The Landlord of Portlock
Prologue: The Return
The fog rolled in thick and silent, swallowing the coastline of southern Alaska in a shroud of gray. It was the kind of fog that made sound seem distant, the kind that seemed to press against your skin and whisper warnings in your ear. Dr. Mara Jensen stood at the edge of the abandoned village, her boots sinking into moss and rotting leaves, her breath misting in the cold air. She was here for answers, but as the wind rattled the upside-down trees and the ruins loomed, she wondered if she should have listened to the warnings.
She was not alone. The AI voice in her earpiece—a calm, synthesized whisper—repeated its instructions: “Stay out of the fog. Do not go into the woods. If you hear footsteps, run.”
Mara swallowed, glancing at the team behind her. Three researchers, two local guides, and a handful of drones, all poised to uncover the truth about Portlock, Alaska—a place abandoned four times in two centuries, each time under circumstances more terrifying than the last.
Chapter 1: Ghosts in the Data
Mara’s obsession began in a windowless lab, thousands of miles away. She’d fed every eyewitness account, historical record, disappearance, and unexplained incident from Portlock into her AI model. The results were chilling—a pattern of fear, sickness, and violence that repeated across generations.
Her supervisor called it “folklore,” but Mara saw something else. The AI flagged unusual clusters: human-like voices mimicking speech, infrasound-induced dread, mutilated bodies, and entire communities fleeing overnight. The model didn’t see ghosts or legends. It saw a predator.
The deeper Mara dug, the less she believed in coincidence. The Spanish expedition of 1779—crew members sickened and terrified by voices in the woods. Captain Nathaniel Portlock’s journals from 1786—abandoned settlements, unexplained illnesses, and cries in the night. The Sugpiak village in 1867—hunters vanishing, bodies torn apart in ways no known animal could explain. And then, the final exodus in 1950—Portlock emptied in less than 48 hours, leaving behind furnished homes and tied boats.
The AI’s conclusion was blunt: Portlock was not abandoned by weather, economics, or superstition. Something in the woods did not want humans there.
Chapter 2: Arrival
The team arrived by boat, the shoreline black and jagged, the forest dense with ancient spruce. Portlock’s ruins sprawled across the coast—collapsed cabins, rusted machinery, and a post office still standing, its windows clouded with dust.
Mara’s guides, Adam and Lena, were native Alutiiq, their faces set with grim determination. “We don’t camp here,” Adam said, voice low. “Not even hunters stay overnight. My grandfather called it the place where something hunts humans.”
The researchers set up camp on the beach, scanning the woods with thermal drones. Mara unpacked her equipment—a laptop linked to a portable AI server, sound sensors, and a satellite uplink. She was here to collect data, but as the sun dipped below the horizon and the fog thickened, she felt the weight of centuries pressing down.
That night, the AI voice whispered from her earpiece: “If you hear footsteps, run.”
Chapter 3: Echoes
The first night was quiet, save for the crash of waves and the distant call of a raven. Mara reviewed the drone footage—nothing but trees and shadows. But at 2:13 a.m., her sound sensors picked up something strange: a low-frequency rumble, barely audible, followed by a series of human-like cries.
She played the recording for the team. The voices were eerie—almost words, but not quite. Lena paled. “That’s Nan-tin-nok,” she whispered. “The landlord.”
Adam nodded. “My people say it can mimic voices. It calls to hunters, lures them into the woods.”
Mara’s AI flagged the cries as “phmic patterns”—repeating structures similar to language. It labeled the sound as “territorial warning: intelligent predator.”
The team argued. Some said it was wind, others an animal. Mara listened again, feeling dread settle in her chest. The AI was not afraid, but she was.
Chapter 4: The Woods
Daylight brought little comfort. The team ventured into the forest, following old trails lined with overturned trees. The woods were silent, the air heavy with moisture and rot. Every step felt watched.
They found footprints—massive, deep, bipedal. Mara measured one: twenty inches long, eight wide. The AI estimated a creature nine to eleven feet tall, weighing over a thousand pounds.
Adam refused to go further. “This is its land,” he said. “We’re trespassing.”
Lena pointed to a tree, its trunk twisted and splintered. “My grandmother said the landlord shakes the trees when it’s angry.”
The researchers pressed on, collecting samples, scanning for DNA. Mara’s AI mapped the area, overlaying historical records with modern data. The patterns were impossible to ignore—every disappearance, every attack, clustered near the deepest part of the woods.
Chapter 5: Infrasound
On the third night, the team felt it. A vibration, deep in their bones, making their skin crawl and their hearts race. Mara’s sensors recorded infrasound—frequencies too low for human ears, but strong enough to cause panic, nausea, and a sense of being hunted.
