by Bryan Kwasnik

First published on the NoSleep subbreddit September 2019.
The premise of the subreddit isto post a scary story as if it were truly happening to you and you were seeking advice or just to let others know before it was too late.

Part 1

There's a road in my town called Rabbits Run. In any other place it would be cute and whimsical, but I try to avoid it at all cost. Year round the street is plastered with roadkill. The road cuts through a thick forest on the edge of town, and is completely absent of street lights. I hate driving it, but it's the quickest way to the highway that leads to my job. I try to give myself enough extra time to go the long way, but every now and then I’m forced to take Rabbits Run. 

There are signs posted at each end of the road warning of deer crossing and animal crossings of all sort, but it does little to prevent the carnage. Late spring is always the worst. People in town have explained it away as mating season getting the critters all worked up. Lately I'm not so sure.

I've had to drive through this stretch several nights this month. Each time, my headlights would illuminate the red clumps dotting the road followed by the horrible crunch under my wheels. There are so many, it's impossible to avoid them. The stench is even worse. I try to hold my breath, but never make it all the way through.

The roadkill is mostly small animals—likely rabbit or squirrels, but larger corpses too—ground hogs or skunks maybe. It's hard to tell what they are at this point really. Sometimes there's even the odd crow that didn't fly away in time while feeding on the remains of some other unlucky critter.

Oddly enough, I've never actually hit something that was still alive. I've only seen the mess after countless other cars must have squashed them to bits. That was until last night.

I made the turn onto Rabbits Run a little after 10pm, while saying a little prayer that the street would be clear. At first things were fine. I did swerve around what looked like a raccoon but other than that the road was empty. The road winded through the roads before coming to a straightaway. The brush was thick on either side, stretching out into the shoulder. I slowed down despite my brain screaming to drive faster and get the hell out. I kept my eyes darting back and forth, ready to slam on the brakes at the first sign of movement.

I noticed a shadow pass behind me, and looked into the rearview mirror. There was only the dark road behind me, no other cars that I could see. When I glanced back to the road there was nothing I could do. SMACK. I can’t get the sound out of my head. It was awful—heavy and wet, the sound of someone crushing a million bugs, or maybe throwing them into a blender. I stomped down on the brake and tried to catch my breath.

Whatever I hit it was big, maybe 4 feet tall. All I could think of was that it was someone’s kid. That I had just become a murderer and ruined a family’s life forever. I reached for my phone to dial 9-1-1, but paused. It could have been anything really, maybe a small deer. I had to know for certain before confessing to manslaughter.

I clicked the flashlight app on my phone and exited the car. A smear of red flowed backwards form my wheels. I followed it with the light to where the body was surely lying. I gasped. There wasn’t a body—there were bodies. Ten or so small round clumps of meat and hair and bone. The biggest clump looked like it might have been a possum or something—it seemed to have a tail of sorts. But there was nothing that could have been standing 4ft tall. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

I took a step closer, covering my mouth to avoid the horrible, rotten stench of the carnage. Flies were already buzzing around the mess. It looked as if it had been there for days. I shone the light to the side of the road, thinking maybe something crawled away, but there wasn’t any sign of it.

I breathed a sigh of relief and begun walking back to my car. But I stopped when I heard a strange sound. A kind of plop, plop, plop like a leaky faucet. I shone my light and saw one of the clumps was pulsing it. I thought I was imagining it, but it didn’t stop. It kept moving up and down, like a beating heart. I wanted to run, but I must have been in shock. Finally, I started to back away, my shoes shuffling against the gravel on the pavement. I bumped into the back of my car when the thing burst open, spraying bits of flesh across the road.

I jumped in my car and raced home. I wasn’t able to sleep at all last night, and I’m still trying to process what I saw. Whatever I hit, it definitely wasn’t an animal.

Part 2

I'm not sure how to properly explain the events since my last post. I'm afraid this one will seem even more crazed and paranoid than the last. Maybe I should be institutionalized—who knows? Whatever the case may be I couldn't keep it all in anymore. Sleep has been erratic at best and plagued with nightmares. Barely have an appetite. I avoid leaving the house if I can and lost my job because of it.

About a week after the incident on Rabbits Run, I was hanging out with my friend Dave. He could tell something was up with me, and I finally conceded to tell him the story. He was laughing through most of it, so sure that I was fucking with him. I assured him I wasn’t.

“People don’t just explode into chunks of meat like that,” he told me. “You were seeing things.”

I told him I hoped he was right. He really couldn’t believe I was so shaken by something like this. He asked if I would be raving about animal abductions next. I got up to leave, and he tried to stop me.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Why don’t we drive over there now and take a look? Would that make you feel better?”

