A cold case. A decade old. And now, it was mine.
The file landed on my desk with a sickening thud, dust curling from its yellowed pages like the last breath of a dying thing. Nancy Whitmore. Seventeen. Last seen in the 1980s. Brown curls, green eyes, a little on the bigger side—5’6. Vanished near the woods that had swallowed more bodies than the ocean surrounding Bouvet Island.
I’d heard the stories growing up. You didn’t go into those trees. Not unless you had a death wish.
But kids are stupid.
Nancy was last seen with her best friends and boyfriend, giggling and drunk on teenage invincibility. Then, she was gone. Just like that. The town had moved on, like they always do. People disappear. It happens. Until someone else vanishes, and suddenly, the past has claws.
I flipped the file open. Crime scene photos, statements, old maps of the area. The woods looked different back then. Wilder. Like they were watching. I scanned the reports—her friends swore she’d just… wandered off.
I walked in, sitting down, setting the file on the cold stone interrogation table. I propted it open.
The Woods Eat Everything
The woods smelled wrong. Even in the dead of winter, the trees loomed too thick, the air too still. It wasn’t just the cold that made my skin crawl—it was the weight of the place, the way the silence felt hungry.
Nancy’s case was cold, but the bodies that turned up before her? They weren’t. Limbs gnawed down to the bone. Faces peeled back like citrus rinds. Teeth marks in places they shouldn’t be.
The old sheriff chalked it up to wolves. I wasn’t so sure.
My boots crunched over the brittle underbrush. The deeper I went, the more I felt it. Something watching. Something waiting.
Then I saw it. The cabin.
Not on any map. Not in any report. Hidden, half-swallowed by the trees, but there. A blackened chimney coughed weak smoke into the air. Someone was home.
The door creaked when I pushed it open. The smell hit first—rot, copper, something rich and rancid. Inside, bones were piled like discarded chicken wings. A single plate sat on the table, meat still glistening under the dim lantern light.
Human meat.
Then I heard breathing.
The Thing That ate Nancy Whitmore
He wasn’t just a man.
His skin sagged like a suit worn too long, his teeth sharpened to points, yellow and glistening. His eyes were wild, set deep into his skull, glimmering like a predator’s.
He smiled.
“I wondered when someone would come looking” his voice thick, wet, like he was chewing on something.
My stomach clenched. The file said Nancy was never found. No trace. Just…..gone.
Now I knew why
I reached for my gun, but the bastard laughed.
“You really think a bullet will stop me?” he whispered “I been here long before this town. I’ll be here long after”
He stepped closer, and I saw it- his nails so long it was stained dark. The way his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin.
He enjoys this
And then I saw her
Or what was “left” of her.
Nancy’s face was stretched over the wall like a hunting trophy. Her green eyes, dull, but still watching. Her lips, sewn into a permanent scream.
The air turned thick. My stomach rolled.
The thing that ate Nancy Whitmore licked his lips.
“Staying for dinner?”
I stumbled back, my heart pounding in my chest. This was no ordinary case. This is a nightmare come to life.This thing that ate Nancy Whitmore was no man but a monster, a ghoul wearing human skin.
I raised my gun, my hands shaking, but deep down I knew it was useless.This thing was beyond bullets and silver. It was something ancient, something primal.
But then, a voice in my head whispered, “You can’t let it win. You can’t let it keep taking.”
I steeled myself, my grip tightening on the gun. I had to do something, anything. I couldn’t let this monster continue its reign of terror.
With a deep breath, I raised the gun and fired.
The shot echoed through the cabin, the sound reverberating off the walls. The thing that ate Nancy Whitmore staggered back, a look of surprise crossing its twisted face.
But it didn’t stop.
It lunged at me, its claws outstretched, its mouth open in a snarl. I fired again and again, each shot hitting its mark. But still, it kept coming.
I stumbled back, my back hitting the wall. This was it. This was how it ended.
But then, a miracle happened. The cabin door burst open,the old sheriff, the last person I thought who could help, came in holding a gun.
The thing that ate Nancy Whitmore turned, its eyes widening in fear. It knew it was outnumbered, outgunned.
With a final roar, it leaped out the window, disappearing into the darkness of the woods.
I sank to the ground, my chest heaving. It was over. The nightmare was finally over.
But as I looked around at the carnage, at the bones and the blood, I knew that Bouvet Island would never be the same. The woods held secrets, dark and ancient, that would never be fully uncovered.
And Nancy Whitmore, her face forever frozen in a scream, would never be forgotten.
The Bouvet Island case was closed. But the horror of it would haunt me forever.
Author’s Note:
I made this story because I had a fun idea and this is about a cold case and cannibalism.
Nevaeh Cade | 15 | Republic, MO
