A Bad Memory (long-form test)

{
  "voice": "adam",
  "source_text": "I've never told this story before.\n\nPartly because it sounds ridiculous, and partly because even now, years later, it still feels more like a memory than a story.\n\nI was fifteen years old when it happened.\n\nMy parents had divorced a few years earlier, and every summer and fall my dad would send me to spend a few weeks with my cousin Jensen in Northern Ontario.\n\nHe was twelve years older than me. Wherever he went, I went. He was the closest thing to a brother, even a father figure, that I ever knew. Looking back, I think those trips meant more to me than they ever did to him.\n\nI didn't have many friends.\n\nI didn't have any siblings.\n\nThose hunting trips were the only thing I looked forward to.\n\nThe day this happened was late November.\n\nMost of the leaves were already down. The woods were gray and brown and open in a way forests only seem to be after autumn has stripped everything away.\n\nWe parked Jensen's truck near an old logging road before daylight and spent most of the morning tracking a buck he'd hit earlier.\n\nWe weren't supposed to be where we were, technically it was private land; Nothing heavily guarded, but definitely somewhere we didn't have permission to hunt.\n\nHowever, it was a place we'd had luck before.\n\nWe'd brought a deer sled with us originally, but eventually left it behind.\n\nThe buck wasn't hit badly and Jensen figured we'd recover it quickly. The sled was just slowing us down.\n\nSo we stashed it near a landmark he knew and kept tracking.\n\nEventually we found the deer.\n\nIt had stumbled down into what I always recall as a dried creek bed, although that isn't really the best description.\n\nIt was more like a shallow trench carved into the forest floor over hundreds of years, just deep enough that you couldn't see very far around the bends.\n\nThe buck was still alive.\n\nBarely.\n\nIts breathing came in strange little spasms.\n\nEvery so often its body would twitch.\n\nJensen stared at it for a few seconds.\n\nThen he sighed.\n\n\"No matter how many times you see it, this part always gets to you.\"\n\nI asked him what he meant.\n\nHe shrugged.\n\n\"Just makes you feel vulnerable.\"\n\nI didn't understand what he meant at the time.\n\nThen he looked around.\n\n\"The sled.\"\n\nWe'd both forgotten about it.\n\nHe swore under his breath.\n\n\"Stay here.\"\n\n\"I'll come with you.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nHe pointed back up the trench.\n\n\"I know exactly where we left it. I'll be faster by myself.\"\n\nThen his expression changed slightly.\n\n\"If anybody comes through here, hide.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because we're not supposed to be here.\"\n\nThat was enough for fifteen year old me.\n\nHe jogged away and disappeared.\n\nThen I was alone.\n\nI've thought about that moment a lot over the years.\n\nThe silence.\n\nI don't know if the woods actually got quieter after he left, or if I just noticed how alone I was.\n\nThe buck kept making those awful sounds.\n\nNot cries.\n\nNot breathing.\n\nSomething in between.\n\nAt the time I didn't really understand what Jensen meant about vulnerability.\n\nBut sitting there alone, watching that animal struggle between life and death, I started to understand.\n\nI hated looking at it.\n\nThe sounds made my stomach twist.\n\nBut I couldn't stop.\n\nI was completely fixated.\n\nWatching its chest rise and fall.\n\nWatching the occasional twitch.\n\nAt fifteen years old, I don't think I'd ever really thought about death before.\n\nNot like that.\n\nNot up close.\n\nWhile I was staring at it, I started hearing something.\n\nAt first I couldn't place it.\n\nThe buck was still making those strange sounds.\n\nEvery now and then a breeze moved through the trees and stirred the leaves.\n\nEverything blended together.\n\nBut there was something else.\n\nAfter a minute or two I realized I was hearing voices.\n\nTwo voices.\n\nThey sounded far away.\n\nNot shouting.\n\nNot talking.\n\nBickering.\n\nLike an old married couple having the same conversation they'd had a thousand times before.\n\nI froze.\n\nMy first thought was that it was the landowners.\n\nMaybe other hunters.\n\nI remember staring toward the bend in the trench and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do.\n\nThe voices got closer.\n\nPanic took over.\n\nI spotted a tree with low branches maybe ten feet away and climbed it as fast as I could.\n\nI don't know how high I got.\n\nFifteen feet maybe.\n\nNot high enough to feel safe.\n\nJust high enough that if somebody wasn't looking for me, they might miss me.\n\nI wedged myself against the trunk and tried not to move.\n\nThe footsteps got closer.\n\nAnd that's when I noticed something that still bothers me.\n\nI could hear two voices.\n\nBut I could only hear one set of footsteps.\n\nCrunch.\n\nCrunch.\n\nCrunch.