DOG E and SHIB.
The spillover effects from extreme moves in GME, AMC, and BTC as they relate to DOG E and SHIB
All this brings me to my last point. What does this all mean for meme projects and for $KENDU?
I hear you thinking "Why not just choose SHIB or DOG E, Butt?" and I get it... safe bets that will for sure "moon". Yes... "moon" :eye roll:
These projects are fine and good if you want to just grow the bags you've been holding and just keep, HODLing... but I know the real reason you all are playing meme projects, and it's that sweet, sweet alpha. You don't want to see the 2x, or 3x that these bigger memes might fetch during the next run. You're looking to eat zeros... and the only way to do that is to get in early with a project that is going to FUCKING RUN!
Enter KENDU INU... it's the project that "Can do"
Arguably, the most important fundamental for a meme project is the hype that it generates and how infectious its energy is. Well, you're not going to find a more hype community with a more infectious can do attitude than the KENDU community. The TG is wild, memes are on point, new art being made ALL THE TIME, and so much love and support for every single member in the Kendu clan.
Ignoring the fluffy feel good stuff though (NO DON'T DO THAT), what does this project really have going for it. I'm glad you asked.
  • We have strong support in the 40M range right now and are primed to run.
  • There are ABSOLUTELY (and we mean stay TF away if your looking to trade capital for services) no paid shills. Everyone is working hard to get this to project1BN+ and to get there organically! We know we can do it!
  • Shytoshi Kusama (the project lead for SHIB) has been following the project since 300 xitter followers. Shytoshi has also joined our Telegram community and said that he wants to feature KENDU in Shib Magazine (Look for the screen grabs in the comments).
  • The mega-chad developer, Kendu Miyazaki, has run multiple projects to 100M+ and is an incredibly active part of the community.
  • Kendu recently been listed on some BIG crypto tracking platforms like CMC.
  • 3 top 10 exchanges are lined up to launch KENDU when the time is right. One of these exchanges is a top 5 CEX !!!
  • The community! The community! The community!! (One more time for those who didn't hear: The Community!). This community is unhinged in the best way. So many people dedicated to the success of the and project to keeping positive vibes going ALL THE TIME in the Telegram.
  • What more sorta hype could you ask for!!
I will leave you with this. Dump those trash projects, put your M-Effin helmet on, and join the KENDU Clan!
Screw these JEET ass meme projects. KENDU is the only play
TLDR:
  1. Huge meme alpha was not strictly generated from pandemic lock-down funny money degeneracy.
  2. The GME and AMC pumps we saw today are a good predictor for what's to come with meme projects.
  3. You want alpha and to add to zeros to your portfolio. Bigger projects WILL NOT do that as well for you.
  4. Those other meme projects don't hold a candle to the dedication and spirit that all my fellow KENDU Chad's have!
  5. IT'S STILL FUCKING EARLY!!!
TLDR the TLDR: Meme projects are going to run and $KENDU is going to own the day!
submitted by boathouse_floats to WallStreetbetsELITE [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 18:08 Mophandel Archaeotherium, the King of the White River Badlands

Archaeotherium, the King of the White River Badlands
Art by Bob Nicholls
Nowadays, when we envision the words “prey,” among modern mammalian fauna, few taxa come to mind as quickly as the hoofed mammals, better known as the ungulates. Indeed, for the better part of their entire evolutionary history, the ungulates have become entirely indistinguishable from the term “prey.” Across their two major modern branches, the artiodactyls (the “even-toed ungulates,” such as bovids, pigs, deer, hippos and giraffes) and the perissodactyls (the “odd-toed ungulates,” including horses, rhinos and tapir), the ungulates too have created an empire spanning nearly every continent, establishing themselves as the the dominant herbivores throughout their entire range. However, as a price for such success, their lot as herbivores have forced them into an unenviable position: being the food for the predators. Indeed, throughout the diets of most modern predators, ungulates make up the majority, if not the entirety, of their diet, becoming their counterparts in this evolutionary dance of theirs. They have become the lamb to their wolf, the zebra to their lion, the stag to their tiger. If there is a predator in need of lunch, chances are that there is an ungulate there to provide it. Of course, such a dynamic is not necessarily a recent innovation. For the last 15-20 million years, across much of the world, both new and old, the ungulates have served as prey for these predators through it all. Over the course of whole epochs, these two groups have played into these roles for millions of years, coevolving with each other in an eons-long game of cat-and-mouse. The shoes they fill are not new, but have existed for ages, and within their niches they have cultivated their roles to perfection. Indeed, with such a tenured history, it seems hardly surprising the ungulates are wholly inseparable from the terms “prey,” itself.
However, while this is the case now, as it has been for the last 15-20 million years, go back far enough, and we see that this dynamic is not as set in stone as we would think. Indeed, back during the Eocene and Oligocene, during the very earliest days of age of mammals, things were very different for the ungulates. While today they are considered little more than food for modern predators, during these olden days, the ungulates weren’t quite so benign. In fact, far from being fodder for top predators, the ungulates had turned the tables, instead becoming top predators themselves. Indeed, though nearly unheard of today, throughout much of the Eocene and Oligocene, carnivorous ungulates thrived in abundance, developing specializations for catching large prey and establishing themselves as top predators that competed alongside the more traditional carnivores, and even dominating them in some instances. Given such success, it’s no wonder that multiple such clades had arisen during this time. Such predators included the arctocyonids, a lineage of (ironically) hoof-less ungulates with large jaws and sharp teeth for capturing large prey. There were also the mesonychians, a lineage of dog-like ungulates with massive skulls and jaws that allowed them to reign as the top predator across much of the Eocene.
However, among these various lineages, one stands stands out among the rest, by far. Arising during the Eocene, this lineage, though superficially resembling modern pigs, hailed from one an ancient lineage of artiodactyls far removed from swine or most other ungulates in general, with few close relatives alive today. Through perhaps not the most predatory of the bunch, it was among the most formidable, as their superficially pig-like appearance came with giant predatory jaws and teeth unlike anything from the modern era. And of course, as if all of that wasn’t enough, this lineage also went on to earn arguably one of the most badass nicknames of any lineage of mammals, period. These predators, of course, were the entelodonts, a.k.a the “hell-pigs.” More so than any other predatory ungulate lineage, these formidable ungulates were the ones to turn the current paradigm upside down, becoming some of the largest and most dominant carnivores in their landscape, even with (and often in spite of) the presence of more traditional predators. Through impressive size, fearsome teeth and sheer tenacity, these animals became the top dogs of their time, ruling as behemoth-kings of their Paleogene kingdoms, domineering all comers, and throughout the ranks, one entelodont in particular demonstrated such dominance the best. Though not the largest or most powerful of their kind, it is one of the most iconic, being among the most well-known members of its lineage to date. Moreover, this enteledont also has some of the most complete life histories ever seen out of this clade, with its brutality and predatory prowess being displayed in the fossil record in a way seen in no other member of its kind. More than anything else, however, it was this predator that best turned the notion of “ungulates being prey” on its head, living in an environment that bore some of the largest carnivoran hypercarnivores to date and still reigning as the undisputed top predator of its domain. This fearsome beast was none other than Archaeotherium, icon of the entelodonts, terror of the Oligocene American west and undisputed king of the White River badlands.
The rise of Archaeotherium (and of entelodonts in general) is closely tied to the ascendancy of carnivorous ungulates as a whole, one of the earliest evolutionary success stories of the entire Cenozoic. Having become their own derived clade since the late Cretaceous, the ungulates were remarkably successful during the early Paleogene, as they were among the first mammalian clades to reach large sizes during those early days after the non-avian dinosaurs had gone extinct. As such, it was with incredible swiftness that, as the Paleogene progressed, the ungulates swooped upon the various niches left empty by the K-Pg mass extinction that killed the dinosaurs. This of course included the herbivorous niches we would know them for today, but this also included other, much more carnivore roles. Indeed, early on during the Paleogene, it was the ungulates that first seized the roles of large mammalian predators, becoming some the earliest large mammalian carnivores to ever live, well before even the carnivorans. Such predators included the arctocyonids, a lineage of vaguely dog-like, hoof-less ungulates with robust jaws and sharpened teeth that acted as some of earliest large carnivores of the Paleocene, with genera such as Arctocyon mumak getting up to the size of big cats. Even more prolific were the mesonychids. More so than what pretty much any other lineage of predator, it was the mesonychids that would stand out as the earliest dominant predators of the early Cenozoic. Growing up to the size of bears and with enormous, bone-crushing jaws, the mesonychids were among the most powerful and successful predators on the market at that time, with a near-global range and being capable of subjugating just about any other predator in their environments. Indeed, they, along with other carnivorous ungulates (as well as ungulates in general), were experiencing a golden age during this time, easily being the most prolific predators of the age. Given such prevalence, it should be no surprise that there would be yet another lineage of predatory ungulates would throw their hat into the ring, and by early Eocene, that contender would none other than the entelodonts.
The very first entelodonts had arisen from artiodactyl ancestors during the Eocene epoch, at a time when artiodactyls were far more diverse and bizarre than they are now. Through today known from their modern herbivorous representatives such as bovines, deer, and antelope, during the Paleocene and Eocene, the artiodacyls, as with most ungulates of that time, were stronger and far more predaceous, particularly when it came to one such clade of artiodactyls, the cetacodontamorphs. Only known today from hippos and another group of artiodactyls (one which will become relevant later), the cetacodantomorphs emerged out of Asia around 55 million years ago, at around the same time that artiodactyls themselves had made their debut. These animals included the first truly predatory artiodactyls, with many of them possessing large skulls with powerful jaws and sharp, predatory teeth. Among their ranks included animals as puny as Indohyus, a piscivorous artiodactyl the size of a cat, to as formidable as Andrewsarchus, a giant, bison-sized predator often touted as one of the largest predatory mammals to ever live. Given such a predatory disposition, it wouldn’t be long until this clade produced a lineage of truly diverse, truly successful predators, and by around 40 million years ago, that is exactly what they did, as it was at that time that the entelodonts themselves first emerged. From their Asian homeland, the entelodonts spread across the world, spreading through not only most of Eurasia but also colonizing North America as well, with genera such as Brachyhyops being found across both continents. Here, in this North American frontier, the entelodonts began to diversify further, turning into their most successful and formidable forms yet, and it was around the late Eocene and early Oligocene that Archaeotherium itself had entered the scene.
Just from a passing glance at Archaeotherium, it is clear how exactly it (as well as the other entelodonts) earned the nickname of “hell-pigs.” It was a bruiser for starters; its body bore a robust, pig-like physique, with prominent neural spines and their associated musculature forming a hump around the shoulder region, similar to the hump of a bison. With such a bulky physique came with it impressive size; the average A. mortoni had a head-body length of roughly 1.6-2.0 m (5.3-6.6 ft), a shoulder height of 1.2 m (4 ft) and a body mass of around 180 kg (396 lb) in weight (Boardman & Secord, 2013; Joeckel, 1990). At such sizes, an adult Archaeotherium the size of a large male black bear. However, they had the potential to get even bigger. While most Archaeotherium specimens were around the size described above, a select few specimens, labeled under the synonymous genus “Megachoerus,” are found to be much larger, with skulls getting up to 66% longer than average A. mortoni specimens (Foss, 2001; Joeckel, 1990). At such sizes and using isometric scaling, such massive Archaeotherium specimens would attained body lengths over 2.5 m (8.2 ft) and would have reached weighs well over 500 kg (1100 lb), or as big as a mature male polar bear. Indeed, at such sizes, it is already abundantly evident that Archaeotherium is a force to be recorded with.
However, there was more to these formidable animals than sheer size alone. Behind all that bulk was an astoundingly swift and graceful predator, especially in terms of locomotion. Indeed, the hoofed feet of Archaeotherium, along with other entelodonts, sported several adaptations that gave it incredible locomotive efficiency, essentially turning it into a speed demon of the badlands. Such adaptations include longer distal leg elements (e.g. the radius and tibia) than their proximal counterparts (e.g. the humerus and femur), fusion of the radius and ulna for increased running efficiency, the loss of the clavicle (collar-bone) to allow for greater leg length, the loss of the acromion to enhance leg movement along the fore-and-aft plane, the loss of digits to reduce the mass of the forelimb, the fusion of the ectocuneiform and the mesocuneiform wrist-bones, among many other such traits (Theodore, 1996) . Perhaps most significant of these adaptations is the evolution of the “double-pulley astragalus (ankle-bone),” a specialized modification of the ankle that, while restricting rotation and side-to-side movement at the ankle-joint, allows for greater rotation in the fore-and-aft direction, thus allowing for more more powerful propulsion from the limbs, faster extension and retraction of the limbs and overall greater locomotive efficiency (Foss, 2001). Of course, such a trait was not only found in entelodonts but in artiodactyls as a whole, likely being a response to predatory pressures from incumbent predatory clades arising at the same time as the artiodactyls (Foss, 2001). However, in the case of the entelodonts, such adaptations were not used for merely escaping predators. Rather, they were used to for another, much more lethal effect…
Such notions are further reinforced by the entelodonts most formidable aspect, none either than their fearsome jaws, and in this respect, Archaeotherium excelled. Both for its size and in general, the head of Archaeotherium was massive, measuring 40-50 cm (1.3-1.6 ft) in length among average A. mortoni specimens, to up to 78 cm (~2.6 ft) in the larger “Megachoerus” specimens (Joeckel, 1990). Such massive skulls were supported and supplemented by equally massive neck muscles and ligaments, which attached to massive neural spines on the anterior thoracic vertebrae akin to a bisons hump as well as to the sternum, allowing Archaeotherium to keep its head aloft despite the skulls massive size (Effinger, 1998). Of course, with such a massive skull, it should come as no surprise that such skulls housed exceptionally formidable jaws as well, and indeed, the bite of Archaeotherium was an especially deadly one. Its zygomatic arches (cheek-bones) and its temporal fossa were enlarged and expanded, indicative of massive temporalis muscles that afforded Archaeotherium astoundingly powerful bites (Joeckel, 1990). This is further augmented by Archaeotherium’s massive jugal flanges (bony projections of the cheek), which supported powerful masseter muscles which enhanced chewing and mastication, as well as an enlarged postorbital bar that reinforced the skull against torsional stresses (Foss, 2001). Last but not least, powerful jaws are supplemented by an enlarged gape, facilitated by a low coronoid process and enlarged posterior mandibular tubercles (bony projections originating from the lower jaw), which provided an insertion site for sternum-to-mandible jaw abduction muscles, allowing for a more forceful opening of the jaw (Foss, 2001). All together, such traits suggest a massive and incredibly fearsome bite, perhaps the most formidable of any animal in its environment.
Of course, none of such traits are especially indicative of a predatory lifestyle. Indeed, many modern non-predatory ungulates, like hippos, pigs and peccaries, also possess large, formidable skulls and jaws. However, in peeling back the layers, it is found there was more to the skull of Archaeotherium that lies in store. Indeed, when inspecting the animal closely, a unique mosaic of features is revealed; traits that make it out to be much more lethal than the average artiodactyl. On one hand, Archaeotherium possessed many traits similar to those of herbivores animals, as is expected of ungulates. For instance, its jaw musculature that allowed the lower jaw of Archaeotherium a full side-to-side chewing motion as in herbivores (whereas most carnivores can only move their lower jaw up and down)(Effinger, 1998). On the other hand, Archaeotherium wielded many other traits far more lethal in their morphology, less akin to a herbivore and far more akin to a bonafide predator. For instance, the aforementioned enlarged gape of Archaeotherium is a bizarre trait on a supposed herbivore, as such animals do not need large gapes to eat vegetation and thus have smaller, more restricted gapes. Conversely, many predatory lineages have comparatively large gapes, as larger gapes allow for the the jaws to grab on to more effectively larger objects, namely large prey animals (Joeckel, 1990).
Such a juxtaposition, however, is most evident when discussing the real killing instruments of Archaeotherium — the teeth. More so than any facet of this animal, the teeth of Archaeotherium are the real stars of the show, showing both how alike it was compared to its herbivores counterparts and more importantly, how it couldn’t be more different. For instance, the molars of Archaeotherium were quite similar to modern herbivores ungulates, in that they were robust, bunodont, and were designed for crushing and grinding, similar in form and function to modern ungulates like peccaries (Joeckel, 1990). However, while the molars give the impression that Archaeotherium was a herbivore, the other teeth tell a very different story. The incisors, for example, were enlarged, sharpened, and fully interlocked (as opposed to the flat-topped incisors seen in herbivores ungulates), creating an incisor array that was seemingly ill-suited for cropping vegetation and much more adept at for gripping, puncturing and cutting (Joeckel, 1990). Even more formidable were the canines. Like the modern pigs from which entelodonts derived their nicknames, the canines of Archaeotherium were sharp and enlarged to form prominent tusk-like teeth, but unlike pigs, they were rounded in cross-section (similar to modern carnivores like big cats, indicating more durable canines that can absorb and resist torsional forces, such as those from struggling prey) and were serrated to form a distinct cutting edge (Effinger, 1998; Joeckel, 1990; Ruff & Van Valkenburgh, 1987). These canines, along with the incisors, interlock to stabilize the jaws while biting and dismantling in a carnivore-like fashion. More strikingly, the canines also seem to act as “occlusal guides,” wherein the canines help align the movement and position of the rear teeth as they come together, allowing for a more efficient shearing action by the rear teeth. This function is seen most prevalently modern carnivorous mammals, and is evidenced by the canine tooth-wear, which is also analogous to modern predators like bears and canids (Joeckel, 1990). Indeed, going off such teeth alone, it is clear that Archaeotherium is far more predatory than expected of an ungulate. However, the real stars of the show, the teeth that truly betray the predatory nature of these ungulates, are the premolars. Perhaps the most carnivore-like teeth in the entelodont’s entire tooth row, the premolars of Archaeotherium, particularly the anterior premolars, are laterally compressed, somewhat conical in shape, and are weakly serrated to bear a cutting edge, giving them a somewhat carnivorous form and function of shearing and slicing (Effinger, 1998). Most strikingly of all, the premolars of Archaeotherium bear unique features similar not to modern herbivores, but to durophagous carnivores like hyenas, particularly apical wear patterns, highly thickened enamel, “zigzag-shaped” enamel prism layers (Hunter-Schraeger bands) on the premolars which is also seen in osteophagous animals like hyenas, and an interlocking premolar interface wherein linear objects (such as bones) inserted into jaws from the side would be pinned between the premolars and crushed (Foss, 2001). Taken together, these features do not suggest a diet of grass or vegetation like other ungulates. Rather, they suggest a far more violent diet, one including flesh as well as hard, durable foods, particularly bone. All in all, the evidence is clear. Archaeotherium and other entelodonts, unlike the rest of their artiodactyl kin, were not the passive herbivores as we envision ungulates today. Rather, they were willing, unrepentant meat-eaters that had a taste for flesh as well as foliage.
Of course, even with such lines of evidence, its hard to conclude that Archaeotherium was a true predator. After all, its wide gape and durophagous teeth could have just as easily been used for scavenging or even to eat tough plant matter such as seeds or nuts, as in peccaries and pigs, which themselves share many of the same adaptations as Archaeotherium, include the more carnivorous ones (e.g. the wide gape, using the canines as an occlusal guide, etc.). How exactly do we know that these things were veritable predators and not pretenders to the title. To this end, there is yet one last piece of evidence, one that puts on full display the predatory prowess of Archaeotheriumevidence of a kill itself. Found within oligocene-aged sediment in what is now Wyoming, a collection of various fossil remains was found, each belonging to the ancient sheep-sized camel Poebrotherium, with many of the skeletal remains being disarticulated and even missing whole hindlimbs or even entire rear halves of their body. Tellingly, many of the remains bear extensive bite marks and puncture wounds across their surface. Upon close examination, the spacing and size of the punctures leave only one culprit: Archaeotherium. Of course, such an event could still have been scavenging; the entelodonts were consuming the remains of already dead, decomposed camels, explaining the bite marks. What was far more telling, however, was where the bite marks were found. In addition bite marks being found on the torso and lumbar regions of the camels, various puncture wounds were found on the skull and neck, which were otherwise uneaten. Scavengers rarely feast on the head to begin with; there is very little worthwhile meat on it besides the brain, cheek-muscles and eyes, and even if they did feed on the skull and neck, they would still eat it wholesale, not merely bite it and then leave it otherwise untouched. Indeed, it was clear that this was no mere scavenging event. Rather than merely consuming these camels, Archaeotherium was actively preying upon and killing them, dispatching them via a crushing bite to the skull or neck before dismembering and even bisecting the hapless camels with their powerful jaws to preferentially feast on their hindquarters (likely by swallowing the hindquarters whole, as the pelvis of Poebrotherium was coincidentally the perfect width for Archaeotherium to devour whole), eventually discarding the leftovers in meat caches for later consumption (Sundell, 1999). With this finding, such a feat of brutality leaves no doubt in ones mind as to what the true nature of Archaeotherium was. This was no herbivore, nor was it a simple scavenger. This was an active, rapacious predator, the most powerful in its entire ecosystem.
Indeed, with such brutal evidence of predation frozen in time, combined with various dental, cranial, and post cranial adaptations of this formidable animal, it’s possible to paint a picture of how this formidable creature lived. Though an omnivore by trade, willing and able to feast on plant matter such as grass, roots and tubers, Archaeotherium was also a wanton predator that took just about any prey it wanted. Upon detecting its prey, it approached its vicim from ambush before launching itself at blazing speed. From there, its cursorial, hoofed legs, used by other ungulates for escape predation, were here employed to capture prey, carrying it at great speeds as it caught up to its quarry. Having closed the distance with its target, it was then that the entelodont brought its jaws to bear, grabbing hold of the victim with powerful jaws and gripping teeth to bring it to a screeching halt. If the victim is lucky, Archaeotherium will then kill it quickly with a crushing bite to the skull or neck, puncturing the brain or spinal cord and killing its target instantly. If not, the victim is eaten alive, torn apart while it’s still kicking, as modern boars will do today. In any case, incapacitated prey are subsequently dismantled, with the entelodont using its entire head and heavily-muscled necks to bite into and pull apart its victim in devastating “puncture-and pull’ bites (Foss, 2001). Prey would then finally be consumed starting at the hindquarters, with not even the bones of its prey being spared. Such brutality, though far from clean, drove home a singular truth: that during this time, ungulates were not just prey, that they were not the mere “predator-fodder” we know them as today. rather, they themselves were the predators themselves, dominating as superb hunters within their domain and even suppressing clades we know as predators today, least of all the carnivorans. Indeed, during this point in time, the age of the carnivorous ungulates had hit their stride, and more specifically, the age of entelodonts had begun.
Of course, more so than any other entelodont, Archaeotherium took to this new age with gusto. Archaeotherium lived from 35-28 million years ago during the late Eocene and early Oligocene in a locality known today as the White River Badlands, a fossil locality nestled along the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains. Though a chalky, barren landscape today, during the time of Archaeotherium, the White River Badlands was a swamp-like floodplain crisscrossed with rivers and interspersed with by a mosaic of forests concentrated around waterways, open woodlands and open plains. As with most ecosystems with such a lush disposition, this locale teemed with life, with ancient hornless rhinos, small horse-like hyracodonts and early camels roaming the open habitats while giant brontotheres, small early horses and strange, sheep-like ungulates called merycoidodonts (also known as “oreodonts”) dwelled within the dense forests. Within this locale, Archaeotherium stalked the open woodlands and riparian forests of its domain. Here, it acted as a dominant predator and scavenger across is territory, filling a niche similar to modern grizzly bears but far more predatory. Among its preferred food items would be plant matter such as roots, foliage and nuts, but also meat in the form of carrion or freshly caught prey. In this respect, smaller ungulates such as the fleet-footed camel Poebrotherium, a known prey item of Archaeotherium, would have made a for choice prey, as its small size would make it easy for Archaeotherium to dispatch with its powerful jaws, while the entelodonts swift legs gave it the speed necessary to keep pace with its agile prey.
However, the entelodont didn’t have such a feast all to itself. Just as the badlands teemed with herbivores, so too did it teem with rival predators. Among their ranks included fearsome predators such as Hyaenodon, a powerful, vaguely dog-like predator up to the size of wolves (as in H. horridus) or even lions (as in the Eocene-aged H. megaloides, which was replaced by H. horridus during the Oligocene). Armed with a massive head, fierce jaws and a set of knife-like teeth that could cut down even large prey in seconds, these were some of the most formidable predators on the landscape. There were also the nimravids, cat-like carnivorans that bore saber-teeth to kill large prey in seconds, and included the likes of the lynx-sized Dinictis, the leopard-sized Hoplophoneus and even the jaguar-sized Eusmilus. Furthermore, there were amphicyonids, better known as the bear-dogs. Though known from much larger forms later on in their existence, during the late Eocene and Oligocene, they were much smaller and acted as the “canid-analogues” of the ecosystem, filling a role similar to wolves or coyotes. Last but not least, there were the bathornithid birds, huge cariamiform birds related to modern seriemas but much larger, which filled a niche similar to modern seriemas or secretary birds, albeit on a much larger scale. Given such competition, it would seem that Archaeotherium would have its hands full. However, things are not as they appear. For starters, habitat differences would mitigate high amounts of competition, as both Hyaenodon and the various nimravids occupy more specialized ecological roles (being a plains-specialist and forest-specialist, respectively) than did Archaeotherium, providing a buffer to stave off competition: More importantly, however, none of the aforementioned predators were simply big enough to take Archaeotherium on. During the roughly 7 million years existence of Archaeotherium, the only carnivore that matched it in size was H. megaloides, and even that would have an only applied to average A. mortoni individuals, not to the much larger, bison-sized “Megachoerus” individuals. The next largest predator at that point would be the jaguars-sized Eusmilus (specifically E. adelos) which would have only been a bit more than half the size of even an average A. mortoni. Besides that, virtually every other predator on the landscape was simply outclassed by the much larger entelodont in terms of size and brute strength. As such, within its domain, Archaeotherium had total, unquestioned authority, dominating the other predators in the landscape and likely stealing their kills as well. In fact, just about the only threat Archaeotherium had was other Archaeotherium, as fossil bite marks suggest that this animal regularly and fraglantly engaged in intraspecific combat, usually through face-biting and possibly even jaw-wrestling (Effinger, 1998; Tanke & Currie, 1998). Nevertheless, it was clear that Archaeotherium was the undisputed king of the badlands; in a landscape of hyaenodonts and carnivorans galore, it was a hoofed ungulate that reigned supreme.
However, such a reign would not last. As the Eocene transitioned into the Eocene, the planet underwent an abrupt cooling and drying phase known as Eocene-Oligocene Transition or more simply the Grande Coupure. This change in climate would eliminate the sprawling wetlands and river systems that Archaeotherium had been depending on, gradually replacing it with drier and more open habitats. To its credit, Archaeotherium did manage to hang on, persisting well after the Grand-Coupure had taken place, but in the end the damage had been done; Archaeotherium was a dead-man-walking. Eventually, by around 28 million years ago, Archaeotherium would go extinct, perishing due to this change in global climate (Gillham, 2019). Entelodonts as a whole would persist into the Miocene, producing some of their largest forms ever known in the form of the bison-sized Daeodon (which was itself even more carnivorous than Archaeotherium), however they too would meet the same fate as their earlier cousins. By around 15-20 million years ago, entelodonts as a whole would go extinct. However, while the entelodonts may have perished, this was not the end of carnivorous ungulates as a whole. Recall that the cetacodontamorphs, the lineage of artiodactyls that produced the entelodonts, left behind two living descendants. The first among them were the hippos, themselves fairly frequent herbivores. The second of such lineage, however, was a different story. Emerging out of South Asia, this lineage of piscivorous cetacodontamorphs, in a an attempt to further specialize for the fish-hunting lifestyle, began to delve further and further into the water, becoming more and more aquatic and the millennia passed by. At a certain point, these carnivorous artiodactlys had become something completely unrecognizable from their original hoofed forms. Their skin became hairless and their bodies became streamlined for life in water. Their hoofed limbs grew into giant flippers for steering in the water and their previously tiny tails became massive and sported giant tail flukes for aquatic propulsion. Their noses even moved to the tip of their head, becoming a blowhole that would be signature to this clade as a whole. Indeed, this clade was none other than the modern whales, themselves derived, carnivorous ungulates that had specialized for a life in the water, and in doing so, became the some of the most dominant aquatic predators across the globe for millions of years. Indeed, though long gone, the legacy of the entelodonts and of predatory ungulates as a whole, a legacy Archaeotherium itself had helped foster, lives on in these paragons of predatory prowess, showing that the ungulates are more than just the mere “prey” that they are often made out to be. Moreover, given the success that carnivorous ungulates had enjoyed in the past and given how modern omnivorous ungulates like boar dabble in predation themselves, perhaps, in the distant future, this planet may see the rise of carnivorous ungulates once again, following in the footsteps left behind by Archaeotherium and the other predatory ungulates all those millions of years ago.
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2024.05.14 16:25 Mophandel Archaeotherium, the King of the White River Badlands

