Page 7 of Primal Hunger
While it’s only a repeat of this morning’s show, the show hosts’ hushed voices are comforting, reassuring in the gloom. Maybe when this is all over, they’ll want to interview me for my monumental strides in the paranormal world.
I smirk at the thought.
It would be the cherry on top of my accomplishments.
“This evening, we’re joined by paranormal investigator and psychic medium, River Scott, who just finished up their tour of Blackstone Cemetery,”the host states in a low, smokey tone.“They’ve brought some audio clips we’re going to share with you, really exciting stuff. Tell us, how are you, River?”
My thoughts haze over as the talk show continues, the voices bouncing around inside my head without me paying much attention. At least it’s better than the silence.
My eyes flit between the tree line outside to the laptop and back again, and my thoughts begin to wander.What will it be like to finally lay eyes on the Grim?
Although descriptions vary, and there is no concrete way to tell if any of them are accurate, the Grim is said to be a large, looming figure with glowing red eyes.
Supposedly, no one has ever seen the Grim up close and personal and lived to tell about it, but the rumors came from somewhere. I’ve never been able to validate the stories I’ve heard from supposed “survivors,” let alone find an actual person to interview regarding their experience.
“Firsthand” accounts exist for nearly every cryptid. In this case, maybe someone a long time ago had a really close call and the information has been passed down ever since.
Or maybe it’s a load of crap and the Grim is nothing like anyone has imagined.
Or maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t exist.
No.I refuse to believe that. My stomach twists into knots, and I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles go white.
He’s real, out there somewhere, and I’m going to find him. I just have to be patient a little while longer. Although patience has never really been my thing. Probably a bad quality for a paranormal investigator.
As the minutes tick by, each one longer than the last, my eyelids grow heavy. They sag, despite my efforts to hold them open, and one long blink is all it takes for me to slip into unconsciousness.
Images fade in and out of my dreams. The Grim, Bigfoot, being interviewed by every TV station about my work. Tyler chastising me for never being cautious enough, and the look on everyone’s faces that doubted me when I change the world forever. I’ll make my father proud. Make this crazy endeavor worthwhile.
And then it all fades abruptly when a loud thud jolts me awake.
I shoot upright, nostrils flaring and searching frantically for the source of the sound. The radio has faded to white noise at some time during my ill-timed nap, and Tyler is snoring softly in the passenger seat, his baseball cap pulled low over his face to shield it from view.
I check the night vision cameras, searching the screens for anything unusual, but all I see are the same tree trunks and slowly swaying underbrush as before. Nothing new.
Next, I scan the tree line, scouring the darkness for any sign of movement. I mentally trace each trunk, my gaze lingering on the gaps between them, but again, there’s nothing.
So what the fuck was that noise?
Maybe Tyler’s phone slid out of his lap and hit the floorboard.That’s probably what it was.
The whole situation has me spooked, and I’m just desperate to blame it on something unseen without any proof, but it seems like it was nothing. I might have dreamed the noise for all I know.
I settle back in my seat, heart racing like I’m sprinting toward a finish line, and take a few calming breaths. It’s almost midnight—meaning I slept a lot longer than just the few minutes I thought I had—and the moon is shining high and bright against the dark backdrop overhead.
Everything is still and quiet, unnervingly peaceful.
As my gaze creeps back toward the woods, a spark of glimmering white light snags my attention, making my breath hitch in my chest. A sliver of illumination nestled into the pitch black landscape, flickering and shimmering, mostly obscured by the trees in front of it.
Okay, there is definitely something out there.
With a sharp inhale, I grab for my camera on the dashboard and fumble with the on switch, fingers trembling as my pulse picks up speed.
I hurry, not wanting the light to disappear before I’m able to get a picture of it, but it doesn’t wane. However, even zooming in as much as possible, the image isn’t very clear. We’re too far away for me to get a decent view.
What’s the source of the light? Where is it coming from and why is it stationary? Even an ATV traipsing through the woods would distinctively move.
“Tyler,” I hiss, slapping him on the thigh to wake him up.
