Читать книгу The Legend Unleashed - L.S. Strange - Страница 9

Chapter 5

The sun was sinking slowly into the horizon, and that magical time of dusk was upon them. Scott enjoyed watching the day turn to night. It was very soothing, but all good things must come to an end as this one had when he saw Bob approaching the trailer. The boys were a bit behind struggling to hold up a stringer with five large trout on it.

“This is a cool spot,” Bob said and let out a tremendous belch.

“Looks like the boys did good.”

“I taught them everything I know.” Bob gloated.

“That should have taken all of a minute,” Ron quipped.

“F—” Bob started to swear but then remembered his promise. “Screw you, you dick! Hey, is the can hooked up? Gotta drain the lizard.”

“It’s working,” Scott replied. “And don’t shit in there. Go to the campground bathroom for that.”

Bob flung open the door of the trailer and went inside. Scott’s attention was drawn toward the lake. He could hear the squeals of laughter as the boys drew near. Scott flipped his cigarette butt into the firepit and stood up to greet them. Michael and Noah clumsily ran to him. Between gulps of air, they excitedly blurted out, “It was so cool! Once we each put our pole into the water, we got a fish!” The boys looked tired but happy.

“Take those into John for dinner.”

The boys clambered into the trailer, regaling John with their fishing story.

Ron got up, stretched, and helped Scott pull the picnic bench provided by the campground over in front of the trailer. It was such a nice evening to eat dinner outside. Save the inside dining for rainy days.

Scott took the kindling that the boys had gathered and built a campfire. You couldn’t go camping without a campfire. He wanted it to burn long and hot so it would be ready after dinner for them to sit around toasting marshmallows and telling campfire stories.

Ron went inside the trailer to help out with the meal preparations. After a while, he and John carried dinner out to the picnic table. John had prepared a hearty meal, and everyone sat down to eat. They devoured the food. All were ravenous with what seemed like insatiable appetites. Once the group was stuffed, not a morsel of food remained.

Bob nudged Michael and winked at him. “Watch this.” He took a long swig from his beer. After swallowing, he began to belch the world’s longest belch. As he did this, he started speaking through the discharge. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z.”

Both boys broke into gales of laughter. Scott said snidely, “What a great talent.”

“You can’t do it!” Bob retorted, wiping his mouth to clear the droplets of beer that sprayed out during his performance.

“That’s right! Do it again!” Scott replied and then began to laugh because deep down, he was still a boy at heart. The laughing turned into giggles that were very contagious. Soon their sides hurt from laughing. It was uncontrollable, and none of the adults could say why they were laughing which made the situation even funnier. Their laughter slowly subsided, and all pitched in, even Bob, to clean up. Afterward the group gathered around the campfire. Michael had the unfortunate position next to Bob. It didn’t take long for the beans from dinner to affect him, so in no time, he was letting them rip.

Ffffffttttttttt!

“Gross!” Noah cried, grinning the whole time.

“Stop that, Uncle Bob!” Michael shouted.

Bob just laughed and let another fart. First Scott started chuckling, then the others joined in. Farts are a funny thing where men and boys are concerned.

“Noah, pull my finger.” Bob laughed.

Not able to resist, Noah did it. As he did a long loud fart came out of Bob, this brought out more laughter.

“Man, Bob!” Scott joked holding his nose. “You keep that up, and I’m gonna stuff a cork up your ass!”

They smirked at each other while a fresh round of laughter erupted.

“Okay, okay, okay!” Ron shouted. “Let’s get down to business, campfire stories. Scott, if you please.”

“Wait!” Bob shouted. “I have a great one, but all the wussies have to leave so they don’t pee their pants!”

“Go for it,” Scott offered.

“Okay, now!” Bob focused his attention on the boys, and then to Michael, he said, “Remember when me and your dad camped up here for a couple of days last summer?”

Michael nodded, playing along. He knew his dad would never willingly go anywhere with his uncle. Bob looked at Noah.

“We were up here, and it started out as a normal trip like this one.” He looked back and forth between the boys as he continued. His eyes became intense as his voice deepened and slowed.

“The first night, we could hear this guy far off saying in a creepy voice, ‘Now I got you. Now I’m gonna eat you!” Bob was doing his best Boris Karloff imitation. “Well, that scared the shit of most of the other campers, but not me and your dad. We started hunting around to see what was going on, but we found nothing. The next night, we heard the same thing, only much closer to our tent. ‘Now I got you. Now I’m gonna eat you!’”

