Ghost Trapper 13 The Trailwalker

by JL Bryan

  “I know,” Allison said, glancing back at my huffing and puffing. “We're almost there.”

  “I'm fine,” I lied.

  At last, the trail flattened out as promised. The trees were thinner at the top. Large chunks of overgrown stone were scattered alongside the trail, some of them waist-high.

  “Was there a wall here?” I asked.

  “That's what they think,” Allison replied. “The ruins of old walls. Here we go.”

  Stepping through a gap in the wall ruins and the trees, we emerged into a clearing at the hilltop enclosed by an old chain-link fence. An immense pile of rocks stood there like a slag heap at a quarry, some portions of it as high as my shoulders, others eroded down into patches of weeds. All the weeds had been recently cut.

  “We've been clearing it off,” she said. “Josh thinks it's great we have such a significant historical site here, but like I said... working up here bothers me. Maybe it's just knowing this is a burial ground.”

  “Yeah, that can make a place pretty eerie,” Stacey agreed.

  “They think it was probably a chief or somebody like that. They obviously didn't build such a mound for just anyone. There are only a few in the whole state.”

  “Who built all this?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “That's completely lost to history. We're talking about the Woodland Period, thousands of years ago. The observation tower's safe, if you want a good look.”

  We started toward a three-story concrete tower that reminded me of a lighthouse, narrow windows spaced around it in a spiral. A shiny new padlock held shut a heavy plank door. Allison unlocked it and pushed it open.

  My stomach was knotting; the burial mound was getting to me. Nothing about the dim interior of the tower lifted my mood. Wide stairs twisted up and away, lit only by the windows; there was no electricity.

  “You can't really see the owl from the ground,” Allison said, leading the way up. “And it still takes a little imagination to see it from above, honestly.”

  I glanced back at Stacey as we ascended the steps. Her mood seemed to have dropped to match mine; she was no longer gushing about how much she liked the campground.

  We walked around and around until we reached the viewing platform at the top. A railing overlooked the enormous rock effigy below.

  “Oh, now I see it,” Stacey said. “It looks like it's been nibbled around the edges, but yeah, I kinda see the horned owl shape.”

  From above, the heaps of stone were indeed roughly bird-shaped, the effigy's vast wings spread out as if in flight. As Stacey had mentioned, it was eroded around the edges, and only a few traces of its feet remained. The owl's head and horns had fared a bit better.

  “It could just as well be a bat,” I said.

  “Well, everybody calls it Stony Owl, anyway,” Allison said. “Who knows what it really is? We'd better get back. It's turning dark.”

  She started down, but I kept looking. The sun was sinking in the sky. From this hilltop tower, I had an expansive view of the forested mountains around us.

  The sunset painted the owl with a reddish hue, and as the shadows shifted I could discern a pair of wide, shallow pits in the owl's head that must have represented its eyes. Perhaps time had largely erased them, drawing the sunken pits nearly level with the diminishing stone pile around it, or perhaps they'd been designed to be seen during certain times of the day when the sun's position cast shadows at the right angle. Like sunset, and maybe sunrise, too. When the sun was directly overhead at noon, the effigy might seem to have no eyes at all—as if its stony eyes closed for sleep during the day.

  “Whatcha thinking about, Ellie?”

  “Psychopomps,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah? Are those like... murderous cheerleaders?”

  “There are old myths of birds guiding dead souls to the other side,” I said. “Like ravens, or vultures, or owls. Sometimes carrion feeders. Sometimes nocturnal birds.”

  Stacey nodded. “And she said this was a grave. So they had an owl god, or something. Right?”

  “Must have.” As the sun crept lower, the great stony owl's eyes seemed to darken and to stare back up at me, perhaps regarding me as an intruder on its ancient, sacred land.

  Chapter Six

  “This is where my family is staying. I mean, it's where we live. I'm not fully adjusted to calling it 'home' yet.” Allison showed the way ahead with her own flashlight; the night's gloom was creeping fast now. “The caretaker's cottage.”

