Chapel Black: The Marrow Among The Meadow

He made a pit, and dug it, and is fallen into the ditch which he made. His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon his own pate.

Authority: California Department of Justice Office of the Attorney General.

Acting Unit: The Violent Crime Investigative Support Section (VCISS)

Inmate Earl Greene, alias the Emerald Hills Killer, has submitted a plea, facilitated by his state-appointed public defenders. The state is willing to revoke the execution order by lethal injection in exchange for undisclosed information regarding undiscovered bodies. Consequently, Inmate Greene will be relocated from High-Level detention under the Department of Corrections to the custody of cold case services.

While Inmate Greene has not exhibited any erratic or hostile behavior towards staff or fellow inmates in the administrative housing sections, diligent monitoring is advised at all times. The Park Services will arrange off-road accommodations to facilitate the recovery of the aforementioned bodies.

August 5th. The Emerald Hills. North of Yosemite.

The chains dangled loosely from the frigid handcuffs as Earl Greene stirred awake from the damp soil. Two lifeless investigators lay scattered, their presence unnoticed as he slipped away undetected. Although he couldn't claim credit for his newfound freedom.

Another had carried out the grim task while he regained consciousness. A drunk driver had collided with the Department of Justice's transportation van.

The agreement had been straightforward: Earl would disclose the hidden graves of vanished hikers to the marshals in exchange for escaping death row at Pelican Bay. The exhilaration of the kill had always intoxicated him, akin to the allure of the strawberry milkshake that federal agents had enticed him with in return for his cooperation. In the heart of the woods, Earl felt more alive than ever before. The sound of dew-laden leaves crunching beneath his boots sent electrifying sensations racing across his flesh.

Yet, a sinister pact with the forest devil now made Earl yearn for the solace of his prison cell. The once picturesque backdrop of the trees now melded into an eerie, indistinct blur. Amidst the infinite expanse of green, the man in the orange jumpsuit screamed desperately, yearning to be noticed.

The ecstasy of the woods transformed into fear-soaked perspiration as the primal horrors of the wilderness surged through his veins. In this moment, he finally comprehended the terror his victims must have endured as he led them astray from the trails. Did time elongate into hours or reduce to mere minutes? In purgatory, did such a distinction even hold significance?

"You've sated the void," whispered the trees. Earl quickened his pace.

"You're a courier, just like me," a voice hissed.

"Who's there?" Greene's sociopathic tendencies resurfaced. "I'm not one to trifle with, you asshole!" Yet, even as he spoke, doubt tainted his voice.

"You can run forever, but you'll always return. I know this all too well," the voice taunted. 

Greene chewed upon these thoughts, tormented by his own terror. The densely wooded area, though the source of his dread, cast an eerie atmosphere around him. Deep within his consciousness, he recognized those menacing creatures lurking beyond human reach, higher in the food chain. Should he manage to placate them, perhaps they would spare him.

As Earl dragged unsuspecting wanderers over the soft earth beneath him, he felt a chilling gaze scrutinizing his every move. Uncertain if the eyes belonged to a divine or diabolical presence, he shuddered at the thought.

Dark forms stirred within the haunting shadows; trees murmured secrets to ancient beings that inhabited this ghostly labyrinth. Amidst colossal trees and never-ending groves threatening to engulf him entirely, a creeping desire to wholly abandon himself emerged from within.

In contrast, death row appeared akin to an otherworldly sanctuary. So why did Earl embrace this opportunity to return? His deepest fears did not stem from perishing in this forsaken land where his soul would be eternally entwined with the spirits of those whose lives he had extinguished.

No, it was the very embodiment of that mysterious force lurking within the dense pines that haunted Earl endlessly. As these sinister shadows coalesced and formed a menacing figure, he realized that this haunted wilderness would become his final dwelling. Condemned to an endless game of cat and mouse with this malevolent apparition, Earl could only anticipate his impending eternal doom.

