|
I did this thing in the 2014 thread. Maybe people will enjoy it still. I’ve never been a big proponent of belief in the paranormal. Sure, I grew up Protestant Christian and went to parochial school, and our doctrine specifically mentions the existence of ghosts, demons, and whatnot, but I’ve always thought it was ancient people using ancient knowledge and expressions to describe things perfectly explainable today. Legion, the demon exorcised by Christ is described as a crazy-strong man that lived in the graveyard, would howl at night, cut himself with stones, and generally act insane to the point where no one could deal with his bullshit anymore. I kind of attributed the whole thing to a mentally ill guy healed by the Son of God. I got to believe what was taught to me in school and have the peace of mind that there’s nothing evil out there reaping people’s souls. Yep, before this incident I had it all figured out. I spent Thanksgiving weekend this year in Northern Louisiana with my wife’s family at a place we just call The Camp. The family has owned the place since time immemorial, and the family patriarch recently divided the rather large farm/ranch/hunting lease between all their kids and grandkids. That means I own a five acre plot near where this whole thing happened (yay) right next to my in-laws’ place, meaning I probably have to go back there some time in my life. I’m not looking forward to that. Anyway, there are only a few buildings on this place. One is a little doublewide on my in-laws’ plot, right next to the lake. The other is an old farmhouse that was built sometime in the late 1800s or early 1900s with an adjacent barn/tractor shed. The rest of the land is one of two things: flat, grass fields used to make hay, or wild woodland with wicked thorny brush. So, we spent Friday and Saturday doing what we usually do out there, drinking, driving around on ATVs, shooting, fishing… typical redneck weekend activities really. Some time in the evening on Saturday, I notice that my dog, Harvey, is missing. Aw poo poo. You guys that live in rural areas probably don’t get too twisted about a dog going missing for a couple hours. Normally they’re off exploring or sniffing deer piss or rolling in something nasty or whatever, but Harvey is not that kind of dog. First of all he weighs all of six pounds, and he spends his days living in my suburban house where the wildest thing that happens to him is the occasional trip to the duck pond. He is the ultimate pampered city dog with attachment issues. He has no business being out and about with the coyotes, raccoons, alligators, and whatever other horrors they keep in the state of Louisiana. Anyway, I’m a bit concerned, but I’m not worried yet. I tell the rest of our group celebrating the holiday that the dog is missing, and I’m going to go have a look for him. Being tiny, he’s probably like a hundred yards out in the field, and we can’t see each other over the grass. I set out on foot in a likely direction and start calling his name. As I walk, I hear the sounds of engines being fired up and search parties being organized by drunk people that probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel. Looks like we’ll be covering a lot of ground and making a lot of noise. To their credit, the search parties did a good job of fanning out across the place. At least the coyotes won’t be coming near the place, limiting the chance of a chihuahua/coyote encounter. I look off to the west and see the sun is maybe half an hour from setting. Great. After an hour and a half of searching, we slowly trickle back to the doublewide, informing each other that we saw and heard nothing from Harvey. By this time it’s dark, and I’m in full on anxiety mode. Harvey’s been waiting for me to come home for ten years, always ready to go for a walk or play or cuddle. He was there for me through my depression, and he was there to greet me when I came home from Afghanistan. You could say I’m attached, and I would not let my little friend loving die out in the woods of Louisiana. He deserves better from me. I grab my jacket to combat the temperature drop that came with the sunset, and I let everyone know that I’m going back out to look and listen. I’m near tears and reluctant to look anyone in the face (guess I’m a tough-guy), but I can see my own fears in their expressions. From then on, no one really calls Harvey’s name anymore. We’ve gone from searching for a lost dog to searching for a dead or injured one. A couple take my hint that the ATV’s engine noise are a hindrance now instead of a blessing, and they set out on foot with flashlights. I head off without one, not thinking about anything except preserving my night vision for more efficient Harvey spotting. Again, the search parties go opposite ways to cover more ground, and