The sky—what little I could see of it through the canopy above—was the wrong color. Not blue, not gray, but a deep violet that shimmered with streaks of turquoise. The trees surrounding me towered impossibly high, their trunks the color of polished obsidian with bark that seemed to flow like liquid in slow motion. And the foliage…some of it was moving. Not swaying in a breeze, but actually expanding and contracting in rhythmic patterns.
Breathing.
“Okay, Miri,” I whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly might attract attention from whatever lived in this place. “You didn’t die. That’s the good news.”
I did a quick body check. No injuries, all limbs present and accounted for. But my backpack was gone, along with my boots. My feet were bare against the moss, which seemed to shimmer slightly where I touched it. My clothes remained—jeans and my favorite worn leather jacket—but my phone was dead, its screen black and lifeless when I pulled it from my pocket.
I turned in a slow circle, taking stock of my surroundings. The jungle buzzed with strange sounds—birds or insects that chirped with an almost electronic precision, distant bellows that might have been thunder or might have been something with very large teeth. Above me, vines hung from the massive trees, glowing with soft bioluminescence in shades of azure and emerald.
“This is...” I struggled to find words adequate for the situation. “This is either the best or worst day of my career.”
I’d been studying the paranormal for years, hunting cryptids and anomalies across six continents. I’d seen things that defied explanation, recorded phenomena that mainstream science refused to acknowledge. But this? This was beyond unexplained. This was another world entirely.
I had about two minutes of awe before something brushed my ankle.
I screamed.
Like, full-body, windmill-armed panic squeal.
Because when you’ve just been yeeted through a mystery portal and wake up barefoot in a glowing alien rainforest, the last thing you want is to feel something cold and touchy sliding over your skin.
I scrambled back, heartbeat jackhammering, and looked down.
A vine. Thin and elegant, glowing with the same soft light as those hanging from the trees. It had coiled itself gently around my ankle, like a curious snake.
“Oh no. No no no,” I whispered, shaking my foot like it might detach. “I am not being eaten by sentient plants today. I did not pack that kind of mental prep.”
The vine didn’t retreat. It didn’t tighten either, which was marginally comforting. Instead, it…well, there’s no other way to describe it. It petted me. A gentle, almost affectionate caress against my skin, leaving behind a slight tingling sensation.
Then another vine descended from above, reaching toward my outstretched wrist. This one pulsed with light, brighter then dimmer in a pattern that seemed almost...communicative.
“What are you?” I breathed, forcing myself to remain still as the second vine wrapped loosely around my wrist. The tingling was stronger here, a buzz that traveled up my arm and seemed to echo in my thoughts.
The jungle didn’t answer with words. But as I stood there, more vines began to approach, gently investigating my clothes, my hair, the contours of my face. They moved with deliberate care, never constricting, always with that same curious touch. The light they emitted pulsed in synchronized patterns now,creating waves of illumination that spread through the canopy above.
“You’re talking to each other about me,” I realized aloud. “I’m the alien here. I’m the cryptid.”
The thought was equal parts terrifying and thrilling. If I ever got back—when I got back—this would make for the greatest podcast episode of all time. First contact journalism. Assuming these plant things were friendly and not just sizing me up for digestion.
I tried to take a step, and the vines moved with me, maintaining their loose hold but not restricting my movement. It was like being wrapped in living jewelry, delicate and warm despite its alien nature.
“Okay, so we’re…friends? Symbiotic? Just passing acquaintances?” I asked, not expecting an answer but feeling better for filling the silence. “Because I could really use a guide right now. Preferably one who knows the way back to Earth.”
The vines pulsed brighter for a moment, and I felt a gentle tug on my wrist. A suggestion of direction. I hesitated, then decided to follow. What choice did I have? Stay put and wait for whatever made those distant roars to find me?
I took three steps in the indicated direction before freezing.
Deep in the distance, beyond the glowing undergrowth, something moved. Something massive. The ground trembled slightly beneath my bare feet, and a sound rolled through the jungle—low, rumbling, unmistakably predatory.
A growl. But not like any animal I’d ever heard. This was deeper, more resonant, vibrating in my chest like bass at a concert.
The vines around my wrist and ankle constricted slightly, pulling me in the opposite direction of the sound. Their pulses quickened, no longer synchronized but chaotic, urgent.
“Yeah, I’m with you on that,” I whispered, allowing myself to be guided away from whatever was approaching. “Away from the big growly thing seems like an excellent plan.”
Great. Jungle cryptid, alien vines with boundary issues, and absolutely no idea how to get home. If I survived this, my subscriber count was going to explode.
But first, I had to survive.