Forever would have to wait as another set of prints came whispering. The apparition appeared between the verdant and the abyss. Earl seized a lifeless twig. A roar of flames and embers erupted from a metallic receptacle. The call of the predator. Earl's father once shared an elderly adage that fathers would pass around in the woods. When the hunting path falls silent, so must you.

If the void beckons with your name, you shun the enticement. The green and brown streaks enveloping the figure dismantled the human form. The scrub and netting melded into the eternal meadows. No scent of soap or tobacco betrayed his stride. He materialized at the corner of one's vision, never from behind. Each entity possessed that electric sixth sense. The hunter aimed his rifle at Earl, the hangman amidst the tormented.

"You know where the lad is."

Earl's muscles betrayed his curiosity, transforming from fear to astonishment.

This was not the man who set him free. That person emanated a black vapor in his presence. Earl saw the same peculiar phenomenon when looking in the mirror in his cell. The man before him possessed a rustic halo. He dropped a photograph at the feet of the condemned.

The frosty blue eyes and tousled waves of hair depicted a young boy, peering back at Inmate Greene. The crooked grin would require orthodontic braces, and the man was willing to put in overtime to provide them.

Each missed birthday and the denial of today resurfaced ceaselessly. The cycle commenced when the young tyke vanished six years prior. Flyers were made, human chains stormed across the verdant meadows in search of him. Strangers became more binding than blood during the daily quest for the child. As the fervor diminished, so did the well-wishes and hollow words of comfort. People could not meet the man's gaze, for they knew the truth, the boy was no more.

"The investigators insisted you were present during his disappearance." The hunter's composure, once unshakable, shattered under the immense weight. He had practiced this monologue incessantly for years.

Earl scrutinized the young man's face, tracing its contours. Piercing blue eyes and a faint scar beneath the chin's edge captured his attention. He pondered if it was an accident or a fabricated tale meant to silence inquisitive neighbors. It was a futile endeavor, as most people viewed children as possessions and laborers. Earl could attest to that.

Earl reveled in the exhilaration of a new kill. The chase and anticipation while remaining unseen ignited his passion. As the man approached, Earl noticed his distinguishing traits: a brown beard prematurely graying, perhaps due to stress or heredity - the verdict was unclear. The hellhound insignia confirmed what Earl had already deduced from this perilous enigma; the man was once a purveyor of destruction.

The commonality among these men is that they only seek justification for their actions. Battle-hardened individuals return from war, eventually craving a new adversary to conquer—an endeavor that often comes at the expense of domestic tranquility. The hunter gestured with his weapon for Earl to proceed into the haunted woods.

The woodsman never allowed the barrel to come too close for Earl to snatch it, nor did he let it stray out of sight for him to make a break for it.

This man could have spared countless resources on state-provided meals and court-appointed attorney appeals with a single bullet acquired from a suburban sporting goods store. But no, he sought something beyond what a bullet could offer – at least not yet. This man yearned for redemption. "You're Bobby Moss's father," Earl recollected those icy hands inching towards his neck as the judge pronounced his fate. Had the father seized the bailiff's revolver, they might have shared a cell block.

"Did you pay this much attention when Bobby Jr. was alive?" Earl inquired. The reaction was flawless; Earl needed the veteran to slip up before they reached their ominous destination.

"Make one more sound that doesn't belong and we'll see how talkative you become." The boy had been fondly called Bobby by those who cherished him. "It's Robert!" He uttered with an icy rage. Robert Moss Sr. "You shall address him as such, if you must speak of him at all."

Robert Moss Jr. was the epitome of an All-American youth who could have found his face on a Wheaties box if it weren't for the sinister secret he kept: he rejected the journey his father designed for him. He longed to escape to Berkeley, immersing himself in a bohemian lifestyle where he crafted art and poetry. His hands yearned to create masterpieces rather than clutch a ball.

