This Island Episodes

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We crashed in the jungle three days ago. My passenger and I, we haven't seen a soul. This island appears lush yet void of any life that isn't green and spikey. The water is clear, but we haven't a kit to test the salinity, so we resort to utilizing our dwindling supplies, for now. We have a week, at best, before the situation turns dire. At night, it is cool but comfortable enough. It is quiet, as though the waterfall, which must be on the far side of the island, just turns itself off. It is strange, but not worthy of investigation. Certainly not worth leaving our supplies vulnerable. For that reason, we haven't strayed too far from the crash site, even during the day. In the dark, twigs snap and leaves rustle. We are not alone. Armed only with branches and whatever we have been able to cobble together from our luggage, we pray the creature that lingers just out of sight is benevolent. But I fear it is not. Heavy breathing accompanies the snapping twigs and rustling leaves. What sounds like snorting and digging echoes around us, bouncing off the still water. We have lasted this long; we cannot let fear overtake our minds now. We must try to find a way off this island. Please, if someone sees this, send help. #instastory #thisisland #propplane #creepy #serialpost #whathappensnext #indieauthor #firstdraft

A post shared by K. M. Smith (@kristynotkirsty) on Aug 11, 2020 at 6:27pm PDT

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Eight days have passed since our aircraft lit on this island. As suspected, our supplies have dwindled, and our potable water is gone. It is up to me to find resources so that we may survive long enough to explore our surroundings and devise a means to extricate ourselves from this horrifying place. The nightly noises persist, yet no source has shown itself. The cacophony haunts my nightmares, and sleep eludes me more often than not. But fear is the fire that fuels my resolve. So, armed with two strong branches whittled into fine points like javelins, I strap my pack to my back and set off to find fresh water, leaving my passenger to guard our makeshift camp. Had I known the type of creature I would encounter on my travels, I would have chosen thirst. From behind a thicket of reeds and leggy trees, the large and menacing beast came into view. An unseen twig snapped underfoot as I approached and the creature wheezed and cried out as it turned to face me. A spasm overcame its body, a cord of electricity racing through from top to tail and forcing out a fierce wail that echoed through the surrounding jungle. The concussive pressure was so powerful it knocked me to the ground and sent a ringing through my ears. From my lower vantage point, the details of the ghastly thing became clear. Long slick neck, spindly knobby legs, and in between sat a plump and feathery midsection of the purest black that reminded me of gamey water fowl from lakes back home, but the face… The face of this terrifying beast defied logic. Long oily-blue beak perched atop a pointy scaled head. Three close-set garnet eyes peered out from underneath the beak, their intensity enough to stop a man's heart. But lining both the upper and lower portion of the beak were dozens of long pointy teeth, sharp as razors. How the creature kept from shredding its own face I do not know. I cannot risk the beast spotting me, so I must remain here for the night. Please. Someone end this nightmare! #instastory #thisisland #creepy #serialpost #whathappensnext #indieauthor #firstdraft #fowl

A post shared by K. M. Smith (@kristynotkirsty) on Aug 17, 2020 at 9:26pm PDT

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Episode 3. Friends, believe me when I tell you I do not know what happened, where I am, or even how many days have passed since my encounter with the fowl creature. Having been frozen with fear, and praying for a just release from my treacherous situation, my mind eventually succombed to the pull of sleep. But, it would seem, the beast had other plans. My memory of that time is mercifully sketchy. I recall a massive darkness looming over me and labored breaths dripping great wads of rancid saliva onto my face. A drop worked its way into my eye and the burning was so intense I blacked out from the pain. Sometime later I awoke in this cavern surrounded by pools of water and dozens of expired beetles. Shiny grotesque creatures, nearly as large as myself.  I am alone in this place, with the exception of the deceased aberrations, and my throat burns with lack of liquid and excess fear and screaming. The nearest pool shines in the minimal light offered by what must be the mouth to this giant cave. I take my chances and race to it and greedily slurp up it's contents without regard to sanitation. My brashness is rewarded; the water is as fresh as though it were from a spring. This island confounds me.  My passenger! Alas I have only just recalled that I am not in this bloody mess alone. The camp may be compromised. It pains me to think about, but I can only wish the best for my passenger until we are reunited.  Exhausted and ravenous, I scan the area for a source of food. A shadow flits through my peripheral vision and the hairs on my neck stand to attention. Apparently, I am not alone. I crouch next to the nearest beetle in hopes that I can spy the shadow's corporeal form before it makes its move. Something brushes against my back. Dare I move? Face my pressure head on?  Slowly, I twist to look behind me. There is nothing there. But the beetle–it's moving!  #instastory #indieauthor

A post shared by K. M. Smith (@kristynotkirsty) on Sep 6, 2020 at 6:47am PDT

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#Episode4 Thank Christ I found paper and pencil. I hope the graphite holds out long enough for me to finish this missive.  The asshole has been gone for at least two weeks. My counting isn't precise due to unfathomable creatures on this island and the disturbances they cause. But I've done my best to scratch a mark into the side of the plane for every morning I wake up. I'm almost certain that I have blacked out for multiple nights on several occasions, but the timeline is close enough. The cold is creeping in. I have not found any flint to spark a fire and I'm afraid the few girl scout meetings I attended in my youth never addressed fire-starting with sticks whilst one's hands are tied together. But I digress. The intent of this letter is to beg for help. Hear my plea: I want off this island and away from that madman! He lured me to his home, bound and gagged me, and flew us here. He will tell you that I followed him of my own free will and that we crashed, but he had plans for me and he deliberately brought the plane down. Something about getting what he deserved and finding the lost articles. I do not claim to understand. He stopped making sense a long while back.  If you have already encountered his letters, as I am sure he is scribbling notes daily and scouring the land for carrier pigeons, do not trust anything he has said. His mind has left him, if he ever had it in the first place.  I do not not know our coordinates; yet another thing I never learned properly, but we took off in the afternoon and flew roughly two hours into the increasingly darkening sky from the coast and landed on what appears to be a large island in the ocean. I am gathering items to display SOS so that someone might spot us from the air. Drinking water is plentiful as are edible plants. Though I expect that good fortune was more miscalculation on the part of the deranged pilot rather than well-planned. Without you, I will die here. Either at the hands of my captor or by some vulgar otherworldly creature. I hope to God with all of my being that this bottle makes it to civilization and that the paper I am writing on remains dry. Please help me! Thank you and good bye.

A post shared by K. M. Smith (@kristynotkirsty) on Sep 21, 2020 at 12:57pm PDT