Archaeotherium, the King of the White River Badlands
Art by Bob Nicholls
Nowadays, when we envision the words “prey,” among modern mammalian fauna, few taxa come to mind as quickly as the hoofed mammals, better known as the ungulates. Indeed, for the better part of their entire evolutionary history, the ungulates have become entirely indistinguishable from the term “prey.” Across their two major modern branches, the artiodactyls (the “even-toed ungulates,” such as bovids, pigs, deer, hippos and giraffes) and the perissodactyls (the “odd-toed ungulates,” including horses, rhinos and tapir), the ungulates too have created an empire spanning nearly every continent, establishing themselves as the the dominant herbivores throughout their entire range. However, as a price for such success, their lot as herbivores have forced them into an unenviable position: being the food for the predators. Indeed, throughout the diets of most modern predators, ungulates make up the majority, if not the entirety, of their diet, becoming their counterparts in this evolutionary dance of theirs. They have become the lamb to their wolf, the zebra to their lion, the stag to their tiger. If there is a predator in need of lunch, chances are that there is an ungulate there to provide it. Of course, such a dynamic is not necessarily a recent innovation. For the last 15-20 million years, across much of the world, both new and old, the ungulates have served as prey for these predators through it all. Over the course of whole epochs, these two groups have played into these roles for millions of years, coevolving with each other in an eons-long game of cat-and-mouse. The shoes they fill are not new, but have existed for ages, and within their niches they have cultivated their roles to perfection. Indeed, with such a tenured history, it seems hardly surprising the ungulates are wholly inseparable from the terms “prey,” itself.
However, while this is the case now, as it has been for the last 15-20 million years, go back far enough, and we see that this dynamic is not as set in stone as we would think. Indeed, back during the Eocene and Oligocene, during the very earliest days of age of mammals, things were very different for the ungulates. While today they are considered little more than food for modern predators, during these olden days, the ungulates weren’t quite so benign. In fact, far from being fodder for top predators, the ungulates had turned the tables, instead becoming top predators themselves. Indeed, though nearly unheard of today, throughout much of the Eocene and Oligocene, carnivorous ungulates thrived in abundance, developing specializations for catching large prey and establishing themselves as top predators that competed alongside the more traditional carnivores, and even dominating them in some instances. Given such success, it’s no wonder that multiple such clades had arisen during this time. Such predators included the arctocyonids, a lineage of (ironically) hoof-less ungulates with large jaws and sharp teeth for capturing large prey. There were also the mesonychians, a lineage of dog-like ungulates with massive skulls and jaws that allowed them to reign as the top predator across much of the Eocene.
However, among these various lineages, one stands stands out among the rest, by far. Arising during the Eocene, this lineage, though superficially resembling modern pigs, hailed from one an ancient lineage of artiodactyls far removed from swine or most other ungulates in general, with few close relatives alive today. Through perhaps not the most predatory of the bunch, it was among the most formidable, as their superficially pig-like appearance came with giant predatory jaws and teeth unlike anything from the modern era. And of course, as if all of that wasn’t enough, this lineage also went on to earn arguably one of the most badass nicknames of any lineage of mammals, period. These predators, of course, were the entelodonts, a.k.a the “hell-pigs.” More so than any other predatory ungulate lineage, these formidable ungulates were the ones to turn the current paradigm upside down, becoming some of the largest and most dominant carnivores in their landscape, even with (and often in spite of) the presence of more traditional predators. Through impressive size, fearsome teeth and sheer tenacity, these animals became the top dogs of their time, ruling as behemoth-kings of their Paleogene kingdoms, domineering all comers, and throughout the ranks, one entelodont in particular demonstrated such dominance the best. Though not the largest or most powerful of their kind, it is one of the most iconic, being among the most well-known members of its lineage to date. Moreover, this enteledont also has some of the most complete life histories ever seen out of this clade, with its brutality and predatory prowess being displayed in the fossil record in a way seen in no other member of its kind. More than anything else, however, it was this predator that best turned the notion of “ungulates being prey” on its head, living in an environment that bore some of the largest carnivoran hypercarnivores to date and still reigning as the undisputed top predator of its domain. This fearsome beast was none other than Archaeotherium, icon of the entelodonts, terror of the Oligocene American west and undisputed king of the White River badlands.
The rise of Archaeotherium (and of entelodonts in general) is closely tied to the ascendancy of carnivorous ungulates as a whole, one of the earliest evolutionary success stories of the entire Cenozoic. Having become their own derived clade since the late Cretaceous, the ungulates were remarkably successful during the early Paleogene, as they were among the first mammalian clades to reach large sizes during those early days after the non-avian dinosaurs had gone extinct. As such, it was with incredible swiftness that, as the Paleogene progressed, the ungulates swooped upon the various niches left empty by the K-Pg mass extinction that killed the dinosaurs. This of course included the herbivorous niches we would know them for today, but this also included other, much more carnivore roles. Indeed, early on during the Paleogene, it was the ungulates that first seized the roles of large mammalian predators, becoming some the earliest large mammalian carnivores to ever live, well before even the carnivorans. Such predators included the arctocyonids, a lineage of vaguely dog-like, hoof-less ungulates with robust jaws and sharpened teeth that acted as some of earliest large carnivores of the Paleocene, with genera such as Arctocyon mumak getting up to the size of big cats. Even more prolific were the mesonychids. More so than what pretty much any other lineage of predator, it was the mesonychids that would stand out as the earliest dominant predators of the early Cenozoic. Growing up to the size of bears and with enormous, bone-crushing jaws, the mesonychids were among the most powerful and successful predators on the market at that time, with a near-global range and being capable of subjugating just about any other predator in their environments. Indeed, they, along with other carnivorous ungulates (as well as ungulates in general), were experiencing a golden age during this time, easily being the most prolific predators of the age. Given such prevalence, it should be no surprise that there would be yet another lineage of predatory ungulates would throw their hat into the ring, and by early Eocene, that contender would none other than the entelodonts.
The very first entelodonts had arisen from artiodactyl ancestors during the Eocene epoch, at a time when artiodactyls were far more diverse and bizarre than they are now. Through today known from their modern herbivorous representatives such as bovines, deer, and antelope, during the Paleocene and Eocene, the artiodacyls, as with most ungulates of that time, were stronger and far more predaceous, particularly when it came to one such clade of artiodactyls, the cetacodontamorphs. Only known today from hippos and another group of artiodactyls (one which will become relevant later), the cetacodantomorphs emerged out of Asia around 55 million years ago, at around the same time that artiodactyls themselves had made their debut. These animals included the first truly predatory artiodactyls, with many of them possessing large skulls with powerful jaws and sharp, predatory teeth. Among their ranks included animals as puny as Indohyus, a piscivorous artiodactyl the size of a cat, to as formidable as Andrewsarchus, a giant, bison-sized predator often touted as one of the largest predatory mammals to ever live. Given such a predatory disposition, it wouldn’t be long until this clade produced a lineage of truly diverse, truly successful predators, and by around 40 million years ago, that is exactly what they did, as it was at that time that the entelodonts themselves first emerged. From their Asian homeland, the entelodonts spread across the world, spreading through not only most of Eurasia but also colonizing North America as well, with genera such as Brachyhyops being found across both continents. Here, in this North American frontier, the entelodonts began to diversify further, turning into their most successful and formidable forms yet, and it was around the late Eocene and early Oligocene that Archaeotherium itself had entered the scene.
Just from a passing glance at Archaeotherium, it is clear how exactly it (as well as the other entelodonts) earned the nickname of “hell-pigs.” It was a bruiser for starters; its body bore a robust, pig-like physique, with prominent neural spines and their associated musculature forming a hump around the shoulder region, similar to the hump of a bison. With such a bulky physique came with it impressive size; the average A. mortoni had a head-body length of roughly 1.6-2.0 m (5.3-6.6 ft), a shoulder height of 1.2 m (4 ft) and a body mass of around 180 kg (396 lb) in weight (Boardman & Secord, 2013; Joeckel, 1990). At such sizes, an adult Archaeotherium the size of a large male black bear. However, they had the potential to get even bigger. While most Archaeotherium specimens were around the size described above, a select few specimens, labeled under the synonymous genus “Megachoerus,” are found to be much larger, with skulls getting up to 66% longer than average A. mortoni specimens (Foss, 2001; Joeckel, 1990). At such sizes and using isometric scaling, such massive Archaeotherium specimens would attained body lengths over 2.5 m (8.2 ft) and would have reached weighs well over 500 kg (1100 lb), or as big as a mature male polar bear. Indeed, at such sizes, it is already abundantly evident that Archaeotherium is a force to be recorded with.
However, there was more to these formidable animals than sheer size alone. Behind all that bulk was an astoundingly swift and graceful predator, especially in terms of locomotion. Indeed, the hoofed feet of Archaeotherium, along with other entelodonts, sported several adaptations that gave it incredible locomotive efficiency, essentially turning it into a speed demon of the badlands. Such adaptations include longer distal leg elements (e.g. the radius and tibia) than their proximal counterparts (e.g. the humerus and femur), fusion of the radius and ulna for increased running efficiency, the loss of the clavicle (collar-bone) to allow for greater leg length, the loss of the acromion to enhance leg movement along the fore-and-aft plane, the loss of digits to reduce the mass of the forelimb, the fusion of the ectocuneiform and the mesocuneiform wrist-bones, among many other such traits (Theodore, 1996) . Perhaps most significant of these adaptations is the evolution of the “double-pulley astragalus (ankle-bone),” a specialized modification of the ankle that, while restricting rotation and side-to-side movement at the ankle-joint, allows for greater rotation in the fore-and-aft direction, thus allowing for more more powerful propulsion from the limbs, faster extension and retraction of the limbs and overall greater locomotive efficiency (Foss, 2001). Of course, such a trait was not only found in entelodonts but in artiodactyls as a whole, likely being a response to predatory pressures from incumbent predatory clades arising at the same time as the artiodactyls (Foss, 2001). However, in the case of the entelodonts, such adaptations were not used for merely escaping predators. Rather, they were used to for another, much more lethal effect…
Such notions are further reinforced by the entelodonts most formidable aspect, none either than their fearsome jaws, and in this respect, Archaeotherium excelled. Both for its size and in general, the head of Archaeotherium was massive, measuring 40-50 cm (1.3-1.6 ft) in length among average A. mortoni specimens, to up to 78 cm (~2.6 ft) in the larger “Megachoerus” specimens (Joeckel, 1990). Such massive skulls were supported and supplemented by equally massive neck muscles and ligaments, which attached to massive neural spines on the anterior thoracic vertebrae akin to a bisons hump as well as to the sternum, allowing Archaeotherium to keep its head aloft despite the skulls massive size (Effinger, 1998). Of course, with such a massive skull, it should come as no surprise that such skulls housed exceptionally formidable jaws as well, and indeed, the bite of Archaeotherium was an especially deadly one. Its zygomatic arches (cheek-bones) and its temporal fossa were enlarged and expanded, indicative of massive temporalis muscles that afforded Archaeotherium astoundingly powerful bites (Joeckel, 1990). This is further augmented by Archaeotherium’s massive jugal flanges (bony projections of the cheek), which supported powerful masseter muscles which enhanced chewing and mastication, as well as an enlarged postorbital bar that reinforced the skull against torsional stresses (Foss, 2001). Last but not least, powerful jaws are supplemented by an enlarged gape, facilitated by a low coronoid process and enlarged posterior mandibular tubercles (bony projections originating from the lower jaw), which provided an insertion site for sternum-to-mandible jaw abduction muscles, allowing for a more forceful opening of the jaw (Foss, 2001). All together, such traits suggest a massive and incredibly fearsome bite, perhaps the most formidable of any animal in its environment.
Of course, none of such traits are especially indicative of a predatory lifestyle. Indeed, many modern non-predatory ungulates, like hippos, pigs and peccaries, also possess large, formidable skulls and jaws. However, in peeling back the layers, it is found there was more to the skull of Archaeotherium that lies in store. Indeed, when inspecting the animal closely, a unique mosaic of features is revealed; traits that make it out to be much more lethal than the average artiodactyl. On one hand, Archaeotherium possessed many traits similar to those of herbivores animals, as is expected of ungulates. For instance, its jaw musculature that allowed the lower jaw of Archaeotherium a full side-to-side chewing motion as in herbivores (whereas most carnivores can only move their lower jaw up and down)(Effinger, 1998). On the other hand, Archaeotherium wielded many other traits far more lethal in their morphology, less akin to a herbivore and far more akin to a bonafide predator. For instance, the aforementioned enlarged gape of Archaeotherium is a bizarre trait on a supposed herbivore, as such animals do not need large gapes to eat vegetation and thus have smaller, more restricted gapes. Conversely, many predatory lineages have comparatively large gapes, as larger gapes allow for the the jaws to grab on to more effectively larger objects, namely large prey animals (Joeckel, 1990).
Such a juxtaposition, however, is most evident when discussing the real killing instruments of Archaeotherium — the teeth. More so than any facet of this animal, the teeth of Archaeotherium are the real stars of the show, showing both how alike it was compared to its herbivores counterparts and more importantly, how it couldn’t be more different. For instance, the molars of Archaeotherium were quite similar to modern herbivores ungulates, in that they were robust, bunodont, and were designed for crushing and grinding, similar in form and function to modern ungulates like peccaries (Joeckel, 1990). However, while the molars give the impression that Archaeotherium was a herbivore, the other teeth tell a very different story. The incisors, for example, were enlarged, sharpened, and fully interlocked (as opposed to the flat-topped incisors seen in herbivores ungulates), creating an incisor array that was seemingly ill-suited for cropping vegetation and much more adept at for gripping, puncturing and cutting (Joeckel, 1990). Even more formidable were the canines. Like the modern pigs from which entelodonts derived their nicknames, the canines of Archaeotherium were sharp and enlarged to form prominent tusk-like teeth, but unlike pigs, they were rounded in cross-section (similar to modern carnivores like big cats, indicating more durable canines that can absorb and resist torsional forces, such as those from struggling prey) and were serrated to form a distinct cutting edge (Effinger, 1998; Joeckel, 1990; Ruff & Van Valkenburgh, 1987). These canines, along with the incisors, interlock to stabilize the jaws while biting and dismantling in a carnivore-like fashion. More strikingly, the canines also seem to act as “occlusal guides,” wherein the canines help align the movement and position of the rear teeth as they come together, allowing for a more efficient shearing action by the rear teeth. This function is seen most prevalently modern carnivores mammals, and is evidenced by the canine tooth-wear, which is also analogous to modern predators like bears and canids (Joeckel, 1990). Indeed, going off such teeth alone, it is clear that Archaeotherium is far more predatory than expected of an ungulate. However, the real stars of the show, the teeth that truly betray the predatory nature of these ungulates, are the premolars. Perhaps the most carnivore-like teeth in the entelodont’s entire tooth row, the premolars of Archaeotherium, particularly the anterior premolars, are laterally compressed, somewhat conical in shape, and are weakly serrated to bear a cutting edge, giving them a somewhat carnivorous form and function of shearing and slicing (Effinger, 1998). Most strikingly of all, the premolars of Archaeotherium bear unique features similar not to modern herbivores, but to durophagous carnivores like hyenas, particularly apical wear patterns, highly thickened enamel, “zigzag-shaped” enamel prism layers (Hunter-Schraeger bands) on the premolars which is also seen in osteophagous animals like hyenas, and an interlocking premolar interface wherein linear objects (such as bones) inserted into jaws from the side would be pinned between the premolars and crushed (Foss, 2001). Taken together, these features do not suggest a diet of grass or vegetation like other ungulates. Rather, they suggest a far more violent diet, one including flesh as well as hard, durable foods, particularly bone. All in all, the evidence is clear. Archaeotherium and other entelodonts, unlike the rest of their artiodactyl kin, were not the passive herbivores as we envision ungulates today. Rather, they were willing, unrepentant meat-eaters that had a taste for flesh as well as foliage.
Of course, even with such lines of evidence, its hard to conclude that Archaeotherium was a true predator. After all, its wide gape and durophagous teeth could have just as easily been used for scavenging or even to eat tough plant matter such as seeds or nuts, as in peccaries and pigs, which themselves share many of the same adaptations as Archaeotherium, include the more carnivorous ones (e.g. the wide gape, using the canines as an occlusal guide, etc.). How exactly do we know that these things were veritable predators and not pretenders to the title. To this end, there is yet one last piece of evidence, one that puts on full display the predatory prowess of Archaeotheriumevidence of a kill itself. Found within oligocene-aged sediment in what is now Wyoming, a collection of various fossil remains was found, each belonging to the ancient sheep-sized camel Poebrotherium, with many of the skeletal remains being disarticulated and even missing whole hindlimbs or even entire rear halves of their body. Tellingly, many of the remains bear extensive bite marks and puncture wounds across their surface. Upon close examination, the spacing and size of the punctures leave only one culprit: Archaeotherium. Of course, such an event could still have been scavenging; the entelodonts were consuming the remains of already dead, decomposed camels, explaining the bite marks. What was far more telling, however, was where the bite marks were found. In addition bite marks being found on the torso and lumbar regions of the camels, various puncture wounds were found on the skull and neck, which were otherwise uneaten. Scavengers rarely feast on the head to begin with; there is very little worthwhile meat on it besides the brain, cheek-muscles and eyes, and even if they did feed on the skull and neck, they would still eat it wholesale, not merely bite it and then leave it otherwise untouched. Indeed, it was clear that this was no mere scavenging event. Rather than merely consuming these camels, Archaeotherium was actively preying upon and killing them, dispatching them via a crushing bite to the skull or neck before dismembering and even bisecting the hapless camels with their powerful jaws to preferentially feast on their hindquarters (likely by swallowing the hindquarters whole, as the pelvis of Poebrotherium was coincidentally the perfect width for Archaeotherium to devour whole), eventually discarding the leftovers in meat caches for later consumption (Sundell, 1999). With this finding, such a feat of brutality leaves no doubt in ones mind as to what the true nature of Archaeotherium was. This was no herbivore, nor was it a simple scavenger. This was an active, rapacious predator, the most powerful in its entire ecosystem.
Indeed, with such brutal evidence of predation frozen in time, combined with various dental, cranial, and post cranial adaptations of this formidable animal, it’s possible to paint a picture of how this formidable creature lived. Though an omnivore by trade, willing and able to feast on plant matter such as grass, roots and tubers, Archaeotherium was also a wanton predator that took just about any prey it wanted. Upon detecting its prey, it approached its vicim from ambush before launching itself at blazing speed. From there, its cursorial, hoofed legs, used by other ungulates for escape predation, were here employed to capture prey, carrying it at great speeds as it caught up to its quarry. Having closed the distance with its target, it was then that the entelodont brought its jaws to bear, grabbing hold of the victim with powerful jaws and gripping teeth to bring it to a screeching halt. If the victim is lucky, Archaeotherium will then kill it quickly with a crushing bite to the skull or neck, puncturing the brain or spinal cord and killing its target instantly. If not, the victim is eaten alive, torn apart while it’s still kicking, as modern boars will do today. In any case, incapacitated prey are subsequently dismantled, with the entelodont using its entire head and heavily-muscled necks to bite into and pull apart its victim in devastating “puncture-and pull’ bites (Foss, 2001). Prey would then finally be consumed starting at the hindquarters, with not even the bones of its prey being spared. Such brutality, though far from clean, drove home a singular truth: that during this time, ungulates were not just prey, that they were not the mere “predator-fodder” we know them as today. rather, they themselves were the predators themselves, dominating as superb hunters within their domain and even suppressing clades we know as predators today, least of all the carnivorans. Indeed, during this point in time, the age of the carnivorous ungulates had hit their stride, and more specifically, the age of entelodonts had begun.
Of course, more so than any other ettelodont, Archaeotherium took to this new age with gusto. Archaeotherium lived from 35-28 million years ago during the late Eocene and early Oligocene in a locality known today as the White River Badlands, a fossil locality nestled along the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains. Though a chalky, barren landscape today, during the time of Archaeotherium, the White River Badlands was a swamp-like floodplain crisscrossed with rivers and interspersed with by a mosaic of forests concentrated around waterways, open woodlands and open plains. As with most ecosystems with such a lush disposition, this locale teemed with life, with ancient hornless rhinos, small horse-like hyracodonts and early camels roaming the open habitats while giant brontotheres, small early horses and strange, sheep-like ungulates called merycoidodonts (also known as “oreodonts”) dwelled within the dense forests. Within this locale, Archaeotherium stalked the open woodlands and riparian forests of its domain. Here, it acted as a dominant predator and scavenger across is territory, filling a niche similar to modern grizzly bears but far more predatory. Among its preferred food items would be plant matter such as roots, foliage and nuts, but also meat in the form of carrion or freshly caught prey. In this respect, smaller ungulates such as the fleet-footed camel Poebrotherium, a known prey item of Archaeotherium, would have made a for choice prey, as its small size would make it easy for Archaeotherium to dispatch with its powerful jaws, while the entelodonts swift legs gave it the speed necessary to keep pace with its agile prey.
However, the entelodont didn’t have such a feast all to itself. Just as the badlands teemed with herbivores, so too did it teem with rival predators. Among their ranks included fearsome predators such as Hyaenodon, a powerful, vaguely dog-like predator up to the size of wolves (as in H. horridus) or even lions (as in the Eocene-aged H. megaloides, which was replaced by H. horridus during the Oligocene). Armed with a massive head, fierce jaws and a set of knife-like teeth that could cut down even large prey in seconds, these were some of the most formidable predators on the landscape. There were also the nimravids, cat-like carnivorans that bore saber-teeth to kill large prey in seconds, and included the likes of the lynx-sized Dinictis, the leopard-sized Hoplophoneus and even the jaguar-sized Eusmilus. Furthermore, there were amphicyonids, better known as the bear-dogs. Though known from much larger forms later on in their existence, during the late Eocene and Oligocene, they were much smaller and acted as the “canid-analogues” of the ecosystem, filling a role similar to wolves or coyotes. Last but not least, there were the bathornithid birds, huge cariamiform birds related to modern seriemas but much larger, which filled a niche similar to modern seriemas or secretary birds, albeit on a much larger scale. Given such competition, it would seem that Archaeotherium would have its hands full. However, things are not as they appear. For starters, habitat differences would mitigate high amounts of competition, as both Hyaenodon and the various nimravids occupy more specialized ecological roles (being a plains-specialist and forest-specialist, respectively) than did Archaeotherium, providing a buffer to stave off competition: More importantly, however, none of the aforementioned predators were simply big enough to take Archaeotherium on. During the roughly 7 million years existence of Archaeotherium, the only carnivore that matched it in size was H. megaloides, and even that would have an only applied to average A. mortoni individuals, not to the much larger, bison-sized “Megachoerus” individuals. The next largest predator at that point would be the jaguars-sized Eusmilus (specifically E. adelos) which would have only been a bit more than half the size of even an average A. mortoni. Besides that, virtually every other predator on the landscape was simply outclassed by the much larger entelodont in terms of size and brute strength. As such, within its domain, Archaeotherium had total, unquestioned authority, dominating the other predators in the landscape and likely stealing their kills as well. In fact, just about the only threat Archaeotherium had was other Archaeotherium, as fossil bite marks suggest that this animal regularly and fraglantly engaged in intraspecific combat, usually through face-biting and possibly even jaw-wrestling (Effinger, 1998; Tanke & Currie, 1998). Nevertheless, it was clear that Archaeotherium was the undisputed king of the badlands; in a landscape of hyaenodonts and carnivorans galore, it was a hoofed ungulate that reigned supreme.
However, such a reign would not last. As the Eocene transitioned into the Eocene, the planet underwent an abrupt cooling and drying phase known as Eocene-Oligocene Transition or more simply the Grande Coupure. This change in climate would eliminate the sprawling wetlands and river systems that Archaeotherium had been depending on, gradually replacing it with drier and more open habitats. To its credit, Archaeotherium did manage to hang on, persisting well after the Grand-Coupure had taken place, but in the end the damage had been done; Archaeotherium was a dead-man-walking. Eventually, by around 28 million years ago, Archaeotherium would go extinct, perishing due to this change in global climate (Gillham, 2019). Entelodonts as a whole would persist into the Miocene, producing some of their largest forms ever known in the form of the bison-sized Daeodon (which was itself even more carnivorous than Archaeotherium), however they too would meet the same fate as their earlier cousins. By around 15-20 million years ago, entelodonts as a whole would go extinct. However, while the entelodonts may have perished, this was not the end of carnivorous ungulates as a whole. Recall that the cetacodontamorphs, the lineage of artiodactyls that produced the entelodonts, left behind two living descendants. The first among them were the hippos, themselves fairly frequent herbivores. The second of such lineage, however, was a different story. Emerging out of South Asia, this lineage of piscivorous cetacodontamorphs, in a an attempt to further specialize for the fish-hunting lifestyle, began to delve further and further into the water, becoming more and more aquatic and the millennia passed by. At a certain point, these carnivorous artiodactlys had become something completely unrecognizable from their original hoofed forms. Their skin became hairless and their bodies became streamlined for life in water. Their hoofed limbs grew into giant flippers for steering in the water and their previously tiny tails became massive and sported giant tail flukes for aquatic propulsion. Their noses even moved to the tip of their head, becoming a blowhole that would be signature to this clade as a whole. Indeed, this clade was none other than the modern whales, themselves derived, carnivorous ungulates that had specialized for a life in the water, and in doing so, became the some of the most dominant aquatic predators across the globe for millions of years. Indeed, though long gone, the legacy of the entelodonts and of predatory ungulates as a whole, a legacy Archaeotherium itself had helped foster, lives on in these paragons of predatory prowess, showing that the ungulates are more than just the mere “prey” that they are often made out to be. Moreover, given the success that carnivorous ungulates had enjoyed in the past and given how modern omnivorous ungulates like boar dabble in predation themselves, perhaps, in the distant future, this planet may see the rise of carnivorous ungulates once again, following in the footsteps left behind by Archaeotherium and the other predatory ungulates all those millions of years ago.
submitted by Mophandel to Naturewasmetal [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 05:44 buttjuliothikk Why I think KENDU is about to run... HARD