Robert Sr. never laid hands on the boy again, not after that harrowing incident that almost went too far. He felt like another person was responsible for those deeds. That's what he convinced the counselor, just to get his son back. The tension mounted, brewing like a teapot that shrieked with the intensity of a ballistic missile. Bobby Jr., overwhelmed, abandoned it all to seek refuge in the haunting woods and become part of a cult.

"Take me to the weathered stones and the long abyss, where the skulls murmur our name," he demanded.

The hairs on Earl's neck bristled with unease as he recognized the sinister location from his childhood. He had convinced himself it was merely a figment of his imagination, a haunting dream.

The group home social workers had persuaded him that it was nothing more than a nightmare after park rangers discovered him wandering when he attempted to flee the first time. The attendant's unnerving gaze lingered on him too long as he unpacked his sleeping bag, unearthing another chilling memory that he sought to suppress by freeing tormented souls within these deadly woods.

Venturing deeper into the foreboding wilderness, they abandoned all familiarity and embraced the merciless unknown. The concept seemed absurd as they distanced themselves from modern amenities like fast food and WiFi. Both men felt a twisted sense of belonging in this cruel environment where violence bred more brutality. Nature's ruthless clutches grasped at faint traces of life as deer fawns instinctively prepared to flee the moment they entered the world, while most humans lacked such innate survival instincts. Feral camaraderie thrived here unlike anything experienced behind eastern bloc walls or in mundane nine-to-five cubicles.

The unsettling tension dissipated slightly as they passed black markings etched into the trees like ominous hexes. "We're not alone here," Earl whispered, sensing a malevolent presence as Robert's fingers trembled around the rifle trigger. He contemplated making an escape, noticing Robert's shaking hands and his gradually fading vision. One of Robert's last comforting images would be hearing Earl Greene's lifeless body crash to the ground. Earl couldn't bear the thought of perishing in such a terrifying place, wishing instead for a prisoner's lonely grave overlooking endless expanses of pacific blue waves.

This nightmarish terrain was a snare for souls, trapping ghosts within its spectral grasp as they sprinted for miles upon miles until finally collapsing at the very spot where death consumed them. This place was home to ancient beings that even the devil revered, where spirits dared not tread.

The black spokes on deer skulls matched the black markings on Earls victims. Podcast hosts claimed it was a calling card. Earl demanded to let it be known it was an invocation. The emerald meadows wouldn’t let him leave unless he left without a tribute. 

The once-vibrant yellow flames on withered candles had long since transformed into haunting wisps of smoke, mirroring the guilt-laden memories of those who remained. This eerie place was frozen in time, where the absence of a body left an unsettling maybe – a living phantom to torment those left behind with hope. For five years Robert frequented this ominous shrine before he vowed to bring the man to justice. Yet, justice was not to be found, only a void amidst the eerie greenery.

Both men were drawn to a freshly lit candle as its sinister puff of smoke caught their attention. "We're not alone." Robert crouched down to touch it, noticing that hope and prayers had all but ceased at the shrine. It provided Earl with the perfect opportunity to ambush him. The two violent adversaries struggled for control of the rifle in their possession, ultimately determining whose fate would be sealed when the trigger was pulled. A thunderous cacophony of smoke and ash resounded from the fired bullet, their struggle intensifying.

As if in slow motion, both men plummeted downward into the dark abyss, falling endlessly with blurred visions of rocks and soil embracing them in their jade prison. Their descent came to an abrupt halt upon impact with a sickening wet thud. Robert's body found itself skewered on an unnaturally sharp wooden stake as if positioned by a being out of time. "For what it's worth...I didn't take your boy." As his blood seeped into the earth below him, he knew better than to attempt removing himself from his torment.

