by L. M. Boelz
Chapter 2: The Old Man
Waking early the next morning, Carol surveyed the campsite with mixed feelings. This would be the last full day here; tomorrow everyone would be leaving camp and heading back to the real world.
Wanting to make the most of what time she had left, Carol headed out to explore the surrounding campground near their campsite. She figured as long as she kept the tent area in sight that it would be okay to go look around. However, as it is often said, Good intentions are not always what happens, or something like that, Carol chuckled to herself.
While poking around the edge of the designated tent area, Carol’s curiosity was aroused by shuffling noises coming from over the top of a small hill in front of her. Glancing back at the campsite and still not seeing or hearing any movement coming from inside the tent, Carol figured, What harm could come from peeking over the top of the hill?
Dropping down onto her hands and knees, just short of the top of the hill, Carol crawled the last few feet, until she was able to peer over the edge.
Carol had expected to find a small animal rummaging around in the brush when she peeked over the top of the hill. Instead, she was surprised to find herself staring down at the creepy old man that she had seen hovering around the edge of the campground over the last couple of days. Carol knew he was not part of their group. She had met all of the employees and their family members who had joined them on this trip.
Filled with curiosity, Carol watched, as he continued to poke at the ground with his cane. Drawing in a sharp breath, she quickly ducked down, when he suddenly turned to look up toward her.
Who is he? What was he doing down there? Not able to contain her curiosity, Carol ventured to look again, only to be sidetracked, when she heard her mother’s voice calling for her to come back to camp. I will need to come back later and see if I can tell what he was doing down there, she thought to herself.
The day passed even faster than the one before, and once again, it was time to gather for the last night of campfire tales.
Carol was sitting in anticipation, when she found her attention pulled away by the sounds of rustling in the nearby brush. Oh, that’s right. I had wanted to go back and check on what that old man had been doing. Oh well, no matter. He’s here now.
Carol continued to watch the old man as he came awkwardly stumbling out of the brush to take a seat on the same rock that she had seen him on the last two nights. He always sat just outside the reach of the firelight, like a shadow hiding in the darkness.
“I guess he has come to enjoy the stories told at the end of the festivities,” Carol mused aloud, as she did not think anyone else even noticed him.
Carol could not help thinking how odd it was, that he had no story to tell like the others. Even though he didn’t work for the sporting goods company, I’m sure it would be okay. Even Mom and Dad had tried their hand at one, Carol pondered silently.
Turning back around to face the fire, Carol couldn’t help feeling a little sad. This was the last night of their family trip. It was all over much too soon.
Like the nights before this one, the owner of the company stood up to announce that it was time to begin the campfire stories. The announcement was always followed by someone quickly jumping up to take a shot at scaring everyone. Each, as they stood to take their turn, assured everyone that their story of terror was much better than any of the stories heard thus far.
Nudging Carol with his elbow, a squat looking man sitting to the right of her leaned over to whisper, “You know, the smart thing to do, is to wait until the end to tell your story.”
Seeing a puzzled expression on her face, he continued to explain himself. “If you wait until last to tell your story, then you can listen to all the others before yours, and then decide on what to add to yours to make it the best.”
Stopping to think about it, Carol decided that actually made perfect sense. I will have to remember this for later, Carol made a mental note.
After everyone had tried their hand at winning the prize, the squat man sitting next to Carol, grunted, as he slowly rose to his feet.
While he was telling his story, Carol decided he was right; she did think his story was scarier than all the others told so far. He was able to take all the scariest parts of the stories told before his and put them together into one story.
After he had finished, the owner of the sporting goods company stood holding his hand up in the air, pausing briefly, he waited for everyone to be silent. “Okay, we have heard many stories of suspense and terror, and now you must vote on who you thought told the best or shall I say worst, of all the stories this year. Unless…” he paused again, as he scanned the faces of everyone present. “…there is anyone who has not taken a turn and would like to try?”
