This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Carbodex on 2023-08-10 09:42:08.

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A scream, filled with terror, rang out so suddenly that the forest seemed to freeze in fear for a moment. I recognized that tone, and my heart stopped. That scream could belong to no one else but Sara. No, not her. Please, not her.

I ran, branches and thorns tearing at my skin, but the pain was inconsequential compared to the terror gnawing at my heart. I found her on the ground, panting, her eyes wide with fear, pointing at the puncture marks on her ankle.

A serpent, a deep emerald green, slithered away, its piercing yellow eyes fixated on us.

“It bit me,” Sara whimpered.

“We have to get her back to the camp!” Tom shouted. But even as he spoke, the lush forest around us seemed to come alive. Serpents emerged from behind trees, bushes, and rocks. Their eyes glowed, their movements were aggressive, and the collective hiss sounded like a brewing storm.

The sun had barely risen when we set out on this adventure, a team of five friends seeking thrill and exotic wildlife. The uninhabited island, known as ‘Isla de las Serpientes,’ was said to house some of the rarest species of snakes. The locals spoke of the island with a reverence rooted in fear, warning of the ‘time of fury’ – the breeding season of the serpents.

But we laughed it off. Urban legends. Folktales.

Now, Sara’s labored breaths and the encroaching horde of venomous snakes made the gravity of our mistake terrifyingly clear.

Tom and Mike made a stretcher using their jackets and some sturdy branches. Laying Sara down, we began our frantic trek back to the camp where our satellite phone was. Every step was a challenge, with the snakes growing increasingly aggressive.

The world around us felt distorted, trees appearing like towering serpents, the wind hissing threats. Time was distorted; every second felt like an eternity.

Mike, our resident biology nerd, whispered, “This is abnormal behavior. Snakes are usually solitary during breeding. They’re communicating… they’re hunting together…”

The thought was petrifying. Predators, driven by primal instincts, joining forces during their most aggressive season.

We had to take a detour to avoid a particularly dense cluster of snakes. This meant passing through a narrow canyon with walls covered in moss and occasional streaks of black and gold – snakes basking and waiting for prey.

The tight walls closed in, seeming to pulse with the very heartbeat of the island. Each footstep echoed, bouncing off the stone and alerting more snakes to our presence.

“Sara, stay with us,” Jenny whispered, tears streaking her face as she watched her friend’s condition deteriorate. The venom was fast-acting, and we were running out of time.

At that moment, a viper lunged from the mossy wall, narrowly missing Tom’s face. “We need to be more vigilant,” he panted. “We can’t let our guard down, not even for a second.”

Mike, carrying a stick, gently pushed snakes away, trying not to agitate them further. “If there’s an antidote, it’ll be derived from the venom itself. We need to capture one alive.”

Tom nodded, and using his own stick, skillfully trapped a snake. The creature writhed, hissing angrily, its fangs bared. With utmost caution, they placed it into an empty water bottle, ensuring it had air but couldn’t escape.

Upon exiting the canyon, our makeshift campsite was visible. But so were thousands of snakes. They covered the ground, the trees, even the tent. It was as if the island itself was warning us to leave or face the consequences.

“We need that satellite phone,” Tom said. “And fast.”

I decided to risk it. Taking off my shoes and tying them to my hands, I slowly tiptoed through, the snakes reacting to vibrations. As I approached the tent, a particularly large serpent blocked the entrance, its gaze almost sentient, challenging.

Time seemed to freeze, the only sound being the synchronized hissing of thousands of snakes and my own pounding heartbeat.

With a quick move, I used one shoe to distract it and the other to push it aside. Snatching the satellite phone, I darted back to the group.

Mike was already working on extracting the venom from the captured snake. “Even if we call for help,” he said, “it’ll take hours. Our best shot is creating a makeshift antidote.”

He mixed the venom with some herbs he’d collected earlier, adding water to dilute the concoction.

Sara, by now, was barely conscious. With a deep breath, Mike administered the antidote.

The minutes that followed were the longest of our lives.

Sara’s breathing, shallow and ragged, was the only sound above the eerie chorus of hissing. We all huddled close, watching her face for any sign of improvement, any hint that Mike’s antidote was working.

Slowly, painfully slowly, color began to return to Sara’s cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered, and she took a deeper breath, her fingers clutching Jenny’s hand.

Relief washed over us, but the danger was far from over. The call from the satellite phone confirmed that help was on the way, but it would be hours before they’d arrive. We needed to keep Sara stable and ourselves safe.

“Guys,” Mike whispered, “we need to elevate her, reduce the blood flow to the heart.”

Using our bags and supplies, we built a makeshift bed to prop up her legs. The snakes, perhaps sensing our temporary victory, seemed to grow even more agitated. Their movements became frantic, swarming closer to our group.

“The pheromones,” Mike exclaimed. “They might be reacting to the venom we extracted. We have to get rid of it.”

I grabbed the container with the remaining venom and, using a cloth, created a makeshift Molotov cocktail. Lighting it up, I hurled it as far from us as I could. The flames erupted, momentarily pushing back the serpentine wave and creating a barrier.

The firelight painted the horror around us in sharp relief: trees draped in snakes, the ground alive with their slithering, and the sky, slowly darkening, seemed to press down on us.

Hours felt like days, but finally, the distant chop of helicopter blades reached our ears. A searchlight cut through the growing darkness, focusing on our camp. The loud noise seemed to disorient the snakes, scattering them momentarily.

Ropes descended, and one by one, we were hoisted up. As I was being lifted, I felt a sharp pain on my ankle. Looking down, I saw a snake dangling, having bitten me during the ascent. I shook it off, hoping it wasn’t too late for me.

Once onboard, the medics quickly tended to Sara and me. As the adrenaline wore off, exhaustion hit, pulling me into unconsciousness.

I awoke in a sterile hospital room, an IV drip attached to my arm. Sara was in the bed next to mine, smiling weakly.

“We made it,” she whispered.

Days later, as we recuperated, we learned the truth. The island’s snake population had exploded due to a lack of natural predators. The breeding season’s heightened aggression was exacerbated by our intrusion. The locals, having coexisted with these creatures for centuries, knew to stay away during this time, a wisdom we had ignored.

The island was temporarily quarantined, a warning set up for potential adventurers. As for us, the scars we bore weren’t just physical. The nightmares, the slithering sounds in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the price of our hubris.

The thrill of adventure had cost us dearly, teaching us respect for nature and the boundaries it sets. Some places, some mysteries, are better left untouched.