soon I’m alone. I find myself walking over softly sloping bald hill overlooking the old farmhouse. There are no lights visible anywhere but the half moon overhead, which is more than enough for me to navigate by. I can see for a fair piece from atop my hill, and I half-heartedly call for Harvey. I paused for a moment listening. I had been here earlier today, during the daytime, and it was unlikely he would not have come to me if he were alive and uninjured. Now I listened for the whining or whimpering Harvey was wont to do when he needed me. Nothing. I did, however, notice movement in the shadowy area around the farmhouse. No one lives there, so I figure it’s probably an animal, maybe Harvey. I finally have a lead on where to search. “Dear God, please let that be Harvey and not a rabid raccoon. Amen.” I like to keep my prayers short. I keep my eyes on the shadows around the farmhouse as I descend the hill so as to track whatever is moving in there, and in the back of my mind I kind of note that the little compound is the only loving place I might need a flashlight. As a matter of fact, it looks like an island of inky blackness in a ocean of perfectly safe moonlight. Normally, I would not mind venturing into the dark. As a matter of fact it was a big source of safety for me while I was in Afghanistan, since the local insurgents didn’t have night vision goggles. I’ve spent a lot of time in the dark with a rifle and a MRE or a map or whatever. However, I would love to know if the thing I’m reaching for in the dark is my dog or something wild and bitey. Rabies shots aren’t given in the gut anymore, but it’s still an experience I want to avoid. I pat my pockets and come up with my iPhone with ten percent battery. Better than nothing, I suppose, but I’ll have to save the light for when I need it. I’m getting closer to the farmhouse, and I’m using noise to protect myself from potential animal attacks. My steps are loud and I’m calling the dog’s name often so as to spook anything that wasn’t named Harvey. I’m getting to close to an outlying tree next to the house and I shut up for a minute to listen as I walked. Nothing. No whining, no whimpering. Actually, now that I am actively listening, there isn’t any sound but the wind through the structures in front of me. The rattle of a gate, the squeaking of tin on the roof of the equipment shed, that’s the kind of stuff I hear. No crickets or frogs. No engine noises from my fellow search party people. That’s odd. I call Harvey’s name again, unintentionally a bit quieter this time. As I continue toward the farmhouse, I stop calling Harvey’s name and find myself crouching slightly, sneaking. The outlying tree is on my left now, maybe about 25 yards away. My head’s on a swivel, looking from side to side and checking behind me every couple seconds. My eyes brush past the shadow at the foot of the tree at first, continuing on to where I first spotted the motion from the hilltop, but something brings my attention back. My stomach does that thing where it feels like you just went down that first hill of a roller coaster. Is that a person? The outline is vague, but it looks like the silhouette of a man. I freeze. Nothing moves under the tree. Those of you that have navigated by moonlight in the country probably know that the moonlight, while it seems like you see things clearly, is not sufficient to make out detail, especially in the shadows. The wind is shaking the branches of the tree, making its shadow dance and flail around, but the figure remains consistently still. It could be a person, I don’t know. My brain may be interpreting the dark into shapes it recognizes. I feel strange, like the rules governing this place just changed, and I wasn’t paying attention when it happened. I’m exposed. I’m naked. There’s no cover anywhere near me. Where’s my weapon? Where’s my overwatch? gently caress gently caress gently caress I’m dead. Somehow I feel that familiar stress I hadn’t felt since being overseas. Where the gently caress did that come from? I blink and take some deep breaths. Clarity is only a phone click away. I snake my hand down into my jeans pocket and light up the screen. The light from the screen doesn’t penetrate, so I reluctantly take my eyes off the shadow to open the flashlight app. The LED fires up and I hold it out in front of me like I’m trying to ward off dracula with a cross. Nobody. There is some scrap tin stacked up next to the trunk of the oak tree, but no man. My heart is still beating like crazy, but my brain is finally working more rationally. It’s a trick of the light. I take some slow steps toward the tree, trying to prove to myself nothing is there. I stop on the edge of the tree’s shadow, something in my head tells me I should, under no circumstances, take another step toward the