r/shortstories • u/NightmareHut • 20h ago
Horror [HR] Lochwood: Entry 1 - The Wailing Man
Hey all, didn’t know where else to go, so I’m posting this here. My name is Josh, I live in New York, but not the New York you’re thinking about. Contrary to popular belief, there’s an entire state attached to the city, and I just happen to live in the middle of nowhere. Great place to spawn. Anyway, I found something crazy last night. Well, maybe, I don’t know where it came from exactly, but it’s in my house now. I just had this crazy nightmare, can hardly remember it, but I jotted a few points down in my dream journal (don’t ask).
I was walking through the woods, but not anywhere I recognized. I grew up in the area, and this being, well, the middle of nowhere, there’s not much for a kid to do but play in the woods until it gets dark, so I’m fairly confident I’d know where I was if this were a local forest. Anyhow, I eventually came to a clearing with a big tree, which had a cave-like opening. The inside of the tree was weird, like it was alive. Yeah, I know trees are alive, but this was different; it was like the inside of an animal, but it was also a tree. There was one part of the wall in front of me that was straight flesh, and there was this weird rectangular protrusion. I don’t know what got into me, but I stuck my hands in and pulled it out. It was a book, well, journal is a better word to describe it, but it was thick like a novel, its black leather cover containing a mountain of yellow, disfigured pages. On the cover stuck a length of white tape which, written in black ink, contained one word: Lochwood.
And then I woke up. Like, immediately, in my bed, no sign of mud or whatever else I would’ve tracked in from the woods. I wrote down what I remembered in my dream journal and started to go back to bed when I noticed something on my desk. Not gonna hype it up, it was that same journal from my dream. I know, this is hard to believe, but I swear on my cat’s life that’s what happened. And if you know me, you know I love my cat and would never endanger his life to tell a lie. I’m 100 percent serious, on God no cap bro. If you can’t already tell, I’m in my early 20’s and chronically online.
So, curiosity got the better of me, and I started reading through the possibly haunted journal that just randomly appeared in my house, as all rational people would do. Let me tell you, there’s something weird about this thing. It talks about a local place called Camp Lochwood and all the weird stuff that goes on there. Now, as I’ve stated multiple times, I’ve lived my entire life here. There’s no such thing as Camp Lochwood. I even looked it up to double-check. Nothing. Unless someone decided to break into my house and leave behind a writing project that I just so happened to have a nightmare about, I’m gonna rule out this being a hoax. That’s why I came here, I need to get some other opinions on this because I’m lost. What the hell is this thing?
Since I have a job, I don’t have time to type out this entire journal at once without losing my sanity, so I’m gonna upload individual entries over time. Without further ado, here’s entry one.
---
Entry 1:
My name is
Years ago I
As I sit here pondering what to put in this journal, I find myself transfixed by the fire crackling before me. The rushing water, howling of coyotes, and cries of crickets, try as they might, can't seem to win over my attention. Staring into the dancing flames, scorching the flesh of this damned forest, “to hell with it all,” I think to myself. I’ve lived my entire life in these here woods, and yet they always seem to surprise me. Maybe I should just let it burn. No. Fire won’t go far. I don’t even know why they want me to do this. “So your stories aren’t lost to time,” he tells me. Not like anyone listens to them now, but bossman gets what he wants. Regardless, I could use a new hobby.
If you don’t already know me, just call me Pete. I work in maintenance. If, for some reason, you don’t know where we are, then welcome to Camp Lochwood. We’re nestled right in the heart of the Catskill Mountains. When I say we’re in the middle of nowhere, I mean it. The closest house? About thirty miles away. The closest gas station? Around forty. We don’t even have cell service; it’s the perfect getaway. Starting out early in the 20th century as an all-boys summer camp, Lochwood has slowly but surely grown into one of Upstate New York’s premier vacation spots, open 24/7, year-round. It’s a mountain paradise, so long as you follow the rules, of course. For the most part, our guests do, and they leave having been restored by the healing touch of nature. However, I can’t begin to count the number of stories I’ve heard over the span of my being here. Hidden in the endless forest surrounding Lochwood lie horrors only God can comprehend. Don’t believe me? I don’t blame you. I never believed myself until the bodies started showing up, and guess who had to clean up after them. This place just has a nasty habit of killing people in ways you’d think were impossible.