The boys were hanging on his every word, mesmerized. They huddled together, not willing to admit they were getting a little scared. Their eyes widened with anticipation, and their attention riveted on Bob. This was the fun kind of scared. The kind that excites you because you knew it was coming, and also that it couldn’t hurt you. The whole point was to be scared.

“Scott, over here, gets this bright idea to look around in the dark with a flashlight. I thought he had a screw loose, but we went. We looked around all the brush and trees, the entire campsite, again, we found nothing. It was driving us crazy! So on the next night, we was getting a little nervous ’cause some weirdo was running loose in camp. We got ready for bed, and then the batteries in the lantern went out! We sat in the dark totally still. We hear a rustling as the door of the tent was pulled open, and suddenly that something was in our tent! Scared to death, we jumped up and tried to get out of the tent but couldn’t. We wrestled around searching for the door. We heard, ‘Now I got you. Now I’m gonna eat you!’ We just sat there, terrified. We couldn’t move. Then I remembered I had a lighter in my pocket from the Doobie Brothers concert, so I took it out and lit it.” In a quick movement, Bob jumped up and screamed, “Aaaaahhhh! We saw it!” He repeated his fake scream. This caused the boys to jump with fear. They wanted more and leaned in so as not to miss a word. The firelight cast an eerie shadow on the Bob’s face giving his features a wicked appearance, especially his sneer.

“What was it? What was it?” Michael asked anxiously.

Bob was milking this for all it was worth. As he replied, his speech went from slow and mysterious to loud and goofy, “It was a boy.” He took a breath, and his voice was almost a screech. “A boy with a booger on his finger saying, ‘Now I got you. Now I’m gonna eat you!”

Both boys squealed. They were having a wonderful time. Their fear turned to humor, and this transformation fueled their squeals into loud uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s gross!” Noah guffawed, but he was smiling, loving every second.

“You’re sick, Uncle Bob,” Michael added; he too was smiling.

The rest of the adults just made disappointed sounds, and Ron rolled his eyes. All of them were grinning, and they enjoyed the story.

“Your turn, Dad,” Michael prodded.

“Yeah, Scott, your turn,” Noah added.

“All right, all right, gather in close,” Scott beckoned them close together with a smooth gesture. His laughing stopped, and a somber look came across his face.

“Now!” He paused, insuring he had their undivided attention. “This story I’m about to tell you is true. Not that goofy shit Bob had.” He teasingly glanced at Bob who returned the grin. “This story is based on facts, and it happened right in this very part of the Rocky Mountains.”

The boy’s giggles subsided, and they quieted. They didn’t want to miss anything.

“Many, many years ago, there was a mining camp for people who came west to strike it rich. Back then, only men were allowed to mine, and the women had to stay at home to do the house chores.” Everyone’s attention was directly on Scott. He leaned forward and was slowly looking from one person to another as he spoke.

“Well, there was this one couple, Lorene and Buck. They were newlyweds and had come west to strike it rich. Shortly after they had staked a claim to mine Buck was mauled by a bear and died. Lorene was grief-stricken but still had to work to survive.” He was intentionally lowering his voice to create a mysterious atmosphere and draw his audience deeper into the story.

“Even though it was forbidden for a woman to work the claim, Lorene began to do this. She had worked long and hard for the ore she had and took it into town to have is assessed and traded for cold hard cash. With the cash, she could purchase the necessities she so desperately needed, food, blankets, oil, and such.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, deliberately stalling to heighten the tension. They all knew a creepy part was coming and eagerly listened.

“When she went into town, she went to the assayer’s office. Well, the second it was out about what she was doing, a mob formed outside. Going into that office was her big mistake. She should have run away and started over somewhere else, but she didn’t! The crowd grabbed her and headed over to the jail.”

Scott continued to describe how they manhandled her. As he did, he grabbed the arm of each person sitting next to him, which was John and Ron. The unexpected action caused them to jump. The boys thought it was cool that even the adults were getting into the story.

“It was decided that death would be Lorene’s punishment for her actions, so they tried to hang her, but the rope broke! This terrified the people of the town. They figured she must be some kind of demon, and the only way to deal with demons was to—”

“Cut their heads off!” Michael shot in.

Scott was smiling an evil smile, and in the reflection of the campfire light, he looked absolutely fiendish.

“Yes! Cut her head off. Then to make sure she would not return to harm them, they buried her head and her body in two different locations.” He hissed out the last of the sentence, while at the same time, making eye contact with every one sitting around the campfire.

