"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.
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