Author: Mr. Howlietzer

  • The Rules: An Appalachian Trail Horror Story-Post 2

    The Rules:

    An Appalachian Trail Horror Story

    By Howlietzer

    Part 1: Scene 2

    The camera turns back on to reveal the campus commons, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with students celebrating the end of the semester. Music pounds through blown-out speakers. Students drink from red cups, others clutch beer bottles and sip generously, and, of course, someone is vomiting into a decorative plant in the background.

    The footage wobbles violently as Antwone pushes through the crowd, looking for his friends.

    “Coming through,” he laughs. “Animal Planet, getting the scoop on ETSU’s end-of-semester rager.”

    He dances and slides through the crowd, mindful of his camera lens, as he makes his way to the back of the room. His camera lands on a round table where his friends Dave, Lance, and Ned—the remaining members of the Folklore Club—are seated.

    Judy and Libby are somewhere…

    As he approaches, he sees Dave and Lance standing over Ned, laughing at something on his phone. Ned looks annoyed.

    “Aw, hell,” Antwone says. The guys look up. “What happened?”

    Dave smirks at the camera, grinning as wide as the Joker.

    “We got him.”

    Antwone bends down to look at the phone through his camera. Rick Astley is playing.

    Ned purses his lips.

    “Dave wanted me to view this latest document about the Rake he found online. It was supposed to be a sighting on the trail we’re taking.”

    “And?” says Antwone.

    Ned lifts his phone toward the camera as Rick Astley dances to “Never Gonna Give You Up.”

    Dave topples onto the floor while Lance slaps Ned on the back, laughing hysterically. Ned’s glasses slide down his nose, his face turning red as he shoves them back into place.

    Antwone tries to hold back a laugh, but his stifled chuckles register on the mic.

    “Are you guys done?” says Ned.

    “Yes,” says Dave as Lance pulls him back to his feet. “For now.”

    Ned locks his iPhone.

    “You guys are idiots.”

    “Correct,” says Dave, pouring his flask of vodka into his punch.

    “Where are the girls?” says Antwone, looking around for Libby and Judy.

    Dave points a finger and spins in a circle.

    “There are girls everywhere. Be more specific.”

    “I think I saw Libby talking with some guys in Sigma Chi.” Lance grabs Dave’s flask and helps himself to some vodka.

    “Dude…” Antwone zooms in on him.

    Lance flips him off and downs his drink.

    “I’m sorry, man,” says Antwone, though he knew Libby had her vices.

    Ned lowers his head, and Dave looks away.

    “Guys,” says Lance. He snaps his fingers for more vodka. He’d drained the last of the first flask. Dave hands it to him without making eye contact.

    “I know. I know.” He drinks some more. “I know more than needs to be said.”

    Dave stands.

    “Hey, Ned, let’s get some more vodka. We’ll be back, guys.”

    Ned hastily stands and follows.

    “I’m coming too, guys.” Antwone races after them as they push through the crowd.

    They make it outside the gymnasium, and Dave pulls out a cigarette. He lights it, and some girls give him the stink eye. He flips them off and takes a drag.

    “Can I get one?” says Antwone.

    Dave shrugs and hands him one, lighting it as it touches his lips. He offers one to Ned, who declines.

    “He knows,” says Antwone.

    Dave nods.

    “He took the last of my vodka. Ned, spot me twenty bucks? I’ll owe you.”

    Ned nods.

    A knowing silence settles over the three of them.

    Dave smiles.

    “Well…” He laughs. “I’m looking forward to this trip and not looking forward to it.”

    “I’ll say,” says Ned.

    Dave smirks at him.

    “First chance I get, Neddy, I’m whistling along the trail.”

    Ned cracks a smile.

    “You better not.”

  • The Rules: An Appalachian Trail Horror Story-Post 1

    The Rules:

    An Appalachian Trail Horror Story

    By Howlietzer

    Part 1: Scene 1

    Zoom in on a VHS player in an office as a tape is pressed inside. Then zoom out on the TV screen.

    The footage begins in darkness.

    A loud thud. Static.

    “Aw hell… it’s recording already?” said a young man. The camera starts to pick up objects as the lens is taken off.

    The camera jerks upward violently and around, blurry, as the camera man begins to focus the camera. A dorm hallway, aged from decades of use, and yelling coeds dodging the camera. Some waving and smiling.

    The cameraman laughs and greets everyone as he heads down the hallway.

    “Okay. Cool. Great start.” He says, adjusting the camera’s focus.

    The date stamp flashes in the lower corner:

    APRIL 28, 2007

    The camera steadies.

    Antwone Greene grins into the reflection of a dormitory mirror while adjusting the strap around his wrist. He’s tall, skinny, wearing a wrinkled hoodie that says ETSU on the front. His eyes are bloodshot in a way that suggests either exhaustion or weed.