Why I think KENDU is about to run... HARD
Here's the deal. There's a lot of chatter about the return of meme stocks and I'm sure you've all seen GME and AMC charts from today. Fucking rockets... but lets talk about meme coins and why I think there is going to be a brand new set of meme millionaires born from the meme action we're seeing today. (I'll save you some time if you don't feel like reading... they'll all be in KENDU).
As you all know, back in the good ol' days of 2021 when we were all face humping masks and rotting in our houses, some real fun was had and a lot of "New Money" millionaires were born. Some of these were from meme stocks, but a lot of people made fat bags on meme coins which they carry with them to this day.
First in Jan/Feb $DOGE pumped. Following this, $SHIBA ($KENDU's Chad in Arms) pumped. These coins lost a bit off the top, but have sustained multi-billion dollar market caps to this day. But could they have done it on their own? Was this all just coincidence? Were market conditions so different that these pumps were just a factor of people being stuck at home with nothing better to do than sit there, thumb in ass, trading memes? Science says NAY!!

Please bear in mind that I'm wearing a helmet, which might have restricted some of the blood flow to my brain. This is NFA and you should DYOR... but I'm all in.

To prove my point, I am referencing the paper "The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach" by Yousaf et al. from 2022. Please note that I only have access to the pre-print, so the peer-reviewed edition might be a little different, but I would muster a guess, not really.
These authors are using data from 2020-2022, which includes data outside of the range of what I would consider the "hard" meme squeeze (Jan. 2021 and the few months following). Given the analysis from this paper was done using data from August 2020 to April 2021, I posit that the conclusions the authors draw, can and will apply to meme events outside of the infamous 2021 meme run which some might say is the primary reason meme coins squoze. The HUGE meme coin runs we saw in SHIB and DOGE might have been born of the "Funny Money" era, but lock-down degeneracy isn't the end all when predicting price movements.
The meat
"Why, Butt?" I hear you ask. "Why do you bring this paper up?". Surely it can't be because you wanted to "prove" that meme coins can run outside of the golden age of meme pumps? Well dear Redditor... yes and no. I bring it up also because of the interesting point it mentions about how predictive certain market events are for similar market events in other assets.
To do this, the authors use Quantile Connectedness (QC) to analyze Meme stocks, Meme coins, and some more traditional asset classes like USD, Treasuries and Gold. QC is a concept used in economics to measure the degree of interdependence (how connected things are) among different segments of financial markets. The method uses some fancy stats and math to do so, and the analysis done in this paper says some interesting things about the interplay between traditional assets, meme assets and meme pumps (summarized in the following screen grab).
Memes go brrrrrr... other things do too

Yousaf, 2022 - The connectedness between meme tokens, meme stocks, and other asset classes: Evidence from a quantile connectedness approach.
So... market events in the upper extreme quantile (or in laymen terms, extreme upwards market movements) in meme assets tend to cause spillover events into both meme assets and traditional financial assets. That's interesting... You know what we saw today? An extreme upward market movement. Specifically GME and AMC, which are both up over 100% (in after hours) from previous close.
Second, and perhaps more of a bull case for me... the spillover events are even more well predicted by movement in meme stocks than they are by movement in BTC (please see the useful red circle in the screen-grab below). Higher number = better prediction of spillover event. So, SO often, I hear people predicting runs in the smaller meme coins based strictly on what BTC is expected to do. But it turns out, there's an even better predictor!!! Meme stocks!
Please also note: The authors state "All meme assets are highly positively skewed, which reflects their price surges during short squeezing periods." Pretty sure this means, green begets more green for these spillover events.
The spillover effects from extreme moves in GME, AMC, and BTC as they relate to DOGE and SHIB
All this brings me to my last point. What does this all mean for meme coins and for $KENDU?
I hear you thinking "Why not just choose SHIB or DOGE, Butt?" and I get it... safe bets that will for sure "moon". Yes... "moon" :eye roll:
These coins are fine and good if you want to just grow the bags you've been holding and just keep, HODLing... but I know the real reason you all are playing meme coins, and it's that sweet, sweet alpha. You don't want to see the 2x, or 3x that these bigger memes might fetch during the next run. You're looking to eat zeros... and the only way to do that is to get in early with a coin that is going to FUCKING RUN!

Enter KENDU INU... it's the coin that "Can do"
Arguably, the most important fundamental for a meme coin is the hype that it generates and how infectious its energy is. Well, you're not going to find a more hype community with a more infectious can do attitude than the KENDU community. The TG is wild, memes are on point, new art being made ALL THE TIME, and so much love and support for every single member in the Kendu clan.
Ignoring the fluffy feel good stuff though (NO DON'T DO THAT), what does this coin really have going for it. I'm glad you asked.
  • We have strong support in the 40M range right now and are primed to run.
  • There are ABSOLUTELY (and we mean stay TF away if your looking to trade capital for services) no paid shills. Everyone is working hard to get this coin to 1BN+ and to get there organically! We know we can do it!
  • Shytoshi Kusama (the project lead for SHIB) has been following the project since 300 xitter followers. Shytoshi has also joined our Telegram community and said that he wants to feature KENDU in Shiba Magazine (Look for the screen grabs in the comments).
  • The mega-chad developer, Kendu Miyazaki, has run multiple projects to 100M+ and is an incredibly active part of the community.
  • The coin has recently been listed on some BIG crypto tracking platforms like CMC.
  • 3 top 10 exchanges are lined up to launch KENDU when the time is right. One of these exchanges is a top 5 CEX !!!
  • The community! The community! The community!! (One more time for those who didn't hear: The Community!). This community is unhinged in the best way. So many people dedicated to the success of the coin and to keeping positive vibes going ALL THE TIME in the Telegram.
  • What more sorta hype could you ask for!!
I will leave you with this. Dump those trash coins, put your M-Effin helmet on, and join the KENDU Clan!

Screw these JEET ass meme coins. KENDU is the only play!

TLDR:
  1. Huge meme alpha was not strictly generated from pandemic lock-down funny money degeneracy.
  2. The GME and AMC pumps we saw today are a good predictor for what's to come with meme coins.
  3. You want alpha and to add to zeros to your portfolio. Bigger coins WILL NOT do that as well for you.
  4. Those other meme coins don't hold a candle to the dedication and spirit that all my fellow KENDU Chad's have!
  5. IT'S STILL FUCKING EARLY!!!
TLDR the TLDR: Meme coins are going to run and $KENDU is going to own the day!
submitted by buttjuliothikk to KenduInu_Ecosystem [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 04:03 ddongbbang spine bruising from floorwork

hey everyone! just posting here to ask for advice.
i recently started taking heels classes and noticed that my upper spine is getting bruised from floor work (thoracic, either T5 or T6 specifically) and was wondering if anyone has tips on how to avoid this? i'm quite surprised because this has never happened before, and i'm also not sure about what i'm doing differently. so, if anyone knows a way around it or specific advice, please let me know! thank you <3
submitted by ddongbbang to Dance [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 00:46 SarahTeechz Pulmonary Function Study Numbers Help

Hello!
49F, 5'9" overweight
Diagnoses: Complex Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia, Neurogenic Bowel and Bladder, sSIADH, Autonomic Dysreflexia, Severe Spasticity, Level III Dysphasia, Dysarthria with move to AAC device for communication, Contractures in ankles, knees, hips, wrists, elbows
I did a Pulmonary Function Study last week and don't understand the results.
I will have a sit-down with my neuro next week, but honestly want to be emotionally prepared beforehand. Can anyone help me out on this? Neurologist sent me for the PFS to assess possibility of Thoracic Restriction-progression into my respiratory. I am currently paralyzed from the hips down with crossover across the midline into upper body, with significant spasticity now in the arms, shoulders and cervical. I wonder if any pulmonary weakness could be explained away just due to inactivity and time spent in the power chair. I have a baclofen pump in place as well as suprapubic catheter. I had a port that was removed 2 weeks post placement due to infection. The surgical glue and tegaderm cover were still in tact. I also have 2 recent hospitalizations. The first was 12 days with diagnoses of bacteremia, sepsis, infectious encephalopathy. The second was multi-resistant UTI with 2 heavy hitter abx alone that could treat.
I got the following data:
FVC 1.68L
FVC % EXP 40%
FEV1 3.32L
FEV1% 37%
FEV1/FVC 73%
FEF 25-75 0.90 L/sec
FEF 25-75% 29%
MEP 66cmH20
MIP -52cmH2O
VC 1.37L
IC 1.22L
ERV 0.15L
PEF 203.2L/min
I appreciate any explanations and interpretation anyone can offer in this. Thank you for your time.
submitted by SarahTeechz to AskDocs [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 23:33 Still_Week_5898 Can I not weightlift with scoliosis? :(

My doctor just diagnosed me with a 12 degree scoliosis in my thoracic spine and told me to do some physio to help strengthen. But do I have to tone it down with my weightlifting? :( to give context of how much I usually lift:
I’m 25F 145 lbs and a typical leg day (general just to give u an idea of how what weight I lift) would be: - hip thrust 270lbs - squat 135lbs - deadlift 135lbs - Bulgarian split squats 80lbs
typical upper body: - lat pulldown: 85lbs - cable rows: 55lbs - bent over rows: 70lbs - bench press: 55lbs - arms: nothing more than 20lbs
Am I putting myself at risk of worsening my scoliosis? Weightlifting is my biggest passion so if I have to lift less it’ll actually make me so sad :( just wanted some insight!!
Thanks!!
submitted by Still_Week_5898 to scoliosis [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 02:07 Impossible-Mission95 Interesting Incidentals on Chest CT

39 year old male. Non smoker. Not on any meds, just vitamins and some supplements. No significant health issues.
Curious if anyone with more knowledge than me on such things has insight on this.
I just had a follow up chest CT to check on lung nodules that were found incidentally a year ago. They were stable on the most recent CT and no cause of concern / no further follow up.
The most recent CT report was much more detailed than the prior 2 I had — seems like the person doing it was just more detailed in his narrative (3 times as long)
The new incidentals weren’t flagged as important but was curious to learn more (my MD just said nothing of concern, hence I’m not concerned more so curious so I can file away the info).
The full report is below.
The two things I’m curious about
1) “Mildly prominent soft tissue density within the anterior mediastinum is likely thymic in origin”
Does this just mean they observed the thymus gland and it looked slightly different than normal? I’d been fighting a little infection and have had a messed up gut for a few weeks. Plus some abnormal stress. Not sure if relevant
2) first I’d heard of bone islands. I understand they are benign.
They weren’t called out on the prior CTs— is that likely due to prior Radiologists not finding them noteworthy enough to mention in prior reports?
———-
IMPRESSION: No acute pulmonary process is identified. Stable 8 x 4 mm subpleural nodule is seen within the right middle lobe. Other smaller pulmonary nodules are also stable. There is no new pulmonary nodule. No frank lymphadenopathy is seen within the chest.
Narrative
There are stable subcentimeter pulmonary nodules. For example, there is a stable, approximately 3 mm nodule within the anterior segment of the right upper lobe (series 201, image #75). There is a stable subpleural nodule seen within the right middle lobe, measuring approximately 8 x 4 mm (series 201, image #152). Other subcentimeter pulmonary nodules are also stable. There is no new pulmonary nodule. There is no pneumothorax or endobronchial lesion.
Pleural space: There is no pleural effusion.
Lower neck, lymph nodes, and mediastinum: There are no pathologically enlarged axillary, mediastinal, or hilar lymph nodes. Mildly prominent soft tissue density within the anterior mediastinum is likely thymic in origin.
Heart, pericardium, and thoracic vessels: The heart is normal in size. There is no significant pericardial effusion. Mild bilateral gynecomastia.
Bones and soft tissues: There is no destructive bony lesion. A few presumed bone islands are seen within the osseous structures.
Upper abdomen: Nonspecific wall thickening of the stomach likely relates to underdistention.
submitted by Impossible-Mission95 to AskDocs [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 22:08 Eric_Banternar How bad were people’s symptoms pre-op or seeking treatment?

How bad were people’s symptoms pre-op or seeking treatment?
Was diagnosed with a scoliosis in my teens, with gradual progression as I’ve gotten older (now in my late 30’s).
I have quite a pronounced hump (from my thoracic rotation) and winging R scapula.
Right paraspinal and low back muscle are basically non existent to the other side, as is my L lat muscle.
I get fairly significant L SIJ dysfunction (my sacrum tends to end up forwards and rotated to the R) and as a result I get fairly significant neural pain intermittently on my L leg (sciatic and saphenous nerves). This is treated with therapy, but because of my altered musculature occurs fairly regularly, despite exercising to try to improve my muscular balance and force closure of my pelvis.
I have a toddler and want to remain as active as possible, but worry that I could gradually find my mobility and my ability to remain active worsens (and does so rapidly).
With the current state of the NHS in England I worry that I could end up with a significant wait for any help if this should occur, and I currently self fund my own physio and osteopathy treatment, so am not “in the system” as such.
I worry that at my age the subsequent investigations or treatments offered would be limited.
Does anyone have any advice of what level of symptoms you had pre or post any intervention and how successful it was at reducing any “disability” you may have been suffering before?
Picture above is from 10 years ago (from a self funded DEXA scan). I’ve lost another inch in height during this time
submitted by Eric_Banternar to scoliosis [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 15:30 AnonymousWitchArtist I was denied years ago & am now looking back into applying again. Does anyone with experience mind looking into my pitiful questions?