Now, as I said before, we have a wide assortment of strange rules that you’re supposed to read through before you come here. But, as anyone who’s worked in retail can attest, customers don’t like following the rules. We try to scare people into acting accordingly. Every counselor is trained to recite a boatload of campfire stories to guests of all ages. For the most part, it works on the kids; summer camp is usually the easiest time of the year in that regard. Our older guests, on the other hand, are stubborn and often find themselves in a heap of trouble. That’s why I decided to collect together all of the stories I’ve heard around camp in my 40+ years of working here. If the campfire stories don’t do the trick, one of these should. For the sake of readability, I will pretty things up a bit and turn them into actual stories instead of just hearsay. Just remember, these are all based on true events. Now, I know there are people reading this who think it’s all a load of horse shit. Just keep reading, humor yourself. This ain’t nothing more than an old man tellin’ campfire stories. But, if you plan on surviving this job, gather round and listen good. Like all rules, these stories are written with blood.
This first story is one I vividly remember hearing about. Happened not too long ago, actually, I was there for the aftermath. Terrible morning. Anyways, the original story is a campfire favorite. It’s tradition to tell it to all our guests on their first night. There’s no way you can leave Lochwood without hearing the tale of…
The Wailing Man
“You’re serious, right?”
“Yeah, serious.”
“Come on, you’re telling me you’ve worked here for two years and no one’s told you about The Wailing Man?”
The group of counselors, all seated around a campfire, dig into Ryan. It’s a calm night in May, a couple of weeks before the chaos of summer camp. Above shines a sky of a thousand stars, so clear that the Milky Way is visible with the naked eye. Ears are filled with the melodies of distant frogs, noses are filled with the smell of charred wood and burnt marshmallows.
“I mean, seriously, it’s like the first story they tell you,” Brian continues.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big fuss about it, like it’s not that big a deal,” Edith says.
“I’m not trying to overreact, I just think it’s weird he doesn’t know it.”
Clara steps out from one of the five cabins surrounding the crackling fire, a six-pack in hand. She takes a seat on the picnic table next to Ryan and begins passing out beers.
“One more for the road,” Clara remarks.
“Well, you’ve got time to tell me the story now, gotta finish that beer before you leave,” Ryan says.
“Nah, bro, I’ve told that story like a million times, you couldn’t pay me to say it again. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about it,” Brian says, followed by an overexaggerated gag.
“Brian, they literally pay you to tell it,” Edith replies
“Yeah, but they have the money to. Besides, you’re gonna hear it in a couple days anyway, so who cares, don’t make me do it.”
“I’m told you tell it the best,” Clara says. Brian lets out a sigh.
“Shit, when you put it like that. I don’t know, what do you think, Rico?”
Rico looks up from his phone. “… what?”
“You think I tell it the best?”
“Tell what the best?”
“Wailing Man, were you not listening?”
“No, dude, it’s almost midnight, I’m falling asleep just listening to you guys.”
“Wow, I’m heartbroken, you think I’m boring, you’re gonna make me cry,” Brian sarcastically remarks.
Rico stands up. “Yeah, boring, boo-hoo, and stuff. I think I’m gonna head home.” Rico says to a response of jeers.
“You’re not gonna stay for the story?” Clara asks.
“Nah, it’s way past my bedtime. If I stay any longer, I might pass out on the walk home. Goodnight, y’all,” Rico says, everyone saying “goodnight” in return. He walks off, and the counselors refocus on the flame.
“Well, his loss,” Brian says, “Ryan, you might want a ride home after this.”
“I think I’ll be fine.” Ryan takes a sip from his drink. Brian proceeds to crack a shit-eating grin.
“I don’t think you will.”
“Dude, just tell the story,” Edith pleads.
“Alright, alright.” Brian takes a swig from his drink and leans in towards the fire.
“A little over a hundred years ago, there was a logging camp out in the woods west of here. It was one of the largest camps in the state, at one point having over 60 loggers hard at work every day. One day, this scrawny-looking guy by the name of Elias walks in looking for work. At first, the foreman told him to get lost, ‘No way a man your size can keep up.’ It just so happens that the guy was a logging machine, able to cut down a tree twice as fast as the rest. Though the rest of the crew resented Elias, for the first few months, things went smoothly. That was until Elias met Rachel, the wife of John, another crew member.”
Brian pauses to take another swig.
“Turns out, Rachel and John were not on good terms. One night, he went out drinking and left her alone in his cabin. ‘How selfish,’ she thought. She had traveled from another state to spend time with him, and he would just leave her like that? She wanted to hurt him, the way he had hurt her for the last ten years. Elias was one of the few who stayed back, and since he wasn’t too fond of John, he had no problem doing what he was about to do. John and his crew ended up returning to the camp sooner than expected, and they found the two sleeping together in John’s cabin. When Elias noticed the group, he sprang up and ran out the back door into the woods.”