\n\nI remember trying to convince myself there had to be two people.\n\nMaybe one was walking softer.\n\nBut even at fifteen years old, something about it felt wrong.\n\nThen I saw movement through the trees.\n\nAt first all I could see was skin.\n\nPale skin.\n\nAlmost gray.\n\nMoving between the trunks.\n\nThe footsteps got closer.\n\nThen the figure stepped into view.\n\nIt resembled a woman.\n\nLooking back, she probably wasn't as tall as I remember.\n\nBut at fifteen years old she seemed impossibly tall.\n\nShe was completely naked and barefoot.\n\nThin, but not unhealthy.\n\nOne shoulder sat noticeably lower than the other.\n\nShe walked with a strange limp.\n\nNot the limp of somebody injured.\n\nThe kind that looked permanent.\n\nNecessary.\n\nAs strange as it sounds, she moved efficiently.\n\nWith purpose.\n\nWhatever was wrong with her posture didn't slow her down at all.\n\nHer head was shaved.\n\nNot cleanly.\n\nIt looked like she'd done it with a dull razor.\n\nSmall scabs covered parts of her scalp.\n\nAnd the entire time she was talking.\n\nOr arguing.\n\nI still don't know.\n\nIt was two voices coming from one mouth.\n\nOne voice was deeper.\n\nNot impossibly deep.\n\nIt sounded like a woman trying to imitate a man.\n\nThe other voice sounded more feminine, but flat.\n\nEmotionless.\n\nObedient.\n\nThe deeper voice said:\n\n\"You've been walking for days.\"\n\nThe other replied immediately.\n\n\"I enjoy walking.\"\n\n\"You always say that.\"\n\n\"I enjoy walking.\"\n\nA pause.\n\n\"I enjoy walking.\"\n\nAnother pause.\n\n\"I enjoy walking.\"\n\nShe walked directly toward the deer.\n\nAs though she'd known exactly where it was before she'd ever rounded the bend.\n\nThe deeper voice spoke again.\n\n\"What is this doing here?\"\n\nThe other voice answered.\n\n\"An oasis.\"\n\nShe dropped to her knees beside the buck.\n\nThen lowered her head toward it.\n\nI won't describe everything that happened after that.\n\nPartly because I don't remember all of it.\n\nAnd partly because I don't want to.\n\nI remember the buck jerking once.\n\nThen becoming still.\n\nI remember her biting into its throat.\n\nI remember pressing both hands over my mouth.\n\nMy legs shook so badly I thought the tree would move.\n\nMost of all, I remember feeling like I was going to pass out.\n\nNot from disgust.\n\nFrom fear.\n\nThe kind of fear that makes your body stop feeling like your own.\n\nTo this day I don't know how long I sat there.\n\nTen minutes.\n\nThirty.\n\nAn hour.\n\nI have no idea.\n\nParts of it feel missing.\n\nLike my memory skips.\n\nLike my brain stopped recording and then started again.\n\nAs though some part of it shut down to protect itself from what it was witnessing.\n\nI remember hearing the deeper voice say:\n\n\"You're getting good at this.\"\n\nThe other replied:\n\n\"Like a mountain lion.\"\n\nThen later:\n\n\"Like a mountain lion.\"\n\nAnd again:\n\n\"Like a mountain lion.\"\n\nOver and over.\n\nAs though she was reminding herself.\n\nOr practicing.\n\nAt some point she unfolded a burlap sack she'd been carrying.\n\nI hadn't noticed it at first.\n\nInside was what looked like random junk.\n\nSticks.\n\nRocks.\n\nGarbage.\n\nA few things I couldn't identify.\n\nI remember seeing a feather.\n\nAnd something that looked like roadkill.\n\nThen she pulled out a sharp stone.\n\nNot a knife.\n\nA stone.\n\nUsing it, she opened the deer's abdomen with surprising precision.\n\nShe removed the stomach and intestines and set them aside.\n\nThen she lowered her head into the opening she'd made.\n\nI remember looking away.\n\nWhen I looked back, there was blood on her face.\n\nA little while later she picked up the organs and carried them off into the trees.\n\nI heard rustling.\n\nThen silence.\n\nWhen she returned she folded the burlap sack under one arm.\n\nGrabbed the deer by a hoof with the other hand.\n\nAnd that's the part that still haunts me.\n\nThe part I can't explain away.\n\nThe part that makes it impossible for me to dismiss the entire thing as a dream.\n\nAs she started dragging the deer away, the deeper voice said:\n\n\"She doesn't like being watched while she eats.\"\n\nA pause.\n\nThen the other voice answered:\n\n\"I don't like being watched while I eat.\"\n\nShe kept dragging.\n\nThe deeper voice said:\n\n\"It's rude to watch someone eat.\"\n\nAnd the other replied:\n\n\"I don't like being watched while I eat.\"\n\nBack and forth.\n\nAgain.\n\nAnd again.\n\nAnd again.\n\nThe voices slowly faded as she disappeared around the bend.\n\nI never saw her again.\n\nBut I could hear them long afterward.\n\nI stayed in that tree.\n\nI don't know how long.\n\nRealistically Jensen couldn't have been gone more than half an hour.\n\nThe sled wasn't far away.\n\nAnd he knew those woods better than the animals that lived in them.\n\nI remember sweating through my clothes.\n\nI remember my legs cramping.\n\nI remember being absolutely certain that if I climbed down, she'd be waiting for me.