I have to do alot more research myself by putting more effort into applying for Social Security disability income. I'm not sure at all if this is something I should be applying for or if it's something I could ever get/or help me. I only ever started looking into it first when I hurt myself at an old job that I got fired from. I was fired for poor attendance from prior of my accident at work and after. I am fine with this due to wanting to quit anyways. I didnt think i was reliable anymore. For the first 6 months nobody knew what was wrong with me because it took that long for me to finally get an MRI that showed multiple bulging discs in my cervical spine, which is my neck. I was diagnosed with cervical radiculopathy, neuritis, mild scoliosis, and my MRI shows many other complications. I'm young, about 20 when this happened. My condition is considered mild but I experience moderate to severe pain on a daily basis. What had happened to cause this is I had lifted heavy boxes and hurt my upper back/neck area somehow. I woke up the next day never the same. In intense pain where my right shoulder & neck area was. I couldn't turn or make my head/neck without intense pain, felt like i had knots & was swollen. I went to urgent care the next day & they gave me a cyclobenzaprine prescription for spraining my Thoracic spine, which is all they found on an x-ray/word of symptoms. When I had first hurt myself I couldn't sleep at all except for about 2-3 hours on & off a night. I was suffering miserably & becoming crazy from lack of sleep & pain so intense all I would do is sit & cry. I was unable and still am unable to sleep on my sides. I feel constant burning pain from any physical activity, I can barely lift 20 lbs & was ordered I cannot lift more than that a couple years ago. My neck condition has gotten slowly worse, I've tried everything so far from my pain management clinic. Ive done physical therapy, ive taken epidural & trigger point injections, (which im in the process of taking more after my post op appointment). I've been suffering for about 4 years now. I'll be 24 this year & I know I'm young & not that debilitated, but I'm not the same & i dont think i ever will be. Everything is so much harder to do & accomplish. Forcing myself to work in this miserable pain that's never ending. Constant migraines, brain fog, confusion, weakness, balance issues. Etc. It's all coming on slowly. My whole body hurts. I had a new mri done a month ago that showed my c5,c6, discs pressing on my spinal cord. My whole cervical spine is becoming compressed & slowly herniating over time. Right now my C3, C4, C5, & C6 are pinched/buldging & the C5,C6 are causing central herniation, which I don't know what that exactly means. All I know is I'm not a pain management clinic, which means they are only there to try and manage my pain. That means in the next 10 years I'm scared that I may need to have some type of surgery or emergency surgery on my cervical spine. I am terrified that this is my future at 24 years old. My life has not been the same since I hurt my neck. I really just want someone to help me and listen to me but I don't know where to start. The paperwork to apply for SSDI is crazy difficult. Where can I start again? My PCP is okay with signing the disability paperwork but I'm not sure about my pain clinic. Some see me as a young person so they think I'm fine. I really wish someone could help me. I'm contemplating human euthanasia when I'm 30 if this gets worse.
submitted by AnonymousWitchArtist to SSDI [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 15:14 CIAHerpes In the boglands, I found a site for human sacrifices to the ancient gods

I had been hiking down the Appalachian Trail for over two weeks without issue on the day when the nightmare began. My friend, X, was by my side the entire time. It was, quite honestly, comforting to have someone who stood nearly six-and-a-half feet tall with me, especially during the long, dark nights when the howling of coyotes drew near. Black bears, too, were a constant presence in these dark mountains. As we got farther from towns and civilization, more ancient predators than human beings took over the land, stalking the night like creeping shadows.
For this trip, we both had bought as few supplies as possible. Included in our packs were MREs, two sleeping bags, some tarps and hammocks, some light clothing, and two pistols with a few boxes of ammo. We didn’t want to be too weighed down that we wouldn’t be able to move fast, after all. We would source water from the streams, waterfalls and lakes along the way and filter it using Lifestraws.
As the spring breeze blew past us, cooling the sweat on my face, I noticed the trail ahead of us weaving its way through thick swampland. The buzzing of flies and mosquitoes increased with every step. The green, fetid waters of the swamp bubbled constantly, as if it were whispering secrets to us.
“Ah, shit,” X said, glancing down the hill with his dark, serious eyes. His tanned skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Another swamp. I hate swamps. You know there’s going to be a million mosquitoes and flies down there.” I pulled out the map, squinting down at it. I ran my finger down the trail, seeing the mountains and valleys we had already passed.
“The trail shouldn’t be going through any swamps,” I said. “They’re supposed to be marked. There’s no ponds or anything around here.” And yet there very clearly was. Either we were in a different spot than I thought we were, or the map was outdated. The trail also grew thinner as we descended. The sharp branches of the bushes stuck out like greedy hands, grabbing at our backpacks and clothes as we pressed forward.
“Well, whatever,” X said gruffly, plowing ahead. Twigs cracked under his massive bulk. The thin branches hanging across the path snapped as he plowed forward. I let him go first, since he was significantly bigger than myself. It was like following in the path of a bull.
“The faster we move, the faster we’ll be through it. We don’t want to camp anywhere around here when it gets dark,” X continued, looking grim. “We’ll be eaten alive by bugs by sunrise. We need to make it to the other side of these boglands before we can stop for the night.”
“Yeah, and I could use some more water,” I said, shaking my mostly empty canteen. “I wouldn’t drink this shit no matter what we did to it. It probably has brain-eating parasites crawling in it.” I checked my watch, realizing that dusk was only a half hour away. We would have to move fast indeed, especially as we didn’t know the size of the swamp. I was not enthusiastic about hiking in the dark with the many steep trails and sharp rocks that covered the surrounding land. A single misstep could lead to a very long, bone-shattering fall.
To my increasing dismay, I realized that the trail we were on no longer had the characteristic white markings of the Appalachian Trail. I kept checking the trees for the past fifteen minutes, and I definitely hadn’t seen a single one. I couldn’t remember the last time we had passed one, but I had a creeping suspicion it had been at least a couple hours ago.
“I think we have a problem, man,” I whispered. “I don’t know how it possibly could have happened, but I think we’re on the wrong trail.”
“There’s not supposed to be any other trails around here,” X argued. “Check the map.”
“Then where’s the white blazes? There’s not supposed to be any boglands around here, either, yet we’re walking through the middle of one,” I said. He shook his head.
“Listen, Ben, there’s not going to be markers on the entire Appalachian Trail,” he said. “Just trust me. We’re on the right path. Sometimes forests change. Swamps take over spots where forests used to lay. Hell, the Sahara Desert has been expanding for thousands of years, just eating the forests and plains all around it. There used to be lions and savannah in Morocco, and now it’s all dead and dry.”
I felt doubtful, but I continued forwards, following closely behind X. Neither one of us had ever done the full Appalachian Trail, after all. I hoped he was right. I was not enthusiastic about backtracking two or three hours if he wasn’t.
I thought back closely on our travels during the last few hours, wondering where we could have gone wrong. The trail had been rather overgrown and rocky on the peak of the last mountain. There had been a beautiful view spanning hundreds of miles, looking far off into state forests and winding roads. I remembered seeing the white marker near the top, but after we had started descending, it disappeared. That must have been where we went wrong, if we did, indeed, go off-course. But I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t tell X about my suspicions.
We finished descending a steep, rocky trail into a valley where the boglands really started. The trees ended in a massive semi-circle around the open swamp. Thick peat covered the entire surface of it like rotted, grayish-brown skin. I saw water snakes quietly disappearing into the stagnant water, leaving behind slowly expanding ripples.
“This is pretty cool,” I said, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the trail to admire the boglands. Our trail continued directly through the center of it, no more than a raised patch of black earth surrounded by green swampy water. I could hear the many insects chirping and flying before we even took a step forward. Though the spring air felt warm and I was covered in sweat, I still reached into my bag, taking out a windbreaker that would cover up my arms and neck to help with the bugs. X did the same.
“Let’s move fast,” he said, giving me a knowing look. He was a much faster hiker than myself. He seemed like a machine sometimes, tireless and single-minded. I had seen him hike over twenty miles in a single day without looking too bent out of shape. I gave him a faint half-smile, picking up my pace.
“You know what they used to say about the boglands?” I asked X. He shook his head.
“I don’t read books,” he said. “If I have time to sit down and read, then it means I have time to go out and do something actually fun. But I’m sure you know all about it.” I gave a short bark of laughter at his off-handed insult. It sounded far too loud echoing back to us through the creepy swamp. The last rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the mountains now. Soon, we would be plunged into darkness.
“Well, in ancient times, people thought the boglands a place where the walls of reality were thin, where the gods would come through. They used to bring their victims out to swamps during rituals, then they would slice their throats or strangle them and dump their bodies into the bogs as an offering to the gods. They also said that strange, shape-shifting creatures would appear, sometimes to deceive travelers, other times to help them,” I said. “But as for human sacrifices, the bogs preserve bodies like nothing else, except maybe tar pits. Archaeologists keep finding victims with slashed throats or shattered skulls buried underneath the peat.”
X was silent for a long moment as we continued walking along the raised patch of earth that formed the trail. We got farther and farther from the forests, until the swamp seemed like a fetid ocean, spanning out to the horizon in every direction.
“Do you think they used to do that kind of stuff around here?” X asked.
“Used to?” I exclaimed, laughing. “I’m sure some psychopaths still do. This is a good place to dump a body, after all. Who the hell wants to trek through the muck and the snakes and mosquitoes out here looking for corpses?”
“The FBI and the cops will do it,” he said, “if they think there’s something to find.” I was about to respond when an ear-splitting shriek echoed out all around us. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. X’s tan skin seemed to go pale as he spun, glancing in every direction.
“What the fuck is that?!” he screamed over the deafening wailing. I didn’t believe in cryptids, but my anxious mind immediately offered up an image of a banshee, a woman with chalk-white skin and black eyes whose shrieking jaw unhinged like a snake’s.
“I’m turning around!” I yelled, pointing back for emphasis. “Dude, fuck this! We need to get out of this swamp!” But X was no longer listening. He was looking past me, his mouth open and his eyes wild. He started backpedaling and nearly fell into the swamp. Windmilling his arms crazily, he turned and sprinted away without a word.
I was afraid to look back. The screaming was getting louder by the second, shaking the air all around me in deafening, crashing waves of sound. I felt like my head would explode if it got any worse. Instinctively, I took off after X, but I glanced back for a single moment before I did. Something loomed there from a nightmare, standing as tall as the trees. It moved through the swamp like a snake, its body slithering through the stagnant green waters towards us. When it met my eyes, the screaming stopped. The abrupt silence seemed deafening. I could hear the fervent pounding of my heart in my ears.
The creature’s skin looked honeycombed and rough, almost like a wasp’s nest. The thousands of tiny holes covering its body constantly opened and closed like hungry mouths. Its arms were long tentacles ending in sharp points of bone in the shape of scythes. The tentacles undulated like serpents. Its legs, too, were no more than four tentacles that alternatively slithered and stepped forward.
Its flesh was the color of peat, a sickly grayish-brown, and the smell that emanated from it was rancid and stagnant, the essence of all boglands and swamps. I nearly gagged as I ran. The putrefying stench seemed to follow me like a shadow.
Ahead of me, X was fumbling in his backpack as he ran, trying to grab his pistol. I knew he had a Glock 21 in that bag, and I had my Sig Sauer in mine. I cursed myself for not keeping it holstered on my body, but I had never had to use it before and hadn’t seriously thought I would need it for this trip. He glanced back at me, his eyes widening in horror.
“It’s right behind you!” he yelled. “Get down!” He dropped his backpack, revealing the sleek, black pistol clenched tightly in his hand. I barely had time to comprehend his words when an immense pressure and numbness radiated through my back. My head snapped backwards as a meaty thud resonated all around me. I went flying forward, feeling as if I had been struck by a car. As I flew through the air, the pain in my back exploded in burning pulses. I felt the deep slice open up from the sharp blade of bone that had slashed me like a knife. I felt trickles of blood pour from the open wound, making my stained shirt cling to my body.
I landed hard on the raised black earth of the trail, a bone-jarring impact that knocked the air out of me. At that same moment, X opened fire, pressing the trigger over and over, emptying the magazine as fast as he could. Something splashed over me, going in my eyes and mouth and nose. I crawled forward, moaning, my head spinning. I wiped my forehead, seeing spatters of green blood squirming with dark, maggot-like creatures covering my arms and face. It clung to my fingers, thick and rancid. I felt stinging sensations as the tiny worms bit me over and over. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine from the gunshots.
X was running towards me now. I continued to crawl towards him, shell-shocked and whimpering, trying to wipe the eldritch blood off my skin. With a muscular arm, he reached down and pulled me up.
“Where’d it go?” I mumbled, stumbling forward on unsteady feet. X put an arm around my shoulders and helped support me.
“It slunk back into the swamp,” he said. “Jesus, you’re bleeding really bad, buddy. We’re going to need to take care of that as soon as we get away from this hellhole.” I felt the deep slices from the creature’s blade-like hands across my back. The fabric of my shirt clung tightly to the skin as fresh blood soaked it.
“This isn’t the trail, X,” I gasped. “We went the wrong way. We need to go back.” He nodded grimly.
“We’re heading back right now. I know it’s the wrong trail now, it definitely is, but it’s dark. The trails back up the mountains are steep and dangerous, and we’ve already been hiking all day. How much longer can we really go?” he asked. In reality, I had a feeling X could go for quite a bit longer. I was the weak link in the chain, and we both knew it.
X took out a small, LED flashlight from his backpack, shining it ahead of us on the dark path. Across the center of the black earth, there was an obstruction, something that hadn’t been there when we passed this way originally.
“Shit! Is that a person?” X said, slowing down. He focused the light on it. As my eyes adjusted, I gave a gasp of horror as I saw a rough sacrificial table looming there, waiting with a ready victim.
Laying on the bare wooden planks in the center of the trail was an elderly man wearing the garb of a hunter. He was gagged, a bloody rag shoved deep into his mouth. I felt a sense of revulsion and terror as I realized his hands and feet were nailed to the planks, as if he were being crucified laying down. His eyes rolled wildly, white and insane, like a horse with a broken leg. When he saw us approaching, he tried to say something through the gag, pulling hard against the nails that bit so viciously into his flesh. Fresh rivers of blood spurted from his wounds.
I had my pistol in my hands. X had taken a fresh magazine out by now, throwing the empty one back in his backpack. Trembling, he went first, his shaking hand moving the flashlight around wildly. Its bright rays bounced off the dead, half-rotted trees that grew out of the boglands, the clouds of mosquitoes and moths that circled us constantly.
“Oh my God... he's like the victim of a serial killer or something,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over his face. “It looks like someone has set that poor guy up to have his heart cut out, like some sort of Aztec ritual.” He glanced worriedly over at me. We had both stopped cold in our tracks, looking around for any sign of danger, but we only saw the old man writhing on his rough table of torture.
“We have to keep going forward,” I whispered. “That thing is behind us. I don’t think it’s dead. I’m not sure it can even die.”
“But what’s ahead of us?” he asked grimly. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Far off down the trail, I saw small pinpoints of flickering light. They drew closer. We raised our pistols, waiting for the new arrivals to show themselves.
Dozens of people dressed in black, silky robes holding lamps slowly ambled their way towards us. They had their heads bowed, like monks on a holy pilgrimage. They drew close to the sacrifice. The one in the lead held a long, curving dagger whose blade looked like it was made of some kind of red volcanic rock. Its strange silver handle glittered in his pale, thin hand. At the end, I saw it was sculpted into the shape of a human heart.
“Stop right there!” X screamed, stepping forward. “Don’t come any closer! We are armed, I’m warning you.” The people in the black robes didn’t appear to hear or care in the slightest. They continued slowly following their leader with the strange dagger, almost floating forward in a nonchalant manner. Their leader began chanting in some strange, ancient language. It reminded me of Tibetan or Sanskrit in a way, like the chanting of some Vajrayana monk high up in the Himalayas. But it had a sinister, hissing quality to the words. Something ancient and powerful resonated in every syllable.
I raised the pistol, firing blankly into the dark, cloudless sky above. The smell of gunsmoke and fetid rot hung thick in the air. The leader of the group looked at me with his large, glassy eyes. His face looked sunken and pale, almost like a starving child. He had shaved all of the hair on his head, even his eyebrows. His lips were extremely thin and bloodless in his chalk-white face.
For a long moment, we stood staring at each other, my pistol aimed at his chest. X also had his pistol raised, aimed at one of those standing behind him. But the robed man didn’t speak. He gave me a faint grin.
“Let the old man go,” I commanded, my voice sounding hoarse and weak. The swamp quickly swallowed up my words, until only the buzzing of mosquitoes remained.
“I am sorry, my son, but I cannot do that,” the leader said in a voice as cold as endless space. “If we do not feed Mowdoroth, it will never sleep. The swamps will continue to expand, eating more and more of the surrounding forests and towns, and Mowdoroth, driven insane by hunger, will take far more victims in the process.
“This job has been passed down to us from generation to generation, from big hand to small, for over four centuries. Only twice has Mowdoroth not been fed on the New Moon, and each time, entire settlements full of people were wiped off the face of the Earth as if they had never existed. On one, they just had time to carve the word ‘CROATAN’ before they were taken.
“Mowdoroth looks for the place where the nightmares grow. It breaks open the chest and finds the place where the silent screams start, deep down at the base of the heart. All of the nightmares are planted there, like tiny seeds scattered during childhood. Those that fell on good soil in that abyss produced a great crop, yielding a hundredfold, sixtyfold, or thirtyfold. If you do not allow us to complete our holy mission, then you do it: cut open the man's chest and remove his beating heart. As it beats, squeeze it as hard as you can, and let all the blood drain onto the top of your head. Hold the heart above your head and close your eyes until the god appears and takes it.” The cult leader finished, looking at us with sparkling eyes, as if he had said something profound.
“This shit is just insane drivel,” X whispered in a voice as low as possible. “I say we open fire and save the old man now. Fuck these cultists.” I nodded grimly in agreement.
“You need to all turn around and leave immediately,” X yelled, stepping forward. “I will give you three seconds to turn around and get the hell out of my sight. Three…” At first, the cultists stood as still as statues, simply staring. Finally, the leader sighed and turned away. He shook his head, reminding me of a disappointed parent.
“I tried to warn you,” he said in his thin, quavering voice. “The time has come to give the offering. You must cut out this man’s heart and raise it to Mowdoroth, so he can get the seeds of nightmares freshly sown. The choice is yours now, as you have demanded this power with violence. You can leave this man here to be eaten by Mowdoroth, or free him and, in exchange, guarantee the deaths of hundreds of other people.”
With those last words, the black-robed figures continued down the curve of the trail. Within seconds, they had disappeared behind dead, half-rotted trees that still dotted the edges of the boglands. X and I ran forward toward the struggling old man. X reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He cut off the old man’s gag, pulling the spit-soaked chunk of filthy cloth out of his mouth. The old man spat and licked his dry lips.
“Get me out of here, please,” he whispered, his eyes rolling wildly. “Those cult members are all batshit insane. And there’s something not right in these swamps. I caught glimpses of something while I was waiting. There’s something in the water…”
“What’s your name, bud?” X said calmingly, looking at the old man’s hands and feet to try to decide how to best get the nails out without causing more damage.
“Winchester,” he said in a coarse voice. It sounded like he hadn’t had a drink of water in days. While X looked at his hands with the LED flashlight, I reached into my pack for the small canteen of filtered water I still had. I started pouring it into Winchester’s mouth. He gulped greedily, his throat working hard to drink down the rest of it.
“I got it!” X said, taking a flat stone he had found on the ground. “I’m going to try to pound these nails out from the bottom.”
“Oh, please, no,” Winchester said, his wrinkled face turning pale. X shook his head.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said. “It’s going to hurt, bud. But we don’t have any tools here. The nails are large, almost like railroad spikes, and once we get the top part, the bottom should slide out easily since it’s a lot narrower.” As he grabbed the rock to begin his work, a bone-chilling wailing started up again from the swamps. It was the scream of Mowdoroth, that abomination with the skin of a wasp’s nest.
“Cover us!” X yelled panickedly as he continued his grisly work. Winchester screamed in pain when X first struck the nail on his right hand. It shot up a fraction of an inch, fresh blood pooling all around it and dripping through the bare planks.
I turned, but the banshee wail seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The swamp bubbled faster and faster all around us, as if thousands of corpses were coming back to life. I heard Winchester scream again, then the dull thud of another nail hitting the earth.
A face peeked out of the swamp, only twenty feet away. Its eyes were green, the color of a putrefying wound. Its lipless mouth opened wide, showing a spongy black mass of skin with concentric circles of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It reminded me of the mouth of a lamprey.
I opened fire, shooting wildly at the face, aiming at the body hidden under the dark surface of the swamp. Luminescent drops of green blood exploded from a bullet hole in its upper right shoulder, floating across the surface of the water like radioactive waste.
Its screaming cut off instantly. All I could hear was the pounding of the rock behind me and Winchester’s pained, horrified pleas for mercy.
“Please, you’re hurting me!” he pleaded.
“Shut the fuck up, Winchester!” I whispered. “It’s here with us now.” With considerable effort, he did, only moaning and violently jerking his head now as the waves of pain ripped through him.
“I got it!” X said suddenly. A feeling of elation filled my heart.
“Let’s go then!” I yelled, turning to help the old man up. I heard something massive rise up behind us. It mixed with the sound of dripping water and babbling waves that arose from the disturbance.
Winchester was weak, stumbling up to his feet and nearly falling over immediately. Staggering, he took off down the trail with no shoes, but he immediately gave a curse of pain and tripped. X and I started running, and at that moment, I realized the flaw in our plan. We wouldn’t be able to get Winchester out of the swamp without carrying him, due to the extensive injuries to his feet. And I knew we didn’t have time.
Mowdoroth’s body stood as tall as the trees as it looked down at the three of us with its strange, infected eyes. Its tentacles undulated faster and faster, seeming to whip around its body until they flew out towards us.
“Run!” I screamed. X and I sprinted behind a cluster of dead trees hugging the path. The blade-like hand of Mowdoroth chopped them in a half, raining wood splinters down on our heads.
Winchester continued trying to crawl forward. Mowdoroth slithered behind him. Winchester looked up as a tentacle started coming down in his direction. He gave a short, panicked scream as the blade smashed through his back legs, chopping both of them off at the knees. The ground shook with the force of it. The stumps began spurting seemingly endless amounts of blood. Winchester pleaded and made incomprehensible gurgling sounds as he bled out. Mowdoroth ended Winchester’s cries when it wrapped its tentacle around Winchester’s torso. It slithered up into Winchester’s open mouth.
X and I shot as fast as we could while running forward in the dark, trying to hold a flashlight and a pistol. Most of my shots missed Mowdoroth, but with a sense of satisfaction and pride, I saw a few burst through its enormous body. Streams of radioactive green blood ran down its torso now. As its serpentine legs pumped furiously, it gained speed, coming behind us like a runaway train. I could feel the ground shaking with every thud of its tentacled feet.
A few hundred feet ahead of us, I caught a glimpse of the cultists. They were hurrying away from the area, not running but moving much faster than they had come in. Nearly out of breath already and exhausted from hiking all day, I pointed forward.
“Look!” I screamed. X saw them, his eyes widening. We sprinted in a blind panic, as fast as we could towards the stragglers in the black robes. Without warning, X raised his pistol and fired, aiming at the nearest of them.
The figure in the back of the pack fell forward without making a sound. He continued trying to crawl forward weakly for a few moments before he lost energy and lay still, no more than a bleeding black hump on the dark earth.
X gave a sudden cry of pain next to me as a tentacle came down like a guillotine blade. I heard it whip through the air with a high-pitched whine. A single breath later, I watched in horror as it sliced off his right arm. X looked down at the spurting stump for a long moment, his tanned face turning as pale as bones. He stumbled forward, then, with a hoarse cry, he fell.
Following X’s lead, I raised my gun and started shooting the cultists. They sprinted away in a random panic as bodies fell ahead of us. I jumped over the black lumps on the ground, hearing Mowdoroth shake the world as it gave chase. A long, snake-like tentacle reached down, picking up X’s spurting body and raising it towards Mowdoroth’s leech-like mouth. The massive abomination slowed, picking up the bodies of the dead cultists and crushing them. I heard the bones shatter as the wet gore exploded around Mowdoroth’s many sharp teeth.
I saw the woods again, living trees just a few hundred feet away. The trail of black earth ended abruptly, leading out of the boglands. Cultists sprinted blindly through the forest in every direction, scattering like cockroaches. I had nearly reached the border of the forest when I heard something whizzing past my head. I ducked, but the blur of a grayish tentacle coming down sent a jolt of fear like electricity sizzling through my body.
A moment later, a cold agony covered my left hand. In shock, I looked down, realizing that the blade-like appendage of Mowdoroth had neatly amputated all four of my fingers. If I hadn’t ducked, it would’ve probably gotten my head instead.
Stumbling and screaming, my mind in a blind panic, I staggered through the intersection of the boglands and the forest, falling forward. I knew I was dead. I closed my eyes, waiting. Yet nothing happened.
When I looked back, I saw something strange. Mowdoroth had stopped at the end of the boglands. It tried to push its body forward towards me, but it couldn’t enter the forest. It was as if an invisible barrier stood there.
I lay there for a long time. After a while, I heard Mowdoroth slink back into the fetid waters of the boglands. And then I was alone.
***
I wrapped my hand in bandages as much as I could, trying to stem the bleeding. I felt weak and sick from blood loss, so I lay there until the sun came up. The next day, I was able to slowly make my way out of the forest and back towards the nearest town.
Now I hear stories of people mysteriously going missing in the area. An entire family in a nearby farmhouse only a couple dozen miles away disappeared in the middle of the night without a trace, leaving only smeared trails of blood leading into the forest. No one saw anything, but these six victims were only the first in a long line of strange deaths. Oddly enough, all of the victims lived next to swamps.
And I have the feeling that I was the one responsible.
submitted by CIAHerpes to horrorstories [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 12:21 CIAHerpes In the boglands, I found a site for human sacrifices to the ancient gods

