Tony just yelled something about oars and Venice I think. It's hard to hear over the thunder and torrent of rain hammering upon my tarp. I tried peeking out from underneath my flimsy shelter, but all I could see was Tony's flashlight as he attempted to free us from the root knees our boat was stuck upon. I think he had given up in fixing the motor, and was planning to use the oars for punting the rest of the way back.

I recall having a dream the night before we left for upriver. It was just yesterday that I was on the yacht resting for the journey into the valley, but it feels like weeks had gone by now. A distant memory forgotten with age. In the dream, I remember being underwater with the initial fear of drowning. I swam for the surface, but I could never reach it. I then realized I was not swimming for the surface, but swimming away with ease. It was like my body wanted to go deeper, away from the light above me. Soon my fear of drowning left for it seemed that the need for air was no longer needed. The urge to swim down grew stronger. I could see something glitter just beyond the light, something of brilliance lay hidden in the deep depths where the light could no longer reach. There was then a sound from above, like that of a person gasping under water. Looking up, I could see the silhouette of many creatures swimming near the surface. They were circling another humanoid creature and pulling it under. More and more swam in to help drag the poor being away from the surface for which it was struggling to reach. As the victim stopped moving, and the sounds of gurgling ceased, I felt nothing. I felt no empathy or sorrow towards the now dead body. It was not meant for the water. It should never have been here. I turned back for my true destination in the dark depths of the ocean.

I awoke to the alarm sounding on my watch. I figured the dream to have been caused by the strange sightings I had perceived the day before along with the gentle rocking of the boat. I peered out the window to see that it was still dark outside. I got up out of the small bed, and went into the pantry to discover a pot of coffee was already made. Tony was already awake, which was unusual for him. He standing by the entryway with a cup in his hand. He had no shirt on, making it easy to see he was covered in perspiration as he idly stood motionless. He seemed to have been staring up the stairs into the fog. He startled when I came up behind him, spilling cold coffee onto himself. The fact his cup had gone cold told me he had been standing there for a while. Maybe he had fallen asleep while standing. Tony said that the humidity, his sore knee, and location's bizarreness had made it hard for him to sleep. He went to go get dressed and prepare for the journey.

Attached to his yacht was a small rubber life raft with a small engine motor. Perfect for going up the river canal in town, and in between the tight canyon walls just beyond. We supplied the raft with bottled water, three meals for two, and the other basic supplies one would take on a rafting and possible camping trip. I am now thankful that Tony had also grabbed his laptop and extra batteries for his cameras.

It was about a quarter to eight when we slowly made our way up river. It did not take us long to go through the straight canal of New Lordsking, and reach the base of the twisting tight gorge. The current grew stronger within the more narrow walls of the canyon, with the jagged rocks reaching out to sink the raft. Tony was more in his element here, and carefully maneuvered the boat through the snaking ravine. The fog did not enter the gorge, making his task to navigate through safely much easier. The absence of the mists also allowed me to better see the water, and my certainty of the river's source being a spring was increased for the water was quite clear. 

It took nearly an hour for us to come out the other side, and into the mysterious valley. Neither one of us was prepared for what we discovered. Exiting the canyon, we were surrounded by the knees of giant cypress trees growing along the banks of the river. Behind the cypress trees were southern live oak of tremendous size. The bodies pulling apart into thick branches like a creature desperate to split its body in half. Their branches like the broken fingers of a lunatic's hand, as thick as any other tree, and twisting up and to the sides over our heads. It was amazing that the weight of the branches did not uproot the trees. The limbs curved about to avoid the other branches and obstacles, looking like a maddening maze of wood. 

The Spanish moss grew heavily here as well, looking like beards upon the live oak. The leaves and Spanish moss blocked most of the sunlight that tried to peak in from over the valley's cliffs. It was like what one would expect to see in the rivers of Georgia or Florida, but never expect to see this far north. The size of these trees must of meant they were near a century old or more. How was it that this place has remained a secret for so long?

The cypress trees and their roots gave Tony a new challenge for they stretched out under the water nearly as far as the branches of the live oaks. Their bark caused the once clear water to become dark and murky. The rubber raft would occasionally hit a root or fallen tree limb that was submerged just under the water's surface, jolting the raft to a halt. The valley was much larger than we had suspected. Maybe three miles in length, causing me to question how much land was actually closed off to keep people from entering this region.