    Probably both.

    Behind him, a cramped women’s dorm room looks like a tornado made entirely of clothing and textbooks tore through it.

    “Documentary Day One,” Antwone whispers dramatically into the microphone. “A historic moment. Six brave scholars enter the Appalachian wilderness…”

    He lowers his voice.

    “…and probably get murdered by hillbillies.”

    A pillow flies across the room and smacks him directly in the face.

    “Shut up, Antwone!” Libby shouts.

    The camera swings toward her.

    Liberty “Libby” Monroe is kneeling on the floor beside an overstuffed duffel bag. Even dressed casually, she looks like she belongs on a magazine cover. Tiny black shorts. White crop top. Blonde hair tied up messily with colored pencils shoved through the bun like chopsticks.

    She notices the camera and instantly poses.

    “Wait, hold on.”

    She arches her back dramatically.

    “There. Better lighting.”

    Antwone snorts.

    “You are physically incapable of acting normal for more than six seconds.”

    “That is because,” Libby says, “normal people are boring.”

    The camera pans toward Judy.

    Judy Mercer sits cross-legged on her bed surrounded by notebooks and photocopied articles. Unlike Libby, she’s dressed practically: jeans, oversized sweater, thick glasses sliding down her nose. Brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

    The contrast between the girls is almost comical.

    Judy looks up and smiles warmly.

    “Are you recording already?”

    “Absolutely,” Antwone says. “Future generations deserve this.”

    “Future generations deserve better,” Libby says off camera.

    He zooms aggressively onto Judy’s smiling face.

    “Tell the audience what we’re doing.”

    Judy laughs and covers her face shyly, before she gets control of herself.

    “We’re hiking part of the Appalachian Trail before graduation.”

    “Why?”

    “Because we’ll probably never all be together again after this.”

    For a second the room quiets.

    It’s the first genuinely honest thing said since the recording started.

    Even Libby stops posing.

    Judy continues softly.

    “We’ve been meeting every Thursday for almost three years. I just thought…” She shrugs. “One last adventure.”

    Antwone lowers the camera slightly. There’s affection in the silence.Then Antwone ruins it immediately.

    “Also, we’re hunting cryptids.”

    Libby gasps theatrically as he turns the camera towards her.

    “The elusive Appalachian Crackhead!” Libby swoons.

    “An extremely dangerous species,” Antwone says solemnly. “Known to attack gas stations at midnight.”

    Judy laughs hard enough to snort. Antwone pans back over to her.

    “Oh my God,” said Libby, laughing hysterically.

    Antwone zooms in instantly.

    “There it is. Got it on tape. Judy snorts.”

    “Delete that!” She throws a pillow at him.

    “Never!” Antwone dodges effortlessly.

    Libby stretches across her bed dramatically.

    “I personally hope we meet a sexy forest demon.”

    “You would try to sleep with it,” Judy said, rolling her eyes.

    “I absolutely would!”

    Antwone mumbles toward the microphone.

    “Nobody left here to sleep with…”

    “What?” Libby asks.

    “I said, ‘Me Too!” Antwone smirked.

    She stands suddenly and strikes another pose.

    “Film this side,” she winks, “It’s my intellectual side.”

    “You don’t have an intellectual side,” Judy rolled her eyes.

    Libby points toward a stack of philosophy books.

    “I minored in philosophy.”

    “You minored in annoying people.”

    Antwone drifts toward Judy’s desk, filming scattered papers.

    Handwritten lists.

    Maps.

    Articles titled:

    MISSING HIKERS OF THE APPALACHIANS

    STRANGE FOLKLORE OF EAST TENNESSEE

    RULES OF THE TRAIL

    “You’re bringing all this?” he asked.

    Judy brightens instantly.

    “I want to interview people.”

    “Hikers?” Antwone interjects.

    “Yeah. Locals too, if we can.”

    She grows animated the way she always does when discussing folklore.

    “My grandmother used to tell me stories constantly growing up. Stuff people around here genuinely believe.”

    “Like what?” said Antwone, pointing his camera towards her.

    Judy hesitates.

    “The woods aren’t empty. I mean, we’ve talked about this in the club,” Judy continues, “Ned likes to recite them. The rules.”

    Libby rolls her eyes, “Oh boy.”

    “No seriously,” Judy says. “People out there believe these things.”

    “Rules?” said Antwone.

    “Remember,” said Judy, “Like, don’t whistle in the woods.”

    Antwone immediately started to whistle.

    Judy smiled, pointing. “Don’t do that!f”

    “What happens?” said Antwone.

    “My grandma used to say if something hears you whistle, it might whistle back and try to find you.”

    Libby grins. “That’s hot.”

    Antwone zooms into Judy again.

    “Do you actually believe that stuff?”