“I’m not going back there,” I said.

“It’s still light out,” Dave said. “I’ll bring a baseball bat if it will make you feel better.”

I shook my head. “I don’t care; I’m never driving that road again.”

Dave dropped the subject and I went home. A deep sense of embarrassment washed over me as I tried to fall asleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Or maybe I should have taken up his offer and gone to see if any of this was even real. It was late, I could have been mistaken. I hoped I was, but the image was still all too vivid in my memory.

A few more days went by. I mostly stayed in my bedroom, sending applications to temp jobs that I knew I could drive without using Rabbits Run. It was late afternoon on a Friday when I got a text from Dave’s girlfriend, Sarah.

Do u know were Dave is?

My stomach was instantly in a knot. No, I replied. I waited a few moments and then asked if everything was okay.

No one knows where he is. Getting really worried.

I pull out my phone and call Dave’s number. It went straight to voicemail. I got up and started pacing around my room. What if he did go to check out Rabbits Run? What if something weird really was going on there? Guilt washed over me. I was the one who told him about it, it’s my fault if he got hurt.

I finally worked up enough courage to go look for him. There was at most two hours of sunlight left. I took a backpack and packed it with a flashlight, a first aid kit, and a knife from the kitchen. I grabbed my keys and walked out to my car where it had sat for over a week.

I started the car and gripped the wheel tightly. I psyched myself up again before eventually putting it in drive and heading out. My hair stood on end as I made the turn onto Rabbits Run. It was a strange feeling—panic coursed through my nerves, yet the scenery felt unreal, like a dream. It had the urge to flee mixed in with a sense of nothing was actually happening—like I was watching it in a movie or something.

Half way through my grip on the steering wheel relaxed, and I assured myself I had worried over nothing. Dave was kinda flakey sometimes, and clumsy. He probably dropped his phone somewhere and had no idea anyone was looking for him. My heart sank when I rounded a bend and saw his truck parked on the side of the road.

Black skid marks curved across the lanes from where the tires now sat. Whatever he swerved to miss wasn’t anywhere in the road. I pulled over and looked around the area. Rolling down my window, I called my friend’s name. Nothing. I tried honking my horn a few times, but still no reply.

Taking a deep breath, I exited the car. The front bumper of Dave’s truck was dented, but there wasn’t any blood or anything. It could have always been dented for all I knew, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

The truck was empty, doors unlocked. I looked off into the woods and swallowed hard. Just go in a straight line and come right back. Don’t change directions, just there and back. Nice and easy. I took the knife out of the bag and held it tight. It made me feel a little better as I pushed my way through the overgrown pricker-bushes and into the woods.

It was darker than I expected, and after a few feet I opted to use the flashlight I brought. I stayed true to my plan, slowly proceeding straight ahead. There were no trails out here as far as I knew, and the way was cluttered with roots and stones. I was just ready to turn back around when I heard a rustle to my left. I shone my flashlight over there, but couldn’t see anything. Then it was behind me. I turned fast, but again there was no sign of anything. Not even a branch twitching. Once more I heard it behind me and knew I had to leave.

I started running back towards my car. The sound followed me on my right, so I started to veer more to the left, trying to angle myself to the road and not further into the woods. It sounded so close and I looked over my shoulder to try and see. My feet caught an exposed root and I tumbled forward, face first into a pile of rotten leaves.

I pushed myself up and wiped the dirt from my mouth. Then I froze. My head reeled; I had to press against a tree to keep from collapsing. If I had eaten anything that day, I’m sure I would have thrown up.

Before me was a small clearing. A ring of birch trees loomed over the flat dirt-covered ground. Red, chunks of flesh were splattered across the dirt, some even stuck to the pale bark of the trees. Thick, oozing blood seeped down the sides and pooled around each piece of flesh. Whatever it was must have been huge. I could see clumps of hair and bone among the gore—but it was impossible to say what it was. It looked like the mess I found in the road weeks back. But how do you get roadkill in the middle of the woods?

I steadied my breathing and soon was ready to stand unassisted. But, before I could run back to my car, I heard a buzzing sound. It was coming from the dirt a foot away from me. I picked up a stick and poked around there, before hitting something solid. I leaned over and picked up what turned out to be a cell phone. I brushed over the dirt and could see Dave’s girlfriend’s name flashing on the screen.

I don’t quite remember everything after that. I know I made it to my car, because I can see it parked in the street. But, I don’t remember driving back to my house. Dave’s phone is sitting on my dresser. It’s still going over now and then—I silenced it but the screen keeps lighting up with names of his family and friends. I don’t know what to do. I'm considering running away, but I don't have much money saved up and wouldn't know where to go. I know it sounds awful, but right now I just hope the battery dies soon.

