First Draft: Whispers In The Jungle

The dense jungle canopy above 1969 Vietnam created a permanent twilight, even in the middle of the day. Captain Jack Reynolds, a seasoned soldier with haunted eyes, led his platoon through the suffocating underbrush. The war had turned the once serene landscape into a labyrinth of fear and death. But today, there was an additional sense of dread that hung in the air, something beyond the ever-present threat of Viet Cong ambushes.

Reynolds paused, raising his hand to signal a halt. His men, a motley crew of weary soldiers, collapsed into the foliage, their breaths labored and eyes darting nervously. Among them was Private Tim Harlan, the youngest of the group, who had joined the platoon just two months ago. The jungle had already aged him beyond his nineteen years.

Reynolds consulted his map, a tattered piece of paper that seemed almost useless in the endless green. “We’re close,” he muttered. The intelligence report mentioned a Viet Cong supply depot hidden deep in the jungle, but what troubled him was the village nearby, marked only as “Ngôi Làng Bị Lãng Quên” — The Forgotten Village.

Sergeant Bill Carter, Reynolds’ right-hand man, approached. “Something ain’t right about this place, Cap. I can feel it.”

Reynolds nodded. “Keep your eyes peeled. We move in five.”

As the minutes ticked by, an eerie silence enveloped the jungle, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. The platoon resumed their cautious advance, their senses on high alert. The path grew narrower, the foliage thicker, until they stumbled upon a clearing.

There, half-hidden by the encroaching jungle, lay the remnants of a village. The huts were decrepit, their thatched roofs caved in, and a sense of abandonment pervaded the air. The soldiers spread out, rifles at the ready, as they searched the ruins.

“Cap, over here!” Harlan’s voice broke the silence. He stood at the edge of the clearing, pointing to a stone structure partially obscured by vines. It was a temple, ancient and foreboding, its entrance a gaping maw of darkness.

Reynolds and Carter approached the temple, its worn stone steps leading down into the earth. Strange symbols adorned the entrance, carved with an artistry that seemed out of place in the jungle. The symbols twisted and turned in ways that made the eyes ache if stared at for too long.

“What do you make of this?” Reynolds asked, his voice hushed.

Carter shook his head. “Never seen anything like it. Feels old, real old. Older than the war, older than the village.”

The rest of the platoon gathered around, their curiosity piqued despite their fear. Harlan, ever the eager one, stepped forward. “Should we check it out, Cap?”

Reynolds hesitated. Every instinct told him to turn back, to leave this place and its secrets undisturbed. But curiosity and the need for answers pushed him forward. “Alright. Carter, Harlan, and Jones, you’re with me. The rest of you set up a perimeter.”

With flashlights cutting through the darkness, the small group descended the steps. The air grew cooler, and the smell of earth and decay filled their nostrils. The passageway opened into a cavernous chamber, the walls lined with more of the strange carvings.

In the center of the chamber stood an altar, and atop it lay a tome bound in what looked disturbingly like human skin. The book emanated an aura of malevolence, and the air seemed to thrum with an unnatural energy.

“What the hell is that?” Harlan whispered, his voice trembling.

Reynolds approached the altar cautiously, his flashlight revealing more of the chamber’s grotesque decorations. Skulls and bones were arranged in intricate patterns, and the carvings seemed to move and writhe in the flickering light.

“It’s some kind of book,” Reynolds said, reaching out to touch it. As his fingers brushed the cover, a jolt of electricity shot through him, and he jerked his hand back. “Damn it!”

Carter grabbed his arm. “You alright, Cap?”

“Yeah, just… felt something. Let’s get out of here.”

But as they turned to leave, a low, guttural chant echoed through the chamber, freezing them in their tracks. The walls seemed to close in, the symbols glowing with a sickly green light. The chanting grew louder, more insistent, as if the very walls of the temple were alive. Reynolds’ heart pounded in his chest, the sense of dread overwhelming. He turned to his men, their faces pale and eyes wide with terror.

“We need to go, now!” Reynolds shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the otherworldly chorus.

The ground beneath them trembled, and the carvings on the walls writhed like living things. From the shadows, a figure emerged—tall and gaunt, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Its form was vaguely human but twisted and grotesque, as if it had been molded from nightmares.

Harlan screamed, raising his rifle, but the creature moved with impossible speed, knocking the weapon from his hands. Carter and Jones opened fire, the muzzle flashes briefly illuminating the chamber. The bullets seemed to pass through the entity, leaving it unharmed.

Reynolds grabbed the tome, instinctively feeling that it held the key to their survival. As his hands touched the cover, the chanting stopped abruptly, replaced by a deafening silence. The creature paused, its glowing eyes fixed on the book.

“Get back!” Reynolds shouted, holding the tome aloft. The creature recoiled, a hiss escaping its twisted mouth. The symbols on the walls dimmed, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly.

“Move, move!” Reynolds commanded, leading his men back up the steps. The creature did not follow, its gaze locked on the book. They stumbled out of the temple, gasping for breath, the jungle’s oppressive heat a stark contrast to the cold dread inside.

The rest of the platoon looked at them with a mix of relief and fear. “What happened in there?” one of the soldiers asked.

“Nothing good,” Reynolds replied, clutching the tome tightly. “We need to get this back to base. Maybe the eggheads can make sense of it.”

The journey back to base was fraught with tension. The jungle seemed more alive than ever, shadows shifting and whispering just beyond their sight. Every sound, every rustle of leaves, set their nerves on edge. Reynolds kept the tome hidden in his pack, its weight a constant reminder of the horror they had faced.

As night fell, they set up camp, the flickering firelight casting eerie shadows. Harlan sat close to Reynolds, his hands shaking as he lit a cigarette. “Cap, what do you think that thing was?”