that tree. I’m only a couple feet from where I saw my phantom guy, he’s not there, but damnit if I don’t feel any better. My phone’s LED light is no joke. I can see everything. Just some tin sheets and perfectly undisturbed grass. But I cannot shake the feeling that I’m very very close to… something. My hands tremble slightly as my finger hovers over the flightlight app’s kill button. I force myself to press it. ...and everything goes dark. Yay for bright phone screens and the human eye. Everything is an inky blur, and I can’t make out much of anything. I do still feel like a step in the wrong direction would be a very bad idea, so I take some steps back and turn to continue toward the farmhouse. I tell myself I don’t need to look back. I checked that drat tree. I look anyway. There he is again, barely discernable like he very well could be a figment. Just standing there, completely still, unmoved from where he was originally. He is, however, facing me still though my angle has changed. Ok, so this is one consistent optical illusion or... One thing is for certain, I’m not going near that tree. I step onto the gravel driveway leading to the house. It’s at least in the light, and it continues on past the devil tree to where I want to go. As I near the moonlit side of the house to begin my search for Harvey I look back to make sure my friend hasn’t moved or stopped being all creepy. Yep, all is right with the world. I turn back and loving freeze mid stride. My heart jumps into my throat and I throw myself backward onto the gravel with a high-pitched shriek. He’s maybe three feet from me, just standing there in the shadow cast by the awning over the side of the farmhouse. I'm so close, yet I can barely make out his head and shoulders. I can tell he’s looking down at me though I can’t see eyes. Have you ever experienced sound so low in frequency that you are unable able to hear it, but you can feel it? Imagine if you were deaf and stood in front of a really loud concert speaker, next to a huge diesel engine, or close to a series explosions. You can feel that sound in your gut. Your bones shake. Your brain rattles in your skull, and somewhere in there, deep in the parts of your brain passed on to you from your monkey ancestors, you know it’s time to panic. That's how being near the thing felt. Like a predator had me dead to rights, and all I could do was wait for the end. I’m panicking, breathing like I just sprinted for a mile, my eyes are darting for a way to escape. How many of these things are there? I chance a look back at the tree: yep, he’s still there. I look back to the house, squinting to find him again, this one’s still here too. I scoot back on my rear end to get some distance from the more immediate threat and get an angle to look at the tree and the house. Tree guy is gone. House guy is still there. gently caress. I’m jerking my head around, looking for the other one. House guy is still standing there, completely still. I take my eyes away for a moment to check the barn. There he is. House guy is gone. Then it dawns on me. “It’s the same one. It’s the same one. It’s the same one,” I’m babbling to myself as I try to get control of my brain and my adrenaline. Trying to calm down is a challenge, because wherever I turn, there he is with that silent death stare of his. My mind goes back to school, in my congregation class. We had an hour of instruction from Pastor on what to do about supernatural stuff. It sounds weird, but it was really a thing in my school. It's not like we had a whole class dedicated to it, but one day, during third period, he took questions on the supernatural. Anyway, there are four things you do not do in an encounter be it demon, ghost or whatever. Don’t acknowledge it. Don’t speak to it. Don’t give it your name. Don’t call on it. Ok. The acknowledging thing is right out the window. It obviously knows I see it. Rule number one broken. “Ok. Rules. Rules. Rules. Rules... “ I’m muttering under my breath. Rushing through words. I talk a LOT when I’m afraid. I think it helps me cope with things. Slows my brain down. Everything has rules right? Rules are comforting. The whole universe is made up of rules. For one the thing hasn’t left the shadows. There’s that. It hasn’t touched me. There’s that too. I stand up and whip out my phone. Time to call for backup. I’m not going to be that rear end in a top hat that tries to go it alone in a spooky situation. If ghost stories ever taught me anything, it’s that when someone shows up that can possibly corroborate your spooky story, ghosts run for the loving hills. It’s science. Also being scared out of my gourd may have something to do with it. I dial my wife. She’s the most likely person at The Camp to have her phone on her. I keep my eye on where I think I see the shadow thing. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four ri-- *Click* “Annie? Hello? Can you hear m---” then the most God-awful screeching noise like when you’ve got a poo poo connection to the tower, and the speech is all garbled. I look at the screen just as it displays the little Apple logo in the process of turning off. “Annie?” “Annie? Hello?” Oh poo poo. Tears well up in my eyes out of sudden realization and terror. My vision gets hazy. My voice was coming from under the awning. “Annie?” “Ann?” “Anabelle?” I hear it call my wife’s name to my left, then behind me, then off in the distance somewhere impossibly far away. It wasn’t just copying what it heard, it sussed out Annie’s full name. Something clicks. “Harveeeeey?” It calls for my dog. I’m starting to see now. “David?” The memory of hearing it call out to me with my wife’s voice still keeps me up nights. The situation has changed again. I swallow the scream I had been holding in. Rule number two broken. It knows my name. Message received. Don’t call for help. Tell no one. I want to bolt. I want electricity, lights, noise, people. But I can’t leave right now. I think that's what it meant for me to interpret from it mocking me. If I leave now, I could tell the others, but then I imagine Annie hearing me call her from somewhere in the dark, only it’s not me… I slowly, carefully take trembling steps further toward the barn/tool shed, thinking it may leave me alone if i look for the dog and then go. That was my original intent after all. I don’t know. Not my most rational decision. The building is more of a car port than a barn, I guess, having only three walls and a roof. I peer inside, but, of course, it’s pitch black. I can make out the edge of the hay loft and the outlines of the backhoe and front end loader. I can almost make out the shadow man directly to my left, in the patch of darkness closest to me cast by a nearby tree, always as close as possible within sight. “David?” Perfect impersonation. I hear a scrambling sound from the tree next to the barn like little claws on bark. On one of the limbs I see a little gray lump with legs(raccoon judging from the size), doing its best not to fall from its branch. I feel a little better seeing another living being around, even if it’s not human, but then the branch gives way with a snap. The raccoon falls onto and through the tin roof into the barn. I hear a disturbing scream from a loving terrified raccoon, and then it’s cut short. The thing is still standing there to my left, still as ever, as I hear wet popping sounds coming from deep inside the barn. He never moves, but in my mind’s eye I can see the animal being butchered alone in the dark. I silently pray that no one else has met that fate tonight. The sounds continue interminably. I’m not sure when they stopped, but eventually I’m left in silence again. Complete silence. “David?” I remember sprinting back to the doublewide, staying in the light like my life depended on it. I didn’t look back. I didn’t call for help. I followed the rules. I found everyone returned from their search empty handed, and they were all too drunk to realize I was terrified as opposed to worried. None of them saw the dog or… anything else. I was afraid to ask them directly. I still haven’t. I spent the remainder of the night watching TV with the lights on and trying not to look out the window. I got Harvey back a couple days ago from a very nice lady that took him in when he showed up on her porch. She lives only a few miles away from The Camp, but that’s a long rear end way for a little dog to travel over rough country in the dark. He is a bit more chill now, content to curl up and cuddle on the couch with me rather than bark and random sounds. He's happy as a clam on your lap watching TV or reading a book. He must have been through a lot. He does not sleep with the lights off anymore. He sits there and shakes so badly that his kennel vibrates until we give him some light. We’ve taken to putting his kennel under the Christmas tree to calm him down. He won’t come when we call him anymore. I have dreams sometimes about looking out of my window into the night and seeing it there. Sometimes the dream is about my wife stepping outside thinking she heard me call her name. This got super long. TLDR version: I searched for my lost dog and got spooked by a shadow and a raccoon. 2016 Update: Dog and I are doing okay. Haven't seen/heard anything since. Dog is always nervous, but that's because he is a useless chiahuahua Elpato fucked around with this message at 08:22 on Nov 1, 2016 |
#
¿
Nov 1, 2016 08:01
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 19:24 |
|
|
Dam the man. I always liked this one, because it's a pretty unique setting.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 7, 2016 05:19
|
|