    Judy thinks for a moment, “No. But I think stories exist for a reason. And that’s why I want to go so badly. I want to write a book about our experience out there and… see what happens.”

    “You want something weird to happen?” Antwone smiled.

    “Kind of,” Judy said blushing.

    “Only if he’s hot,” said Libby trying to lighten the mood.

    Antwone turned the camera back on himself. “There you have it folks: ‘Only if he’s hot. This is Antwone Greene, signing off.”

    Another pillow flies at his head, as the screen goes to black.

  • Free Write 3

    I’ve been using Chat GPT to help me create my fantasy world. I’ve intructed it to give me prompts so I can work through some things. This prompt has taken me months to do. Nothing ever felt right and I’m still not sure if I nailed it.

    The Prompt

    Day 3 Prompt (Built From Your Work)

    You’re ready for a deeper cut now.

    Who in New Eden has learned how to “game” the rules—and what terrible price did they pay for thinking they understood the system better than it understands them?

    Explore:

    • Who they are (hunter, priest, pirate, outsider, etc.)
    • What pattern they think they’ve cracked
    • A moment where it works (important—make us believe them)
    • The exact moment New Eden proves them wrong
    • What they lose (not just death—identity, memory, humanity, faith, etc.)

    Free Write Start

    Nestor Gahan had it all figured out. He just needed to stay out of the woods. Nothing could get him to leave his little log cabin in New Eden. As one of the sheep farmers, he had them locked up in a barn; four walls, a roof, and a locked double door.

    Nestor had even fenced his claim in chicken wire, completely around his house, barn, and garden. Even though he wasn’t as close to the woods as some farmers (something he petitioned for when he became a part of New Eden), the stories he’d heard from others as he moved in, including those in queue who had experienced awful things like haints, black-eyed children, and not-deer.

    Nope.

    Nestor studied well and it seemed that anything that wanted to get you was in the woods. All the rules pointed to it. As long as he kept to the city of New Haven and his home, and had nothing to do with anything else, he’d be safe.

    It was evening when he heard something.

    It sounded far away, almost like it was coming from the edge of the tree.

    “Hey! Come here!”

    Nestor pulled out his .45. He always kept it on him.

    The chicken wire outlined his perimeter. He could see fine from his porch with the lanterns he’d perched down the property lines. And all the bells would alert him and his neighbors if something was there.

    Of course nothing was there. That he could see, anyway.

    Nestor shuddered a bit as he continued to hear the voice. A male voice, possibly. It was like a whisper. Hoarse. Low.

    He ignored it. That was also in the rules.

    ‘If you hear a voice, no you didn’t’

    All the same, he fiddled with his weapon, giving it a shine with a rag he had on his lap.

    Then all the sudden his sheep started bleating, loud and shaking the barn. There was no way anything got through the wire. He’d of heard it. The chicken wire lay silent as tombstones.

    He gulped and stood up, handling his .45 he started to the barn doors.

    There were no windows on the building, just narrow, tight slanted slots for ventilation.

    The only way in was the door.

    It was perfectly intact. Did he risk it?

    His hand shook as he considered the ramifications. Suppose something had gotten int there. During the day the doors were wide open, but once again something would have to get past the chicken wire.

    He’d been to preaching every Sunday. Could something have gotten in when he was away?

    Not to mention meeting the fellas for a drink in the New Haven Pub from time to time.

    He dropped the keys. As he stooped down to grab them, he heard it again right next to his ear.

    “Hey! Come here!”

    He fell over on top of his keys, scooped them up, and pushed his 140lbs up and running to the house.

    The door was open.

    He reached for his holster. His gun!

    He looked towards the barn. There was nothing there. Nothing.

    “Hey! Come here!”

    Each word was louder and more anunciated than before. Nestor, fell backwards off his porch and scooted himself away from the door.

    “Shit! Shit!”

    His body went limp. Shivers of fear swept through his body as he pushed himself up over and over after stumbling several times.

    His hand still gripped the keys and he bolted straight for the barn unlocking it and opening the double doors, but as they swung open, he gasped.

    Each sheep was standing up right and staring at him, their heads tilting with every movement he made.

    Within he heard more voice soft and loud, “Hey! Come here!”

    Over and over. Children’s voices. Women’s voices. Men’s voices. Almost a separate voice of each of his 20 sheep.

    He stepped back and tripped over his gun. He grabbed it and ran back to the house and shut the door, locking it.

    Panting, he slid down the door, gripping his gun tight to his chest, his heart thumping in his ears so loud.

    Then on the other side of the door, he heard scratching of hooves, all around the house. Hooves scratching the walls and a mob of voices all around him.

    “Hey! Come here!”

    Repeatedly till morning.

    Nestor didn’t wake up.

    Free Write End

    I may post Days 1 and 2 at some point, but I think they are very similar to what I have here. ChatGPT was really pushing me to figure out the underlying laws of my world and I wasn’t quite getting it. I’m still not sure I get it, but I look forward to figuring this out.