I had been hiking down the Appalachian Trail for over two weeks without issue on the day when the nightmare began. My friend, X, was by my side the entire time. It was, quite honestly, comforting to have someone who stood nearly six-and-a-half feet tall with me, especially during the long, dark nights when the howling of coyotes drew near. Black bears, too, were a constant presence in these dark mountains. As we got farther from towns and civilization, more ancient predators than human beings took over the land, stalking the night like creeping shadows.
For this trip, we both had bought as few supplies as possible. Included in our packs were MREs, two sleeping bags, some tarps and hammocks, some light clothing, and two pistols with a few boxes of ammo. We didn’t want to be too weighed down that we wouldn’t be able to move fast, after all. We would source water from the streams, waterfalls and lakes along the way and filter it using Lifestraws.
As the spring breeze blew past us, cooling the sweat on my face, I noticed the trail ahead of us weaving its way through thick swampland. The buzzing of flies and mosquitoes increased with every step. The green, fetid waters of the swamp bubbled constantly, as if it were whispering secrets to us.
“Ah, shit,” X said, glancing down the hill with his dark, serious eyes. His tanned skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Another swamp. I hate swamps. You know there’s going to be a million mosquitoes and flies down there.” I pulled out the map, squinting down at it. I ran my finger down the trail, seeing the mountains and valleys we had already passed.
“The trail shouldn’t be going through any swamps,” I said. “They’re supposed to be marked. There’s no ponds or anything around here.” And yet there very clearly was. Either we were in a different spot than I thought we were, or the map was outdated. The trail also grew thinner as we descended. The sharp branches of the bushes stuck out like greedy hands, grabbing at our backpacks and clothes as we pressed forward.
“Well, whatever,” X said gruffly, plowing ahead. Twigs cracked under his massive bulk. The thin branches hanging across the path snapped as he plowed forward. I let him go first, since he was significantly bigger than myself. It was like following in the path of a bull.
“The faster we move, the faster we’ll be through it. We don’t want to camp anywhere around here when it gets dark,” X continued, looking grim. “We’ll be eaten alive by bugs by sunrise. We need to make it to the other side of these boglands before we can stop for the night.”
“Yeah, and I could use some more water,” I said, shaking my mostly empty canteen. “I wouldn’t drink this shit no matter what we did to it. It probably has brain-eating parasites crawling in it.” I checked my watch, realizing that dusk was only a half hour away. We would have to move fast indeed, especially as we didn’t know the size of the swamp. I was not enthusiastic about hiking in the dark with the many steep trails and sharp rocks that covered the surrounding land. A single misstep could lead to a very long, bone-shattering fall.
To my increasing dismay, I realized that the trail we were on no longer had the characteristic white markings of the Appalachian Trail. I kept checking the trees for the past fifteen minutes, and I definitely hadn’t seen a single one. I couldn’t remember the last time we had passed one, but I had a creeping suspicion it had been at least a couple hours ago.
“I think we have a problem, man,” I whispered. “I don’t know how it possibly could have happened, but I think we’re on the wrong trail.”
“There’s not supposed to be any other trails around here,” X argued. “Check the map.”
“Then where’s the white blazes? There’s not supposed to be any boglands around here, either, yet we’re walking through the middle of one,” I said. He shook his head.
“Listen, Ben, there’s not going to be markers on the entire Appalachian Trail,” he said. “Just trust me. We’re on the right path. Sometimes forests change. Swamps take over spots where forests used to lay. Hell, the Sahara Desert has been expanding for thousands of years, just eating the forests and plains all around it. There used to be lions and savannah in Morocco, and now it’s all dead and dry.”
I felt doubtful, but I continued forwards, following closely behind X. Neither one of us had ever done the full Appalachian Trail, after all. I hoped he was right. I was not enthusiastic about backtracking two or three hours if he wasn’t.
I thought back closely on our travels during the last few hours, wondering where we could have gone wrong. The trail had been rather overgrown and rocky on the peak of the last mountain. There had been a beautiful view spanning hundreds of miles, looking far off into state forests and winding roads. I remembered seeing the white marker near the top, but after we had started descending, it disappeared. That must have been where we went wrong, if we did, indeed, go off-course. But I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t tell X about my suspicions.
We finished descending a steep, rocky trail into a valley where the boglands really started. The trees ended in a massive semi-circle around the open swamp. Thick peat covered the entire surface of it like rotted, grayish-brown skin. I saw water snakes quietly disappearing into the stagnant water, leaving behind slowly expanding ripples.
“This is pretty cool,” I said, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the trail to admire the boglands. Our trail continued directly through the center of it, no more than a raised patch of black earth surrounded by green swampy water. I could hear the many insects chirping and flying before we even took a step forward. Though the spring air felt warm and I was covered in sweat, I still reached into my bag, taking out a windbreaker that would cover up my arms and neck to help with the bugs. X did the same.
“Let’s move fast,” he said, giving me a knowing look. He was a much faster hiker than myself. He seemed like a machine sometimes, tireless and single-minded. I had seen him hike over twenty miles in a single day without looking too bent out of shape. I gave him a faint half-smile, picking up my pace.
“You know what they used to say about the boglands?” I asked X. He shook his head.
“I don’t read books,” he said. “If I have time to sit down and read, then it means I have time to go out and do something actually fun. But I’m sure you know all about it.” I gave a short bark of laughter at his off-handed insult. It sounded far too loud echoing back to us through the creepy swamp. The last rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the mountains now. Soon, we would be plunged into darkness.
“Well, in ancient times, people thought the boglands a place where the walls of reality were thin, where the gods would come through. They used to bring their victims out to swamps during rituals, then they would slice their throats or strangle them and dump their bodies into the bogs as an offering to the gods. They also said that strange, shape-shifting creatures would appear, sometimes to deceive travelers, other times to help them,” I said. “But as for human sacrifices, the bogs preserve bodies like nothing else, except maybe tar pits. Archaeologists keep finding victims with slashed throats or shattered skulls buried underneath the peat.”
X was silent for a long moment as we continued walking along the raised patch of earth that formed the trail. We got farther and farther from the forests, until the swamp seemed like a fetid ocean, spanning out to the horizon in every direction.
“Do you think they used to do that kind of stuff around here?” X asked.
“Used to?” I exclaimed, laughing. “I’m sure some psychopaths still do. This is a good place to dump a body, after all. Who the hell wants to trek through the muck and the snakes and mosquitoes out here looking for corpses?”
“The FBI and the cops will do it,” he said, “if they think there’s something to find.” I was about to respond when an ear-splitting shriek echoed out all around us. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. X’s tan skin seemed to go pale as he spun, glancing in every direction.
“What the fuck is that?!” he screamed over the deafening wailing. I didn’t believe in cryptids, but my anxious mind immediately offered up an image of a banshee, a woman with chalk-white skin and black eyes whose shrieking jaw unhinged like a snake’s.
“I’m turning around!” I yelled, pointing back for emphasis. “Dude, fuck this! We need to get out of this swamp!” But X was no longer listening. He was looking past me, his mouth open and his eyes wild. He started backpedaling and nearly fell into the swamp. Windmilling his arms crazily, he turned and sprinted away without a word.
I was afraid to look back. The screaming was getting louder by the second, shaking the air all around me in deafening, crashing waves of sound. I felt like my head would explode if it got any worse. Instinctively, I took off after X, but I glanced back for a single moment before I did. Something loomed there from a nightmare, standing as tall as the trees. It moved through the swamp like a snake, its body slithering through the stagnant green waters towards us. When it met my eyes, the screaming stopped. The abrupt silence seemed deafening. I could hear the fervent pounding of my heart in my ears.
The creature’s skin looked honeycombed and rough, almost like a wasp’s nest. The thousands of tiny holes covering its body constantly opened and closed like hungry mouths. Its arms were long tentacles ending in sharp points of bone in the shape of scythes. The tentacles undulated like serpents. Its legs, too, were no more than four tentacles that alternatively slithered and stepped forward.
Its flesh was the color of peat, a sickly grayish-brown, and the smell that emanated from it was rancid and stagnant, the essence of all boglands and swamps. I nearly gagged as I ran. The putrefying stench seemed to follow me like a shadow.
Ahead of me, X was fumbling in his backpack as he ran, trying to grab his pistol. I knew he had a Glock 21 in that bag, and I had my Sig Sauer in mine. I cursed myself for not keeping it holstered on my body, but I had never had to use it before and hadn’t seriously thought I would need it for this trip. He glanced back at me, his eyes widening in horror.
“It’s right behind you!” he yelled. “Get down!” He dropped his backpack, revealing the sleek, black pistol clenched tightly in his hand. I barely had time to comprehend his words when an immense pressure and numbness radiated through my back. My head snapped backwards as a meaty thud resonated all around me. I went flying forward, feeling as if I had been struck by a car. As I flew through the air, the pain in my back exploded in burning pulses. I felt the deep slice open up from the sharp blade of bone that had slashed me like a knife. I felt trickles of blood pour from the open wound, making my stained shirt cling to my body.
I landed hard on the raised black earth of the trail, a bone-jarring impact that knocked the air out of me. At that same moment, X opened fire, pressing the trigger over and over, emptying the magazine as fast as he could. Something splashed over me, going in my eyes and mouth and nose. I crawled forward, moaning, my head spinning. I wiped my forehead, seeing spatters of green blood squirming with dark, maggot-like creatures covering my arms and face. It clung to my fingers, thick and rancid. I felt stinging sensations as the tiny worms bit me over and over. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine from the gunshots.
X was running towards me now. I continued to crawl towards him, shell-shocked and whimpering, trying to wipe the eldritch blood off my skin. With a muscular arm, he reached down and pulled me up.
“Where’d it go?” I mumbled, stumbling forward on unsteady feet. X put an arm around my shoulders and helped support me.
“It slunk back into the swamp,” he said. “Jesus, you’re bleeding really bad, buddy. We’re going to need to take care of that as soon as we get away from this hellhole.” I felt the deep slices from the creature’s blade-like hands across my back. The fabric of my shirt clung tightly to the skin as fresh blood soaked it.
“This isn’t the trail, X,” I gasped. “We went the wrong way. We need to go back.” He nodded grimly.
“We’re heading back right now. I know it’s the wrong trail now, it definitely is, but it’s dark. The trails back up the mountains are steep and dangerous, and we’ve already been hiking all day. How much longer can we really go?” he asked. In reality, I had a feeling X could go for quite a bit longer. I was the weak link in the chain, and we both knew it.
X took out a small, LED flashlight from his backpack, shining it ahead of us on the dark path. Across the center of the black earth, there was an obstruction, something that hadn’t been there when we passed this way originally.
“Shit! Is that a person?” X said, slowing down. He focused the light on it. As my eyes adjusted, I gave a gasp of horror as I saw a rough sacrificial table looming there, waiting with a ready victim.
Laying on the bare wooden planks in the center of the trail was an elderly man wearing the garb of a hunter. He was gagged, a bloody rag shoved deep into his mouth. I felt a sense of revulsion and terror as I realized his hands and feet were nailed to the planks, as if he were being crucified laying down. His eyes rolled wildly, white and insane, like a horse with a broken leg. When he saw us approaching, he tried to say something through the gag, pulling hard against the nails that bit so viciously into his flesh. Fresh rivers of blood spurted from his wounds.
I had my pistol in my hands. X had taken a fresh magazine out by now, throwing the empty one back in his backpack. Trembling, he went first, his shaking hand moving the flashlight around wildly. Its bright rays bounced off the dead, half-rotted trees that grew out of the boglands, the clouds of mosquitoes and moths that circled us constantly.
“Oh my God... he's like the victim of a serial killer or something,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over his face. “It looks like someone has set that poor guy up to have his heart cut out, like some sort of Aztec ritual.” He glanced worriedly over at me. We had both stopped cold in our tracks, looking around for any sign of danger, but we only saw the old man writhing on his rough table of torture.
“We have to keep going forward,” I whispered. “That thing is behind us. I don’t think it’s dead. I’m not sure it can even die.”
“But what’s ahead of us?” he asked grimly. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Far off down the trail, I saw small pinpoints of flickering light. They drew closer. We raised our pistols, waiting for the new arrivals to show themselves.
Dozens of people dressed in black, silky robes holding lamps slowly ambled their way towards us. They had their heads bowed, like monks on a holy pilgrimage. They drew close to the sacrifice. The one in the lead held a long, curving dagger whose blade looked like it was made of some kind of red volcanic rock. Its strange silver handle glittered in his pale, thin hand. At the end, I saw it was sculpted into the shape of a human heart.
“Stop right there!” X screamed, stepping forward. “Don’t come any closer! We are armed, I’m warning you.” The people in the black robes didn’t appear to hear or care in the slightest. They continued slowly following their leader with the strange dagger, almost floating forward in a nonchalant manner. Their leader began chanting in some strange, ancient language. It reminded me of Tibetan or Sanskrit in a way, like the chanting of some Vajrayana monk high up in the Himalayas. But it had a sinister, hissing quality to the words. Something ancient and powerful resonated in every syllable.
I raised the pistol, firing blankly into the dark, cloudless sky above. The smell of gunsmoke and fetid rot hung thick in the air. The leader of the group looked at me with his large, glassy eyes. His face looked sunken and pale, almost like a starving child. He had shaved all of the hair on his head, even his eyebrows. His lips were extremely thin and bloodless in his chalk-white face.
For a long moment, we stood staring at each other, my pistol aimed at his chest. X also had his pistol raised, aimed at one of those standing behind him. But the robed man didn’t speak. He gave me a faint grin.
“Let the old man go,” I commanded, my voice sounding hoarse and weak. The swamp quickly swallowed up my words, until only the buzzing of mosquitoes remained.
“I am sorry, my son, but I cannot do that,” the leader said in a voice as cold as endless space. “If we do not feed Mowdoroth, it will never sleep. The swamps will continue to expand, eating more and more of the surrounding forests and towns, and Mowdoroth, driven insane by hunger, will take far more victims in the process.
“This job has been passed down to us from generation to generation, from big hand to small, for over four centuries. Only twice has Mowdoroth not been fed on the New Moon, and each time, entire settlements full of people were wiped off the face of the Earth as if they had never existed. On one, they just had time to carve the word ‘CROATAN’ before they were taken.
“Mowdoroth looks for the place where the nightmares grow. It breaks open the chest and finds the place where the silent screams start, deep down at the base of the heart. All of the nightmares are planted there, like tiny seeds scattered during childhood. Those that fell on good soil in that abyss produced a great crop, yielding a hundredfold, sixtyfold, or thirtyfold. If you do not allow us to complete our holy mission, then you do it: cut open the man's chest and remove his beating heart. As it beats, squeeze it as hard as you can, and let all the blood drain onto the top of your head. Hold the heart above your head and close your eyes until the god appears and takes it.” The cult leader finished, looking at us with sparkling eyes, as if he had said something profound.
“This shit is just insane drivel,” X whispered in a voice as low as possible. “I say we open fire and save the old man now. Fuck these cultists.” I nodded grimly in agreement.
“You need to all turn around and leave immediately,” X yelled, stepping forward. “I will give you three seconds to turn around and get the hell out of my sight. Three…” At first, the cultists stood as still as statues, simply staring. Finally, the leader sighed and turned away. He shook his head, reminding me of a disappointed parent.
“I tried to warn you,” he said in his thin, quavering voice. “The time has come to give the offering. You must cut out this man’s heart and raise it to Mowdoroth, so he can get the seeds of nightmares freshly sown. The choice is yours now, as you have demanded this power with violence. You can leave this man here to be eaten by Mowdoroth, or free him and, in exchange, guarantee the deaths of hundreds of other people.”
With those last words, the black-robed figures continued down the curve of the trail. Within seconds, they had disappeared behind dead, half-rotted trees that still dotted the edges of the boglands. X and I ran forward toward the struggling old man. X reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He cut off the old man’s gag, pulling the spit-soaked chunk of filthy cloth out of his mouth. The old man spat and licked his dry lips.
“Get me out of here, please,” he whispered, his eyes rolling wildly. “Those cult members are all batshit insane. And there’s something not right in these swamps. I caught glimpses of something while I was waiting. There’s something in the water…”
“What’s your name, bud?” X said calmingly, looking at the old man’s hands and feet to try to decide how to best get the nails out without causing more damage.
“Winchester,” he said in a coarse voice. It sounded like he hadn’t had a drink of water in days. While X looked at his hands with the LED flashlight, I reached into my pack for the small canteen of filtered water I still had. I started pouring it into Winchester’s mouth. He gulped greedily, his throat working hard to drink down the rest of it.
“I got it!” X said, taking a flat stone he had found on the ground. “I’m going to try to pound these nails out from the bottom.”
“Oh, please, no,” Winchester said, his wrinkled face turning pale. X shook his head.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said. “It’s going to hurt, bud. But we don’t have any tools here. The nails are large, almost like railroad spikes, and once we get the top part, the bottom should slide out easily since it’s a lot narrower.” As he grabbed the rock to begin his work, a bone-chilling wailing started up again from the swamps. It was the scream of Mowdoroth, that abomination with the skin of a wasp’s nest.
“Cover us!” X yelled panickedly as he continued his grisly work. Winchester screamed in pain when X first struck the nail on his right hand. It shot up a fraction of an inch, fresh blood pooling all around it and dripping through the bare planks.
I turned, but the banshee wail seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The swamp bubbled faster and faster all around us, as if thousands of corpses were coming back to life. I heard Winchester scream again, then the dull thud of another nail hitting the earth.
A face peeked out of the swamp, only twenty feet away. Its eyes were green, the color of a putrefying wound. Its lipless mouth opened wide, showing a spongy black mass of skin with concentric circles of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It reminded me of the mouth of a lamprey.
I opened fire, shooting wildly at the face, aiming at the body hidden under the dark surface of the swamp. Luminescent drops of green blood exploded from a bullet hole in its upper right shoulder, floating across the surface of the water like radioactive waste.
Its screaming cut off instantly. All I could hear was the pounding of the rock behind me and Winchester’s pained, horrified pleas for mercy.
“Please, you’re hurting me!” he pleaded.
“Shut the fuck up, Winchester!” I whispered. “It’s here with us now.” With considerable effort, he did, only moaning and violently jerking his head now as the waves of pain ripped through him.
“I got it!” X said suddenly. A feeling of elation filled my heart.
“Let’s go then!” I yelled, turning to help the old man up. I heard something massive rise up behind us. It mixed with the sound of dripping water and babbling waves that arose from the disturbance.
Winchester was weak, stumbling up to his feet and nearly falling over immediately. Staggering, he took off down the trail with no shoes, but he immediately gave a curse of pain and tripped. X and I started running, and at that moment, I realized the flaw in our plan. We wouldn’t be able to get Winchester out of the swamp without carrying him, due to the extensive injuries to his feet. And I knew we didn’t have time.
Mowdoroth’s body stood as tall as the trees as it looked down at the three of us with its strange, infected eyes. Its tentacles undulated faster and faster, seeming to whip around its body until they flew out towards us.
“Run!” I screamed. X and I sprinted behind a cluster of dead trees hugging the path. The blade-like hand of Mowdoroth chopped them in a half, raining wood splinters down on our heads.
Winchester continued trying to crawl forward. Mowdoroth slithered behind him. Winchester looked up as a tentacle started coming down in his direction. He gave a short, panicked scream as the blade smashed through his back legs, chopping both of them off at the knees. The ground shook with the force of it. The stumps began spurting seemingly endless amounts of blood. Winchester pleaded and made incomprehensible gurgling sounds as he bled out. Mowdoroth ended Winchester’s cries when it wrapped its tentacle around Winchester’s torso. It slithered up into Winchester’s open mouth.
X and I shot as fast as we could while running forward in the dark, trying to hold a flashlight and a pistol. Most of my shots missed Mowdoroth, but with a sense of satisfaction and pride, I saw a few burst through its enormous body. Streams of radioactive green blood ran down its torso now. As its serpentine legs pumped furiously, it gained speed, coming behind us like a runaway train. I could feel the ground shaking with every thud of its tentacled feet.
A few hundred feet ahead of us, I caught a glimpse of the cultists. They were hurrying away from the area, not running but moving much faster than they had come in. Nearly out of breath already and exhausted from hiking all day, I pointed forward.
“Look!” I screamed. X saw them, his eyes widening. We sprinted in a blind panic, as fast as we could towards the stragglers in the black robes. Without warning, X raised his pistol and fired, aiming at the nearest of them.
The figure in the back of the pack fell forward without making a sound. He continued trying to crawl forward weakly for a few moments before he lost energy and lay still, no more than a bleeding black hump on the dark earth.
X gave a sudden cry of pain next to me as a tentacle came down like a guillotine blade. I heard it whip through the air with a high-pitched whine. A single breath later, I watched in horror as it sliced off his right arm. X looked down at the spurting stump for a long moment, his tanned face turning as pale as bones. He stumbled forward, then, with a hoarse cry, he fell.
Following X’s lead, I raised my gun and started shooting the cultists. They sprinted away in a random panic as bodies fell ahead of us. I jumped over the black lumps on the ground, hearing Mowdoroth shake the world as it gave chase. A long, snake-like tentacle reached down, picking up X’s spurting body and raising it towards Mowdoroth’s leech-like mouth. The massive abomination slowed, picking up the bodies of the dead cultists and crushing them. I heard the bones shatter as the wet gore exploded around Mowdoroth’s many sharp teeth.
I saw the woods again, living trees just a few hundred feet away. The trail of black earth ended abruptly, leading out of the boglands. Cultists sprinted blindly through the forest in every direction, scattering like cockroaches. I had nearly reached the border of the forest when I heard something whizzing past my head. I ducked, but the blur of a grayish tentacle coming down sent a jolt of fear like electricity sizzling through my body.
A moment later, a cold agony covered my left hand. In shock, I looked down, realizing that the blade-like appendage of Mowdoroth had neatly amputated all four of my fingers. If I hadn’t ducked, it would’ve probably gotten my head instead.
Stumbling and screaming, my mind in a blind panic, I staggered through the intersection of the boglands and the forest, falling forward. I knew I was dead. I closed my eyes, waiting. Yet nothing happened.
When I looked back, I saw something strange. Mowdoroth had stopped at the end of the boglands. It tried to push its body forward towards me, but it couldn’t enter the forest. It was as if an invisible barrier stood there.
I lay there for a long time. After a while, I heard Mowdoroth slink back into the fetid waters of the boglands. And then I was alone.
***
I wrapped my hand in bandages as much as I could, trying to stem the bleeding. I felt weak and sick from blood loss, so I lay there until the sun came up. The next day, I was able to slowly make my way out of the forest and back towards the nearest town.
Now I hear stories of people mysteriously going missing in the area. An entire family in a nearby farmhouse only a couple dozen miles away disappeared in the middle of the night without a trace, leaving only smeared trails of blood leading into the forest. No one saw anything, but these six victims were only the first in a long line of strange deaths. Oddly enough, all of the victims lived next to swamps.
And I have the feeling that I was the one responsible.
submitted by CIAHerpes to Horror_stories [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 12:20 CIAHerpes In the boglands, I found a site for human sacrifices to the ancient gods