“This was their biggest mistake. Lorene could not go peacefully into the afterlife. Instead, she roams the earth carrying a lantern to light her way while searching for her head. She is better known as the Lantern Lady!” Again, he deliberately paused to heighten the suspense. He was a terrific storyteller.

“A sudden fog usually precedes her appearance on a calm night, so don’t think that rustle in the bushes is an animal, or that the cracking of a twig was some bird. It could be the Lantern Lady! She glides on the back of the fog searching for her head. It is rumored that if she catches someone, she will take their head!” He paused and discretely reached down and picked up a small rock at his feet. He was going to divert everyone’s attention away from him and then toss the rock to create a noise. Scott made a terrified face and shouted, “Look!” He pointed across the campfire at the spooky dark forest and was ready to throw the stone when a doe burst from the brush and ran across the meadow, then back into the forest.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh!” the audience screamed and jumped back in fear.

Scott too was startled and dropped the rock. This effect was much better. Even the adults were scared and watched the deer with mouths gapping and pulses racing. Fear was intoxicating, and after it was over, you wanted more, and that was how the campers felt. It took them a few seconds to get over their shock, and then they were all grinning.

“That was great, Dad!”

“You’re a fantastic storyteller,” Ron complimented after he had regained his composure.

The others shook their heads in agreement.

“Do another one!” Noah pleaded. When something is good, it is in demand.

“I already told one, so it’s someone else’s turn.” He looked over at his brother, wanting him to be in the limelight. “John, you do one.”

John sheepishly looked around and sputtered, “I’m not good at making up stories.” His excuse was protested with loud groans and pleas to continue from the boys.

“Come on, Uncle John!” Michael begged. “Do one!”

“Yeah, John,” Ron encouraged. “You’re the smartest one here. You could tell a great one.” The encouragement made him feel a little less nervous, and he consented to tell a story.

“This one is real and not a yarn of fiction.” He stared in a flat monotone voice.

Everyone felt this as a relief after the drama of the last one. Once again, the storyteller had the undivided attention of the audience.

“This supernatural entity has been around for many centuries.” He was speaking as though he were reading facts from a file, which gave a chilling undertone to the account.

“The name of this specter is Stickman. The name was derived from the organic form it takes on to occupy this place. It takes many different shapes, sometimes a tree, sometimes a bush, then other times a vine. Forms we know to be stationary and harmless. It transforms into mobile things. Trees moving swiftly, forging through the soil from one place to another, sometimes leaving a shallow rut, while other times leaving huge craters in its wake. Vines that do things previously only known to be the ability of vertebrae life forms. Vegetation has a simpler matrix, exploitable on limited energy. For satisfaction, this contorted beast hunts humans.”

The last sentence sent a shiver down Ron’s spine. He wasn’t terrified of things he could control, such as a robber. It was this supernatural stuff that rocked him to the depths of his soul because he couldn’t control his feelings. The reaction was common throughout the group. Mankind’s inherent instinct is to hunt, not be hunted, so this feeling was quite unnerving.

“Each time it slaughters a human, the thirst for blood increases, very similar to a human’s appetite for animal meat. The monster gains strength from the proteins and carbons contained in human flesh. These compounds are not found in soil, plant matter, or other animals. If it consumes enough of these proteins, it could continue the killing spree from a great advantage, growing stronger with each murder. From each victim, Stickman absorbs some of their features. At any given time, it could have fangs, speed, agility, claws, or display a frighteningly human visage and intelligence. Many times, it has been caught and attempts were made to kill it, but you can’t kill Stickman, for he is not of this earth. This inhumanly evil thing does not die.” His eyes became glazed, and he appeared to have mentally removed himself from this setting and into another world. His horrified audience remained captive to his every word. John went on in a slow, flat, soft voice.

“It only becomes dormant until enough strength is regained through further consumption. Stickman begins with insects, a pure form of low-grade protein, and then proceeds up the food chain to the supreme cut humans. It is theorized that Alfred Packer was actually Stickman in human form. Upon scientific examination, Alfred Packer was in peak condition, perfect physical health, which was quite unexplainable for someone who was stranded in the harsh clutches of winter with no food supply in the late 1800s. The population concluded that he had devoured the other men on the winter expedition in the Rocky Mountains and convicted him of cannibalism, punishable by death. Mr. Packer continued crying his innocence insisting that something had attacked all of them on the expedition, and that he was the only one to escape alive. He kept up this declaration even after many years in jail and then was pardoned by the governor decades later. Right up to the day he died, people always believed he was Stickman in human form.”