Brian takes another pause. A rustling is heard in a distant bush, grabbing everyone’s attention. After a few seconds of silence, he continues.
“Now, John wasn’t gonna let him get away with it. Oh no. He and his boys chased after him, each armed with an array of knives. After a while of running, Elias tripped over a fallen tree and fell face-first into the ground. The group caught up to him and held him down; fists and boots began raining down on his feeble body, weakened from a day’s worth of hard labor. Elias attempted to get away, but John grabbed him by the ankle. ‘Oh no, you’re not getting away.’ John pulled out a knife and began sawing away at the back of the ankle he had grabbed, slicing his Achilles tendon in two. As he screamed in pain, John did the same to the other ankle. His feet went limp, and Elias had no way to escape. John, in a fit of rage, began rambling incoherently before sticking his hand in Elias’s mouth and grabbing his jaw. With his hand, he broke his jaw so he could not speak. With his knife, he gouged out his eyes so he could not see. And as the final act of revenge, he proceeded to peel his face off, leaving him a bloodied mess. As Elias wailed in pain, the group walked off, leaving him to the mercy of nature.”
Ryan shifts uncomfortably in his seat and asks, “You tell this story to children?”
“Not like this. Anyways, days went by without anything out of the ordinary. It was assumed that Elias got drunk and wandered off into the woods. A search party was made, but there was no sign of the man. John and his crew went back to the spot where they attacked him and found nothing, assuming a bear got to him first. Later that night, while everyone was fast asleep, the camp was awoken by the sound of a distant wailing. John recognized the sound immediately. It was the same cry that Elias let out. The wailing went on long enough for the entire camp to leave their cabins and investigate. Eventually, the wailing stopped, and a crackling voice enveloped the entire camp. ‘I can’t f-eel m-y faaace.’ In the distance, a man’s screams were heard, a recognizable voice that drew the attention of the crew. Men grabbed their axes and knives and rushed to save whoever was in trouble. The same voice cried out again, ‘I can’t f-eel m-y faaace,’ followed by multiple painful shrieks. John stood in the middle of camp, dumfounded by the chaos erupting around him. Screams in all different directions. To his left, one man was knocked to his feet by an unidentified figure and dragged into the woods. To his right, a man walked out into camp, his entire head degloved. John turned around and rushed back into his cabin. Inside, Rachel was huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth, eyes pinched closed, hands over her ears. Suddenly, the back door of the cabin burst open, and John turned to face his impending doom. Elias floated in the doorway, feet dragging on the ground, looking just as he left him. His jaw hung open, blood dripping from where his face used to be. Though his mouth didn’t move, a voice shot out from the gaping jaw, ‘I can’t f-eel m-y faaace.’ The Wailing Man started floating rapidly toward him, but John slammed the door in his face, holding it closed with his body as it was pounded against with an inhuman force. Eventually, the pounding stopped, and everything was silent. No noise inside or outside the cabin. John sighed in relief, but his moment of peace was ended when he felt a hot, humid breath on the back of his neck, and a voice whispered in his ear…”
“…GIVE IT BACK”
Ryan jumps in his seat as the rest of the counselors begin laughing. Rico walks out from behind Ryan and makes his presence known, allowing Ryan to strike a few retaliatory punches.
“Don’t do that!” Ryan yells as Brian almost falls out of his seat.
“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Brian attempts to say in between breaths. Edith falls out of her seat in a fit of laughter while Clara laughs uncomfortably, having also been scared by Rico’s addition to the story. Brian composes himself and stands up.
“Well, that’s enough for one night, goodnight, guys.”
“That’s it, you’re just gonna leave after that?” Ryan asks.
“Uhh, yeah, it’s midnight, dude, I gotta work in the morning. I’m a responsible employee.”
“So now I gotta walk all the way across camp after hearing that? What am I supposed to do if I see the Wailing Man?”
“Oh, that’s right, I didn’t get to that part. Well, basically, Rachel was the sole survivor because she didn’t move, so if you see or hear him, don’t move a muscle. Okay byeee.” Brian turns and walks back to his cabin. Rico and Edith say their goodbyes and walk off in separate directions, leaving Clara and Ryan.
“You want me to walk you back?” Clara jokingly asks.