I had been hiking down the Appalachian Trail for over two weeks without issue on the day when the nightmare began. My friend, X, was by my side the entire time. It was, quite honestly, comforting to have someone who stood nearly six-and-a-half feet tall with me, especially during the long, dark nights when the howling of coyotes drew near. Black bears, too, were a constant presence in these dark mountains. As we got farther from towns and civilization, more ancient predators than human beings took over the land, stalking the night like creeping shadows.
For this trip, we both had bought as few supplies as possible. Included in our packs were MREs, two sleeping bags, some tarps and hammocks, some light clothing, and two pistols with a few boxes of ammo. We didn’t want to be too weighed down that we wouldn’t be able to move fast, after all. We would source water from the streams, waterfalls and lakes along the way and filter it using Lifestraws.
As the spring breeze blew past us, cooling the sweat on my face, I noticed the trail ahead of us weaving its way through thick swampland. The buzzing of flies and mosquitoes increased with every step. The green, fetid waters of the swamp bubbled constantly, as if it were whispering secrets to us.
“Ah, shit,” X said, glancing down the hill with his dark, serious eyes. His tanned skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Another swamp. I hate swamps. You know there’s going to be a million mosquitoes and flies down there.” I pulled out the map, squinting down at it. I ran my finger down the trail, seeing the mountains and valleys we had already passed.
“The trail shouldn’t be going through any swamps,” I said. “They’re supposed to be marked. There’s no ponds or anything around here.” And yet there very clearly was. Either we were in a different spot than I thought we were, or the map was outdated. The trail also grew thinner as we descended. The sharp branches of the bushes stuck out like greedy hands, grabbing at our backpacks and clothes as we pressed forward.
“Well, whatever,” X said gruffly, plowing ahead. Twigs cracked under his massive bulk. The thin branches hanging across the path snapped as he plowed forward. I let him go first, since he was significantly bigger than myself. It was like following in the path of a bull.
“The faster we move, the faster we’ll be through it. We don’t want to camp anywhere around here when it gets dark,” X continued, looking grim. “We’ll be eaten alive by bugs by sunrise. We need to make it to the other side of these boglands before we can stop for the night.”
“Yeah, and I could use some more water,” I said, shaking my mostly empty canteen. “I wouldn’t drink this shit no matter what we did to it. It probably has brain-eating parasites crawling in it.” I checked my watch, realizing that dusk was only a half hour away. We would have to move fast indeed, especially as we didn’t know the size of the swamp. I was not enthusiastic about hiking in the dark with the many steep trails and sharp rocks that covered the surrounding land. A single misstep could lead to a very long, bone-shattering fall.
To my increasing dismay, I realized that the trail we were on no longer had the characteristic white markings of the Appalachian Trail. I kept checking the trees for the past fifteen minutes, and I definitely hadn’t seen a single one. I couldn’t remember the last time we had passed one, but I had a creeping suspicion it had been at least a couple hours ago.
“I think we have a problem, man,” I whispered. “I don’t know how it possibly could have happened, but I think we’re on the wrong trail.”
“There’s not supposed to be any other trails around here,” X argued. “Check the map.”
“Then where’s the white blazes? There’s not supposed to be any boglands around here, either, yet we’re walking through the middle of one,” I said. He shook his head.
“Listen, Ben, there’s not going to be markers on the entire Appalachian Trail,” he said. “Just trust me. We’re on the right path. Sometimes forests change. Swamps take over spots where forests used to lay. Hell, the Sahara Desert has been expanding for thousands of years, just eating the forests and plains all around it. There used to be lions and savannah in Morocco, and now it’s all dead and dry.”
I felt doubtful, but I continued forwards, following closely behind X. Neither one of us had ever done the full Appalachian Trail, after all. I hoped he was right. I was not enthusiastic about backtracking two or three hours if he wasn’t.
I thought back closely on our travels during the last few hours, wondering where we could have gone wrong. The trail had been rather overgrown and rocky on the peak of the last mountain. There had been a beautiful view spanning hundreds of miles, looking far off into state forests and winding roads. I remembered seeing the white marker near the top, but after we had started descending, it disappeared. That must have been where we went wrong, if we did, indeed, go off-course. But I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t tell X about my suspicions.
We finished descending a steep, rocky trail into a valley where the boglands really started. The trees ended in a massive semi-circle around the open swamp. Thick peat covered the entire surface of it like rotted, grayish-brown skin. I saw water snakes quietly disappearing into the stagnant water, leaving behind slowly expanding ripples.
“This is pretty cool,” I said, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the trail to admire the boglands. Our trail continued directly through the center of it, no more than a raised patch of black earth surrounded by green swampy water. I could hear the many insects chirping and flying before we even took a step forward. Though the spring air felt warm and I was covered in sweat, I still reached into my bag, taking out a windbreaker that would cover up my arms and neck to help with the bugs. X did the same.
“Let’s move fast,” he said, giving me a knowing look. He was a much faster hiker than myself. He seemed like a machine sometimes, tireless and single-minded. I had seen him hike over twenty miles in a single day without looking too bent out of shape. I gave him a faint half-smile, picking up my pace.
“You know what they used to say about the boglands?” I asked X. He shook his head.
“I don’t read books,” he said. “If I have time to sit down and read, then it means I have time to go out and do something actually fun. But I’m sure you know all about it.” I gave a short bark of laughter at his off-handed insult. It sounded far too loud echoing back to us through the creepy swamp. The last rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the mountains now. Soon, we would be plunged into darkness.
“Well, in ancient times, people thought the boglands a place where the walls of reality were thin, where the gods would come through. They used to bring their victims out to swamps during rituals, then they would slice their throats or strangle them and dump their bodies into the bogs as an offering to the gods. They also said that strange, shape-shifting creatures would appear, sometimes to deceive travelers, other times to help them,” I said. “But as for human sacrifices, the bogs preserve bodies like nothing else, except maybe tar pits. Archaeologists keep finding victims with slashed throats or shattered skulls buried underneath the peat.”
X was silent for a long moment as we continued walking along the raised patch of earth that formed the trail. We got farther and farther from the forests, until the swamp seemed like a fetid ocean, spanning out to the horizon in every direction.
“Do you think they used to do that kind of stuff around here?” X asked.
“Used to?” I exclaimed, laughing. “I’m sure some psychopaths still do. This is a good place to dump a body, after all. Who the hell wants to trek through the muck and the snakes and mosquitoes out here looking for corpses?”
“The FBI and the cops will do it,” he said, “if they think there’s something to find.” I was about to respond when an ear-splitting shriek echoed out all around us. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. X’s tan skin seemed to go pale as he spun, glancing in every direction.
“What the fuck is that?!” he screamed over the deafening wailing. I didn’t believe in cryptids, but my anxious mind immediately offered up an image of a banshee, a woman with chalk-white skin and black eyes whose shrieking jaw unhinged like a snake’s.
“I’m turning around!” I yelled, pointing back for emphasis. “Dude, fuck this! We need to get out of this swamp!” But X was no longer listening. He was looking past me, his mouth open and his eyes wild. He started backpedaling and nearly fell into the swamp. Windmilling his arms crazily, he turned and sprinted away without a word.
I was afraid to look back. The screaming was getting louder by the second, shaking the air all around me in deafening, crashing waves of sound. I felt like my head would explode if it got any worse. Instinctively, I took off after X, but I glanced back for a single moment before I did. Something loomed there from a nightmare, standing as tall as the trees. It moved through the swamp like a snake, its body slithering through the stagnant green waters towards us. When it met my eyes, the screaming stopped. The abrupt silence seemed deafening. I could hear the fervent pounding of my heart in my ears.
The creature’s skin looked honeycombed and rough, almost like a wasp’s nest. The thousands of tiny holes covering its body constantly opened and closed like hungry mouths. Its arms were long tentacles ending in sharp points of bone in the shape of scythes. The tentacles undulated like serpents. Its legs, too, were no more than four tentacles that alternatively slithered and stepped forward.
Its flesh was the color of peat, a sickly grayish-brown, and the smell that emanated from it was rancid and stagnant, the essence of all boglands and swamps. I nearly gagged as I ran. The putrefying stench seemed to follow me like a shadow.
Ahead of me, X was fumbling in his backpack as he ran, trying to grab his pistol. I knew he had a Glock 21 in that bag, and I had my Sig Sauer in mine. I cursed myself for not keeping it holstered on my body, but I had never had to use it before and hadn’t seriously thought I would need it for this trip. He glanced back at me, his eyes widening in horror.
“It’s right behind you!” he yelled. “Get down!” He dropped his backpack, revealing the sleek, black pistol clenched tightly in his hand. I barely had time to comprehend his words when an immense pressure and numbness radiated through my back. My head snapped backwards as a meaty thud resonated all around me. I went flying forward, feeling as if I had been struck by a car. As I flew through the air, the pain in my back exploded in burning pulses. I felt the deep slice open up from the sharp blade of bone that had slashed me like a knife. I felt trickles of blood pour from the open wound, making my stained shirt cling to my body.
I landed hard on the raised black earth of the trail, a bone-jarring impact that knocked the air out of me. At that same moment, X opened fire, pressing the trigger over and over, emptying the magazine as fast as he could. Something splashed over me, going in my eyes and mouth and nose. I crawled forward, moaning, my head spinning. I wiped my forehead, seeing spatters of green blood squirming with dark, maggot-like creatures covering my arms and face. It clung to my fingers, thick and rancid. I felt stinging sensations as the tiny worms bit me over and over. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine from the gunshots.
X was running towards me now. I continued to crawl towards him, shell-shocked and whimpering, trying to wipe the eldritch blood off my skin. With a muscular arm, he reached down and pulled me up.
“Where’d it go?” I mumbled, stumbling forward on unsteady feet. X put an arm around my shoulders and helped support me.
“It slunk back into the swamp,” he said. “Jesus, you’re bleeding really bad, buddy. We’re going to need to take care of that as soon as we get away from this hellhole.” I felt the deep slices from the creature’s blade-like hands across my back. The fabric of my shirt clung tightly to the skin as fresh blood soaked it.
“This isn’t the trail, X,” I gasped. “We went the wrong way. We need to go back.” He nodded grimly.
“We’re heading back right now. I know it’s the wrong trail now, it definitely is, but it’s dark. The trails back up the mountains are steep and dangerous, and we’ve already been hiking all day. How much longer can we really go?” he asked. In reality, I had a feeling X could go for quite a bit longer. I was the weak link in the chain, and we both knew it.
X took out a small, LED flashlight from his backpack, shining it ahead of us on the dark path. Across the center of the black earth, there was an obstruction, something that hadn’t been there when we passed this way originally.
“Shit! Is that a person?” X said, slowing down. He focused the light on it. As my eyes adjusted, I gave a gasp of horror as I saw a rough sacrificial table looming there, waiting with a ready victim.
Laying on the bare wooden planks in the center of the trail was an elderly man wearing the garb of a hunter. He was gagged, a bloody rag shoved deep into his mouth. I felt a sense of revulsion and terror as I realized his hands and feet were nailed to the planks, as if he were being crucified laying down. His eyes rolled wildly, white and insane, like a horse with a broken leg. When he saw us approaching, he tried to say something through the gag, pulling hard against the nails that bit so viciously into his flesh. Fresh rivers of blood spurted from his wounds.
I had my pistol in my hands. X had taken a fresh magazine out by now, throwing the empty one back in his backpack. Trembling, he went first, his shaking hand moving the flashlight around wildly. Its bright rays bounced off the dead, half-rotted trees that grew out of the boglands, the clouds of mosquitoes and moths that circled us constantly.
“Oh my God... he's like the victim of a serial killer or something,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over his face. “It looks like someone has set that poor guy up to have his heart cut out, like some sort of Aztec ritual.” He glanced worriedly over at me. We had both stopped cold in our tracks, looking around for any sign of danger, but we only saw the old man writhing on his rough table of torture.
“We have to keep going forward,” I whispered. “That thing is behind us. I don’t think it’s dead. I’m not sure it can even die.”
“But what’s ahead of us?” he asked grimly. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Far off down the trail, I saw small pinpoints of flickering light. They drew closer. We raised our pistols, waiting for the new arrivals to show themselves.
Dozens of people dressed in black, silky robes holding lamps slowly ambled their way towards us. They had their heads bowed, like monks on a holy pilgrimage. They drew close to the sacrifice. The one in the lead held a long, curving dagger whose blade looked like it was made of some kind of red volcanic rock. Its strange silver handle glittered in his pale, thin hand. At the end, I saw it was sculpted into the shape of a human heart.
“Stop right there!” X screamed, stepping forward. “Don’t come any closer! We are armed, I’m warning you.” The people in the black robes didn’t appear to hear or care in the slightest. They continued slowly following their leader with the strange dagger, almost floating forward in a nonchalant manner. Their leader began chanting in some strange, ancient language. It reminded me of Tibetan or Sanskrit in a way, like the chanting of some Vajrayana monk high up in the Himalayas. But it had a sinister, hissing quality to the words. Something ancient and powerful resonated in every syllable.
I raised the pistol, firing blankly into the dark, cloudless sky above. The smell of gunsmoke and fetid rot hung thick in the air. The leader of the group looked at me with his large, glassy eyes. His face looked sunken and pale, almost like a starving child. He had shaved all of the hair on his head, even his eyebrows. His lips were extremely thin and bloodless in his chalk-white face.
For a long moment, we stood staring at each other, my pistol aimed at his chest. X also had his pistol raised, aimed at one of those standing behind him. But the robed man didn’t speak. He gave me a faint grin.
“Let the old man go,” I commanded, my voice sounding hoarse and weak. The swamp quickly swallowed up my words, until only the buzzing of mosquitoes remained.
“I am sorry, my son, but I cannot do that,” the leader said in a voice as cold as endless space. “If we do not feed Mowdoroth, it will never sleep. The swamps will continue to expand, eating more and more of the surrounding forests and towns, and Mowdoroth, driven insane by hunger, will take far more victims in the process.
“This job has been passed down to us from generation to generation, from big hand to small, for over four centuries. Only twice has Mowdoroth not been fed on the New Moon, and each time, entire settlements full of people were wiped off the face of the Earth as if they had never existed. On one, they just had time to carve the word ‘CROATAN’ before they were taken.
“Mowdoroth looks for the place where the nightmares grow. It breaks open the chest and finds the place where the silent screams start, deep down at the base of the heart. All of the nightmares are planted there, like tiny seeds scattered during childhood. Those that fell on good soil in that abyss produced a great crop, yielding a hundredfold, sixtyfold, or thirtyfold. If you do not allow us to complete our holy mission, then you do it: cut open the man's chest and remove his beating heart. As it beats, squeeze it as hard as you can, and let all the blood drain onto the top of your head. Hold the heart above your head and close your eyes until the god appears and takes it.” The cult leader finished, looking at us with sparkling eyes, as if he had said something profound.
“This shit is just insane drivel,” X whispered in a voice as low as possible. “I say we open fire and save the old man now. Fuck these cultists.” I nodded grimly in agreement.
“You need to all turn around and leave immediately,” X yelled, stepping forward. “I will give you three seconds to turn around and get the hell out of my sight. Three…” At first, the cultists stood as still as statues, simply staring. Finally, the leader sighed and turned away. He shook his head, reminding me of a disappointed parent.
“I tried to warn you,” he said in his thin, quavering voice. “The time has come to give the offering. You must cut out this man’s heart and raise it to Mowdoroth, so he can get the seeds of nightmares freshly sown. The choice is yours now, as you have demanded this power with violence. You can leave this man here to be eaten by Mowdoroth, or free him and, in exchange, guarantee the deaths of hundreds of other people.”
With those last words, the black-robed figures continued down the curve of the trail. Within seconds, they had disappeared behind dead, half-rotted trees that still dotted the edges of the boglands. X and I ran forward toward the struggling old man. X reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He cut off the old man’s gag, pulling the spit-soaked chunk of filthy cloth out of his mouth. The old man spat and licked his dry lips.
“Get me out of here, please,” he whispered, his eyes rolling wildly. “Those cult members are all batshit insane. And there’s something not right in these swamps. I caught glimpses of something while I was waiting. There’s something in the water…”
“What’s your name, bud?” X said calmingly, looking at the old man’s hands and feet to try to decide how to best get the nails out without causing more damage.
“Winchester,” he said in a coarse voice. It sounded like he hadn’t had a drink of water in days. While X looked at his hands with the LED flashlight, I reached into my pack for the small canteen of filtered water I still had. I started pouring it into Winchester’s mouth. He gulped greedily, his throat working hard to drink down the rest of it.
“I got it!” X said, taking a flat stone he had found on the ground. “I’m going to try to pound these nails out from the bottom.”
“Oh, please, no,” Winchester said, his wrinkled face turning pale. X shook his head.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said. “It’s going to hurt, bud. But we don’t have any tools here. The nails are large, almost like railroad spikes, and once we get the top part, the bottom should slide out easily since it’s a lot narrower.” As he grabbed the rock to begin his work, a bone-chilling wailing started up again from the swamps. It was the scream of Mowdoroth, that abomination with the skin of a wasp’s nest.
“Cover us!” X yelled panickedly as he continued his grisly work. Winchester screamed in pain when X first struck the nail on his right hand. It shot up a fraction of an inch, fresh blood pooling all around it and dripping through the bare planks.
I turned, but the banshee wail seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The swamp bubbled faster and faster all around us, as if thousands of corpses were coming back to life. I heard Winchester scream again, then the dull thud of another nail hitting the earth.
A face peeked out of the swamp, only twenty feet away. Its eyes were green, the color of a putrefying wound. Its lipless mouth opened wide, showing a spongy black mass of skin with concentric circles of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It reminded me of the mouth of a lamprey.
I opened fire, shooting wildly at the face, aiming at the body hidden under the dark surface of the swamp. Luminescent drops of green blood exploded from a bullet hole in its upper right shoulder, floating across the surface of the water like radioactive waste.
Its screaming cut off instantly. All I could hear was the pounding of the rock behind me and Winchester’s pained, horrified pleas for mercy.
“Please, you’re hurting me!” he pleaded.
“Shut the fuck up, Winchester!” I whispered. “It’s here with us now.” With considerable effort, he did, only moaning and violently jerking his head now as the waves of pain ripped through him.
“I got it!” X said suddenly. A feeling of elation filled my heart.
“Let’s go then!” I yelled, turning to help the old man up. I heard something massive rise up behind us. It mixed with the sound of dripping water and babbling waves that arose from the disturbance.
Winchester was weak, stumbling up to his feet and nearly falling over immediately. Staggering, he took off down the trail with no shoes, but he immediately gave a curse of pain and tripped. X and I started running, and at that moment, I realized the flaw in our plan. We wouldn’t be able to get Winchester out of the swamp without carrying him, due to the extensive injuries to his feet. And I knew we didn’t have time.
Mowdoroth’s body stood as tall as the trees as it looked down at the three of us with its strange, infected eyes. Its tentacles undulated faster and faster, seeming to whip around its body until they flew out towards us.
“Run!” I screamed. X and I sprinted behind a cluster of dead trees hugging the path. The blade-like hand of Mowdoroth chopped them in a half, raining wood splinters down on our heads.
Winchester continued trying to crawl forward. Mowdoroth slithered behind him. Winchester looked up as a tentacle started coming down in his direction. He gave a short, panicked scream as the blade smashed through his back legs, chopping both of them off at the knees. The ground shook with the force of it. The stumps began spurting seemingly endless amounts of blood. Winchester pleaded and made incomprehensible gurgling sounds as he bled out. Mowdoroth ended Winchester’s cries when it wrapped its tentacle around Winchester’s torso. It slithered up into Winchester’s open mouth.
X and I shot as fast as we could while running forward in the dark, trying to hold a flashlight and a pistol. Most of my shots missed Mowdoroth, but with a sense of satisfaction and pride, I saw a few burst through its enormous body. Streams of radioactive green blood ran down its torso now. As its serpentine legs pumped furiously, it gained speed, coming behind us like a runaway train. I could feel the ground shaking with every thud of its tentacled feet.
A few hundred feet ahead of us, I caught a glimpse of the cultists. They were hurrying away from the area, not running but moving much faster than they had come in. Nearly out of breath already and exhausted from hiking all day, I pointed forward.
“Look!” I screamed. X saw them, his eyes widening. We sprinted in a blind panic, as fast as we could towards the stragglers in the black robes. Without warning, X raised his pistol and fired, aiming at the nearest of them.
The figure in the back of the pack fell forward without making a sound. He continued trying to crawl forward weakly for a few moments before he lost energy and lay still, no more than a bleeding black hump on the dark earth.
X gave a sudden cry of pain next to me as a tentacle came down like a guillotine blade. I heard it whip through the air with a high-pitched whine. A single breath later, I watched in horror as it sliced off his right arm. X looked down at the spurting stump for a long moment, his tanned face turning as pale as bones. He stumbled forward, then, with a hoarse cry, he fell.
Following X’s lead, I raised my gun and started shooting the cultists. They sprinted away in a random panic as bodies fell ahead of us. I jumped over the black lumps on the ground, hearing Mowdoroth shake the world as it gave chase. A long, snake-like tentacle reached down, picking up X’s spurting body and raising it towards Mowdoroth’s leech-like mouth. The massive abomination slowed, picking up the bodies of the dead cultists and crushing them. I heard the bones shatter as the wet gore exploded around Mowdoroth’s many sharp teeth.
I saw the woods again, living trees just a few hundred feet away. The trail of black earth ended abruptly, leading out of the boglands. Cultists sprinted blindly through the forest in every direction, scattering like cockroaches. I had nearly reached the border of the forest when I heard something whizzing past my head. I ducked, but the blur of a grayish tentacle coming down sent a jolt of fear like electricity sizzling through my body.
A moment later, a cold agony covered my left hand. In shock, I looked down, realizing that the blade-like appendage of Mowdoroth had neatly amputated all four of my fingers. If I hadn’t ducked, it would’ve probably gotten my head instead.
Stumbling and screaming, my mind in a blind panic, I staggered through the intersection of the boglands and the forest, falling forward. I knew I was dead. I closed my eyes, waiting. Yet nothing happened.
When I looked back, I saw something strange. Mowdoroth had stopped at the end of the boglands. It tried to push its body forward towards me, but it couldn’t enter the forest. It was as if an invisible barrier stood there.
I lay there for a long time. After a while, I heard Mowdoroth slink back into the fetid waters of the boglands. And then I was alone.
***
I wrapped my hand in bandages as much as I could, trying to stem the bleeding. I felt weak and sick from blood loss, so I lay there until the sun came up. The next day, I was able to slowly make my way out of the forest and back towards the nearest town.
Now I hear stories of people mysteriously going missing in the area. An entire family in a nearby farmhouse only a couple dozen miles away disappeared in the middle of the night without a trace, leaving only smeared trails of blood leading into the forest. No one saw anything, but these six victims were only the first in a long line of strange deaths. Oddly enough, all of the victims lived next to swamps.
And I have the feeling that I was the one responsible.
submitted by CIAHerpes to scaryjujuarmy [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 12:20 CIAHerpes In the boglands, I found a site for human sacrifices to the ancient gods