Reynolds shook his head. “I don’t know, but it was nothing from this world. That book… it holds some kind of power. We need to be careful.”

Carter joined them, his face grim. “I’ve seen a lot of shit in this war, but nothing like that. Whatever it is, we need to destroy it.”

Reynolds considered this. The logical part of his mind agreed, but something about the book called to him, whispering secrets and promises of power. “We’ll see what the experts say. Until then, we keep it safe.”

As the night wore on, the soldiers took turns keeping watch, but sleep was elusive. The jungle was unnaturally quiet, the usual sounds of insects and animals conspicuously absent. In the silence, the whispers began—soft, insistent, and unintelligible.

Reynolds sat up, sweat beading on his forehead. The book’s presence was overwhelming, its whispers growing louder, more coherent. He pulled it from his pack, the leathery cover warm to the touch.

“Read it, Jack,” a voice seemed to say. “Unlock its secrets. Embrace the power.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. But the whispers persisted, and with a trembling hand, he opened the tome. The pages were filled with symbols similar to those in the temple, but as he stared at them, the symbols began to rearrange themselves, forming words in a language he could understand.

Reynolds read, the whispers guiding him. The book spoke of ancient gods, beings from beyond the stars who had once ruled the earth. Their power was immense, and they had been banished long ago, but remnants of their influence lingered in hidden places like the temple they had discovered.

As he read, a sense of dread mixed with awe filled him. The book promised power, knowledge beyond comprehension, but at a terrible cost. He could feel its influence seeping into his mind, altering his thoughts.

“Cap, what are you doing?” Harlan’s voice broke through the haze. He and Carter stood over him, their faces filled with concern.

Reynolds snapped the book shut. “Nothing. Just… trying to understand.”

Carter knelt beside him. “That thing is dangerous, Jack. We need to get rid of it.”

Reynolds nodded slowly. “You’re right. But we need to know what we’re dealing with first. Let’s get back to base and let the experts take a look.”

The journey continued at first light, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly as they neared their destination. But the whispers never ceased, a constant background noise that gnawed at their sanity.

Back at the base, the platoon was debriefed, and the tome was handed over to the intelligence officers. Reynolds felt a strange sense of loss as it left his possession, but also relief. The weight of its secrets was too much to bear alone.

Days passed, and the whispers faded, but a sense of unease lingered. Then, late one night, Reynolds was summoned to the intelligence tent. Inside, he found Major Collins, a stern-faced officer with a reputation for secrecy.

“Captain Reynolds,” Collins greeted him, his voice grave. “We’ve been studying the book you found. It’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

Reynolds nodded. “What did you find?”

Collins gestured to a table where the tome lay open, surrounded by notes and diagrams. “This book speaks of ancient entities, beings of immense power. The language is old, predating all modern civilization. Our linguists have managed to translate some of it, and what they found is… disturbing.”

He handed Reynolds a sheet of paper filled with translations. “These beings were worshipped as gods, but they were banished from our world long ago. The book contains rituals, instructions for summoning them back.”

Reynolds felt a chill run down his spine. “And the creature we saw?”

Collins nodded. “A guardian, perhaps. Meant to protect the temple and the book. We believe it was bound to the tome, and by taking it, you weakened its hold.”

Reynolds stared at the book, the symbols seeming to pulse with a life of their own. “So what do we do now?”

Collins’ expression was grim. “We need to destroy it. Completely. But the process is delicate. One mistake, and we could unleash something far worse.”

The decision was made to perform the ritual at a remote location, far from the base and any potential victims. Reynolds, Carter, and a small team of specialists were chosen to carry it out. The journey to the designated site was tense, each man aware of the stakes.

They arrived at a clearing, the moon casting an eerie glow over the scene. The specialists set up their equipment, creating a circle of protective symbols around the book. Reynolds stood at the center, the tome in his hands.

“Ready, Captain?” one of the specialists asked, his voice steady but eyes filled with fear.

Reynolds nodded, opening the book to the designated page. The instructions were clear, but the words felt heavy on his tongue. He began to chant, the ancient language flowing from his lips.

As he spoke, the air grew colder, and the shadows lengthened. The symbols around the book glowed, and the ground beneath them trembled. The jungle seemed to close in, the trees leaning closer as if listening.

The chant reached a crescendo, and a blinding light erupted from the book. The air was filled with the sound of otherworldly wails, and the ground shook violently. Reynolds continued, his voice unwavering despite the chaos.

Then, with a final, forceful word, the light intensified and then vanished. The book crumbled to dust in his hands, and the oppressive presence lifted. The jungle fell silent, the shadows retreating.

“It’s done,” Reynolds said, his voice hoarse. The specialists quickly gathered the remains of the book, sealing them in a container for safe disposal.

The return to base was uneventful, but the experience had left its mark on them all. Reynolds felt a strange emptiness, as if a part of him had been left behind in the jungle. The whispers were gone, but the memory of their insistent presence lingered.

Back at the base, life resumed its grim routine. The war continued, but for Reynolds and his men, there was a new understanding of the horrors that lay hidden in the world. They had faced something beyond the physical, a darkness that defied comprehension.

Reynolds sat in his tent, staring at the container that held the book’s remains. He knew they had done the right thing, but the cost was high. The knowledge they had glimpsed was dangerous, and he feared it would not be the last time humanity encountered such forces.

In the weeks that followed, strange reports trickled in from other units—whispers of shadows moving in the night, of ancient symbols appearing in unlikely places. Reynolds knew the war they fought was not just against flesh and blood, but against the very darkness that lurked at the edges of their understanding.

And so, with a heavy heart and a wary eye, he prepared to face whatever came next, knowing that some evils could never truly be vanquished, only held at bay by those willing to stand against the unknown. 

The jungle held its secrets, and its whispers would never be silenced.