Page 27

SNARED

ONE WRONG STEP

The sign read NO TRESPASSING – U.S. GOVERNMENT PROPERTY in faded red letters that screamed both authority and neglect.

I traced my fingers over the rusted edges, feeling the decades of secrets underneath.

Most people would turn back, citing common sense or self-preservation.

But when you’ve built your entire brand on chasing the unexplained into dark corners, common sense becomes a quaint concept for other people.

Besides, the electromagnetic readings I’d picked up from my drone flyover last week were off the charts—the kind of signature that screams “something worth finding” to someone like me.

So obviously, I went in.

The fence wasn’t much of a deterrent—eight feet of chain link with a section near the back that had partially collapsed under a fallen oak.

I slipped through the gap, pausing only to make sure my recording equipment was secure in my backpack.

The locals called this place “The Sinkhole,” but official military documents—the ones I’d managed to unearth after three months of Freedom of Information Act requests—labeled it Site 37-B, Decommissioned 1983.

Except it wasn’t decommissioned. Not really. The satellite imagery I’d compiled showed regular activity until 2002, and then? Nothing. Like someone had thrown a digital blanket over the entire complex. No heat signatures, no radiation readings, nothing the government’s toys could detect.

But my equipment wasn’t government issue.

I picked my way through the underbrush, noting how the vegetation changed the closer I got to the center of the complex.

The oak and maple trees gave way to twisted pines with needles that grew in spirals rather than straight lines.

The air grew heavier, charged with something that made the hair on my arms stand at attention.

I’d felt this before—in those places where reality wears thin.

“Day one at Site 37-B,” I narrated quietly into my recorder. “Vegetation shows signs of mutation. Temperature has dropped approximately ten degrees despite moving into a valley structure. EMF readings are…holy shit.”

The device in my left hand was spinning wildly, its digital display flashing between numbers too quickly to read before finally settling on a glowing red ERROR message. I’d never seen it do that before, not even when I was investigating that abandoned nuclear research facility in Nevada.

“Something is very wrong with the energy signature here,” I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper despite being alone. “Or very right, depending on your perspective.”

The trees opened up suddenly into what must have been the central complex.

Once, it might have been buildings and concrete pads.

Now it was a massive crater, perfectly circular, like something had taken a giant ice cream scoop to the earth.

Moss and vines crawled over crumbling concrete structures, nature reclaiming what man had built.

But that wasn’t what made me stop dead in my tracks.

At the center of the crater was a pedestal. Untouched by the destruction around it, the concrete cylinder rose about four feet from the ground, and embedded in its top was…something. Something that shouldn’t exist.

It pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light. Blue-white, like lightning trapped in metal. The object was maybe the size of a basketball, geometrically perfect in ways my eyes couldn’t quite process. It seemed to shift between shapes—hexagonal one moment, then suddenly all curves and spirals the next.

“Found something at the center,” I whispered, already moving toward it like a moth to flame. “Some kind of…device? Artifact? It’s giving off light but no detectable heat. Predates the facility by…I don’t know. It feels ancient.”

This was it. This was the story that would take my podcast from popular niche to mainstream sensation. The mysterious object at an abandoned government site, the bizarre energy readings, the local legends of people disappearing in these woods—it all connected to this thing.

I approached carefully, circling the pedestal.

No wires, no obvious power source. The concrete it sat in looked like it had been poured around the object, not like the object had been placed there after.

That made no sense. The facility was built in the 60s, but this thing…

this thing had the weight of millennia about it.

“I’m going to attempt to capture footage,” I said, pulling out my specialized camera. The moment I pointed it at the artifact, the viewfinder went white, then black. Dead. My phone followed suit seconds later, the battery draining to zero instantly.

“Okay, so it doesn’t like technology,” I muttered, shoving the useless devices back into my pack. “That’s…concerning.”

The humming I’d been hearing since entering the crater grew louder, more insistent. It wasn’t coming from the object—it was coming from everywhere, like the air itself was vibrating with anticipation.

I should have turned back. Any reasonable person would have. But I’ve never been accused of being reasonable, especially not when I’m this close to a breakthrough.

“If you’re listening to this,” I said into my now-dead recorder out of habit, “and I’ve disappeared mysteriously, check Site 37-B. And maybe don’t touch the shiny thing that I’m absolutely about to touch.”

The artifact pulsed faster as I approached, as if it sensed my intentions. I reached out slowly, my fingertips hovering inches away. The air between my skin and the object seemed to thicken, to resist, and then suddenly to pull.

Touch.

The world exploded into light.

I’d like to say it was painful, but it wasn’t. It was beyond sensation—like every cell in my body was suddenly everywhere and nowhere at once. I saw patterns in the light, geometric perfections and impossible mathematics that made perfect sense for one blinding moment before being forgotten.

There was no sound. Just light. Light everywhere. White-gold and blinding and alive. The world flipped sideways, or maybe inside out, and then?—

Nothing.

I came to with my cheek pressed against moss. Not the dry, patchy stuff that had covered the concrete at Site 37-B, but lush, verdant cushions of it that seemed to cradle my head like a pillow. It smelled like crushed leaves and petrichor and a little bit of oh no I’m not in Kansas anymore.

