The Bittern 1.895.2108.48754

• Faint sightings of something diving through the fog into the water to the north - cormorant?
• • Brandon: I’ll take it - I’m the only one with a scope
  • Jin: and a recognition skill on a par with Lou. You can let other people use it, y’know
  • Brandon: it’s too valuable an asset, In good conscience I can’t let either of you take that risk
  • Jin: Good luck not getting mistaken for a sniper, I guess
  • Brandon: What???
• Witness saw something soaring over the old precinct headquarters 
• • Jin: too dangerous until we can find a way to reach an agreement with the cops
• Something flapping/screeching at The Old Docks
• • Jin: (I'll take this)
• Residents tell stories of a deep “rumbling or booming” coming from the marsh on certain nights. Say it paralyses people with fear, and some residents have gone missing
• • Lou: A BOOM means a BITTERN. I’m on it
  • Jin: You think you’re ready to do a multi-night stakeout in the lakeside?
  • Lou: I’ve got more stamina that the both of you put together
  • Brandon: And about half the brains!
  • Jin: That’s not the dunk you think it is, B

Lou's Night Supplies

• A battered thermos of soup
• An energy gel (expired)
• The third-best torch, fresh off the solar battery
• The fifth best pair of binoculars (surprisingly okay in low light)
• A wobbly camp chair (too hard to draw)
• A5 sketchbook (found in backpack)
• A scarf and hat (mom-supplied, MANDATORY)
• ... And a deep nerdery about a dorky bird (also mandatory)

I love bitterns. They’re like secretive chonky herons that hide in reedbeds and hork down frogs. When scared they stand stock-still, with their heads and neck straight up, all the better to blend in with the reeds. That’s why everyone thought they were obsessed with the sky. Or the stars. It makes sense that these swamp ninjas might be the only birds willing to stick around in Palmyra. But that’s not the best of it. They. BOOM.

I’ve heard recordings and it’s the weirdest sound that’s ever come out of a bird. A proper low, bassy rumble, like a mini earthquake. It travels super far and apparently it sounds like it’s coming from all around you (which I guess is why they’re hard to find). And, so I’m told, lady birds find it sexy as hell. And you know what? That’s valid. The bittern is like the Adele of birds. (or Barry White if you’re Jin or Brandon)

Brandon: I know who Adele is you little asshole

The weather was better than it had been recently. Less windy at least, which meant I had a better chance of hearing anything out in the reedbeds. But in its place was a misty gloom that made seeing anything at a distance hard. I set up a little after sunset in an old equipment shed on the marsh edge, near to where the sound was first reported. After an hour of fruitless staring and straining to hear much of anything, I made my way a few streets over to meet Harvey, who had first sent us the report.

Harvey is… odd. I guess there are far weirder people in the zone, but his headwear doesn’t do him any favours. It looks like one of those Sherlock Holmes-y type of hats (the ones with the ear flaps), but covered in several layers of dirty white duct tape, around and around his head to press the flaps close to his ears. On further inspection, two sets of mismatching socks (one purple, one green) are attached to the inside as additional padding. Talking to him was a Job.

Eventually, I got some information from him. In the last week two people had gone missing from the neighbourhood on different nights. A lot of people around here fish to supplement their food supply - and doing it at night can mean you’re less likely to have someone trying to steal your catch. Harvey was out there too and described this deep, penetrating booming sound - A BITTERN - coming from the marsh. He said he was so scared that he froze on the spot, unable to move for several minutes. When morning came the fishermen found one of their number was missing. The same again a few nights later, following similar loud booming noises.

Now this is clearly ridiculous, bitterns are harmless! But I know how quickly fear and panic can spread. Just remember what happened in ninth-grade with that creepypasta Jenna Baxendale forwarded to everyone’s school email address. Nobody ate the cafeteria meatloaf for a year, and Kyle once made himself forcibly throw up when he thought Gavin had slipped some under his mac’n’cheese. Anyway, that sort of fear can be contagious and that’s why I found myself carefully picking my way along the shore with a man with socks over his ears.

After telling me repeatedly that he was going to abandon me at the first sound of anything larger than a frog, Harvey led me to the fishing spots that they’d used the previous week. Sharing out into the gloom, even the reedbeds dissolved into the mist. No deer, no frogs, no fish and definitely no birds. The only thing of interest I saw the whole night was an old dead tree that emerged through a gap in the fog. Its old, gnarled roots were exposed above the marshy ground, and kinda looked like legs, like it had been caught in mid-stride. It was full of nooks and holes and broken branches, a perfect spot for owls or woodpeckers in better times.
Morning came and I had nothing to show for it but a greater appreciation for my mom’s knitting. I’ll set up observations again tonight at dusk.