Part 3

It wasn’t long before someone reported the car. The police supposedly searched the area, but if they found what I had stumbled across that day, they didn’t say. I was questioned briefly along with a few other friends. They say they have no leads. I still have the cell phone, but the battery has (thankfully) died since. The ringing was giving me anxiety. I even started breaking out into hives. My arms are bright red and sore from my constant scratching.

I was ready to put it all behind me and forget everything that happened—the fear alone was enough to quell the guilt. I told him not to go. I warned him, but he chose to go anyway. It doesn't matter now. There’s nothing I can do. I kept telling myself this as I lay awake at night scratching my arms and legs, struggling with fits of panic attacks and delirium. If I could just sleep I'd feel so much better.

But as the nights stretched on another feeling crawled its way into my weakened state. A pull. I knew it was insane, but the urge only grew. I had to go back. For Dave's sake or for my own, I didn’t know. This wasn’t something I wanted closure on, but the pull grew and grew. It was like a force of nature. Something deep in my reptilian brain unlocking some buried instinct. 

I did my best to ignore, but yesterday I gave in. I went back to Rabbits Run Road.

They had since moved Dave’s car. I parked where I guessed it had been. Or rather I didn’t really have to guess. Something told me I was in the right place. The sky was grey and overcast, but the air was warm. The road was clear of roadkill, and had the situation been different I could have been on a pleasant stroll alongside some idyllic country road. Instead, I was there being led by some invisible thread. 

I pushed my way past the branches and underbrush. The breeze picked up a bit as I went—fallen leaves danced around me. It was refreshing at first, but the deeper in I walked the colder it became. Soon, it felt like winter. The icy wind carried a horrid stench. I held a hand over my nose and mouth as I continued. 

Minutes later I came to a clearing and gasped. Even thinking about it is hard. It was like ever warning in my body was going off. Every survival instinct had clicked on, yet was still overpowered but whatever magnetism had brought me here.

The clearing was almost perfectly circular—impossibly so. And in the center was a wide hole. Just looking at it, I could tell it shouldn’t have been there. There was nothing natural about it.  The ground surrounding the hole was void of any grass or shrubs, but had pockets of slimy mushrooms here and there. Chills ran up my spine as a surge of wind erupted up out of the earth.

I wanted to run, but instead took a step closer. And then another. I cursed myself aloud as I approached the hole. The wind roared and whistled and sounded like it was saying secret things in a harsh throaty voice. I was at the edge now, but I continued to stare straight ahead, over the opening. I didn't want to look down. Even without seeing I had that feeling you get as you round the top of a roller coaster—that anticipation of free fall.

Minutes pasted and I finally glanced downward. The hole spiraled down into the darkness and continued on forever for all I could tell. The walls were dark with splotches of deep reds and yellows. It was mostly smooth apart from lumps here and there. At first I thought they were rocks or roots or something like that. But then they moved.

Slowly the mounds slithered up the wall towards me. Every now and then sunlight would catch on the moist flesh as it wriggled about. The longer I stared, the more movement I noticed—a slow squirming mob climbing up, into the daylight.

Some looked like giant, fat slugs. Others had jagged bones jutting out of them. Some of the bones were long enough to be arms or legs, but stuck out at odd angles. They were fused together at feeble joints letting the bones flap in the air as the wind blew. I could swear a few had long thin tentacles hanging down or slapping against the wall to help pull it up. I could see no eyes or mouths of any kind, but the flesh would shudder and move in ways that hinted at such senses. The more I watched the more terrible their forms appeared to be, and the less I trusted my eyes and mind of what I was seeing. I tried to reason it away, but the horrible things kept crawling and slithering and creeping higher and higher.   

The nearest thing was only six feet down. I could see its insides throb and twist under the juicy red skin, like it was reaching for me. Even without limbs, I knew that’s what it was doing. I knew what it wanted. It hungered for me.

Finally, this impending collision broke my trance. I sprinted back to my car. Branches cut at my already irritated skin. When I made it back to my car, I drove off. I don’t know if it was the fear or some kind of highway hypnosis, because next thing I knew I had driven three hours down the interstate. I should have kept driving, I know it, but I turned off at the next exit and pulled into a motel. Maybe some time away will help me figure things out.

I can barely look at myself in the mirror anymore. My skin is so red and inflamed. And oh how it itches! That alone seems to distract me from the pull, urging me back to that abyss. But I don't know how much longer I can resist.