The sense of being watched grew much stronger upon entering the valley as well. Tony also seemed to feel a presence as well for he was constantly looking up into the foliage as if to find something that was hidden. It was then that the first signs of life suddenly made its presence. Half way up the small river, a branch broke off its limb and nearly fell on us. The sound of wings belonging to a large bird could be heard from where the branch had fallen from. I could only see the obscured shadow of the large creature as it flew high above the trees and to the west.

“Must of been a vulture,” commented Tony.

We continued onward towards the source of the river. The river curved to the right, and the tress cleared away to reveal what we searched for. The river pooled into a small lake, the water now clear once more to see reveal that it was extremely deep here. I could see a cave deep underwater along the cliffs where the spring was located, hidden within the mountain. It was quite warm here as well. I had the foresight to grab a thermometer off the yacht, and testing the water showed it was just over a hundred degrees Celsius. Hot tub temperatures. 

On the opposite side of the lake was the town. No, it was more like a small village. There was a large dock, now barely standing, on the lake front. We could see the back of single story log cabins. Though more simplistic than the more modern buildings in town, these appeared to be in better condition. With exception of the black church, and the malformed houses that surrounded it. It was still apparent that the log cabins were quite old. Moss, and even mushrooms, grew upon the rooftops. The wood blackened with age, and a few have fallen apart and crumbled to the ground. They seemed to form a circle fifty yards from the water and dock, with a strange dark pillar standing above them all in the center. There was a couple houses further back in the distance.

We docked the raft by the shore. Grabbing our packs and gear, we hiked through the tall grass of weeds, wheat, and even wild corn. There must have been a field near by where the vegetation had grown out of control and spread over the years. With no apparent animal life in the area, the plants were left untouched to grow as it pleased. Most likely this was where New Lordsking did most of its farming, using the dock to fill up boats to send back to town. 

The closer we got, I noticed that the cabins seemed to have no windows. All seemed to be a solid wall on all sides except for a thick door. The mud or tar that had filled in the cracks were long gone. The unprotected wood now gleamed with a greenish black slime from decades of neglect. There also seemed to be deep grooves within the walls, like a knife carved into the wood. We walked up from behind one of the houses, and circled around it to get to the village's center. 

Up to this point, the things I had seen have been weird and strange. Some things have been hard to explain. Some things have even been threatening attempts to make me turn back. This village now became a source of dread. Anything that was wrong with new Lordsking can now be sourced to this village.

Coming around the cabin and into the center, the pillar loomed nearly fifty feet over the hard cracked ground. It watched over the village and lake. It was made of a cement made of crushed sea shells. There was totem atop of the tower, in the shape of a line with five branches sticking out of it. Three branches on one side, two on the other. Once again, it was dark and oozing from the years of being untouched. From a distance, the dark coloring was what hid its most unique feature from us. Approaching the tower, we could see that it was covered in holes. No hole was like another, and never making a perfect circle. It was like the holes found within Swiss cheese. I was amazed that the monument could still stand with all oddly shaped openings within it. At the base, I stepped on what seemed like a twig, making a loud snap as it broke. Looking down, I saw not a twig but a bone. Bone to a person's forearm. A child's forearm.

Looking back up, I realized I was being watched by a skull half buried into the pillar. The grimy hole under it was its mouth, with most of its teeth missing as it gaped open in an attempt to scream. A bubble of cement could be seen within the mouth, extending to the back and down the hidden spine. It was caused when the person gasped and drowned. The thick fluid of grit and seashell would have entered their lungs and cut the inside of their throat and stomach. They would have gagged as their body tried to expel the deadly mixture and try to get in air again to only draw in more cement. It later hardened, leaving an imprint of their insides. 

All the holes were like this. Each hole had a part of a skeleton were somebody had drowned a horrible death within the pillar. A hand missing some fingers in one. The hip and femur within another. Some of the holes even contained the bones of children. Their bodies decayed, leaving behind a hollow shell where the body once laid within after decades of rotting. Worms and bugs possibly helped clean away the dead flesh, but I have not seen any bugs here either. It was possible that there might be a body or two perfectly preserved within.

A tower of macabre and horror stood before us. A monument made of the crushed bodies that were buried alive. The ground surrounding it was just as black from soaking up the years of rot draining from the holes. It was a frighteningly the same color as the wood of the black church. The same symbol as the one on top of the pillar was also imprinted into the cement on all four sides. 

