The Grass

 My name is Andrew Smith. I am an Entomologist, and for those of you who don't know what that is, it's someone who studies insects and other arthropods for a living. Through my entire school career, elementary, middle, and high school, I was a social outcast due to my interest in anything that crawled and had an exoskeleton. Creatively, I was named Bug Boy. Even through all the torment and bullying, I still pulled out and now I'm making a solid $82,000 a year in Miami. Who's laughing now?

Even though not many people liked me, I did have one friend. His name was Jacob. The reason we were friends was kind of cliché. We were both had become social outcasts due to our interests. Albeit, they were very different. Jacob was insanely obsessed cryptids, creatures not proven to exist, like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster. The bullies called him Cryp-Creep, a little more creative, but he didn't appreciate the name none the less. This friendship has lasted from fourth grade to the present, and he is still my best friend. He has always told me stories about cryptids even though I didn't really care. Having a mind of skepticism and logic, his stories never really appealed to me, however I listened to them anyway to make him fell good and so he could have someone to talk to. He would come up with the wildest stories. Like once, he said that aliens abducted his dog and dropped it back in his yard five minutes later. He also said he saw a giant six foot centipede in his back yard that hissed at him and wriggled into a round golf ball sized hole. Being an Entomologist, I instantly realized that this completely defied all logic and reason, and deduced that it was probably a rat snake (we live in Miami anyway). There are invasive species in Florida, but a six foot centipede? Give me a break.

I'm 27 now and live alone in a small townhouse. It was the middle of summer and there is a section of the neighborhood under construction, and I presumed that they were building more houses. But my neighbor says they may build a pool also. This excited me because it was the summer and I love pools probably more than I should. One night, I had nothing to do, so I decided to drive down to the construction area and ask if they were building a pool. The construction was taking place less than a half a mile away so it wouldn't be too much of a hassle. I drove to a fence that said, No Unauthorized Vehicles Allowed, so I decided to walk the rest of the way. I didn't even realize how dark it was until I actually got out of the car. By dark, I mean pitch black, unnatural for the skies if Miami. It was a new moon, so I only had the light of the stars to guide me. I face-palmed for not thinking to bring a flashlight. I stared to turn back when I realized there was a small light coming from what I presumed to be a construction trailer about 100 yards away, so I decided to move on towards the light. I began to walk into an open field, or at least what I perceived to be a field (like I said, it was pitch black). I felt the tall grass on my bare legs because I was wearing shorts, and I proceeded to walk. As I was walking, I realized that this grass was strangely rough. I've mowed a lawn before, two different ones to be exact, my parents' lawn and my lawn at my house today, and they never felt like this on my legs. However, those lawns were both very nice lawns with no weeds, so I guessed that these were weeds. I kept walking. The sound of construction equipment was getting louder to the point where it drowned out any other noises; I kept walking. The grass began to get taller, and I began to feel the dew on my legs, which I though was a little strange. It was a little too early for dew but that may be because we were being hit by a cold front, and the grass shouldn't be taller, but that area may get more sun, so I blew it off. I kept walking. This is where it starts to get strange. The grass, very subtly at first, started gripping my leg hair. I blew it off as those weeds that have a grippy and sticky texture, but for some reason, that explanation still did not quite fit what I was feeling and did not sit right with me. I kept walking. The grass began to get even taller, up into my pant legs, which I found unnerving because grass doesn't normally do that. The grabbing slowly started to hurt to the point where I stared to jog. I must have walked into a patch of thistle. The grass grabbed and clawed at my legs. I felt gashes ripped into my calves. My inner thighs were being scratched at by God knows what. I began sprinting and almost galloping, trying to come into as little contact with the grass as I could. I was 50 yards away when I heard the hissing. It was terrifying. It sounded like the mixture between a snake and a person dry heaving. 30 yards. The pain was excruciating. I was definitely bleeding out by now and needed to go to the hospital. I kept running. 20 yards. The hissing overpowered the sound of construction equipment; it was everywhere! It surrounded me! 10 yards. I could see the concrete. I could smell the sawdust. I could taste the fumes.

I was there on the concrete. I was safe. Then the lights turned on for the workers' night shift. I looked down at my legs to see them covered with cuts, scrapes, and gashes. They were swollen and bloody. Then I notices a dark liquid; it wasn't blood. It was tar, or what I perceived to be tar, and the smell was putrid. It smelled like death and bile. I almost threw up from it, but I held it together. Upon further inspection later, from what I could tell, it was some type of secretion. I didn't realize that at the moment however. After examining my wounds, I turned around to examine the field; except, there was no field. There was no tall grass or any grass at all for that matter. There was just an empty dirt lot, covered with round golf ball sized holes.