The Glow and the Growl

It was a Tuesday night when the television flickered to life with a live feed of the Cavern Falls in the town of Redrock, Arizona. The falls were illuminated with shifting hues of violet and emerald, a spectacle the newscaster claimed was a ‘permanent art installation.’ My wife, Elena, and I, along with our one-year-old husky, Koda, were mesmerized. We decided on the spot to drive the three hours to see it for ourselves.

We booked a room at the ‘Desert Paws Motel,’ a dog-friendly spot we found online, and the next morning we hit the road. The drive was stunning, with red rock mesas and the occasional saguaro dotting the landscape. Koda hung his head out the window, his ears flapping in the wind, and Elena and I were in high spirits.

We arrived in Redrock just as the sun began its descent. The motel was a charming, single-story building painted a faded orange, with a neon sign that buzzed softly. Our room was surprisingly modern, with sleek furniture and a large bed that promised comfort. We unloaded our bags, and Koda immediately began exploring the room, his tail wagging.

Needing to stretch our legs, we stepped outside and took a walk around the complex. We noticed several other guests with their dogs, and a cacophony of barks and growls occasionally punctuated the air. Next door was a lively Mexican restaurant called ‘La Cantina,’ where the sounds of laughter and mariachi music spilled out into the parking lot. People were carrying brightly wrapped gifts through the front entrance, and Elena’s eyes lit up.

‘I could use a margarita,’ she said, gesturing toward the restaurant. I nodded, but Koda was already pulling me toward a patch of grass near the main road. I called out to Elena, ‘I’ll keep the pup entertained; we’ll meet you back at the room in an hour.’ She gave a thumbs up and disappeared through the restaurant’s door.

I walked Koda along the sidewalk, watching the traffic zip by on the highway. The sky deepened into a bruised purple, and the first stars began to appear. After a while, I decided to check out the falls. I asked the front desk clerk, a wiry man with tired eyes, for directions. He pointed down a winding path that led behind the motel. ‘It’s about a five-minute walk,’ he said, his voice lacking enthusiasm. ‘Try to be back before dark.’ I thanked him and went to get Koda.

We started down the path, which was bordered by low shrubs and scraggly trees. The sound of water grew louder, and soon we emerged onto a rocky overlook. The falls were even more magnificent up close, the water cascading into a shimmering pool below, but the lights that played upon them now seemed more intense, more hypnotic. They pulsed in a rhythm that felt almost organic, and I found myself staring longer than intended.

Koda whimpered, pressing his body against my leg. I looked down at him; his ears were flattened, and he was trembling. ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ I asked, but he just whimpered again. I noticed then that the water had a strange, oily sheen to it, and the air carried a faint, sulfuric smell. A chill ran down my spine despite the warmth of the evening.

I decided we should head back. As we turned, Koda began to growl, a low rumble in his chest. He was staring at something in the shadows near the base of the falls. I squinted, but saw nothing. Then I heard it: a low, guttural sound, like a growl but deeper, more resonant. It seemed to come from the water itself.

I backed away slowly, trying to keep Koda close. The growling grew louder, and the lights on the falls flickered erratically. I turned to run, but my feet felt heavy, as if the ground was pulling me down. Koda barked sharply, breaking my paralysis, and we sprinted back along the path.

We burst through the motel’s back entrance, gasping for air. I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it, my heart pounding. Koda was still whimpering, his tail tucked between his legs. I looked at him, and for the first time, I noticed a strange marking on his back that hadn’t been there before—a pattern of dark, swirling lines that seemed to writhe under the motel’s flickering neon.

I hurried to our room, unlocking the door with trembling hands. Elena was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a half-empty margarita glass. She looked pale, her eyes wide. ‘Did you see it?’ she asked, her voice shaking. ‘The falls… they’re not what they seem.’ She set the glass down and showed me her phone. She had taken a picture of the falls, but in the photo, the water was black, and something massive and shadowy was emerging from it.

Before I could respond, the lights in our room flickered and went out. In the darkness, I heard that growl again, closer now, and Koda let out a pitiful whimper. A low, rhythmic sound, like a heartbeat, filled the room. I reached for Elena’s hand, and we both froze as a voice, thick and wet, whispered from the corners of the room: ‘You shouldn’t have looked.’

We never made it back home. The next morning, the motel staff found our room empty, except for Koda, who sat in the corner, his eyes glowing with a faint amber light. The local news reported a strange phenomena at the Cavern Falls, and the art installation was quietly dismantled. But every night, from the darkness of our motel, we could hear the growl, and we knew it was waiting for the next set of eyes to fall upon the water.