  “That is one nice-sized cottage,” Stacey said, taking in the patchwork house, made of a variety of different materials, as if it had been expanded piecemeal over the years. It sat back in the woods, its odd angles making it difficult to estimate how big it really was. A stone chimney rose from somewhere near the center of it.

  “It's a maze inside, but there's plenty of room for the five of us.” She walked past her black Lexus and up the steps to the cabin's covered porch. The old roof slanted low, like a dark hood over the house's face, casting the front door and windows into shadow, echoing the main lodge out on the opposite end of the campground. “I'll show you around before they get home.”

  The interior matched the exterior. The old floorboards were warped and slanted; if you'd set a ball on the floor at the front of the room, it would have rolled to the back. Two mismatched interior doors, different sizes and colors, led deeper into the house. There were built-in hooks and shelves for coats and shoes, a basic mud room.

  Allison led us through one small, cluttered room after another, none of them matching, none of them particularly well-aligned with each other. We passed through a boxy room with a stone fireplace and a ladder up to a loft; she said this was the original cabin, to which more rooms had been affixed in every direction over the years.

  While the house and fixtures were beyond rustic, the furniture was almost inappropriately nice, from the enormous dove-white leather couch and matching armchair crammed tightly in front of the fireplace to the mahogany cabinet full of delicate china, shoved out of the way down a short back hall where nobody could see it.

  “The last straw for me happened here, in my room,” Allison said.

  We entered a startlingly large, new, fully modern bedroom with a king-size bed and a cavernous closet leading to a marble-accented bathroom. Picture windows looked out onto deep woods outside. The furniture here looked as nice the furniture elsewhere in the house, but not so awkwardly crammed into place; this room was large enough to accommodate their belongings.

  “Josh built this whole master section for us. For me, really.” She smiled a little. “The kids got original rooms and the original bathroom—well, new fixtures, of course—but all this is brand new. To give Josh and I little retreat. This is the kind of work he did back home. Luxury and comfort. Only the best.”

  “I can see,” I said, gently dying of jealousy at the closet with its innumerable shelves and cabinets and drawers. I could really get my life organized with a closet like that. It was roughly the size of my apartment in Savannah. Maybe I could remake my whole apartment into a closet. A live-in closet. That could be a thing.

  “So what did you experience in here?” Stacey asked, getting us back on course. Stacey was gazing out the huge windows into the dark woods the way I'd been gazing at the incredibly useful closet.

  “It happened late one night,” Allison said. “I couldn't sleep. Normally that's not hard after a day of work around here. Something was bothering me, though.

  “I kept thinking about the big owl and the bones they found under it. It's like having a graveyard right there, up on the hill behind our house. Most of the time I don't think about it, but that night I couldn't keep my mind off it. I wondered who was buried there, and how many people. It's hard to say why it was on my mind so much. Josh was snoring louder than usual, so that didn't help.

  “It was a little after two in the morning when I heard the footsteps. They reminded me of what I'd heard up at the main lodge, but I'd never heard them way back here at t
he cabin before.

  “I lay there, wide awake, listening. The footsteps sounded like they were right outside, like someone was in the yard.

  “Those picture windows made me feel dangerously exposed. They were just too big, somebody could come smashing through them. The curtains were closed, so I couldn't see what was happening out there.

  “The footsteps came right up to that window.” Allison indicated one that looked out onto the wooded hillside that led up to Stony Owl. “Then they stopped. I froze up, waiting for more...waiting for the other shoe to fall, I guess. Nothing happened.

  “After a minute, I figured the only way to settle my mind would be to get up and take a peek out through the curtains. Once I saw nothing was outside, I'd be able to relax. That was the idea.

  “It was strange how hard it was to push myself out of bed, to take those steps to the window. Like my legs were reluctant to go. The closer I got to the curtain, the more I was sure I'd see something horrible when I looked out.