\n\nEventually I heard footsteps again.\n\nAnd something being dragged.\n\nFor a second I thought she'd come back.\n\nThe panic hit me so hard I almost blacked out again.\n\nThen I saw Jensen.\n\nDragging the sled behind him.\n\nI don't think I've ever felt relief like that before.\n\nHe immediately knew something was wrong.\n\nThe deer was gone.\n\nThe blood was there.\n\nSome fur was there.\n\nAnd a drag trail disappeared down the trench.\n\nI called his name.\n\nMy voice cracked so badly I barely recognized it.\n\nThe relief on his face lasted maybe half a second.\n\nI practically fell out of the tree trying to get down.\n\nWhen my feet hit the ground, my legs gave out completely.\n\nI was shaking so badly I could barely stand.\n\nJensen dropped the sled.\n\nI heard the safety on his rifle click off as he became aware of the situation and started scanning the woods around us.\n\nIt's a sound I'd heard countless times.\n\nBut something about hearing it then was different.\n\nFor the first time all day, whatever had happened felt real.\n\nDangerously real.\n\nHe grabbed my shoulders.\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\nI couldn't answer.\n\nHe looked around.\n\nThen noticed disturbed leaves nearby.\n\nStill scanning the woods, he walked over and kicked through them.\n\nA second later he froze.\n\nUnderneath were the deer's organs.\n\nHe looked back at me.\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\nI couldn't answer.\n\n\"A mountain lion?\"\n\nNothing.\n\n\"Was it a mountain lion? A bear? Coyotes?\"\n\nI opened my mouth.\n\nFinally managed:\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nSomething changed in his expression.\n\nNot just fear.\n\nBut understanding.\n\nHe nodded once.\n\nPicked up the sled.\n\nAnd said:\n\n\"We need to leave. Right now.\"\n\nThe drive home was almost completely silent.\n\nA few times he tried asking what I'd seen.\n\nEvery time I tried to answer, the words died in my throat.\n\nIt sounded ridiculous.\n\nEven to me.\n\nEventually he stopped asking.\n\nThat night I barely slept.\n\nEvery time I closed my eyes I heard the voices.\n\nThe leaves crunching.\n\nThe endless repetition.\n\nLike a mountain lion.\n\nLike a mountain lion.\n\nLike a mountain lion.\n\nThe next morning I came downstairs and found Jensen sitting with his father and two men I'd never seen before.\n\nThe conversation stopped the second they noticed me.\n\nThe two men nodded their goodbyes and left.\n\nMy uncle came over and sat beside me.\n\nHe put a hand on my shoulder.\n\nI still remember how cold his hand felt.\n\nSomething that would normally have comforted me only made my stomach drop.\n\nHe glanced toward Jensen.\n\nThen back at me.\n\n\"We love having you here, Kennedy.\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"I think this should probably be your last summer up here.\"\n\nI asked why.\n\nNobody answered.\n\nAfter a few seconds he squeezed my shoulder and said:\n\n\"Some places aren't meant for everybody.\"\n\nThat was the last summer I ever spent with my cousin.\n\nJensen still lives somewhere out there.\n\nWe don't talk much anymore.\n\nLife happened.\n\nYears passed.\n\nA few years ago we ended up on the phone together.\n\nJust catching up.\n\nTalking about work.\n\nFamily.\n\nNormal things.\n\nThen there was a long pause.\n\nAnd out of nowhere he said:\n\n\"Can I ask you something?\"\n\nI knew immediately what he was talking about.\n\n\"It wasn't really a mountain lion, was it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nSilence.\n\nThen:\n\n\"It wasn't an animal at all, was it?\"\n\nI stared at the wall for a long time.\n\nFinally I said:\n\n\"No.\"\n\nAnother silence.\n\nLonger this time.\n\nThen he quietly said:\n\n\"I thought so.\"\n\nAnd that was the end of the conversation.\n\nThere's one detail that still bothers me more than anything else.\n\nMore than the voices.\n\nMore than the deer.\n\nMore than the fact that I still don't know what I saw.\n\nWhen she first entered the creek bed, before she noticed the deer, before the conversation started, the deeper voice said something.\n\nAt the time it didn't mean anything to me.\n\nI forgot about it for years.\n\nBut recently I've remembered it.\n\nThe voice called her by a name.\n\nNot a nickname.\n\nNot a person's name.\n\nAt least not any name I've ever heard before.\n\nI can't explain it.\n\nIt just sounded old.\n\nLike a word that had existed for a very long time.\n\nLike a word that had presence. A word that was aware of itself, that was listening when it was spoken.\n\nI won't write it here.\n\nBecause I still remember exactly how it sounded.\n\nAnd for some reason, even now, I don't like saying it out loud.",
  "subcategory": "horror-longform",
  "source_title": "A Bad Memory",
  "source_author": "Affectionate_Let_172",
  "tone_emphasis": "slow burn dread-heavy",
  "duration_seconds": 240,
  "source_subreddit": "scarystories"
}