We went to the biggest building next. It looked like what might have been used as a meeting hall. It had no windows like all the rest of the houses. It had a double door entryway made of strong wood held together by iron bars nailed through the top, center, and bottom. On the inside, we could see that the doors could be barred shut with a seven foot long log with notches carved out so it could fit into the iron brackets on the doors and walls on either side. There was no furniture inside, not even a flooring. Just a hard dry clay. There was what seemed to be a stage at the end of the building. The same symbol could be seen hanging on the wall made of wood. This must have been a place of worship.

Oh, I should add that Tony had the brilliance to put a couple MRE packs in the water before we went into the village so that we could have a warm meal. I mention that because we had to get away from the place for a little while. The sudden realization of being within what was once a murderous cult's home was weighing too heavily on us both at that moment. So we decided it was a good time to have lunch.

After eating, Tony decided to strip out of his clothes and dive into the spring to try to figure out its depth. He waded out, commenting that it felt like swimming in a giant bath tub. He seemed to hesitate before submerging underwater. Tony was a man of the water. He loved to swim, making deep sea diving a hobby. I watched as he swam deeper and deeper, holding my breath for as long as I could to try to match his own. He swam back up nearly forty seconds after I had given up. 

“My ears are ringing. I will need my suit and gear to get any accurate measurements,” he said as he got out of the water and dried off. “I got about thirty feet deep I think with plenty more to go, but the current under there was strong. Thought I was goin to end up down river.”

It was about one in the afternoon when Tony got dressed and we continued our exploration. We decided to avoid the village and go over to the other cabins further away back east. It was about another eighty yards passed the village and the pillar of death. The wild crops were thick and plentiful here as well. This was most likely where they farmed and harvested. The first cabin was actually a shed, with antique farming tools inside. 

The second cabin was quite small compared to the others in the village. It, too, had no windows. The door was thick and strong, like that of the meeting hall, with a similar locking bar. The cabin was a single room with a dry clay floor. There was the remains of four cots, two on either side of the wall, and what must have been a shelving for a washing basin on the far wall in between the cots. A hole was dug in the ground where each cot was, possibly where personal belongings were kept in a box. That was all. It dawned on me that this was not a home for families. It was for slaves. 

We walked over to the third cabin that lied on the outskirts of the field and woods. It was another slave's housing. Upon entering, a smell hit our noses. A stench of an animal's musk. There were prints on the floor like that of a horse's hoof, except split like a deer or goat. The inside of the walls had large scrapes like the ones on the outer walls of the other cabins, and whatever was left in furniture was torn and destroyed. In one of the holes, Tony found the remains of a small leather book. 

The leather bonding was scratched and seemingly chewed on. Most of the pages inside it was torn or water damaged. However. Some pages still had some writing still readable. Making a quick scan through what can be read, I discovered that it was a type of journal. No dates were given. Most shocking was that I knew the handwriting. A quick search revealed confirmation when the writer mentions his son, William.

It was Benjamin Crawford's diary!

I was just starting to read one of the few remaining legible pages when the sound of large wings could be heard from above. The wings flapping went quiet. What followed was a heavy object, or creature, hitting the ceiling with a a blow that would have broken through any other house. Splinters of wood and dust rained down from the impact. A growling could be heard, like that of a large dog. Unlike a dog was the sound of the creature walking on the roof. Its feet was not soft or padded, but hard as it stomped on the wood's mossy surface.

The wings were heard again, and Tony ran to shut the door. He had just barely gotten the large beam of wood in place when the door shuttered from the animal's second attack. The hit was before Tony had gotten his hand up. He yelled out in pain as the door crushed the tips of his middle and ring fingers on his left hand. He fell back gripping his injured hand as the door shuddered from another heavy impact. The second hit sounded like it had kicked at the door. 

The stench had gotten stronger. Fresh urine could also be smelled from outside. Sounds of the enraged beast barking filled the air. I could hear it run around to the side of the cabin and kick upon it, trying to find a way inside. The walls shook violently, but the people who built this shack knew how to build a strong structure. The wings were heard again as it seemingly flew off, just to stop and fall down onto the ceiling once more.

Tony had torn the sleeve off his shirt, wrapping it around his two devastated fingers. The white fabric was already a deep crimson from the blood. He stood back up with a grimace as he stared up to the ceiling where the creature seemed to be urinating once more.

“What the hell did we piss off out there?” he asked in ire. 

