The Screaming Swamp

Nathanial lost his balance as the wheelbarrow sank into the soft ground of the swamp. Alarmed by the silence created by the absence of the rusted wheel rotating, Nathanial felt his heart rate increase. 

“Damn you, let’s go,” Nathanial said out loud to the wheelbarrow, speaking as much to the bucket of rust as to break the silence seeming to swallow him whole.

A thick fog had encompassed him since the swamp entrance, which Nathanial was convinced was suffocating him. The only saving grace to navigate being the torches lit along the path, of which one could not see more than the next in line. 

A strong nudge freed the wheelbarrow from the muck as it screamed a high-pitched squeal as the rusty wheel found motion again. The noise echoing throughout the swamp. 

“Okay, back at it,” Nathanial sighed with a sense of relief to be moving again. But as the echo of the wheel finished assaulting his ears, Nathanial could have sworn he heard a cry for help. 

Stopping in his tracks, Nathanial listened to the stark silence, for once welcoming the absence of sound. After a moment, Nathanial continued trudging toward the next guiding torch. 

In the distance, a cry for help rang out. 

The muffled scream sent a shiver down his spine. He dropped the wheelbarrow, the frame crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Hello?! Please!” 

The distant, distressed voice called out at the thump, desperate for a savior of any kind. 

Conflicted, Nathanial looked at the torch in front of him and back at the torch behind him. Forced to decide to either go back or continue, his semi-stuck feet were cemented into the ground. 

An ear-piercing scream full of dread and helplessness sent Nathanial into a state of pure panic. 

In an instant, Nathanial was sprinting toward the torch in front of him. His body having decided for him that it was time to continue. As he looked back at the abandoned wheelbarrow, he saw the torch guiding his way home extinguish. One by one, each torch he passed was snuffed out, forcing him forward.

The only sounds were the screams of the disembodied voice, Nathanial’s ragged breathing, and the squelch of his footsteps.

At last, Nathanial reached an ornate mound of sticks, mud, and stones that the voice seemed to be originating from. 

“I’m here!” He cried out as he clawed at the collection of debris until his fingers bled. 

The screaming grew louder, swelling into a chorus. 

As Nathanial reached the bottom of the pile, he lurched backward as one last scream echoed through the swamp. 

Six days later, Nathanial’s wheelbarrow was found abandoned on the path, its bucket filled with a viscous black liquid engulfing a crudely made totem. A single torch still burned beside it. Nathanial himself was never found.

Decades later, locals still warn all travelers: never follow the screams in the swamp.