John took a deep breath. The others had become silent. By now, the fun titillating fear had vanished, and they were gripped by a stark terror that penetrated every part of their being. The only audible sound was the crackling of the fire, which no longer appeared to be a warm glow but took on the characteristics of the cruel inferno of hell.

“After his death, he was placed in an unmarked grave. His depravity was not to be commemorated with a headstone. Only a barren flat stone was placed there to warn others to keep away. The grave was placed outside of the cemetery, in unconsecrated ground, a precaution so the evil could be confined and stay a dormant prisoner forever. Some primitive cemeteries will house such a crypt.”

Scott began to feel uneasy. The events of the morning jutted to the front of his mind, specifically their stop at the Central City Cemetery.

“However, if Stickman was not Alfred Packer, their safeguards were in vain. The last time people claimed this killing machine to be incarcerated it lay dormant for almost 100 years. A tree had sprouted next to the tomb, and the roots had grown enough to get into it. This provided an escape for Stickman, and once again, it is out. Every rustle of the leaves could be Stickman reaching out. Each time a twig breaks, it could be on the prowl, hunting. The dead wood drifting on the lake could be it swimming. One can never know where to expect to see Stickman, but once you do, it’s too late! The shelter and safe haven of the trees is not necessarily a protection; it could be a deadly trap. This is where my story ends, but this story is never over, so beware!”

He stopped. No one said a word. They all stared wide-eyed at John. He slowly looked at each of them and seemed to return to his normal self. Scott trembled uncontrollably. John had described the exact grave they had visited in the cemetery. Could the weird thing with the van’s alternator be connected?

The boys were huddled together, and the others sat there dumbfounded. Bob exploded.

“You’re freaking weird! What kind of shit is that? You scared the hell out of the boys, you nerdy little bastard!” He stood up and was stomping and kicking the ground. Shouting seemed to be Bob’s self-defense mechanism for all situations. It was quite obvious that he had been petrified because there was a damp area in the crotch of his pants.

John stared blankly back at Bob with a quizzical expression on his face. Scott, however, would not stand for this assault on his brother.

“Hey, Bob! Assert your fifth amendment right and shut the fuck up!”

Bob yelled, “He started it! He started it!” He accused with a disgusted look on his face and gave a leering look back over at John.

Scott spun into action and got directly in Bob’s face, fists clenched at his sides.

Ron jumped up and held out his hands. “Okay, everyone just calm down.”

John seemed to be unaware of what had just happened. He sat there looking confused.

“That’s enough for tonight! Everyone to bed!” Scott ordered. He tossed a bucket of water on the campfire extinguishing it’s flame while also trying to extinguish the atmosphere that had developed.

Without any objections, all except Bob followed Scott into the trailer. Bob was still cursing under his breath and pacing around the firepit. Once he realized everyone else had gone in, and that he was alone, his anger dissipated immediately. He scrambled for the trailer, not wanting to be left isolated out in the darkness. After he was inside, he fastened each lock on the door, securing the trailer. No one bothered to change or brush their teeth. They just crawled into bed in their clothes with their minds preoccupied from the last campfire story.

The boys huddled together on one bunk. Each was chewing on the edge of the sleeping blanket that was pulled up to their chins. Their eyes darted around the room at each little sound of the wilderness at night.

Ron lay staring at the ceiling, trying to block out the horrific images conjured up by that awful story. He was also contemplating escape routes should anything happen. John lay in his bed, his eyes shut tight attempting to force out the flashes of the tale that kept shooting into his mind. Bob, finally realizing he had wet himself, was too embarrassed to change now. He plopped down on the sofa that had been converted into a bed. His mind raced with evil pictures of Stickman.

Scott, tired though he was, could only think of the unholy grave, and that he and the boys had been right next to it. A shiver ran down his spine at these thoughts, and his body began to tremble.

Each of them lay awake in their beds, totally alert, listening intently for any sound or suggestion that something was right outside. Tonight, the soft rustling of the leaves from the cool night breeze provided no solace, only terror. The moon shined brightly overhead and cast eerie shadows on the trailer. Silhouettes from the branches on the trees appeared to be skeletal hands reaching out for them. Occasionally a limb would brush against the trailer causing a scraping sound, fueling their fears.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, all of them fell into a troubled slumber.