Random long stories

the earth monsters

The Enigma of the Hidden Realm

Troy's memories blurred—a soccer field, a triumphant goal, and then... oblivion. He sat up, the rough dirt road beneath his palms. His attire—black pants, a faded tank top—offered no clues. But the backpack beside him held secrets.

Inside, a med kit, a coil of sturdy rope, beef jerky, and a fire starter. Practical items for survival. And there, nestled against the fabric, a hatchet—a tool for more than chopping wood. The light waned, casting elongated shadows.

Troy's instincts kicked in. He climbed a nearby tree, gnarled branches scraping his skin. The makeshift platform afforded a vantage point. Night fell, and eerie sounds echoed through the forest. Figures emerged from holes in the ground—dark-skinned, eyes sunken, nails like talons. They moved with purpose, like creatures from a forgotten myth.

Troy's heart raced. What world had he stumbled into? Were these beings guardians or malevolent spirits? The holes—they seemed to pulse, as if breathing. And beyond them? Darkness, impenetrable and beckoning.

He clutched the hatchet, its weight reassuring. The wind whispered secrets, and Troy wondered: Was this a dream, a test, or a reality beyond reckoning? As the figures drew closer, he steeled himself. Answers awaited, buried in the earth, hidden in the night.

Troy's heart raced as the creatures closed in, their gnarled claws slashing at the tree trunk. Desperation fueled his survival instincts. He swung the hatchet, aiming for their twisted forms. The blade met resistance—their skin was tougher than bark.

"Back!" he shouted, but they were relentless. Their eyes, sunken and hungry, bore into him. Troy's grip tightened on the hatchet. He had no choice. With a primal yell, he leaped from the tree, crashing into the midst of the creatures.

Their touch was icy, their breath foul. Troy fought, hatchet swinging, adrenaline masking the pain of their claws. He glimpsed the holes—their origin, their purpose—before darkness consumed him.

When he awoke, the forest was silent. The holes remained, pulsing like forgotten memories. Troy's chest heaved. He was wounded, but alive. And the hidden realm? It held more secrets than he could fathom.

Troy's resolve solidified. The creatures below were a menace, and the holes—gateways to who knew what—were best left unexplored. He swung his hatchet, felling a tree. Uptop was safer, he decided. With makeshift planks, he covered his tree refuge, fortifying it against their onslaught.

Next came the bow. Troy whittled, shaping wood into a weapon. His rope served as the string. Stones and sticks became arrows. As dusk settled, he climbed into his elevated sanctuary, heart pounding. The creatures might return, but Troy was ready.

He peered through the gaps in his wooden armor, eyes scanning the forest. The hidden realm held its secrets, but Troy was no longer a mere spectator. He was a survivor—a hunter. And as night descended, he vowed to protect his newfound haven.