I had been hiking down the Appalachian Trail for over two weeks without issue on the day when the nightmare began. My friend, X, was by my side the entire time. It was, quite honestly, comforting to have someone who stood nearly six-and-a-half feet tall with me, especially during the long, dark nights when the howling of coyotes drew near. Black bears, too, were a constant presence in these dark mountains. As we got farther from towns and civilization, more ancient predators than human beings took over the land, stalking the night like creeping shadows.
For this trip, we both had bought as few supplies as possible. Included in our packs were MREs, two sleeping bags, some tarps and hammocks, some light clothing, and two pistols with a few boxes of ammo. We didn’t want to be too weighed down that we wouldn’t be able to move fast, after all. We would source water from the streams, waterfalls and lakes along the way and filter it using Lifestraws.
As the spring breeze blew past us, cooling the sweat on my face, I noticed the trail ahead of us weaving its way through thick swampland. The buzzing of flies and mosquitoes increased with every step. The green, fetid waters of the swamp bubbled constantly, as if it were whispering secrets to us.
“Ah, shit,” X said, glancing down the hill with his dark, serious eyes. His tanned skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Another swamp. I hate swamps. You know there’s going to be a million mosquitoes and flies down there.” I pulled out the map, squinting down at it. I ran my finger down the trail, seeing the mountains and valleys we had already passed.
“The trail shouldn’t be going through any swamps,” I said. “They’re supposed to be marked. There’s no ponds or anything around here.” And yet there very clearly was. Either we were in a different spot than I thought we were, or the map was outdated. The trail also grew thinner as we descended. The sharp branches of the bushes stuck out like greedy hands, grabbing at our backpacks and clothes as we pressed forward.
“Well, whatever,” X said gruffly, plowing ahead. Twigs cracked under his massive bulk. The thin branches hanging across the path snapped as he plowed forward. I let him go first, since he was significantly bigger than myself. It was like following in the path of a bull.
“The faster we move, the faster we’ll be through it. We don’t want to camp anywhere around here when it gets dark,” X continued, looking grim. “We’ll be eaten alive by bugs by sunrise. We need to make it to the other side of these boglands before we can stop for the night.”
“Yeah, and I could use some more water,” I said, shaking my mostly empty canteen. “I wouldn’t drink this shit no matter what we did to it. It probably has brain-eating parasites crawling in it.” I checked my watch, realizing that dusk was only a half hour away. We would have to move fast indeed, especially as we didn’t know the size of the swamp. I was not enthusiastic about hiking in the dark with the many steep trails and sharp rocks that covered the surrounding land. A single misstep could lead to a very long, bone-shattering fall.
To my increasing dismay, I realized that the trail we were on no longer had the characteristic white markings of the Appalachian Trail. I kept checking the trees for the past fifteen minutes, and I definitely hadn’t seen a single one. I couldn’t remember the last time we had passed one, but I had a creeping suspicion it had been at least a couple hours ago.
“I think we have a problem, man,” I whispered. “I don’t know how it possibly could have happened, but I think we’re on the wrong trail.”
“There’s not supposed to be any other trails around here,” X argued. “Check the map.”
“Then where’s the white blazes? There’s not supposed to be any boglands around here, either, yet we’re walking through the middle of one,” I said. He shook his head.
“Listen, Ben, there’s not going to be markers on the entire Appalachian Trail,” he said. “Just trust me. We’re on the right path. Sometimes forests change. Swamps take over spots where forests used to lay. Hell, the Sahara Desert has been expanding for thousands of years, just eating the forests and plains all around it. There used to be lions and savannah in Morocco, and now it’s all dead and dry.”
I felt doubtful, but I continued forwards, following closely behind X. Neither one of us had ever done the full Appalachian Trail, after all. I hoped he was right. I was not enthusiastic about backtracking two or three hours if he wasn’t.
I thought back closely on our travels during the last few hours, wondering where we could have gone wrong. The trail had been rather overgrown and rocky on the peak of the last mountain. There had been a beautiful view spanning hundreds of miles, looking far off into state forests and winding roads. I remembered seeing the white marker near the top, but after we had started descending, it disappeared. That must have been where we went wrong, if we did, indeed, go off-course. But I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t tell X about my suspicions.
We finished descending a steep, rocky trail into a valley where the boglands really started. The trees ended in a massive semi-circle around the open swamp. Thick peat covered the entire surface of it like rotted, grayish-brown skin. I saw water snakes quietly disappearing into the stagnant water, leaving behind slowly expanding ripples.
“This is pretty cool,” I said, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the trail to admire the boglands. Our trail continued directly through the center of it, no more than a raised patch of black earth surrounded by green swampy water. I could hear the many insects chirping and flying before we even took a step forward. Though the spring air felt warm and I was covered in sweat, I still reached into my bag, taking out a windbreaker that would cover up my arms and neck to help with the bugs. X did the same.
“Let’s move fast,” he said, giving me a knowing look. He was a much faster hiker than myself. He seemed like a machine sometimes, tireless and single-minded. I had seen him hike over twenty miles in a single day without looking too bent out of shape. I gave him a faint half-smile, picking up my pace.
“You know what they used to say about the boglands?” I asked X. He shook his head.
“I don’t read books,” he said. “If I have time to sit down and read, then it means I have time to go out and do something actually fun. But I’m sure you know all about it.” I gave a short bark of laughter at his off-handed insult. It sounded far too loud echoing back to us through the creepy swamp. The last rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the mountains now. Soon, we would be plunged into darkness.
“Well, in ancient times, people thought the boglands a place where the walls of reality were thin, where the gods would come through. They used to bring their victims out to swamps during rituals, then they would slice their throats or strangle them and dump their bodies into the bogs as an offering to the gods. They also said that strange, shape-shifting creatures would appear, sometimes to deceive travelers, other times to help them,” I said. “But as for human sacrifices, the bogs preserve bodies like nothing else, except maybe tar pits. Archaeologists keep finding victims with slashed throats or shattered skulls buried underneath the peat.”
X was silent for a long moment as we continued walking along the raised patch of earth that formed the trail. We got farther and farther from the forests, until the swamp seemed like a fetid ocean, spanning out to the horizon in every direction.
“Do you think they used to do that kind of stuff around here?” X asked.
“Used to?” I exclaimed, laughing. “I’m sure some psychopaths still do. This is a good place to dump a body, after all. Who the hell wants to trek through the muck and the snakes and mosquitoes out here looking for corpses?”
“The FBI and the cops will do it,” he said, “if they think there’s something to find.” I was about to respond when an ear-splitting shriek echoed out all around us. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. X’s tan skin seemed to go pale as he spun, glancing in every direction.
“What the fuck is that?!” he screamed over the deafening wailing. I didn’t believe in cryptids, but my anxious mind immediately offered up an image of a banshee, a woman with chalk-white skin and black eyes whose shrieking jaw unhinged like a snake’s.
“I’m turning around!” I yelled, pointing back for emphasis. “Dude, fuck this! We need to get out of this swamp!” But X was no longer listening. He was looking past me, his mouth open and his eyes wild. He started backpedaling and nearly fell into the swamp. Windmilling his arms crazily, he turned and sprinted away without a word.
I was afraid to look back. The screaming was getting louder by the second, shaking the air all around me in deafening, crashing waves of sound. I felt like my head would explode if it got any worse. Instinctively, I took off after X, but I glanced back for a single moment before I did. Something loomed there from a nightmare, standing as tall as the trees. It moved through the swamp like a snake, its body slithering through the stagnant green waters towards us. When it met my eyes, the screaming stopped. The abrupt silence seemed deafening. I could hear the fervent pounding of my heart in my ears.
The creature’s skin looked honeycombed and rough, almost like a wasp’s nest. The thousands of tiny holes covering its body constantly opened and closed like hungry mouths. Its arms were long tentacles ending in sharp points of bone in the shape of scythes. The tentacles undulated like serpents. Its legs, too, were no more than four tentacles that alternatively slithered and stepped forward.
Its flesh was the color of peat, a sickly grayish-brown, and the smell that emanated from it was rancid and stagnant, the essence of all boglands and swamps. I nearly gagged as I ran. The putrefying stench seemed to follow me like a shadow.
Ahead of me, X was fumbling in his backpack as he ran, trying to grab his pistol. I knew he had a Glock 21 in that bag, and I had my Sig Sauer in mine. I cursed myself for not keeping it holstered on my body, but I had never had to use it before and hadn’t seriously thought I would need it for this trip. He glanced back at me, his eyes widening in horror.
“It’s right behind you!” he yelled. “Get down!” He dropped his backpack, revealing the sleek, black pistol clenched tightly in his hand. I barely had time to comprehend his words when an immense pressure and numbness radiated through my back. My head snapped backwards as a meaty thud resonated all around me. I went flying forward, feeling as if I had been struck by a car. As I flew through the air, the pain in my back exploded in burning pulses. I felt the deep slice open up from the sharp blade of bone that had slashed me like a knife. I felt trickles of blood pour from the open wound, making my stained shirt cling to my body.
I landed hard on the raised black earth of the trail, a bone-jarring impact that knocked the air out of me. At that same moment, X opened fire, pressing the trigger over and over, emptying the magazine as fast as he could. Something splashed over me, going in my eyes and mouth and nose. I crawled forward, moaning, my head spinning. I wiped my forehead, seeing spatters of green blood squirming with dark, maggot-like creatures covering my arms and face. It clung to my fingers, thick and rancid. I felt stinging sensations as the tiny worms bit me over and over. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine from the gunshots.
X was running towards me now. I continued to crawl towards him, shell-shocked and whimpering, trying to wipe the eldritch blood off my skin. With a muscular arm, he reached down and pulled me up.
“Where’d it go?” I mumbled, stumbling forward on unsteady feet. X put an arm around my shoulders and helped support me.
“It slunk back into the swamp,” he said. “Jesus, you’re bleeding really bad, buddy. We’re going to need to take care of that as soon as we get away from this hellhole.” I felt the deep slices from the creature’s blade-like hands across my back. The fabric of my shirt clung tightly to the skin as fresh blood soaked it.
“This isn’t the trail, X,” I gasped. “We went the wrong way. We need to go back.” He nodded grimly.
“We’re heading back right now. I know it’s the wrong trail now, it definitely is, but it’s dark. The trails back up the mountains are steep and dangerous, and we’ve already been hiking all day. How much longer can we really go?” he asked. In reality, I had a feeling X could go for quite a bit longer. I was the weak link in the chain, and we both knew it.
X took out a small, LED flashlight from his backpack, shining it ahead of us on the dark path. Across the center of the black earth, there was an obstruction, something that hadn’t been there when we passed this way originally.
“Shit! Is that a person?” X said, slowing down. He focused the light on it. As my eyes adjusted, I gave a gasp of horror as I saw a rough sacrificial table looming there, waiting with a ready victim.
Laying on the bare wooden planks in the center of the trail was an elderly man wearing the garb of a hunter. He was gagged, a bloody rag shoved deep into his mouth. I felt a sense of revulsion and terror as I realized his hands and feet were nailed to the planks, as if he were being crucified laying down. His eyes rolled wildly, white and insane, like a horse with a broken leg. When he saw us approaching, he tried to say something through the gag, pulling hard against the nails that bit so viciously into his flesh. Fresh rivers of blood spurted from his wounds.
I had my pistol in my hands. X had taken a fresh magazine out by now, throwing the empty one back in his backpack. Trembling, he went first, his shaking hand moving the flashlight around wildly. Its bright rays bounced off the dead, half-rotted trees that grew out of the boglands, the clouds of mosquitoes and moths that circled us constantly.
“Oh my God... he's like the victim of a serial killer or something,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over his face. “It looks like someone has set that poor guy up to have his heart cut out, like some sort of Aztec ritual.” He glanced worriedly over at me. We had both stopped cold in our tracks, looking around for any sign of danger, but we only saw the old man writhing on his rough table of torture.
“We have to keep going forward,” I whispered. “That thing is behind us. I don’t think it’s dead. I’m not sure it can even die.”
“But what’s ahead of us?” he asked grimly. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Far off down the trail, I saw small pinpoints of flickering light. They drew closer. We raised our pistols, waiting for the new arrivals to show themselves.
Dozens of people dressed in black, silky robes holding lamps slowly ambled their way towards us. They had their heads bowed, like monks on a holy pilgrimage. They drew close to the sacrifice. The one in the lead held a long, curving dagger whose blade looked like it was made of some kind of red volcanic rock. Its strange silver handle glittered in his pale, thin hand. At the end, I saw it was sculpted into the shape of a human heart.
“Stop right there!” X screamed, stepping forward. “Don’t come any closer! We are armed, I’m warning you.” The people in the black robes didn’t appear to hear or care in the slightest. They continued slowly following their leader with the strange dagger, almost floating forward in a nonchalant manner. Their leader began chanting in some strange, ancient language. It reminded me of Tibetan or Sanskrit in a way, like the chanting of some Vajrayana monk high up in the Himalayas. But it had a sinister, hissing quality to the words. Something ancient and powerful resonated in every syllable.
I raised the pistol, firing blankly into the dark, cloudless sky above. The smell of gunsmoke and fetid rot hung thick in the air. The leader of the group looked at me with his large, glassy eyes. His face looked sunken and pale, almost like a starving child. He had shaved all of the hair on his head, even his eyebrows. His lips were extremely thin and bloodless in his chalk-white face.
For a long moment, we stood staring at each other, my pistol aimed at his chest. X also had his pistol raised, aimed at one of those standing behind him. But the robed man didn’t speak. He gave me a faint grin.
“Let the old man go,” I commanded, my voice sounding hoarse and weak. The swamp quickly swallowed up my words, until only the buzzing of mosquitoes remained.
“I am sorry, my son, but I cannot do that,” the leader said in a voice as cold as endless space. “If we do not feed Mowdoroth, it will never sleep. The swamps will continue to expand, eating more and more of the surrounding forests and towns, and Mowdoroth, driven insane by hunger, will take far more victims in the process.
“This job has been passed down to us from generation to generation, from big hand to small, for over four centuries. Only twice has Mowdoroth not been fed on the New Moon, and each time, entire settlements full of people were wiped off the face of the Earth as if they had never existed. On one, they just had time to carve the word ‘CROATAN’ before they were taken.
“Mowdoroth looks for the place where the nightmares grow. It breaks open the chest and finds the place where the silent screams start, deep down at the base of the heart. All of the nightmares are planted there, like tiny seeds scattered during childhood. Those that fell on good soil in that abyss produced a great crop, yielding a hundredfold, sixtyfold, or thirtyfold. If you do not allow us to complete our holy mission, then you do it: cut open the man's chest and remove his beating heart. As it beats, squeeze it as hard as you can, and let all the blood drain onto the top of your head. Hold the heart above your head and close your eyes until the god appears and takes it.” The cult leader finished, looking at us with sparkling eyes, as if he had said something profound.
“This shit is just insane drivel,” X whispered in a voice as low as possible. “I say we open fire and save the old man now. Fuck these cultists.” I nodded grimly in agreement.
“You need to all turn around and leave immediately,” X yelled, stepping forward. “I will give you three seconds to turn around and get the hell out of my sight. Three…” At first, the cultists stood as still as statues, simply staring. Finally, the leader sighed and turned away. He shook his head, reminding me of a disappointed parent.
“I tried to warn you,” he said in his thin, quavering voice. “The time has come to give the offering. You must cut out this man’s heart and raise it to Mowdoroth, so he can get the seeds of nightmares freshly sown. The choice is yours now, as you have demanded this power with violence. You can leave this man here to be eaten by Mowdoroth, or free him and, in exchange, guarantee the deaths of hundreds of other people.”
With those last words, the black-robed figures continued down the curve of the trail. Within seconds, they had disappeared behind dead, half-rotted trees that still dotted the edges of the boglands. X and I ran forward toward the struggling old man. X reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He cut off the old man’s gag, pulling the spit-soaked chunk of filthy cloth out of his mouth. The old man spat and licked his dry lips.
“Get me out of here, please,” he whispered, his eyes rolling wildly. “Those cult members are all batshit insane. And there’s something not right in these swamps. I caught glimpses of something while I was waiting. There’s something in the water…”
“What’s your name, bud?” X said calmingly, looking at the old man’s hands and feet to try to decide how to best get the nails out without causing more damage.
“Winchester,” he said in a coarse voice. It sounded like he hadn’t had a drink of water in days. While X looked at his hands with the LED flashlight, I reached into my pack for the small canteen of filtered water I still had. I started pouring it into Winchester’s mouth. He gulped greedily, his throat working hard to drink down the rest of it.
“I got it!” X said, taking a flat stone he had found on the ground. “I’m going to try to pound these nails out from the bottom.”
“Oh, please, no,” Winchester said, his wrinkled face turning pale. X shook his head.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said. “It’s going to hurt, bud. But we don’t have any tools here. The nails are large, almost like railroad spikes, and once we get the top part, the bottom should slide out easily since it’s a lot narrower.” As he grabbed the rock to begin his work, a bone-chilling wailing started up again from the swamps. It was the scream of Mowdoroth, that abomination with the skin of a wasp’s nest.
“Cover us!” X yelled panickedly as he continued his grisly work. Winchester screamed in pain when X first struck the nail on his right hand. It shot up a fraction of an inch, fresh blood pooling all around it and dripping through the bare planks.
I turned, but the banshee wail seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The swamp bubbled faster and faster all around us, as if thousands of corpses were coming back to life. I heard Winchester scream again, then the dull thud of another nail hitting the earth.
A face peeked out of the swamp, only twenty feet away. Its eyes were green, the color of a putrefying wound. Its lipless mouth opened wide, showing a spongy black mass of skin with concentric circles of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It reminded me of the mouth of a lamprey.
I opened fire, shooting wildly at the face, aiming at the body hidden under the dark surface of the swamp. Luminescent drops of green blood exploded from a bullet hole in its upper right shoulder, floating across the surface of the water like radioactive waste.
Its screaming cut off instantly. All I could hear was the pounding of the rock behind me and Winchester’s pained, horrified pleas for mercy.
“Please, you’re hurting me!” he pleaded.
“Shut the fuck up, Winchester!” I whispered. “It’s here with us now.” With considerable effort, he did, only moaning and violently jerking his head now as the waves of pain ripped through him.
“I got it!” X said suddenly. A feeling of elation filled my heart.
“Let’s go then!” I yelled, turning to help the old man up. I heard something massive rise up behind us. It mixed with the sound of dripping water and babbling waves that arose from the disturbance.
Winchester was weak, stumbling up to his feet and nearly falling over immediately. Staggering, he took off down the trail with no shoes, but he immediately gave a curse of pain and tripped. X and I started running, and at that moment, I realized the flaw in our plan. We wouldn’t be able to get Winchester out of the swamp without carrying him, due to the extensive injuries to his feet. And I knew we didn’t have time.
Mowdoroth’s body stood as tall as the trees as it looked down at the three of us with its strange, infected eyes. Its tentacles undulated faster and faster, seeming to whip around its body until they flew out towards us.
“Run!” I screamed. X and I sprinted behind a cluster of dead trees hugging the path. The blade-like hand of Mowdoroth chopped them in a half, raining wood splinters down on our heads.
Winchester continued trying to crawl forward. Mowdoroth slithered behind him. Winchester looked up as a tentacle started coming down in his direction. He gave a short, panicked scream as the blade smashed through his back legs, chopping both of them off at the knees. The ground shook with the force of it. The stumps began spurting seemingly endless amounts of blood. Winchester pleaded and made incomprehensible gurgling sounds as he bled out. Mowdoroth ended Winchester’s cries when it wrapped its tentacle around Winchester’s torso. It slithered up into Winchester’s open mouth.
X and I shot as fast as we could while running forward in the dark, trying to hold a flashlight and a pistol. Most of my shots missed Mowdoroth, but with a sense of satisfaction and pride, I saw a few burst through its enormous body. Streams of radioactive green blood ran down its torso now. As its serpentine legs pumped furiously, it gained speed, coming behind us like a runaway train. I could feel the ground shaking with every thud of its tentacled feet.
A few hundred feet ahead of us, I caught a glimpse of the cultists. They were hurrying away from the area, not running but moving much faster than they had come in. Nearly out of breath already and exhausted from hiking all day, I pointed forward.
“Look!” I screamed. X saw them, his eyes widening. We sprinted in a blind panic, as fast as we could towards the stragglers in the black robes. Without warning, X raised his pistol and fired, aiming at the nearest of them.
The figure in the back of the pack fell forward without making a sound. He continued trying to crawl forward weakly for a few moments before he lost energy and lay still, no more than a bleeding black hump on the dark earth.
X gave a sudden cry of pain next to me as a tentacle came down like a guillotine blade. I heard it whip through the air with a high-pitched whine. A single breath later, I watched in horror as it sliced off his right arm. X looked down at the spurting stump for a long moment, his tanned face turning as pale as bones. He stumbled forward, then, with a hoarse cry, he fell.
Following X’s lead, I raised my gun and started shooting the cultists. They sprinted away in a random panic as bodies fell ahead of us. I jumped over the black lumps on the ground, hearing Mowdoroth shake the world as it gave chase. A long, snake-like tentacle reached down, picking up X’s spurting body and raising it towards Mowdoroth’s leech-like mouth. The massive abomination slowed, picking up the bodies of the dead cultists and crushing them. I heard the bones shatter as the wet gore exploded around Mowdoroth’s many sharp teeth.
I saw the woods again, living trees just a few hundred feet away. The trail of black earth ended abruptly, leading out of the boglands. Cultists sprinted blindly through the forest in every direction, scattering like cockroaches. I had nearly reached the border of the forest when I heard something whizzing past my head. I ducked, but the blur of a grayish tentacle coming down sent a jolt of fear like electricity sizzling through my body.
A moment later, a cold agony covered my left hand. In shock, I looked down, realizing that the blade-like appendage of Mowdoroth had neatly amputated all four of my fingers. If I hadn’t ducked, it would’ve probably gotten my head instead.
Stumbling and screaming, my mind in a blind panic, I staggered through the intersection of the boglands and the forest, falling forward. I knew I was dead. I closed my eyes, waiting. Yet nothing happened.
When I looked back, I saw something strange. Mowdoroth had stopped at the end of the boglands. It tried to push its body forward towards me, but it couldn’t enter the forest. It was as if an invisible barrier stood there.
I lay there for a long time. After a while, I heard Mowdoroth slink back into the fetid waters of the boglands. And then I was alone.
***
I wrapped my hand in bandages as much as I could, trying to stem the bleeding. I felt weak and sick from blood loss, so I lay there until the sun came up. The next day, I was able to slowly make my way out of the forest and back towards the nearest town.
Now I hear stories of people mysteriously going missing in the area. An entire family in a nearby farmhouse only a couple dozen miles away disappeared in the middle of the night without a trace, leaving only smeared trails of blood leading into the forest. No one saw anything, but these six victims were only the first in a long line of strange deaths. Oddly enough, all of the victims lived next to swamps.
And I have the feeling that I was the one responsible.
submitted by CIAHerpes to CreepsMcPasta [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 12:20 CIAHerpes In the boglands, I found a site for human sacrifices to the ancient gods