    It’s fun to create a world!

  • Free Write #2

    Something that I’ve been trying to do everyday is create this world I’m making. I have a world building book, and I’m working with ChatGPT on some writing prompts.

    I’ve been writing some stories that I call New Eden Stories. These take place in Appalachia country and include many of the cryptids and laws that make up their superstitions.

    This is what I know so far…

    Free Write Start

    There are many rules in New Eden, but the best rule is: keep on your toes.

    • Do not go into the woods alone.
    • Do not go into the woods without protection.
    • Do not engage with voices when you can’t tell where they are coming from.
    • Do not engage with figures when you can’t see their faces.
    • Be mindful of dead deer. Sometimes its not a deer.
    • There is always an opportunity for escape; be mindful of opportunities in a sticky situation.

    There are Five factions that I am aware of at present:

    • New Haven
    • Aos Si
    • Jolly Rogers
    • Viking Village (nameless)
    • Goblin village (nameless)

    New Haven

    A Christian settlement, practicing a Catholic faith with a man named Wyatt Hill as the High Shepherd, leader of New Haven and Priest of Holy Hollow Church.

    There are a Council of Elders who serve as a type of legislative class that concern themselves with the Theocracy of New Haven. Sometimes they get caught up in the law and forget about mercy.

    There is a group of judges…

    There are guilds including:

    • Guild of Harvesters: farmers
    • Guild of Keepers: ranchers, livestock, bees
    • Guild of Smiths: blacksmiths, metal workers
    • Guild of Herbalists: medicine makers, apothecaries
    • Guild of Hands: builders, masons, carpenters
    • Guild of Watchers: police, military, city guards
    • Guild of Tithes: ledger keepers, accountants, resource management
    • Guild of Bells: artists, sculptors, musicians
    • Guild of Scribes: Librarians, writers
    • Guild of the Veil: faerie nuns with the gift of healing, voice, assistants to the High Shepherd

    Free Write End

    Not sure if you guys like these; they’re really meant for me but also helping me get to back to posting. I plan on doing more New Eden stuff soon. Need to finish/start the second part of Aos Si, but there is so much going on that I am just trying to keep my head afloat.

  • Free Write #1

    Preface

    I was dreaming about this weird world this morning. The best I could figure for it was that the US collapsed and everything fell apart. But of course people adapted.

    I think when this happens, because it really is a matter of when at this point, it is going to suck for us still alive (I’m an American, BTW)

    But I also think we will adapt, and I’m not sure what that means. So this free write, I’m just going to tinker with that idea.

    Free write start

    It finally happened. The United States collapsed.

    After all the over taxing, fraud, and all other closed-door-dealings, the representatives drove the economy into the ground and changed the mighty US into a third-world country.

    Many of those reps fled. They saw the writing on the wall. And those that didn’t wished they’d had.

    Over 200 reps, judges, lobbyists, or whoever (people were so mad that if you were wearing an expensive suit, you were rounded up with them) were hanged. A gallows was erected right outside of the House, and the world watched as iteration after iteration of so-called leaders swung and danced fancy with the devil before he took them to their new home.

    It was televised. One of the last televised events before things began to shut down. There was no money, only infrastructure, and too many were disenfranchised that they stopped working.

    Those who saw their work as a civil duty continued to work. They weren’t getting paid, but power was a huge responsibility. Coal was burned, but not enough, and plenty were so bitter from the collapse they just decided it was over for them.

    At first, businesses tried to maintain capitalism, but as the dollar was nearly worthless, it was a struggle to figure out what one could actually sell and make any money. Trade began to occur, but the value of a chicken or eggs or whatever was not considered.

    These men dealt federal notes, not comodities.

    The majority of people created little tribes and villages and just started looting.

    Phone service was down. Those who had radios were using them to coordinate.

    Police tried to maintain order, but the numbers did not equal, and even police were scarred by the collapse.

    The military was supposed to stop the hangings, however, individual identity kicked in and most soldiers deserted if not partook in the public executions.

    Too long had some of these reps been permitted to make decisions that ruined the United States. Too long. And once the dollar was finally worth nothing in the eyes of the world did every American feel it.

    And it got to the point that the mob didn’t stop pointing their fingers at the “bad guys.”

    Lynching continued. Every “evil group” was brought to the gallows.

    There were sympathizers and factions and us-vs-them politics however it was more than just two parties.

    Religious factions.

    Racial factions.

    Professional factions.

    Military.

    And all of these were split as everyone fought for resources.

    End Free Write

    That was about 30 minutes free write.

    I don’t know. This is just what I imagine happening. That being said maybe there would be an invasion from China, Russia, or where ever.

    I’m definitely not a political science major, but I think the temperature in the US is hot for civil strife.