  “I forced myself to reach up and take hold of the curtain's edge. I told myself I'd just pull it open enough to peek out, to see there was nothing out there. Maybe some wildlife.

  “There was a little moonlight, so when I pulled open the curtain, jut wide enough I could see the trees up along the hill. There's a break in the woods, and an overgrown path that leads up the hill and connects with the main trail. At first I thought something might have wandered out from the old path, maybe a bear.

  “What I saw out there was no animal, though. It was a shadow in the moonlight, right outside the window, shaped like a person but taller than any person really could be.

  “I let go of the curtain, and it fell back into place so I couldn't see the shadow anymore. I tried to call out to Josh, but my throat was all closed up. I couldn't even back away from the window, even though I kept telling my legs to move. It was like I was nailed into place.

  “So I stood there, staring at the curtain, being totally useless.

  “Then I heard them again: the footsteps, right in front of me, just beyond that big, fragile pane of glass. They moved that way.” Allison turned, pointing to the next window. “They stopped there. Then that curtain bulged out. The glass didn't break or anything; it was like the glass wasn't there at all, like our window was wide open and something big was coming through it.

  “I thought I would die of fright right there. You'd think I would have been able to yell for my husband, but instead it was like one of those nightmares where you can't move, where you're trapped in place.

  “The curtain bulged out and out. When it dropped back into place, the tall shadow figure was in the room with me. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me, or getting ready to attack me, or what he would do. I was terrified he would speak. I couldn't imagine what might happen if he came toward me. None of it made sense—how could he have gotten inside like that?

  “He walked across my room, and I thought he was coming toward me at first. He went right past me, though. Then I worried he was walking toward Josh, but he kept on moving, out the door and into the hall.

  “Before it walked out of sight, I noticed it was holding something in its hand, something long and narrow, a stick or a knife, I don't know. It was only a shadow, like I said, and it was gone almost the moment I noticed it.

  “When the shadow was out of sight down the hall, my feet finally came unstuck from the floor. Suddenly I could speak again, and I started yelling Josh's name.

  “I ran after the shadow, because it was heading toward the kids' rooms. I don't know what I thought I'd do if I caught up to it, but I was out in the hall before Josh was even out of bed.

  “I turned on the hall light, but I didn't see anything.” Allison pointed up the crooked, tightly turning hallway. “I checked on each of the kids. They were mostly fine; my yelling stirred them up. Except Shiloh. She was sitting up in her bed like she'd been wide awake for a while. But she didn't say anything, and she wasn't hurt. Just playing with her dolls and humming to herself.

  “There was nobody in the house. The shadow-man vanished like smoke. I looked around without explaining what I was looking for, because I knew it would sound crazy. I made sure the doors were locked, the windows were latched. Then I told the kids there was nothing to worry about and I'd just had a bad dream.

  “Later, I told Josh what really happened, and he bought into the story I'd made up for the kids. He insisted it had to be a dream. But like I said, I was already wide awake before any of it happened. Finally, I told Josh—enough. Something unnatural is happening around here, and we're going to get some help or else we are leaving. That's what I said. Ultimatum time. Maybe my mind played tricks once or twice, but not that many times, okay? I am not crazy.” Her mouth pressed into a tight, angry line.

  “I understand,” I said. “It sounds like you've had some intense experiences here.”

  She nodded, seeming a little relieved that I hadn't called her crazy. “So what do you think? In your professional opinion?”

  “I usually collect more information before forming an opinion,” I said. “We typically set up an overnight observation and try to detect any evidence of an entity. That might be as subtle as a cold spot or electromagnetic disturbance, or as obvious as the apparition you described. In your case, this would include cameras and microphones in your room; you and your husband might stay in another room during the investigation. We would also set up around the lodge where you heard the footsteps, and the cabin with the possible disturbance where the tools were knocked around, and where your daughter reports seeing people.”