I had been hiking down the Appalachian Trail for over two weeks without issue on the day when the nightmare began. My friend, X, was by my side the entire time. It was, quite honestly, comforting to have someone who stood nearly six-and-a-half feet tall with me, especially during the long, dark nights when the howling of coyotes drew near. Black bears, too, were a constant presence in these dark mountains. As we got farther from towns and civilization, more ancient predators than human beings took over the land, stalking the night like creeping shadows.
For this trip, we both had bought as few supplies as possible. Included in our packs were MREs, two sleeping bags, some tarps and hammocks, some light clothing, and two pistols with a few boxes of ammo. We didn’t want to be too weighed down that we wouldn’t be able to move fast, after all. We would source water from the streams, waterfalls and lakes along the way and filter it using Lifestraws.
As the spring breeze blew past us, cooling the sweat on my face, I noticed the trail ahead of us weaving its way through thick swampland. The buzzing of flies and mosquitoes increased with every step. The green, fetid waters of the swamp bubbled constantly, as if it were whispering secrets to us.
“Ah, shit,” X said, glancing down the hill with his dark, serious eyes. His tanned skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Another swamp. I hate swamps. You know there’s going to be a million mosquitoes and flies down there.” I pulled out the map, squinting down at it. I ran my finger down the trail, seeing the mountains and valleys we had already passed.
“The trail shouldn’t be going through any swamps,” I said. “They’re supposed to be marked. There’s no ponds or anything around here.” And yet there very clearly was. Either we were in a different spot than I thought we were, or the map was outdated. The trail also grew thinner as we descended. The sharp branches of the bushes stuck out like greedy hands, grabbing at our backpacks and clothes as we pressed forward.
“Well, whatever,” X said gruffly, plowing ahead. Twigs cracked under his massive bulk. The thin branches hanging across the path snapped as he plowed forward. I let him go first, since he was significantly bigger than myself. It was like following in the path of a bull.
“The faster we move, the faster we’ll be through it. We don’t want to camp anywhere around here when it gets dark,” X continued, looking grim. “We’ll be eaten alive by bugs by sunrise. We need to make it to the other side of these boglands before we can stop for the night.”
“Yeah, and I could use some more water,” I said, shaking my mostly empty canteen. “I wouldn’t drink this shit no matter what we did to it. It probably has brain-eating parasites crawling in it.” I checked my watch, realizing that dusk was only a half hour away. We would have to move fast indeed, especially as we didn’t know the size of the swamp. I was not enthusiastic about hiking in the dark with the many steep trails and sharp rocks that covered the surrounding land. A single misstep could lead to a very long, bone-shattering fall.
To my increasing dismay, I realized that the trail we were on no longer had the characteristic white markings of the Appalachian Trail. I kept checking the trees for the past fifteen minutes, and I definitely hadn’t seen a single one. I couldn’t remember the last time we had passed one, but I had a creeping suspicion it had been at least a couple hours ago.
“I think we have a problem, man,” I whispered. “I don’t know how it possibly could have happened, but I think we’re on the wrong trail.”
“There’s not supposed to be any other trails around here,” X argued. “Check the map.”
“Then where’s the white blazes? There’s not supposed to be any boglands around here, either, yet we’re walking through the middle of one,” I said. He shook his head.
“Listen, Ben, there’s not going to be markers on the entire Appalachian Trail,” he said. “Just trust me. We’re on the right path. Sometimes forests change. Swamps take over spots where forests used to lay. Hell, the Sahara Desert has been expanding for thousands of years, just eating the forests and plains all around it. There used to be lions and savannah in Morocco, and now it’s all dead and dry.”
I felt doubtful, but I continued forwards, following closely behind X. Neither one of us had ever done the full Appalachian Trail, after all. I hoped he was right. I was not enthusiastic about backtracking two or three hours if he wasn’t.
I thought back closely on our travels during the last few hours, wondering where we could have gone wrong. The trail had been rather overgrown and rocky on the peak of the last mountain. There had been a beautiful view spanning hundreds of miles, looking far off into state forests and winding roads. I remembered seeing the white marker near the top, but after we had started descending, it disappeared. That must have been where we went wrong, if we did, indeed, go off-course. But I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t tell X about my suspicions.
We finished descending a steep, rocky trail into a valley where the boglands really started. The trees ended in a massive semi-circle around the open swamp. Thick peat covered the entire surface of it like rotted, grayish-brown skin. I saw water snakes quietly disappearing into the stagnant water, leaving behind slowly expanding ripples.
“This is pretty cool,” I said, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the trail to admire the boglands. Our trail continued directly through the center of it, no more than a raised patch of black earth surrounded by green swampy water. I could hear the many insects chirping and flying before we even took a step forward. Though the spring air felt warm and I was covered in sweat, I still reached into my bag, taking out a windbreaker that would cover up my arms and neck to help with the bugs. X did the same.
“Let’s move fast,” he said, giving me a knowing look. He was a much faster hiker than myself. He seemed like a machine sometimes, tireless and single-minded. I had seen him hike over twenty miles in a single day without looking too bent out of shape. I gave him a faint half-smile, picking up my pace.
“You know what they used to say about the boglands?” I asked X. He shook his head.
“I don’t read books,” he said. “If I have time to sit down and read, then it means I have time to go out and do something actually fun. But I’m sure you know all about it.” I gave a short bark of laughter at his off-handed insult. It sounded far too loud echoing back to us through the creepy swamp. The last rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the mountains now. Soon, we would be plunged into darkness.
“Well, in ancient times, people thought the boglands a place where the walls of reality were thin, where the gods would come through. They used to bring their victims out to swamps during rituals, then they would slice their throats or strangle them and dump their bodies into the bogs as an offering to the gods. They also said that strange, shape-shifting creatures would appear, sometimes to deceive travelers, other times to help them,” I said. “But as for human sacrifices, the bogs preserve bodies like nothing else, except maybe tar pits. Archaeologists keep finding victims with slashed throats or shattered skulls buried underneath the peat.”
X was silent for a long moment as we continued walking along the raised patch of earth that formed the trail. We got farther and farther from the forests, until the swamp seemed like a fetid ocean, spanning out to the horizon in every direction.
“Do you think they used to do that kind of stuff around here?” X asked.
“Used to?” I exclaimed, laughing. “I’m sure some psychopaths still do. This is a good place to dump a body, after all. Who the hell wants to trek through the muck and the snakes and mosquitoes out here looking for corpses?”
“The FBI and the cops will do it,” he said, “if they think there’s something to find.” I was about to respond when an ear-splitting shriek echoed out all around us. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. X’s tan skin seemed to go pale as he spun, glancing in every direction.
“What the fuck is that?!” he screamed over the deafening wailing. I didn’t believe in cryptids, but my anxious mind immediately offered up an image of a banshee, a woman with chalk-white skin and black eyes whose shrieking jaw unhinged like a snake’s.
“I’m turning around!” I yelled, pointing back for emphasis. “Dude, fuck this! We need to get out of this swamp!” But X was no longer listening. He was looking past me, his mouth open and his eyes wild. He started backpedaling and nearly fell into the swamp. Windmilling his arms crazily, he turned and sprinted away without a word.
I was afraid to look back. The screaming was getting louder by the second, shaking the air all around me in deafening, crashing waves of sound. I felt like my head would explode if it got any worse. Instinctively, I took off after X, but I glanced back for a single moment before I did. Something loomed there from a nightmare, standing as tall as the trees. It moved through the swamp like a snake, its body slithering through the stagnant green waters towards us. When it met my eyes, the screaming stopped. The abrupt silence seemed deafening. I could hear the fervent pounding of my heart in my ears.
The creature’s skin looked honeycombed and rough, almost like a wasp’s nest. The thousands of tiny holes covering its body constantly opened and closed like hungry mouths. Its arms were long tentacles ending in sharp points of bone in the shape of scythes. The tentacles undulated like serpents. Its legs, too, were no more than four tentacles that alternatively slithered and stepped forward.
Its flesh was the color of peat, a sickly grayish-brown, and the smell that emanated from it was rancid and stagnant, the essence of all boglands and swamps. I nearly gagged as I ran. The putrefying stench seemed to follow me like a shadow.
Ahead of me, X was fumbling in his backpack as he ran, trying to grab his pistol. I knew he had a Glock 21 in that bag, and I had my Sig Sauer in mine. I cursed myself for not keeping it holstered on my body, but I had never had to use it before and hadn’t seriously thought I would need it for this trip. He glanced back at me, his eyes widening in horror.
“It’s right behind you!” he yelled. “Get down!” He dropped his backpack, revealing the sleek, black pistol clenched tightly in his hand. I barely had time to comprehend his words when an immense pressure and numbness radiated through my back. My head snapped backwards as a meaty thud resonated all around me. I went flying forward, feeling as if I had been struck by a car. As I flew through the air, the pain in my back exploded in burning pulses. I felt the deep slice open up from the sharp blade of bone that had slashed me like a knife. I felt trickles of blood pour from the open wound, making my stained shirt cling to my body.
I landed hard on the raised black earth of the trail, a bone-jarring impact that knocked the air out of me. At that same moment, X opened fire, pressing the trigger over and over, emptying the magazine as fast as he could. Something splashed over me, going in my eyes and mouth and nose. I crawled forward, moaning, my head spinning. I wiped my forehead, seeing spatters of green blood squirming with dark, maggot-like creatures covering my arms and face. It clung to my fingers, thick and rancid. I felt stinging sensations as the tiny worms bit me over and over. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine from the gunshots.
X was running towards me now. I continued to crawl towards him, shell-shocked and whimpering, trying to wipe the eldritch blood off my skin. With a muscular arm, he reached down and pulled me up.
“Where’d it go?” I mumbled, stumbling forward on unsteady feet. X put an arm around my shoulders and helped support me.
“It slunk back into the swamp,” he said. “Jesus, you’re bleeding really bad, buddy. We’re going to need to take care of that as soon as we get away from this hellhole.” I felt the deep slices from the creature’s blade-like hands across my back. The fabric of my shirt clung tightly to the skin as fresh blood soaked it.
“This isn’t the trail, X,” I gasped. “We went the wrong way. We need to go back.” He nodded grimly.
“We’re heading back right now. I know it’s the wrong trail now, it definitely is, but it’s dark. The trails back up the mountains are steep and dangerous, and we’ve already been hiking all day. How much longer can we really go?” he asked. In reality, I had a feeling X could go for quite a bit longer. I was the weak link in the chain, and we both knew it.
X took out a small, LED flashlight from his backpack, shining it ahead of us on the dark path. Across the center of the black earth, there was an obstruction, something that hadn’t been there when we passed this way originally.
“Shit! Is that a person?” X said, slowing down. He focused the light on it. As my eyes adjusted, I gave a gasp of horror as I saw a rough sacrificial table looming there, waiting with a ready victim.
Laying on the bare wooden planks in the center of the trail was an elderly man wearing the garb of a hunter. He was gagged, a bloody rag shoved deep into his mouth. I felt a sense of revulsion and terror as I realized his hands and feet were nailed to the planks, as if he were being crucified laying down. His eyes rolled wildly, white and insane, like a horse with a broken leg. When he saw us approaching, he tried to say something through the gag, pulling hard against the nails that bit so viciously into his flesh. Fresh rivers of blood spurted from his wounds.
I had my pistol in my hands. X had taken a fresh magazine out by now, throwing the empty one back in his backpack. Trembling, he went first, his shaking hand moving the flashlight around wildly. Its bright rays bounced off the dead, half-rotted trees that grew out of the boglands, the clouds of mosquitoes and moths that circled us constantly.
“Oh my God... he's like the victim of a serial killer or something,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over his face. “It looks like someone has set that poor guy up to have his heart cut out, like some sort of Aztec ritual.” He glanced worriedly over at me. We had both stopped cold in our tracks, looking around for any sign of danger, but we only saw the old man writhing on his rough table of torture.
“We have to keep going forward,” I whispered. “That thing is behind us. I don’t think it’s dead. I’m not sure it can even die.”
“But what’s ahead of us?” he asked grimly. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Far off down the trail, I saw small pinpoints of flickering light. They drew closer. We raised our pistols, waiting for the new arrivals to show themselves.
Dozens of people dressed in black, silky robes holding lamps slowly ambled their way towards us. They had their heads bowed, like monks on a holy pilgrimage. They drew close to the sacrifice. The one in the lead held a long, curving dagger whose blade looked like it was made of some kind of red volcanic rock. Its strange silver handle glittered in his pale, thin hand. At the end, I saw it was sculpted into the shape of a human heart.
“Stop right there!” X screamed, stepping forward. “Don’t come any closer! We are armed, I’m warning you.” The people in the black robes didn’t appear to hear or care in the slightest. They continued slowly following their leader with the strange dagger, almost floating forward in a nonchalant manner. Their leader began chanting in some strange, ancient language. It reminded me of Tibetan or Sanskrit in a way, like the chanting of some Vajrayana monk high up in the Himalayas. But it had a sinister, hissing quality to the words. Something ancient and powerful resonated in every syllable.
I raised the pistol, firing blankly into the dark, cloudless sky above. The smell of gunsmoke and fetid rot hung thick in the air. The leader of the group looked at me with his large, glassy eyes. His face looked sunken and pale, almost like a starving child. He had shaved all of the hair on his head, even his eyebrows. His lips were extremely thin and bloodless in his chalk-white face.
For a long moment, we stood staring at each other, my pistol aimed at his chest. X also had his pistol raised, aimed at one of those standing behind him. But the robed man didn’t speak. He gave me a faint grin.
“Let the old man go,” I commanded, my voice sounding hoarse and weak. The swamp quickly swallowed up my words, until only the buzzing of mosquitoes remained.
“I am sorry, my son, but I cannot do that,” the leader said in a voice as cold as endless space. “If we do not feed Mowdoroth, it will never sleep. The swamps will continue to expand, eating more and more of the surrounding forests and towns, and Mowdoroth, driven insane by hunger, will take far more victims in the process.
“This job has been passed down to us from generation to generation, from big hand to small, for over four centuries. Only twice has Mowdoroth not been fed on the New Moon, and each time, entire settlements full of people were wiped off the face of the Earth as if they had never existed. On one, they just had time to carve the word ‘CROATAN’ before they were taken.
“Mowdoroth looks for the place where the nightmares grow. It breaks open the chest and finds the place where the silent screams start, deep down at the base of the heart. All of the nightmares are planted there, like tiny seeds scattered during childhood. Those that fell on good soil in that abyss produced a great crop, yielding a hundredfold, sixtyfold, or thirtyfold. If you do not allow us to complete our holy mission, then you do it: cut open the man's chest and remove his beating heart. As it beats, squeeze it as hard as you can, and let all the blood drain onto the top of your head. Hold the heart above your head and close your eyes until the god appears and takes it.” The cult leader finished, looking at us with sparkling eyes, as if he had said something profound.
“This shit is just insane drivel,” X whispered in a voice as low as possible. “I say we open fire and save the old man now. Fuck these cultists.” I nodded grimly in agreement.
“You need to all turn around and leave immediately,” X yelled, stepping forward. “I will give you three seconds to turn around and get the hell out of my sight. Three…” At first, the cultists stood as still as statues, simply staring. Finally, the leader sighed and turned away. He shook his head, reminding me of a disappointed parent.
“I tried to warn you,” he said in his thin, quavering voice. “The time has come to give the offering. You must cut out this man’s heart and raise it to Mowdoroth, so he can get the seeds of nightmares freshly sown. The choice is yours now, as you have demanded this power with violence. You can leave this man here to be eaten by Mowdoroth, or free him and, in exchange, guarantee the deaths of hundreds of other people.”
With those last words, the black-robed figures continued down the curve of the trail. Within seconds, they had disappeared behind dead, half-rotted trees that still dotted the edges of the boglands. X and I ran forward toward the struggling old man. X reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He cut off the old man’s gag, pulling the spit-soaked chunk of filthy cloth out of his mouth. The old man spat and licked his dry lips.
“Get me out of here, please,” he whispered, his eyes rolling wildly. “Those cult members are all batshit insane. And there’s something not right in these swamps. I caught glimpses of something while I was waiting. There’s something in the water…”
“What’s your name, bud?” X said calmingly, looking at the old man’s hands and feet to try to decide how to best get the nails out without causing more damage.
“Winchester,” he said in a coarse voice. It sounded like he hadn’t had a drink of water in days. While X looked at his hands with the LED flashlight, I reached into my pack for the small canteen of filtered water I still had. I started pouring it into Winchester’s mouth. He gulped greedily, his throat working hard to drink down the rest of it.
“I got it!” X said, taking a flat stone he had found on the ground. “I’m going to try to pound these nails out from the bottom.”
“Oh, please, no,” Winchester said, his wrinkled face turning pale. X shook his head.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said. “It’s going to hurt, bud. But we don’t have any tools here. The nails are large, almost like railroad spikes, and once we get the top part, the bottom should slide out easily since it’s a lot narrower.” As he grabbed the rock to begin his work, a bone-chilling wailing started up again from the swamps. It was the scream of Mowdoroth, that abomination with the skin of a wasp’s nest.
“Cover us!” X yelled panickedly as he continued his grisly work. Winchester screamed in pain when X first struck the nail on his right hand. It shot up a fraction of an inch, fresh blood pooling all around it and dripping through the bare planks.
I turned, but the banshee wail seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The swamp bubbled faster and faster all around us, as if thousands of corpses were coming back to life. I heard Winchester scream again, then the dull thud of another nail hitting the earth.
A face peeked out of the swamp, only twenty feet away. Its eyes were green, the color of a putrefying wound. Its lipless mouth opened wide, showing a spongy black mass of skin with concentric circles of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It reminded me of the mouth of a lamprey.
I opened fire, shooting wildly at the face, aiming at the body hidden under the dark surface of the swamp. Luminescent drops of green blood exploded from a bullet hole in its upper right shoulder, floating across the surface of the water like radioactive waste.
Its screaming cut off instantly. All I could hear was the pounding of the rock behind me and Winchester’s pained, horrified pleas for mercy.
“Please, you’re hurting me!” he pleaded.
“Shut the fuck up, Winchester!” I whispered. “It’s here with us now.” With considerable effort, he did, only moaning and violently jerking his head now as the waves of pain ripped through him.
“I got it!” X said suddenly. A feeling of elation filled my heart.
“Let’s go then!” I yelled, turning to help the old man up. I heard something massive rise up behind us. It mixed with the sound of dripping water and babbling waves that arose from the disturbance.
Winchester was weak, stumbling up to his feet and nearly falling over immediately. Staggering, he took off down the trail with no shoes, but he immediately gave a curse of pain and tripped. X and I started running, and at that moment, I realized the flaw in our plan. We wouldn’t be able to get Winchester out of the swamp without carrying him, due to the extensive injuries to his feet. And I knew we didn’t have time.
Mowdoroth’s body stood as tall as the trees as it looked down at the three of us with its strange, infected eyes. Its tentacles undulated faster and faster, seeming to whip around its body until they flew out towards us.
“Run!” I screamed. X and I sprinted behind a cluster of dead trees hugging the path. The blade-like hand of Mowdoroth chopped them in a half, raining wood splinters down on our heads.
Winchester continued trying to crawl forward. Mowdoroth slithered behind him. Winchester looked up as a tentacle started coming down in his direction. He gave a short, panicked scream as the blade smashed through his back legs, chopping both of them off at the knees. The ground shook with the force of it. The stumps began spurting seemingly endless amounts of blood. Winchester pleaded and made incomprehensible gurgling sounds as he bled out. Mowdoroth ended Winchester’s cries when it wrapped its tentacle around Winchester’s torso. It slithered up into Winchester’s open mouth.
X and I shot as fast as we could while running forward in the dark, trying to hold a flashlight and a pistol. Most of my shots missed Mowdoroth, but with a sense of satisfaction and pride, I saw a few burst through its enormous body. Streams of radioactive green blood ran down its torso now. As its serpentine legs pumped furiously, it gained speed, coming behind us like a runaway train. I could feel the ground shaking with every thud of its tentacled feet.
A few hundred feet ahead of us, I caught a glimpse of the cultists. They were hurrying away from the area, not running but moving much faster than they had come in. Nearly out of breath already and exhausted from hiking all day, I pointed forward.
“Look!” I screamed. X saw them, his eyes widening. We sprinted in a blind panic, as fast as we could towards the stragglers in the black robes. Without warning, X raised his pistol and fired, aiming at the nearest of them.
The figure in the back of the pack fell forward without making a sound. He continued trying to crawl forward weakly for a few moments before he lost energy and lay still, no more than a bleeding black hump on the dark earth.
X gave a sudden cry of pain next to me as a tentacle came down like a guillotine blade. I heard it whip through the air with a high-pitched whine. A single breath later, I watched in horror as it sliced off his right arm. X looked down at the spurting stump for a long moment, his tanned face turning as pale as bones. He stumbled forward, then, with a hoarse cry, he fell.
Following X’s lead, I raised my gun and started shooting the cultists. They sprinted away in a random panic as bodies fell ahead of us. I jumped over the black lumps on the ground, hearing Mowdoroth shake the world as it gave chase. A long, snake-like tentacle reached down, picking up X’s spurting body and raising it towards Mowdoroth’s leech-like mouth. The massive abomination slowed, picking up the bodies of the dead cultists and crushing them. I heard the bones shatter as the wet gore exploded around Mowdoroth’s many sharp teeth.
I saw the woods again, living trees just a few hundred feet away. The trail of black earth ended abruptly, leading out of the boglands. Cultists sprinted blindly through the forest in every direction, scattering like cockroaches. I had nearly reached the border of the forest when I heard something whizzing past my head. I ducked, but the blur of a grayish tentacle coming down sent a jolt of fear like electricity sizzling through my body.
A moment later, a cold agony covered my left hand. In shock, I looked down, realizing that the blade-like appendage of Mowdoroth had neatly amputated all four of my fingers. If I hadn’t ducked, it would’ve probably gotten my head instead.
Stumbling and screaming, my mind in a blind panic, I staggered through the intersection of the boglands and the forest, falling forward. I knew I was dead. I closed my eyes, waiting. Yet nothing happened.
When I looked back, I saw something strange. Mowdoroth had stopped at the end of the boglands. It tried to push its body forward towards me, but it couldn’t enter the forest. It was as if an invisible barrier stood there.
I lay there for a long time. After a while, I heard Mowdoroth slink back into the fetid waters of the boglands. And then I was alone.
***
I wrapped my hand in bandages as much as I could, trying to stem the bleeding. I felt weak and sick from blood loss, so I lay there until the sun came up. The next day, I was able to slowly make my way out of the forest and back towards the nearest town.
Now I hear stories of people mysteriously going missing in the area. An entire family in a nearby farmhouse only a couple dozen miles away disappeared in the middle of the night without a trace, leaving only smeared trails of blood leading into the forest. No one saw anything, but these six victims were only the first in a long line of strange deaths. Oddly enough, all of the victims lived next to swamps.
And I have the feeling that I was the one responsible.
submitted by CIAHerpes to creepypasta [link] [comments]


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