“Wish I knew,” I replied as I pieced together what I knew of this thing without having actually seen it. “It has a strong odor, barks like a dog, flies with wings, and seems to have cloven hooves the size of a horse. Sound like anything you know?”

Tony gave a smirk before answering.

“Nothing that is not mythical... or maybe biblical?”

The sound of scratching from above told us it was trying to dig its way in. 

We sat down and hurriedly looked over the contents of our gear that was not left in the raft. Tony had a flare gun in his pack. We devised a plan that I regret involved the two of us having to separate. It was determined that it would be better to get to the village's main building, where the structure's wood was certainly stronger and thicker. Problem was it was nearly a hundred yards away, and Tony's knee prevented him from running fast.

Tony started to kick at the back wall, distracting the beast down off the roof to where he was. I quickly, but quietly, moved the beam from its hooks and opened the door. I fired the flare off towards the river and away from the village. The animal barked ferociously and took to the air, its barking trailing after the flare. 

We ran out of the slave cabin. I turned for the village while Tony made his way into the fields. I sprinted for the buildings ahead as fast as I could in the thick grass. I was half way there when I could hear the creature's barks and wings coming closer from behind. I could not dare look back to see what it was for fear of falling. It was then I realized I was not going to make it. I swerved to the left and for the woods, making it into the thick just as I heard the thing flying after me crash into the branches of the live oaks. I still could not stop and look. It could still have been be chasing me on foot, and cypress root knees jutted out like nasty dull daggers waiting for someone to trip and break an ankle. 

I darted my way through the wooden obstacles and vines. Branches grabbed at my hair and scratched at my arms, legs, and face. I could hear the wings just behind me, the creature seeming to be flying around and through the limbs above. It barked at me in a snarling growl like that of an enraged German Shepard as it chased after its prey. 

I burst through some low hanging Spanish moss, and back out into the open now just thirty feet from the cabins. I sprinted through a small alley between two houses. I fell on my side in trying to turn towards the chapel hall to sharply. Falling just then saved my life, for I heard the avian monster streak by so close that I could feel the wind of it nearly grabbing me. The shadow I saw on the ground alone nearly made me stop in my tracks in fright. I scrambled for the large building as I heard the creature crash into another one of the houses from having missed me.

One of the two doors was already closed, thank God. I hurled myself through the entrance, grabbing the open door in an attempt to swing it shut. I kicked it the rest of the way closed. I hurriedly made for the large log used as a locking beam. Oh my God, how did Tony and I forget about how big that beam was. I pulled it over, using my body to guide it onto the first two hooks on the wall and the door. I could hear the barking rapidly approach, and I knew I was not going to make it. My luck was with me for the creature hit the door that I had just gotten latched. 

Through the opening caused from that impact, time slowed down. I think my heart stopped at that moment, for it seemed my whole body froze along with all of my blood. As well as all of reality. In that period of two seconds, my brain preserved a perfect picture of this monster for me to never forget.

It stood about seven feet tall, but could easily be nine for it was crouched. It was a biped, but was not a bird. This was definitely a mammal. Its head was like that of a large collie dog, but its face more like a horse. Its neck was abnormally long, like that of a baby giraffe. Its wings were like that of a giant bat, reaching a possible ten foot wing span. Its hind legs were shaped like that of a crane, with round cloven hooves. Two short fore legs dangled in front of it with dog like paws on the ends of the appendages. I never saw it use those legs, so it’s possible it could run on all four. It was covered in short fur from dark tan to black in coloring that reflected the light of the setting sun. Where there was no fur was onyx black skin like that of its bat like wings. It had a tail like that of an ass. Its ears were like that of a rodent. Its eyes pierced through my own. The eyes were full of blood red veins that seemed painful, with frightful yellow pupils like that of a black cat. 

I hurried to shut the door back. With strength fueled by the new found fear running through me, I lifted the other end of the log and set it into place just as the creature struck the door once more. The door rattled madly as the monster outside tried to desperately get in. I heard it fly up and try to dive at the roof as it did before. The ceiling here was much stronger and hardly shook. 

For that moment, I lost my nerve. I forgot about Tony then as I sunk to my knees and cried. Yes, I cried.
I cried like a child for I just saw the monster in the closet. I just saw the ghoul under the bed. I just pissed off Beelzebub. I now believe in demons for one was outside those doors wanting to kill me.