  “Honestly, I'm not sure about that part,” Allison said. “Shy is always making things up. She had imaginary friends back home, too. La-La the Lollipop Lizard. Bucko the Talking Slime Bucket. A lot of others. She doesn't pay attention in school, gets in trouble for drawing pictures all over her worksheets.”

  “Still, I'd like to hear what she has to say, if it's okay with you. Young children are often more sensitive to the paranormal.”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” Allison checked the time on her phone. “They should be back in a few minutes, and I'll barely have a chance to feed them before Shy's bedtime. I don't want to get her all stirred up about this tonight.”

  “It will take a while to set up our gear,” I said. “We could get started now.”

  “I'm not sure we're ready to have all that in our home,” Allison said. “I'd like to do it, of course. But I'll need to talk it over with Josh, then explain to the kids. What about the main lodge? Could you start there tonight? And maybe start on this house tomorrow?”

  “We definitely could.” My next question was awkward but felt necessary. “Is your family aware we're here? And why?”

  “I told Josh about it, but not the kids. And he's not necessarily expecting you to stay here and get to work right away. So, yes, there is plenty to discuss. But I'm not letting this go until we figure out what's happening.”

  Allison drove us back to our van. Stacey sat in the back seat, thumbing through a Mo Willems Pig and Elephant picture book she'd found on the car seat. The drive took a minute along a narrow dirt road around the outer edge of the camp to reach the lodge parking lot.

  “We'll update you in the morning,” I told Allison, just before I hopped out. “I wouldn't expect too much on the first night, especially since we're starting small. But hopefully we can shed some light on whatever's been troubling you.”

  “A flashlight, at least,” Stacey said, grinning a little as she stepped out. “Or even an itsy-bitsy little pen light.”

  “Good luck. And stay safe.” Allison frowned at the dark old lodge looming over us before driving away.

  “I don't know if this place is haunted, but it's definitely creepy,” Stacey said. “It's hard to imagine kids enjoying it. Except maybe those nicer cabins. And that arts and crafts spot looked cool. Maybe the lake, too.”

  “If it's haunted, kids will be sensitive to that.”

  “Which will kinda ruin camp for the
m. Or make it extra cool?”

  “If there's a dangerous entity involved, it would not be cool.”

  “True,” Stacey said. “Kids do hate getting stalked and murdered in the woods.”

  “Let's get to work.” I opened the side door on the old cargo van. “We may finally get to put some of your camping skills to use, Stacey.”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, but she was faking her enthusiasm. Her eyes drifted to the shadowy lodge where we'd be spending the night, and her attempted smile collapsed. Her worried frown mirrored the expression Allison had worn while hurriedly driving away.

  Chapter Seven

  “Well, isn't that super cheerful?” Stacey asked, shaking her head.

  The dead horned owl perched inside a Plexiglas cube on a pedestal in the lodge's little museum. It had been preserved decades earlier and was crumbling with time, shedding many of its feathers into a dry drift like a heap of fallen leaves at the bottom of the cube. Its yellow glass eyes seemed to glare at us with disdain.

  “Are owls always that big?” I asked. The owl stood three feet tall, from the hornlike tufts on its head down to its talons, which were nailed to its crumbling tree-branch perch.

  “No, he's a monster specimen,” Stacey said. “I feel bad for the poor owl. Stuck in that box forever like some dead Russian dictator.”

  “One more thing to get rid of before any kids arrive for camp, if you ask me,” I said.

  The museum wasn't large, but there was a lot packed into it, all displayed behind Plexiglas cabinet doors. One side focused on the minerals, plants, and wildlife of the Chattahoochee National Forest where the campground was located.

  The other focused on human history, featuring assorted artifacts and sepia-toned pictures of the amateur archaeologist who'd unearthed them.

  There were pictures of the great stone owl as it had been discovered in the 1800s, thick with weeds and thorns, its full shape unknown until the hostile vegetation had been cut away. More pictures gave examples of the crumbling remnants of the old stone wall that had lined the spiraling path in ancient days.