Chapter 4: Swamp. Continuation 1
I'm so into finding new bubbles, I even stop chewing. Sam was right, I'm acting like I've never been in a place like this before. But it can't be like that, can it? I just don't remember.
Having hung over the contemplation of the monotonous bubbles of swamp gas, I do not even immediately realize that there are more and more of them, and they themselves - more and more. It's as if the water is starting to boil like thick jam in a pot on a stove. The surface will swell up with giant blisters here and there, and the sounds of the film bursting out from the tension of the film are more and more clearly similar to the explosions of firecrackers.
The swampy slush is coming in waves, they're getting closer to my sneakers, to Sam's sneakers, which are worn on my legs. I'm moving away, but the swamp keeps climbing the coastal grass and rocks behind me. I jump up and down, and the food remains fall to the edge of the swamp, as if the mud were licked by pieces of meat and a bite of bread. I remember Sam's phrase that you can feed the swamp demons here. Now that the murky green substance is bubbling and moving towards me like it's alive, it doesn't seem like anything unrealistic anymore. But, instead of running away from there, I come closer for some reason and look at the uneven surface.
I don't notice how the swamp water, licking my sneakers, moves on, and I come to my senses only when I'm standing on my ankles in a thick slab. I try to get out, but my legs don't obey, I stumble and fall face-first, putting my hands in front of me, and they fall down and knit on my elbows. I'm trying to get them out, but in vain, I'm drowning faster and faster from every sudden movement, and the water is already coming up to the sleeves of my shirt. I need to call for help, but I don't have the strength to do it: panic squeezes my throat and I can't make a sound. When the swampy surface starts to swell up right under me, I'm waiting for a new bubble of gas to shoot me in the face. But it's not gas...
I can't figure out what's crawling from the bottom of my body until it comes out and grabbing me behind my shoulder with a dead-cold grip. It's a hand. A scabbed palm and forearm with sagging semi-decayed skin. When the second hand appears on the right side of my face and covers my back, I already know what I'll see the next second. Scott's head appears right in front of me, his face scarred like a burn. Rotten lips open and he whispers in my ear:
- I found you.
His hands are pulling me down, I can't resist anymore, and I fall face down into the swamp, taking one last breath. I get sucked in deeper and deeper, my ears start ringing. I instinctively open my eyes, but instead of swampy dirt I see fireclubs around me and smoke spinning in the whirlpools. We sink to the bottom, I can almost see it when I suddenly realize that Scott is pulling me to hell itself...
I'm awakened by my own scream. Without realizing it was just a dream, I try to jump up, but my uncomfortable legs aren't in a hurry to execute my spontaneous commands: I stumble over my untied shoelace and fall on the pebbles, hurting my ear and temple. Surely there will be a bruise. With horror I turn around and look at the swamp - it is quiet as before, small bubbles melancholy float to the surface. I haven't had a nightmare in the middle of the day for a long time.
***
When I get back to the house, it gets darker. I want to believe that the brothers are back and waiting for me there, but the annex is empty, and I have nothing else to do but wait. At first I'm trying to make a note in my diary, but this attempt doesn't end in anything, I'm just staring at an empty page, going with my thoughts, and then I give up, putting up my notebook and climbing up on a wide window sill with my legs. From there you can see the forest where Dean and Sam went.
The first strange cotton I hear about an hour later. It repeats itself again, then again, and only then do I realize it's a shot. The sounds are getting closer and closer to us. I don't appreciate the distance by ear, but I'm pretty sure it's just a couple of miles away.
I jump from the window sill to the rubber in my eyes looking for something on the edge of the forest. It is difficult: the sun has long set and dark grey twilight has descended on the village. The shots fade away, the last one comes very close to home. I open the window and persuade all my senses to work at maximum. Damn Winchesters, come back here!
The crunch of dry branches and the uneven sound of steps I hear almost at the same time as on the background of the forest there are two figures. I can't make out faces anymore, but I'm sure they're brothers. Except they go somehow strangely. The taller one, Sam, drags a big bag on one shoulder, and on the other he has a barely dragging legs, Dean.
- Help! - Sam screams at me in the lighted window.