Naked Ned

A river trip turns deadly when four friends ignore a warning.

"As you pass Lily Spring, you may see a man locals call Naked Ned." Taylor read aloud from the crumpled paper the guy at the canoe rental had handed them. "He lives off the river and keeps to himself," She glanced up with mock intrigue and continued, "Please don't approach. Don't call out, wave, or speak to him in any way. Respect his privacy completely. He is not part of the tour. Do not engage. Ned won't bother you if you don't bother him." She finished with an exaggerated gasp. "Spooky."

Cason snorted. "Told you. Naked Ned. King of the swamp," he waggled his brows at Jess as the old Econoline van rattled down the dirt road.

Jess rolled her eyes. "I've seen enough naked old men in Atlanta. We call it downtown."

Luke barked a laugh as the van bounced over a pothole. "Ned's different. Been here forever. Hundred years, easy."

The van groaned to a stop near the riverbank, where a row of canoes gleamed in the sun like the hulks of giant dead fish. The driver, an old man with a face like weathered bark, turned and peered back at them.

"Best mind that paper," he rasped. "Ain't just for show. You come with respect; the river carries you home." His gaze landed on Jess. "You come to judge..." A pause, thick as the humid Florida air. "The swamp keeps your bones."

Silence.

Cason scoffed. "That supposed to scare us?"

The driver didn't answer. Just climbed out, door swinging wide behind him.

Taylor stuffed the paper into her bag. "Whatever. Let's go find your naked Florida Man."

The canoes scraped over sand before sliding silently into the water. They had rented two canoes--old aluminum relics. Taylor and Luke in one, Jess and Cason in the other. Girls up front, legs stretched out, the guys steering.

Luke flashed a cocky grin. "The current grabs ya if you're not careful."

Cason smiled wide. "Yeah, just sit back and look pretty. We'll handle it."

Taylor groaned but let it go. Truth was, it was already hot as hell, and if letting the boys steer meant less effort, so be it.

The Santa Fe river, tannin-stained and dark as tea, spread out ahead of them, slow-moving and wide, winding lazily through the swampy forest. The paddles dipped and pulled, slicing through the black surface with a gentle swish-slap from every stroke.

The air smelled of wet earth, rotting leaves, and something foul. They drifted past half-sunken docks and shacks. Hand-painted "NO TRESPASSING" signs hung on rusted nails; some so faded they were just ghost words on gray wood.

Jess wrinkled her nose. "Smells like a carcass in a crockpot out here."

Cason grinned. "That's just the swamp saying hi."

Taylor didn't say it, but the farther they drifted, the more the river swallowed the world. Voices felt wrong--too loud, then too small like sound itself didn't know where to go. They hadn't even seen Ned yet--but already, it felt like the swamp knew they were coming.

The unease crawled up her spine. She reached into her bag and pulled out a mini bottle of Fireball. The plastic cracked as she twisted the cap. "I'm not waiting till we hit Rum Island," she said and gave the bag a shake--by the sound of it, she'd packed plenty.

Luke grinned wide. "We better kill those now. Show up at Rum Island with a bag of Fireball? Might as well wear a sign that says 'amateur.'"

Cason steered their canoe alongside. Jess didn't wait. "Toss me two. I'm double-fisting this river run." Taylor lobbed half a dozen mini bottles into their canoe. Smiling wide, Jess caught them all.

Luke shared a glance with Cason and let out a low whistle. "Party time."

Cason smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze drifted downriver. Somewhere past that bend... that's where the stories started.

They drank and laughed, but even with the booze, the deeper they drifted, the quieter it got.

Cypress knees jutted from the river like bony fingers clawing for the sky, desperate not to drown. Spanish moss hung low like the world's oldest curtains. Taylor tipped back another Fireball and muttered, "Starting to feel like a horror movie out here."

They glided past a sun-bleached log half-submerged near the bank. Turtles sunning themselves lined it like sentries. As the canoes drifted too close, one after another, they plopped into the water with clumsy splashes.

Jess flinched. "Jesus."

"Just turtles," Luke smirked.

Taylor wasn't so sure. "Where there's turtles..." She trailed off, eyes on the water."

A few yards later, a pair of yellow eyes glinted just above the surface--a gator lying still, watching them pass, unmoving.

"Nasty bastard," Cason mumbled.

No one argued.

Further down, they passed an old pine leaning on the bank. A skull--maybe deer, maybe not--hung wired tight to the trunk. One antler hanging like a busted arm.

Jess spotted it first. "Well... that's not creepy at all."

Cason's jaw tensed. "Dumbasses, hunting outta season."

They paddled past in uneasy silence, the current tugging harder, like the river had its own plans for them.

Cason cleared his throat. "They say people disappear out here. No splash, no nothing. One second they're there... next, they're gone."

Jess scoffed, "Bullshit," but her eyes stayed fixed on that skull until it disappeared behind them.

Up ahead, the river forked--one branch wide and slow, the other narrowing, disappearing into a tangle of trees and shadows. The water there ran crystal clear--a shimmering path straight into the swamp. They paused at the split.

