There was a small path, through the bull rushes were driven down it was about her size; if it had been her, running the hounds of hell were upon her heels. She was growing tired even though she was walking in a slow easy pattern through this jungle of bulrushes, cattails and willow whisks. This was where she had seen her run from. She would have gotten even half way there.
Not running for my life, she chose to walk the route to where she had come. She found a section of woods that looked as though someone had recently driven a car through it, there was an expensive woman's pearl earring, and a camera lens beside where this car or truck’s path ended. This was where the path began.
Judging by the spillage the vehicle ran into the lagoon. Looked down the route the car had tokened. It looked to have driven down a dirt road to get here; it would or could go on for miles
The water was black, with moss growing across it. It was a swamp’s edge. On this edge there was no moss, for twenty yard in semi-circle from its edge. There was a mass of plankton on its surface everywhere but here. There was nothing. That She could see, that could have caused this.
Just where the breakage the major portion of the person who was fleeing began her run. She found a Nikon camera, and a briefcase thrown into the brush, hanging there, like a spider’s prey in a net twigs and moss covered rocks. Found a boot print, in the muck where the run began from the tiny trail to here. Where there was a huge path ten feet wide, where the trees and brush had been over turned and snapped like dried leaves beneath a hard soled shoe.
She had crawl to reach the camera and the briefcase that might explain what she saw .However she did not think so. Ended at the edge of the lagoon; the bulrushes were broken as if they had been run over, by something that was being chased. The branches and roots tore away from her body; her garments were ripped to shreds. She looked as though she had fallen and been away from a rural setting for days. Covered in mud and brush.
The moss that covered the lagoon was not in any way there. Something had climbed out of the lagoon taking with it, what covered the water. There were things that she did not recognize what she was seeing on the bark and wood.
Now, She knew She was not the only one here doing this. She took the bag to her room, popped the camera open to look at the thing, that whoever owned this thing was interested in.
Just where the breakage the major portion of the person who was fleeing began her run. She finding a Nikon camera, and a briefcase thrown into the brush, hanging there, like a spider’s web about its prey from some twigs and the case were resting on a moss covered rock. Seeing a boot print, in the muck where the run began from the tiny trail to here. A hiking boot jutting out of the lagoon, its base was filled with brackish water.
Now, she knew she was not the only one here doing this. She took the bag to my room, popped the camera open to look at the thing, that whoever owned this thing was interested in.
After she had made her hotel room into a darkroom. Hanging garbage bags in front of the windows, stuffing a sweater beneath the crack in the door's base. Getting the developing fluid from my car's trunk and a tray to allow the film to be developed. Hanging a portion of a bobbin of wool over the bath tub. To hang the pictures that was on the film.
In the film she was able to see a group of beings that looked vaguely human, sacrificing a naked woman on a stone. She was impressed. She pondered who this belonged to. She could ill afford to show what she had seen here. On this camera. She wondered as to who the woman in the film was. There was no movie set anywhere near here.
There was also a picture of a being that was indescribable. It had the tail and body of an insect, but had an upper toe so of a woman as it had breasts, and six arms, a head which was made up of a mouth of a human and compound eyes for its eyes, antennae's that rose from just above its eyes. The face had shoulder length hair.
She was afraid of what she was seeing? She knew she had seen it too. This was all the evidence to sell the story she was not sent to find here. But that was not the story she was supposed to be writing. John can be damned; if she is to turn my nose up at this story which was dropped into my lap. It had an angle that she always wanted to write about.
She lifted up the briefcase, shook it. There was something heavy in the bag. It was not hugely heavy. But it contained something that had some weight to it. It had been locked. She drew out a dagger, to pry open the case.