Ryan, still visibly shaken, puts on an overexaggerated display of bravery. “Nah, I’ll be fine, that didn’t scare me a bit.”
“I saw you jump a foot off the bench,” Clara laughs.
“I was just getting ready to defend you, obviously.”
“Whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Clara begins heading off to her cabin. The silence has become deafening, but Ryan silently reassures himself that it’s just a story. If the Wailing Man was real, he’d have seen him by now. Ryan leaves the fire and walks into the woods, taking a shortcut to his cabin.
Every sound that used to disappear in the background is amplified. Each snap of a branch, each gust of wind, ticks his heartbeat up more and more. At one point, Ryan hears the shuffling of grass ahead of him and freezes. His heartbeat resumes after a chipmunk scurries across the path, getting cursed at by Ryan. He continues down the path. An owl hoots in a tree above him, and soon after flaps its wings, flying off to catch its next meal. Ryan stops in his tracks again. Did he just hear something? He quickly jerks his head back… nothing. He’s walking faster now, seemingly trying to outpace his paranoia. There’s no way they’ll try to scare him again; people aren’t supposed to be out this time of night anyway. His inner monologue is interrupted by what sounds like something dragging.
Ryan is frozen in the middle of the road now, his cabin visible in the distance. He feels the urge to run, especially when he hears a wailing coming from the path, getting closer and closer.
“Brian. I swear to God, don’t fucking do this to me!” Ryan yells out, hearing an unidentified voice in response.
“I can’t f-eel m-y faaace.”
The wailing and dragging of feet reach the end of the path. Ryan’s heart stops when a tall, dark figure emerges from the woods, floating in the air. Its feet dangle and scrape the ground as it hovers towards him, mouth agape, chasms where eyes should be. Its body is covered by black, tattered clothing; its arms hang limp to its sides. Fresh blood drips from where its face used to be.
“I c-an’t f-eel my faaace.”
Ryan stares in horror as the figure continues to slowly float in his direction. He’s not supposed to move, but what if it bumps into him? Does it see him? His cabin’s not too far from here. He can make a break for it and… no, no, he needs to follow the rules. Don’t move, as Brian said. The figure draws nearer and nearer. He starts to pray in his head for forgiveness, for protection, for anything but to be where he is now. The Wailing Man stops, just feet away from him, still staring. Everything goes numb, it’s as if time itself stopped.
“G-give it baaack.”
To hell with the rules. Ryan sprints toward his cabin, dragging feet keeping pace close behind. The same wailing as before roars thunderously behind him, but this time it’s reversed. His heart pounds faster than he’s ever felt before, his legs go numb as if they aren’t there, but he keeps speeding forward. He’s never run this fast before, and yet the Wailing Man continues to gain on him, the reversed wailing just inches behind his head now. He shoots up the stairs to his cabin, reaches for the door, swings it open, and slams it shut, locking it and pressing his body against it as the animalistic pounding threatens to tear it down.
As the pounding continues on the door, Ryan hears something at the window to his right. He doesn’t see anything through the window, but it nonetheless slides up a bit, as if someone tried to open it from the outside. The invisible figure begins moving from window to window on both sides of the cabin, almost instantly, as if there were two people, from the front of the cabin toward the back. As the attempts reach the back of the cabin, he remembers something that drains the blood from his face. The back door doesn’t lock.
Seeing no other choice but to hide, Ryan launches from the door over to his bed, crawling under just in time for the pounding on the front door to stop and for the back door to swing open. The cabin is completely silent now, all except for the dragging of feet on the wooden floor. Ryan covers his mouth and watches as the dangling feet drag around the bed, into the bathroom, out of the bathroom, and into the counselor's room, out of the counselor's room, and back into the main room. The feet stop right in front of the bed, facing the front door. He holds his breath, staring at the dangling feet for what feels like hours, until he hears a coarse voice under the bed, right behind him.
“Give it baaack.”
---
And that there’s what happens when the Wailing Man comes around. As I said earlier, I was there for the aftermath. My cabin’s not too far from where his was. I was woken up by the sound of screaming. Got out of bed to find Clara at the door of his cabin, bawling her eyes out. I knew exactly what happened when I saw his body. His body laid at the foot of the door, a blood trail leading back under the bed. I found his face in a shrub behind the cabin. The Wailing Man is an especially insidious demon; the way to survive goes against our very instincts. But when telling his story, you need to emphasize this point. If you see or hear the Wailing Man, remember this. Do. Not. Move.
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