July, 2007.
He wasn’t truly asleep — not in any proper sense. His mind was fogged, dulled, caught somewhere between waking and surrender.
It had taken him. Pulled him from the nearby woods, not far from the campground where his family gathered. If he strained his ears in the enveloping gloom, Pullman swore he could still hear his father’s hushed voice, bending low over the campfire, telling a tale to a son who was nowhere to be found. His mother fussed softly over little Reilly, both too absorbed in their routines to notice his absence.
And then the darkness had come alive, a massive, hairy hand yanking him out from the underbrush, strong and unforgiving around his neck. Panic shattered him — small limbs flailing, a mind too young to understand rescue or even how to scream for it.
Something had swallowed him whole. Something monstrous.
The beast carried him through the night, over land his child’s tongue couldn’t name — dense forests that swallowed light, hills that rolled endlessly, until he found himself somewhere else entirely.
Where the Wild Things are, his mind whispered faintly. But this place held none of the prancing beasts, no moonlit rumpuses. Only near-total blackness and the raw scent of earth, wet dirt and stone pressed close. A stench tickled his nostrils — something faintly like the garbage truck back in town, but far fouler.
The darkness pressed in, and the old terror bloomed — the kind that had gripped him on nights his father forgot to leave the nightlight on.
"Mommy!" he called, voice swallowed by damp soil and rock.
He crawled, shivering and trembling, over the cold floor until a wall stopped him. A warm wetness pooled beneath him, and shame flared — he’d soiled himself. Too old for this, he thought miserably.
"Mommy!" he whispered again, voice cracking.
A sudden hiss, sharp and close, froze him in place. The monster.
Terror clenched his chest; hot tears brimmed his eyes. Should he scream? Call for help? Or stay silent and risk the creature’s wrath?
Fragments of the nightmare flickered through his mind — long, thin limbs shrouded in ragged fur, the stench of rot, those spindly hands gripping his arm with cruel strength.
"Fall over here," a whisper urged from the shadows.
Summoning what little courage he had, Pullman inched toward the voice. Turning a corner in the dirt tunnel, silver moonlight spilled down from a crack above, revealing a broad chamber.
He thought to shout, but before the words could form, the voice warned again, soft but urgent: "Quiet! Crav sleeps low. Don’t rouse. Don’t rouse."
Huddled in the corner was a girl, dirt caking her long, dark hair to her head. She looked older than him, maybe a few years, and the sight of another child sparked a fragile hope in Pullman’s aching heart. Someone older. Someone who might know a way out of this nightmare.
"That boy, Sis?" a gruff male voice grumbled from a nearby tunnel. "Keep down. Keep still. Crav."
"Yup," the girl replied over her shoulder. "I know."
Pullman’s tears flowed quietly as he took in the girl’s grime-streaked face and the shadowy figure of the older boy, stooping to navigate the tunnel’s low ceiling.
"I want my mommy," Pullman breathed, voice trembling, panic clawing at his frail chest.
"Shhh," the girl cautioned gently. "Big Crav sleeps low after a walk."
"Where’s my mommy?" he asked again, desperation dripping from each word.
"Shhh. Stay quiet, and you get to see her again," she promised, a steady certainty in her tone that stilled the boy’s sobs. "Big Sis just went home to her mom."
Pullman sniffled, clinging to hope despite the gnawing fear that gripped his heart. Somewhere beyond the gruff boy’s voice, a low snore echoed faintly from the damp earth walls.
He remembered the creature’s grip, the rough haul from the gravel to this hellish lair, and the helplessness that followed. He wanted to cry out, to run toward the light, to be free.
But the ground trembled beneath a sudden, violent breath. The monster stirred. Dirt and pebbles rattled from deeper tunnels, announcing its arrival before it appeared.
There, down the narrow tunnel where the boy waited, the creature emerged: massive, dark, its ragged fur mottled and filthy. Its long, thin arms reached out, seizing the boy and pressing his head against the rocky ceiling.
"You be Big Brother now?" the beast growled, voice warped and guttural.
All sense shattered in Pullman’s young mind. It spoke — words twisting in the stale air, an impossible horror. He scooted back against the chamber wall, his quiet sobs erupting into broken screams.
"Keep the boy quiet, keep the boy low. I'se sleep!" The creature snarled, thick and slurred like the old bus driver’s gruff mutters.
The creature’s great head turned toward Pullman, black eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. It let the older boy drop to the floor in a heap, then scrambled up the tunnel wall, moving like a grotesque spider just above Pullman and the girl.
Its muscles corded and bulged beneath the filthy fur as it clung to the rocks, looming.
"I—want—my—mommy," Pull whispered, shutting his eyes tight, willing the nightmare away.
The thin, cracked lips peeled back to reveal a horrible grin, rotten teeth glinting.
"Being fobbly boy," it hissed, breath fetid and hot against Pullman’s face. "You listen? Cravel gives a secret."
Its voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "I ate your mommy. She lives in the belly now. And, oh, what's this? Mommy's hungry, boy. Bring Cravel the yums. Make them hot and wet. Feed your mommy, and maybe someday I barf her up, and the two of you go tra-la-la home."
Pullman’s breath came in ragged gasps. Panic and disbelief surged as he scrambled back along the cold dirt floor, eyes wide at the bloated creature.
The girl squeezed his hand fiercely, grounding him.
"Matters’ll be okay," she murmured as the monster retreated deeper into the tunnels.
"Fetch the yums," it growled to the older boy, who pushed himself up the tunnel wall, rubbing the stench from his mouth before disappearing into darkness.
The boy’s heavy breathing filled the silence, anger and fear mingling in the stale air.
"Come on, Sis," he grunted. "Bring the little snot."
The girl shuffled a few feet toward where the boy had gone, then returned to Pullman.
"Come on," she said, relief softening her tone. "You can call me Sis if you want. I guess Big Sis now, since my Big Sis went home."
Pullman hesitated, tears still wet on his cheeks. "I... I made a mess," he whispered, ashamed.
The girl scowled. "Oh! I... no mind. We got old rags. Doesn’t matter."
He looked down at his Pikachu shirt, a small comfort amid the filth and fear — at least that hadn’t been ruined.
After a long moment clinging to the wall, Pullman willed himself to rise, stumbling to his feet with the girl beside him.
They moved cautiously through the shadows, each step echoing in the hollow chamber, the oppressive weight of the underground world pressing down like a shroud.
Despite the horror swirling in his mind, a fragile thread of hope clung to Pullman’s heart — a promise whispered in that girl’s voice: maybe, just maybe, things could be all right.