I groaned, pushing myself up to my hands and knees. The world spun briefly before settling into a view that made me question my sanity, my sobriety, and possibly my continued existence on Earth.

Because this? This was not Earth.

The sky—what little I could see of it through the canopy above—was the wrong color.

Not blue, not gray, but a deep violet that shimmered with streaks of turquoise.

The trees surrounding me towered impossibly high, their trunks the color of polished obsidian with bark that seemed to flow like liquid in slow motion.

And the foliage…some of it was moving. Not swaying in a breeze, but actually expanding and contracting in rhythmic patterns.

Breathing.

“Okay, Miri,” I whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly might attract attention from whatever lived in this place. “You didn’t die. That’s the good news.”

I did a quick body check. No injuries, all limbs present and accounted for.

But my backpack was gone, along with my boots.

My feet were bare against the moss, which seemed to shimmer slightly where I touched it.

My clothes remained—jeans and my favorite worn leather jacket—but my phone was dead, its screen black and lifeless when I pulled it from my pocket.

I turned in a slow circle, taking stock of my surroundings.

The jungle buzzed with strange sounds—birds or insects that chirped with an almost electronic precision, distant bellows that might have been thunder or might have been something with very large teeth.

Above me, vines hung from the massive trees, glowing with soft bioluminescence in shades of azure and emerald.

“This is...” I struggled to find words adequate for the situation. “This is either the best or worst day of my career.”

I’d been studying the paranormal for years, hunting cryptids and anomalies across six continents. I’d seen things that defied explanation, recorded phenomena that mainstream science refused to acknowledge. But this? This was beyond unexplained. This was another world entirely.

I had about two minutes of awe before something brushed my ankle.

I screamed.

Like, full-body, windmill-armed panic squeal.

Because when you’ve just been yeeted through a mystery portal and wake up barefoot in a glowing alien rainforest, the last thing you want is to feel something cold and touchy sliding over your skin.

I scrambled back, heartbeat jackhammering, and looked down.

A vine. Thin and elegant, glowing with the same soft light as those hanging from the trees. It had coiled itself gently around my ankle, like a curious snake.

“Oh no. No no no,” I whispered, shaking my foot like it might detach. “I am not being eaten by sentient plants today. I did not pack that kind of mental prep.”

The vine didn’t retreat. It didn’t tighten either, which was marginally comforting. Instead, it…well, there’s no other way to describe it. It petted me. A gentle, almost affectionate caress against my skin, leaving behind a slight tingling sensation.

Then another vine descended from above, reaching toward my outstretched wrist. This one pulsed with light, brighter then dimmer in a pattern that seemed almost…communicative.

“What are you?” I breathed, forcing myself to remain still as the second vine wrapped loosely around my wrist. The tingling was stronger here, a buzz that traveled up my arm and seemed to echo in my thoughts.

The jungle didn’t answer with words. But as I stood there, more vines began to approach, gently investigating my clothes, my hair, the contours of my face.

They moved with deliberate care, never constricting, always with that same curious touch.

The light they emitted pulsed in synchronized patterns now, creating waves of illumination that spread through the canopy above.

“You’re talking to each other about me,” I realized aloud. “I’m the alien here. I’m the cryptid.”

The thought was equal parts terrifying and thrilling. If I ever got back—when I got back—this would make for the greatest podcast episode of all time. First contact journalism. Assuming these plant things were friendly and not just sizing me up for digestion.

I tried to take a step, and the vines moved with me, maintaining their loose hold but not restricting my movement. It was like being wrapped in living jewelry, delicate and warm despite its alien nature.

“Okay, so we’re…friends? Symbiotic? Just passing acquaintances?” I asked, not expecting an answer but feeling better for filling the silence. “Because I could really use a guide right now. Preferably one who knows the way back to Earth.”

The vines pulsed brighter for a moment, and I felt a gentle tug on my wrist. A suggestion of direction. I hesitated, then decided to follow. What choice did I have? Stay put and wait for whatever made those distant roars to find me?

I took three steps in the indicated direction before freezing.

Deep in the distance, beyond the glowing undergrowth, something moved. Something massive. The ground trembled slightly beneath my bare feet, and a sound rolled through the jungle—low, rumbling, unmistakably predatory.

A growl. But not like any animal I’d ever heard. This was deeper, more resonant, vibrating in my chest like bass at a concert.

The vines around my wrist and ankle constricted slightly, pulling me in the opposite direction of the sound. Their pulses quickened, no longer synchronized but chaotic, urgent.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that,” I whispered, allowing myself to be guided away from whatever was approaching. “Away from the big growly thing seems like an excellent plan.”

Great. Jungle cryptid, alien vines with boundary issues, and absolutely no idea how to get home. If I survived this, my subscriber count was going to explode.

But first, I had to survive.

I moved deeper into the strange forest, guided by my luminous companions, painfully aware of my bare feet and lack of supplies.

The vines seemed to sense paths I couldn’t see, pulling me around obstacles hidden in the undergrowth, steering me toward what I hoped was safety rather than something worse.

Behind me, the growling came again. Closer. Whatever it was, it was following me.

And judging by how frantically the vines were now pulsing, it wasn’t something I wanted to meet.

Ready to fall into the vines?

Preorder Book 3: Snared now and get ready to be wrapped up in danger, desire, and the most primal bond yet.