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Devil’s Wood Audiobook Now on the Fearsome Fiction Podcast Two Chapters at a Time (1 and 2)
Follow author Mark McNease deep into the Devil’s Wood.
An ancient people. A tree that has stood seemingly forever. And a walking stick that must possess anyone who possesses it.
Two chapters at a time, only on the Fearsome Fiction podcast. You can purchase the entire audiobook on Spotify and select online retailers.
Enter the Devil’s Wood. But be warned: you may never leave.
And now… fasten your headphones, and tell someone your last known location. The Devil’s Wood dotcom.
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Entry 10
I resolved not to go another day knowing as little as I did that morning. It was a determination I would regret.
August 20
I must apologize again for these seemingly random gaps in the writing. My illness, if it can be called that, has accelerated, for lack of a better descriptor, making it difficult for me to keep a daily journal. I will say more about that, but not this soon. I believe that would be what’s called a spoiler alert, and I may not have prepared you for the shock. Or perhaps I’m not yet ready to move so quickly to an inevitable end…
I’ll admit to having found a certain companionship in this process: me recording my experiences and you, if this journal is ever found, reading about them. I have concluded my own prognosis is grave, and this may be all that’s left of me. My solace? Knowing that it is also what’s left of them. There is some comfort in that, even if it makes me a murderer.
But back to that morning, after the dream, after being shaken firmly but quietly awake by the man named Larry. The others were sound asleep, judging from the snores and the lack of any movement. I was afraid to make coffee, despite it being my morning routine. It helped that there was no way to make it! The cabins had not been provided so much as a hot plate, and I would have to go to the lodge hoping there was at least a tea kettle and a jar of instant crystals. I felt foolish for not confirming any of these things. There were bath towels in the shared bathroom. Toilet paper. Unwrapped bars of soap. A bath mat. But no clock, no television, and only two electrical outlets that I could see. I hadn’t taken the opportunity to explore the lodge—neither its large main room, kitchen, or upstairs. (There was a second story I had assumed was uninhabited—an assumption that proved to be false.)
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Devil’s Wood Audiobook Now On Spotify and Select Retailers
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Devil’s Wood Audiobook Sample (Now on Spotify and Payhip)
Listen to a two-chapter, 20 minute sample of Devil’s Wood, the audiobook. You can now get it on Spotify, or directly from me at my Payhip storefront (Zip file and single MP3 file).
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Entry 7
There had been no way of knowing the gender of our host, and women are just as capable of concealment as men.
August 11
We made our way to the cabins after listening to Phillip’s story—and surely it was that. Nothing about it could be remotely true. Yet it unsettled us all, at least that’s what I concluded from our silence. There was no late-night chatter before leaving, no nightcap, even if there had been one to have. (The lodge had no amenities we could see other than the dining room and two restrooms; there was nothing resembling a liquor cabinet in sight, and I found myself wishing one of us had brought a bottle or three of wine, not to make us convivial but to calm the nerves.) Phillip had remained behind, saying he needed time for his evening meditation. Given that it was a spiritual retreat I didn’t think there was anything odd about it. We all left him there and headed out from the lodge.
“Do you think any of that was true?” Larry asked.
The cabin was small enough that we could talk without raising our voices. There hadn’t been time for anyone to fall asleep, and the quiet itself added to my unease. We had all prepared for bed and gotten beneath our respective covers. I’d had the foresight to bring sweat pants and a T-shirt to sleep in—something I normally did unclothed. Sleeping alone in my apartment was also normal for me, and I’d fretted before coming that I might not get a good six hours, let alone eight, in a room of strangers. I assumed before arriving we would share sleeping quarters, and there were no photographs online to see what the lodge and property looked like before we got there. That is another part of story I’ll relate later—evidence that the place existed, but not what it looked like.
