I hope to see one day that no one will try something so foolish once again as to try and go inside or crazy enough to create something like a railroad in Florida. Or God forbid, live there only knowing the horrors and evils of which lay underneath those trees and bushes and swamps. I still stare into those trees sometimes, and I hear faint resonances of those drums and wallows that seduce me to walk inside. 

And I still dream of that—that that will one day consume me, those animated alligator men who dream of swallowing my heart as a ritual to something older and much more evil than I could ever comprehend. My horror paralyzes me, stopping me from leaving the state. To this day, I submit myself to one day succumb to being the feast of the gods that live below us, even if their minions are long gone. Outside my home, the river lights up at night sometimes, and I cannot get over the fact that this river could possibly lead back to those demonic depths far inside Florida. But now I know why my great grandfather never moved his family out of Florida. I keep dreaming of these green creatures and they call me further and further to go past the mounds, and go lie in the swamps, where I see myself one day drowning in the dark depths. Bewildered by what was buried in those black bogs below. 

Fin