The AI compared the readings to tiger intimidation patterns, finding a match. Mara’s hands shook as she typed notes. “It’s not just stories,” she whispered. “Something is here.”
Lena refused to sleep, staring at the forest with wide eyes. Adam loaded his rifle, though he doubted it would help. The researchers argued about natural explanations—wind, earthquakes, bears.
But the AI rejected them all. Bears did not mimic voices. Earthquakes did not crush skulls. Wind did not stalk hunters.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfqFtBVlCIU
Chapter 6: The Old Post Office
On the fourth day, Mara explored the post office, its floor littered with letters and faded photographs. She found a journal—entries from 1949, describing fear, disappearances, and mutilated bodies. The last page read: “We cannot stay. The landlord is angry. We must leave.”
Mara scanned the journal into her AI. The model flagged the language—identical to Spanish expedition logs from 1779, Sugpiak accounts from 1867, and Portlock’s own records from 1786.
“Pattern match: territorial predator,” the AI reported.
Mara’s heart pounded. The AI was seeing what generations had feared—a creature, intelligent and violent, driving humans away again and again.
Chapter 7: Nightfall
That night, the fog was thicker than ever. The team huddled in their tents, listening to the woods. At midnight, footsteps circled the camp—heavy, deliberate, too large to be human.
Mara’s AI recorded the sound, analyzing the gait. “Bipedal. Estimated mass: 900-1200 pounds. Proximity: 30 meters.”
Adam raised his rifle. Lena whispered prayers. The researchers froze, fear rooting them in place.
The footsteps stopped. A voice called from the woods, mimicking Lena’s own words: “We don’t camp here.”
Mara’s AI flagged the vocalization: “Human mimicry. High intelligence. Warning.”
The team did not sleep.
Chapter 8: The Attack
At dawn, the camp was in chaos. One of the researchers, Dr. Patel, was missing. The team found his tent shredded, footprints leading into the forest.
Adam refused to follow. “No one comes back,” he said. “We need to leave.”
Mara argued, desperate for answers. The AI mapped Dr. Patel’s last known location, overlaying it with historical disappearance sites. The match was perfect.
They found Dr. Patel’s body near an overturned tree, mutilated in ways no bear or wolf could explain. The AI compared the injuries to hundreds of predator attacks—none matched. “Unknown attack pattern. Targeted. Suggests hunting behavior.”
Lena wept. Adam cursed the land. Mara stared at the data, her resolve crumbling.
Chapter 9: The Pattern
The AI processed every detail—footprints, injuries, vocalizations, disappearances. The model generated a profile: a creature between nine and eleven feet tall, bipedal, weighing over a thousand pounds, capable of infrasound, vocal mimicry, and coordinated intimidation.
It was not a legend. It was a landlord.
Mara reviewed the global folklore the AI flagged: Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest, Yeti in the Himalayas, Kushtaka in Alaska, Wendigo in Canada. Cultures separated by thousands of miles, all describing a giant, intelligent, dangerous forest predator.
The AI did not claim they were the same, but it saw the pattern—a global archetype, feared for centuries.
Chapter 10: The Final Warning
The team voted to leave. Adam and Lena packed quickly, refusing to look back. Mara hesitated, torn between curiosity and terror.
The AI’s final report was chilling: “Portlock was abandoned four times over two centuries. Each exodus followed identical patterns: fear, illness, voices, attacks, disappearances. The evidence suggests a large, intelligent, territorial predator. Humans are not welcome.”
As the boat pulled away from the shore, Mara watched the fog swallow Portlock. The AI whispered its last warning: “Do not return.”
Epilogue: The Landlord Remains
Years passed. Mara published her findings, but most dismissed them as folklore and fear. Only a handful believed—the ones who had seen the woods, heard the voices, felt the infrasound.
Portlock remained abandoned, its ruins slowly reclaimed by forest and moss. Hunters refused to camp there. Fishermen avoided the bay. Locals whispered of the landlord, watching from the trees.
Mara’s AI continued to analyze new data—satellite images, sound recordings, thermal scans. The patterns never changed. Something was still there, waiting.
And somewhere in the fog, a voice whispered warnings, echoing across centuries: “Stay out of the woods. If you hear footsteps, run.”
Portlock was not abandoned by accident. It was abandoned because something in the wilderness did not want humans to stay.
Author’s Note
This story is inspired by real legends and historical accounts from Portlock, Alaska, as well as modern AI analysis of unexplained phenomena. It blends folklore, history, and technology to explore the chilling possibility that some mysteries are not meant to be solved—and that some places are better left alone.