As Robert's vision dimmed, he was gripped by a disturbing realization, scraping the looming shadow of death from his eyes. Ominous black symbols stained the trees while skulls embellished with sticks and feathers testified to the haunted land draped in horror. "You must reach the top of that hill before you bleed to death, beyond those ancient stones," Earl cautioned, a tinge of sympathy coloring his words. "Perhaps you'll be one of the lucky few."

Earl shared a foreboding exchange with the inky void as his gaze fell upon an eerie, spectral figure materializing from the abyss. Spawned by torment and resentment, the phantom embodied both deer and tangled thicket motifs. A jagged stone blade penetrated Earl's flesh, and the murderer's eyes locked onto his newfound disciple's. A singular message resonated: "You are my gift."

"You are my escape from this putrid darkness and these accursed meadows," murmured the ghostly entity. Until the pit's restless occupant found solace, he was bound to remain. Earl's mind retraced time to when he first stumbled upon the fugitive from their encampment.

Hidden among the verdant growth, he discovered an ominous soil with a blend of terror and allure. Entrancing whispers extended silent yet potent invitations, vowing his mind would be cleansed from its multitude of voices—provided he paid a price. "You shall witness our whispers amongst these haunted meadows."

“Sovereign of the Earth, Ruler of the Grove, accept my offerings laid at your shrine.

Appease me, O Lord of Beasts and Feasts; let my bones join those whispering.”

As if chanting their own last rites, both beast-like beings and condemned men echoed these words.

“Fulfill my desire; escort me to the scorched stone where we'll rekindle the pyre. Grant your benediction, bestow upon me my quarry.”

He cast the convicted into the pit, observing as the man near the stump struggled and managed to aim his weapon at the acolyte. For a fleeting moment, the glassy threat in the man's eyes dissolved, replaced by an unsettling black and green aura exuding from within the acolyte. The stag mask’s hollow slits exposed icy blue irises while fading light revealed aged scar tissue near his chin.

“What horrors have you endured, Bobby?”

A smile emerged beneath the acolyte's mask. “There are realms even devils fear to tread.”

The rifle trembled in his grasp. Robert had been utterly mistaken – the Devil hadn't possessed Bobby; instead, the morning star had wormed its insidious way into his very soul. Sacrifices were demanded by King James' scriptures, from both sons and fathers alike.

Unwittingly, Robert had forged a pact with the prince of the air. Sermons warned of the dark abyss found in Psalms: "He made a pit, and dug it, and is fallen into the ditch which he made. His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon him." Earl permitted the tabernacle to receive its tithe, and in exchange, it bestowed a sinister benediction.

Clutching the rifle tightly, Robert realized he was responsible for spawning this abomination. The haunted forest had nurtured its sinister growth. Not a mere Beast of Babylon – Bobby was a rabid hound that urgently needed to be put down. He risked dragging others into that abysmal pit, where it would bind them as firmly as the gun nestled in the old man's hands.

 "Will you answer the call and become a new witness to the grim expanse?" 

Now it was Robert who found himself powerless amid the eerie grove while Bobby loomed over him menacingly. The fissures in his mask mirrored the shattered psyche of the fanatic towering above. "Let's go home, Father," whispered Bobby ominously as terror-induced tunnel vision engulfed Robert once more, and a cold wave washed over him as he pulled the trigger effortlessly. 

The gunshot rang out and damned them both; an unseen force bore silent witness from within the malevolent void as their blood seeped into its shadowy depths. The gloomy woods drank deeply while shadows danced hauntingly amidst twisted trunks.

U.S. Marshals searching for escaped prisoner:

Name: Greene, Earl

Alias: The Emerald Hills Killer.

Upon custody in the hands of agents acting in capiticity with the state justice department. A truck slammed into the transportation van carrying Greene. Upon investigation. Spent shell casings matched the powder burns on the victim. Violent lacersions matched stranglations on the state officers. A single set of prints align with the shoe print of the inmate. The canine units wont tread beyond the meadows. Greene is still at large and considered dangerous and desperate. If seen, contact county and state law officials.