"That's Lily Spring," Luke said, voice low. He took another pull from the Fireball.

They stared into the dark jungle-like area, where sunlight struggled through the canopy, turning the swamp beautiful and unsettling all at once. One by one, they drank--as if courage could be found at the bottom of a tiny plastic bottle.

Taylor swallowed hard, forcing a grin. "That where your naked swamp ghost lives?"

Luke nodded. "Yeah."

A fat water moccasin slid off a log and vanished beneath the surface.

Jess gave a tipsy laugh. "Well... let's go see him."

The canoes slid silently into the narrow channel. The water turned glass-clear beneath them. The bottom was white sand, littered with leaves and roots. Nobody spoke. The only sound was the soft drip of water from their paddles.

"Look." Luke pointed to a faded yellow sign nailed crooked to a tree. Black letters peeling from the metal but still readable: NAKED NED AHEAD

Taylor snorted. "What the hell? Who... puts that up? The outfitters?"

Cason faked fear. "The swamp did it."

No one laughed.

They saw the message before they saw him. Slapped across a small warped privacy wall in smeared black paint were the words: I'm not qualified to cast the first stone... are you?

The canoes drifted closer, and they saw him behind that wall. It was just tall enough to cover a man from navel to thigh--and that was being generous.

He was tall, disturbingly thin. His skin too tight, like it had been stretched to fit bones it didn't belong to. His hair was long, matted with river scum, his beard even longer, and clung to his chest like Spanish moss. But it was what hung below the wall that really hit them. Between his legs dangled something long and hideous. It looked like a dead snake--shriveled, lifeless, roped with veins, hanging almost to his ankles. Whatever it used to be, it wasn't anymore.

For a second, no one spoke.

Taylor turned away fast. Jess gagged out a laugh.

Cason whispered, "What the fuck is that?"

Ned didn't move. He just watched them like they were something caught in a trap.

Jess squinted, liquid courage burning in her gut. "What's he gonna do? Swim after us?" She stood up, drunk and reckless. "Hey, Ned! You gonna show us the goods or just stand there like a scarecrow?"

"Jess--stop!" Taylor snapped.

Jess grinned wide, arms stretched out. "C'mon! What's the point of bein' a famous naked swamp man if nobody sees it?"

Ned moved slowly. Tilted his head.

"I show everyone the same thing. It's only the guilty who have to die."

The words drifted across the water like a putrid breeze from hell.

Jess wobbled. "What?"

His eyes locked on hers. The swamp went still. Even the current from the spring stilled.

Cason's voice was hard. "Sit down, Jess."

Ned stepped in front of the wall. Around his neck hung a human skull, wired through the eye sockets, swinging as he moved.

Between the skull and that thing between his legs, all they could do was stare in shock.

Ned smiled then--a slow, impossible grin that stretched too wide.

The water below them rippled even though no one moved. Then something heavy bumped Jess' and Cason's canoe.

Taylor's voice trembled. "Let's go. Now."

But the river wouldn't let them. The current shifted--subtle, but there--pulling them forward, toward the dock, toward him.

Jess wobbled back down onto the canoe's bench, her face pale beneath the flush of the Fireball.

Taylor gripped her paddle. "We should go." Her voice barely a whisper.

Cason nodded, but when he dug his paddle deep, the river fought him. It pulled forward, slow but steady, like a hand beneath the surface guiding them closer to Ned's dock.

Luke cursed under his breath. "Something's wrong..."

Ned laughed--a horrid cackle. "The first stone's already been thrown. And it wasn't by me."

"Paddle!" Cason shouted. "Go, now!"

They thrashed at the water, but the canoes barely moved. Every stroke felt heavy like the river was turning to syrup.

Jess was crying now, trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it--"

"She's the one," Ned rasped. "She called me out. The swamp knows."

"No--" Taylor sobbed, "--please."

But it was already happening. The water beneath Jess' canoe erupted. Black roots burst from below, slick and pulsing, wrapping around her waist and shoulders like living ropes.

Jess screamed. Fought. Clawed at the edges of the canoe.

Cason lunged. Gripped her arm with both hands. "I've got you--I've got you--"

The roots yanked her back with a sickening snap. Her fingers slipped free. Her body plunged beneath the surface. One final splash. Then nothing. The river swallowed her whole.

The silence afterward was suffocating. No one moved. No one spoke.

Ned watched the ripples where Jess had vanished. After a long moment, he spoke with satisfaction, "Judgment has a price... and the swamp always leaves something behind." He said with a cackle.

A moment later, the water bubbled. Something rose. A gleaming white skull broke the surface. It was impossibly clean, as if the swamp had scrubbed her soul away.

It floated beside the canoe. Empty eye sockets turned skyward.

Taylor screamed in horror. Cason and Luke just stared, too shocked to speak.

Ned said nothing more. He turned. Walked back up his dock and vanished into the trees like the swamp had opened a door just for him.

The current released its grip. The canoes bobbed light again.

Taylor sat traumatized. Cason and Luke didn't speak. They just paddled--hard--harder than they ever had, like the river might change its mind and reach for them next.

They didn't stop. They didn't look back. Not even once.

8