• shh. you can't make noise. although your jeans are clinging to you, soaked from ankle to mid-thigh, and your shoes, deep in the gloomy liquid that is more mud than water, are now as heavy as lead weights. however, taking them off would be stupid- as you attempt to move silently through the murky sludge your feet often snag on rocks and splintery wood, and drawing blood would be worse than loudly splashing your way through the swampy mire while singing the national anthem backwards at the top of your lungs.

    the muck clinging to you is icy-cold, causing you to stumble more often as your feet, then lower legs begin to go numb. and then you hear it, a gibbering cry echoing through the trees. to anyone who didn't know what made it, it would seem melancholy, but it chills you far more than the freezing clutches of the swamp. you pause, shivering as it sounds again. is it closer? you can't tell. the solid ground beneath your feet seems to be rising- soon you're only up to your knees in the swamp, and as the cool night air hits your chilled body you feel uncontrollable shivers coursing through you. folding your arms about you doesn't help. it's as if your blood has been replaced with the icy liquid you were wading through so recently. still, dry land this is not- the floor feels soft and malleable under your feet, and the excess moisture from your waterlogged footwear makes it become squelchy and slippery. and, away from the relatively clear water, trees now often lean into your path. your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, prompting you to hurry with arms outstretched for fear of bashing straight into a tree and knocking yourself out.

    at least you don't have to worry about other animals. you know only too well what lives in this place other than the animal chasing you- lazy-eyed crocodiles, fish with teeth like tiny razors, camouflaged felines that hunt by leaping, silently, onto their prey from high branches. they are all hiding tonight. the only sign of anything living about you is your own beating heart and breathless gasps for air.

    you hear the call again, closer for sure. it moves through the trees, not confined to the bumpy ground as you are- and it's nocturnal. it doesn't have to worry about crashing into the rough treetrunks as you do. it's perfectly adapted for this environment. you know that more than anyone. after all, you discovered it. this swamp has been your home for the past five months- the study of it's ecosystem your chosen field of study. and the days of paddling your canoe through the thick rivers and lakes of the area had lead you to claim a false expertise in navigation, a claim you now realise was stupid. you have no idea where you are, possibly because there is no way for you to stop and get your bearings, but also because you never strayed from the paths at night, and on the stiller nights you never strayed from the small hut. the foreboding air of the swamp made you uneasy. and then you heard it, the same cry which now follows you as you hurry onwards.

    it was unlike anything you ever heard. it was almost human, like a howl of pain from someone with a broken limb, but the primal fear it stirred in you assured you that it wasn't a person making that noise. your reaction to it was similar to how you felt when you first heard the low rumble of the crocodiles, but that sound soon became familiar, less terrifying. However, the terrifying sound didn't grow familiar. instead it grew more frequent, keeping you up at night, staring frantically at the lit area about your hut through the mosquito- neted window. it was only your almost insomniac ability to stay awake that gave you a peep at the creature. it didn't venture too close at first- you could see the lights reflected in it's eyes as it stood in the shadows across your clearing, the unholy call it made so clear that you could hear the animal draw breath before it began. three nights were spent, watching those two glowing sparks in the dark before it drew closer. and oh, how you wished it hadn't. at first glance you thought it was a gorilla- at second, a gorilla that was badly burnt. but then you realised that the crusted-looking, red-brown mottled skin was tough, like it's hide had already been cured while still upon the animal itself. and the head- deep-set eyes with slitted pupils, curved yellow teeth that crowded it's mouth and looked engineered solely to tear things apart. few features other than that. it's nostrils and ears mere slits, and the shape of it's lumpen skull clearly visible.

    after that, it got closer each night. and it began leaving things in the clearing. at first just fish- what was left of fish, at least. then the body of one of the swamp cats, eviscerated and bloody. still, you decided to treat it as another subject to watch. you sketched it, pushing your instinctive fear to run to one side. it was a new species- you'd become famous! there'd be invitations to talk all over the world, scientific grants and the admiration of your peers. the potential for fame washed over you, blinding you- at least until that fateful night.

    you had been waiting, sketchpad at the ready, waiting for it to appear. then you heard a crocodile's rumbling call, quickly followed by a loud shriek and a series of splashes, one large one followed quickly by a group of them, as if something was violently splashing about. you jumped to your feet, wondering if maybe the crocodile had captured your discovery, about to dash towards the sound when the splashing ceased. silence ruled, none of the insect sounds you were accustomed to at night breaking the quiet. you stood perfectly still, infected by the stillness, before you heard a dragging sound amongst the trees. your head automatically turned towards the sound, watching as your creature emerged from between two crooked trees, dragging something behind it. something big. a crocodile- at least seven foot long, it's jaws slack and blood patterning it's scaled hide. as it ate, you couldn't tear your eyes away, mesmerised as it's fangs tore easily through the reptile's tough skin, the crunch of bones loud in the clearing. but by far the most terrifying thing of this enlightenment to the animal's deadly nature was when it raised it's gory head, and stared right at you.

    the next few nights, nothing. then your lights began to be broken. the border of darkness surrounding your little hut slowly grew closer, and that unearthly call began to grow closer, until that sudden crash as the animal flung itself at the hut, mercifully entangling itself in the mosquito netting at your window, giving you the time you needed to dash through the door and off through the blackness, plunging into the trees and feeling the sting of leaves whipping at your skin as there came an angry bellow from behind you.

    and now you are still running, stumbling, out of breath but fuelled by fear for your life as you hurtle through the swamp, a stitch causing you to clutch at your side, the sudden distraction of the pain causing you to tumble over a looped root, landing painfully in the leaf litter and mud, pain flaring through you before you freeze, still, petrified by the warm breath on the back of your neck.