Puddle in the Woods

Camp for that night was decided to be in what had once been a department store on the edge of town. As the pair entered, the guide in front and going slow with discerning eyes, they made their way along the interior wall grinding across and clinging to it as if thieves in an after-hours museum.

All throughout the central complex lied and dangled, like translucent-green drapery, the same growths from their previous interior excursions. The same growths that had stolen-away so many careless explorers. The same growths that had stolen that mother's child out of her grasp.

The guide continued his advance at what felt a snail's pace, but in a constant and consistent direction. He seemed to have a place in mind.

Had he been here before? The tourist thought, questioning once more the experience dwelling in the man years younger than himself. Regardless, he followed, keeping to every agreement he had made with the guide.

Head down, eyes on me as we move. If I stop, you stop. If I run, you stay directly behind me. I'll keep that leg of yours in mind. When we enter any structures, we cling to the walls. The growths in interiors usually focus on trapping and tend to linger towards the center. Walls are usually, usually, devoid of any. Waste of resources and all. Oh, and be quiet, the green isn't listening, but something might be.

The dark of the room was only intermittently, illuminated by the half covered light in the guide's hands. Flicking on and immediately back off, as if using the flash of a dying camera to light their way. Desperate to not give away a position to anyone that may be tucked away in the dark but needing to reveal anything that may block their path, or anything that might be waiting.

Suddenly the ever so faint glow-in-the-dark patch on the guide's backpack stopped. So, the tourist did as he had been told, and stopped, kneeling and waiting to see what the flash would reveal to the pair of invaders. Then it came.

In the sudden burst of light both men saw what looked like a bulging moss patch along the wall ahead of them. It spread from floor to ceiling like a furry green splatter. Ceiling tiles above it had the yellowish-brown patches indicative of water damage, a leaking pipe. The guide whispered softly once the darkness reclaimed its territory, reassuringly but with a warning.

"It's feeding off the water from a burst pipe in the ceiling. Growths like that are mainly for collecting water, they show up all over, though you'll be happy know that they can't hurt you. However..." The light flicks on and stays for a moment long enough to drive his point home as he speaks. "Those feelers along the edges of its claim are linked to the larger mass in the building itself."

The light flicks off and darkness resumes, but for the faint patch on the guide's pack. He continues, his tone quiet yet firm. "It will tell the whole building there's something in here. It won't be fast, but those tendrils in the interior will start probing and exploring. They will find us. Its safest if we step into the moss, it has no feelers in there only surrounding it. I'll light the way for you, watch your prosthetic."

Suddenly, as if he could still see it in the darkness, the tourist watches as the patch jumps up and forward once and then again. Barely a sound beyond boots clinking on tile flooring. The patch spins and disappears as the guide turns. to face him.

A whisper in the dark, "Get ready and be quick."

The tourist leans and readies himself, putting his weight on his remaining leg and prepares to kick off. FLASH. He sees it all and jumps as darkness envelopes him. As he jumps, he realizes how much it feels like jumping into the mouth of a sleeping beast. His feet find soft purchase against the wet mound of furry green. He readies once again. As he hears the guide moving further back.

FLASH.

He jumps clear of the mouth and its teeth. As his feet hit the ground, his foot lands secure, but his prosthetic, wet with the mouth's saliva, slips. Twisting his stump a teeth clenching angle, he falls forwards with a yelp and clatters down.

FLASH. The sound of a weapon slipping from its leather confines. Silence holds them, the tourist stays where he fell, and the guide, pistol drawn, waits for anyone in the dark.

Seconds pass like days, until the guide speaks his voice barely above the silence. "I think were alone in here. Don't worry you cleared the feelers, I saw it. Get up slowly and let's go. Lean on me if it hurts too much."

The tourist slowly rises before he replies, his voice deep and threatening to echo if any louder, "I'll be fine, just landed bad. Let's hurry to this spot and set up camp."

And so, they continue their slow walk until they've nearly walked to the backside of the building, passing display racks and shelving littered with dirty weather ravaged clothing that had never fulfilled its purpose. Before they make their way to what was likely an employee only area, and then into the little hole-in-the-wall office of some manager type. Closing the door and twisting the lock behind them.

"Important people get important rooms and need to have private conversations." The guide says much more near his normal volume but still reserved. "So, they build rooms to be alone in, but that also have soundproofing."

"How did you know this was here?" The tourist says shrugging off his backpack and sitting in the worn leather chair.

"I worked in a store like this back when I first started college, they're all built the same." The guide follows suit and sets up his lamp before soaking a rag in the foul bottle of liquid and stuffing it under the door. "Now, we won't have any uninvited guests."

The pair begin to produce rations and snacks. Trading bits of one for pieces of another. Their nerves finally relaxing as they begin asking one another about different things. Starting with old jobs since the guide had brought it up, obviously the tourist had been Army for as long as he could remember, but he had worked at a gas station back in high school. The guide, however, had had multiple jobs across various different fields from customer service to cooking to driving for merchandising and even a short part-time stunt as a garbage man.

"So, that's why you're so smart, you're a jack-of-all-trades type huh?" The tourist embellishes. Stuffing a poorly made sandwich of crackers, cheese and bologna into his mouth.

"Sure, sure, and was it the Army who taught you how to follow strange men in the dark?" He cracks a smile at his own joke, watching for a reaction.

"Nah, just my favorite hobby." The tourist lets out a small chuckle. "So, tell me, you've seen just about everything The Green has in it right? What's the weirdest?"

The guide's movement stops for only a moment before he begins, "Ahh that's a tough one, but I have an answer. Not sure if this one is part of The Green though."

Curiosity peaks in the tourist's eyes as he takes a swig from his water bottle. "What do you mean, not part of it?" He wipes the wet from his lips with his sleeve. "Like man-made?"

"No." He says definitively, narrowing eyes stare from under his hat brim. Then begins his story.

"Someone had paid me to check their old house over off the east of the roundabout where the highways intersect. A decent walk and about two days of careful travel. On the first day as I was about to set up camp for the afternoon, something caught my eye." He began to stare at the floor as he swirled the water in his bottle. "Amongst all the cruel things in The Green like the vines, the webs, the whips, mantraps, arteries, blooms, and all the sagging masses of tendrils and growths that connect the trees and wait for prey. This was different, far different. On the side of hill on the canopy floor there was a puddle of liquid silver rolling down the hillside. Nothing was crushed underneath it. As it passes over, all things emerge untouched. Not a blade of grass bent, not a petal lost." He stops swirling the water, letting it spin on its own momentum now.

"I'm still not sure what that is. It stays moving at that pace. It never sets off the vines. It has no connection to The Green. Yet there it is." He breathes deeply. "Honestly, I'm not even sure if there are more of them, it always looks the same every time I see it." Feeling the question before its asked. "5 times, it's shown itself to me. No other mover has seen it, but some of the stragglers out of the towns have. It's the same thing every time, it continues its journey, slowly navigating around obstacles and making seemingly innocuous turns in its path. It doesn't shy away from anything but I've never seen an animal let it get to close. Syrup..." He raises the bottle of foul liquid. "Doesn't stop it either, the thing just glides on at that same lackadaisical pace."

He takes a moment; his hands gently shake the bottle. "Sometimes when I go to sleep, I worry about sleeping in its path and waking up to it on top of me. Drowning in that soft silver liquid. But I could never really imagine it stopping long enough for me to suffocate, I usually wake up wondering if it finds me more often when I'm sleeping." He let the thought register with himself for the first time.

Is it following me?