by Micke
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.”
The Ghosts, an elite military special forces unit, were renowned for their ability to execute missions in hostile, uncharted territories. Led by the unflinching Captain Gavora, the team was deployed to the Amazon jungle with a clear objective: locate the wreckage of a military aircraft that had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Initial intelligence suggested no survivors, but the plane’s cargo—top secret material”—was classified as a priority retrieval.
After days of trekking through the dense, suffocating jungle, the team located a small Amazonian village near the suspected crash site. The villagers greeted them cautiously, their wide eyes betraying fear and desperation.
Captain Gavora, inquired about the plane. The village elder shook his head, explaining that they had seen no plane, but their goats had been vanishing, stolen by the “shadowed monks” who haunted the jungle.
“They are not men,” the elder warned, his voice trembling. “They whisper to the jungle, and it listens. They move without sound and leave no trace. Even the spirits fear them.”
The team exchanged skeptical glances. Ghosts didn’t believe in legends. They dealt in facts, in enemies they could see and fight. But Captain Gavora, known for his instincts, decided to investigate.
The Ghosts found the crash site as the sun began to set, painting the jungle in shades of amber and shadow. The wreckage was scattered, the twisted metal of the fuselage half-buried in the undergrowth.
“Strange,” muttered Sergeant Danick, examining the debris. “It’s like the jungle’s already reclaiming it.”
No bodies were found, only empty seats. The black box had been ripped from its housing, but claw marks on the frame suggested it hadn’t been an animal.
Captain Gavora surveyed the scene. “This doesn’t add up,” he said. “Secure the site. We’re staying here tonight.”
As darkness fell, the jungle came alive with its usual cacophony of insects and distant animal calls. But around midnight, the sounds stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, faint whispers drifted through the trees, in a language none of them understood.
Private Maddox froze. “Captain, did you hear that?”
“Yes,” Gavora said, his voice low. “Weapons ready.”
The whispers grew louder, circling the camp like a predator stalking its prey. Suddenly, the fire extinguished itself, plunging them into darkness.
When the Ghosts switched to night vision, they saw them: shadowy figures their faces obscured by wooden masks carved to resemble animal skulls. The monks moved unnaturally fast, their bodies seeming to flicker in and out of existence as they approached.
“Identify yourselves!” Captain Gavora barked.
The figures raised their hands, and the jungle seemed to respond. Vines coiled like serpents, roots tore through the earth, and a cold, unnatural wind howled through the trees.
“Open fire!” Gavora commanded.
The Ghosts unleashed a torrent of bullets, but the opponents seemed unaffected. Their forms shimmered, and the bullets passed through them like mist. One monk raised a staff, and a wall of vines erupted from the ground, separating the team.
DMaddox screamed as he was dragged into the darkness by unseen hands. “Help me!”
Gavora fired blindly into the shadows, but the monks were everywhere and nowhere at once. “Fall back!” he ordered.
The Ghosts regrouped near the river, panting and shaken. Maddox was gone, and the jungle was silent once more.
“These aren’t men,” whispered Danick. “We can’t fight this.”
Gavora’s jaw tightened. He hated retreating, hated leaving a mission incomplete. But he wasn’t foolish. This was a fight they couldn’t win.
“We’re pulling out,” he said, his voice firm. “We’ll report what we’ve seen and let others decide what to do with it.”
The trek back to the extraction point was tense. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig made the Ghosts flinch. But the monks didn’t follow them. It was as if they had been allowed to leave.
Back at base, Gavora filed his report. He described the supernatural phenomena, the missing black box, and the villagers’ warnings. But the higher-ups dismissed it as hysteria. The Ghosts were reassigned, their warnings ignored.
Weeks later, a supply helicopter flew over the jungle, searching for any sign of the missing black box. The crew reported seeing nothing unusual, but as they passed over the crash site, their instruments malfunctioned, and their radio was flooded with faint whispers.
The Ghosts never spoke of the mission again, but Captain Gavora couldn’t shake the feeling that they had only glimpsed the surface of something much darker. Deep in the Amazon, the monks remained, their secrets intact, their domain untouched. And the jungle continued to whisper its warnings to those who dared to listen.