Jin: Lou, when we said to keep a journal of your observations, we meant just the things you observe. This isn’t a tween diary, Stop wasting paper.

Night Two
Observation started at dusk. Misty again. Nothing seen or heard. Fell asleep around 4am. Can I take some coffee with me tonight?

Brandon: Take some of the excess from the old army rations. Hands off the good stuff, it’s wasted on youths

Night Three
Full on fog today. I think a deer waved at me?

Jin: Just how expired was that coffee??

Night Four
Weather is clearing up. Heard something snuffling through trash a few streets over but it fled before I got close. Like a dog caught up in a tarp or something? A bit flappy.

Night Five
I HEARD IT
I had just about given up but the weather was lifting and I thought I’d give it one last shot. Even so, I wasn’t the only one sure that whatever was making that noise had left. Harvey was the first of the fishermen to return to the pier, albeit still clad in his protective headwear. I set up in the same equipment shed, the same as all the previous nights, and prepared for a nine-hour stretch staring out into the marsh.

The wind was back and it whistled through the rickety slatting of the old shed. I was immensely glad of the scarf my mom had forced me to take out with me

About an hour in and the gusts were really starting to pick up. Harvey was a hunched, shadowed figure on the old pier, but apart from that, I couldn’t see anything of note. Something felt off, though. I couldn’t explain it but neither could I shake the sense that I should be somewhere warm and inside.

And then I heard it.

It was a low note, a rumble. It seemed to vibrate up through the floor and walls, rattling the planks and slats and even my coat and gloves and scarf. It was loud and everywhere and nowhere. I had just enough time to realise: It’s not a bittern. It wasn’t a boom. This was sustained, sickly, like an untuned woodwind. It kept going, far longer than any bird could sustain. I turned to try to discern the direction the noise was coming from, and realised with horror that I couldn’t move.

It was WEIRD. And capital-S Scary. Like, my limbs and muscles were ignoring me? I was telling them to move, everything felt fine, but nothing was happening. I began to panic, but my breathing became laboured and slow. I couldn’t even open my mouth to draw more breath. I couldn’t swallow. It felt more and more like I was about to suffocate, to drown in my own saliva, I tried to close my eyes, to concentrate, to make my body move through force of will alone. And all the while another sound accompanied the low bass note. An urgent, chaotic crashing through the water, as if something large was making its way towards the shore, towards me, with as much haste as it could manage.

And then I was free

And I ran.

I’m sorry, I should’ve stayed at least a moment to observe but all of the panic was released and I launched myself out of that shed and back towards the street with more speed than I’ve ever been able to summon. I managed a glance over my shoulder as I ran, only to see a dark shape looming out of the grass and shallow water and I rounded the corner and made for home.

I’m really sorry. I’ll go back in the morning and try to retrieve the binoculars.

NOTE: WAIT I think I discovered something. When I got home I noticed some fluff on the scarf, like wispy white dandelion seeds or sticky buds or something (? sorry Mr Byeong I was never really into flora) and when I touched one for a moment I felt the same paralysis. SCARY. I’ve put the scarf in a bag labelled DO NOT TOUCH - PARALYSIS SEEDS

Day Six, Morning

Okay. I have an idea what happened.

I went back (binoculars are safe, don’t worry). The whole shore was covered in these seeds but they were already turning yellow and brown. Like I said before, something felt off about the marsh but I was keen not to linger. I went to find Harvey to see what he experienced last night, but he wasn’t home. It was only later I realised that his fishing gear was still on the pier. 

I kept my distance and tried to observe the marsh again, but from further back. Again, all that was notable was that creepy tree that I’d seen earlier in the week. But, after checking my sketches it looked like it was in a different position? Its roots had been twisted and stretched, and the ground all around it was torn up, as if something heavy had been moving back and forth through the mud. Underneath, a mass of plant matter and soil had built up beneath the trunk, almost filling the cavity where the trunk had been lifted up off the ground. Just a mass of organic matter.

A mass with a scrap of off-white duct tape faintly visible, attached to a bright purple sock.

The wind was still blowing, and one gust caught the tree, twisting the dead branches and rushing through the hollows and rotten spaces within. Making a deep, low, rumbling noise.

Please don’t ask me to go back.