Everyone sat quietly whispering amongst themselves, while waiting to see if anyone stepped forward. To keep the contest fair, each person was only allowed one attempt to win the prize. When no one came forward, a young slender, built woman, wearing a pair of khaki slacks and a coordinating cotton shirt, got up and began passing out pieces of paper, along with small wooden pencils for everyone to cast their vote. Carol recognized her as one of the ladies who had been introduced to her as part of the office staff.
“After you have written down your choice, fold up your paper. I will be back around with a basket to collect them.”
At first, no one noticed the odd little man stepping forward into the fire-pit area. Suddenly, all eyes were upon him, as he continued to move into the center, where he hesitantly began to speak.
“I have listened to the fables and follies you have all told this night and those of the nights before.”
His voice was hoarse and quiet, almost hard to hear at first, causing everyone to lean in a little closer, in order to hear him better. Carol was sure everyone else was as curious as she was and did not want to miss any of what he was about to say.
He stood hunched over, leaning heavily on his cane and slightly to the left, while holding his right arm and hand close to his chest. He was smaller close up than Carol had thought him to be, and with what she considered to be the perfect face for telling scary stories. His face was etched with deep lines; his eyes were dark and lifeless. The clothing he wore looked worn and tattered in places, as it hung loosely on his small frame. Carol shuddered slightly, when she heard someone whispering to their neighbor, about how much he reminded him of an undertaker one would see in a late night movie.
Everyone continued to stare at him, as he stopped talking for a moment, in order to take in a shallow raspy breath, before continuing. “I did not speak up sooner... for I did not want to offer this account as a story to be judged... but as a warning.”
Carol felt as though he was staring directly at her as he continued to speak, “No one knows when they first began taking humans, but their legend can be traced back to ancient times...”
Not a sound was to be heard; even the crickets had ceased their serenade to each other. It was almost as if the night itself was straining to hear what he had to say next.
“I once was, as you are now, part of a happy home, with two loving parents. My father had a good job, and my mother was a homemaker. I thought it would always be that way. However, my bliss came to a sudden and unexpected end. Now, my days are filled with despair. The apprehension each day brings contains only darkness. I hold no interest in any day before or after this one. Most days I sit in my room, afraid to go near my bed, afraid of what lies in the darkness beneath it. I thought if I took the bed out of the house and slept on the floor, I would feel safer. I realized, all too soon… there is nowhere that they cannot find you. Nowhere, you are safe. They hide in dark places...”
Everyone sat in stunned silence.
After struggling to take a deep breath, he stopped, yet again, to stare off into the black lifeless night surrounding this small group of unwitting campers. “I have come forward, on this final evening, to warn you of the dangers that await you, upon your return to your
homes. They will soon discover that I have escaped from my tormentor, and I fear that it will not take them long to come and reclaim me. Then, they will come for you. Do not… take my warning lightly,” he growled.
His demeanor became quiet and mysterious, as he shifted his weight from one side to the other, as if he was remembering something unpleasant.
No one dared to move or even speak a word. Everyone sat frozen like statues, as the tension continued to build, while waiting for what he was going to say next...
He moaned softly, as he shifted his weight yet again.
Everyone could see by the expression on his face, that the effort of trying to stand so long clearly caused him a great deal of pain. To Carol, he looked so sad and lost. Carol felt a strange feeling of despair wash over her as she sat looking at him. Trying hard not to start crying, Carol could not help wondering, if anyone else sitting around the fire-pit was feeling the same way.
Pointing a long, boney finger, he continued his warning to everyone in attendance this evening. “They were good, the stories you told each night before this. Some maybe even held some bits of truth to them. Nevertheless, none are as true as what I am to warn you of this evening, your final night here. I choose to save my warning until the end, so I would not put a damper on your festivities.”
The shadows from the firelight cast the most mysterious shapes on his face and body, as if to aid him in telling his story.
He stood with his head bent down, not saying a word, for what seemed like an eternity. His gaze seemed to be focused on some small object on the ground in front of him. Carol noticed that she was not the only one who thought he was staring at something on the ground. When she glanced around, she noticed that the others were all staring at the ground too; trying to figure out what he was looking at.
“I was a small boy the first time…” his voice trailed off, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. “I was a small boy the first time I saw it,” he repeated, only this time his voice was different. He sounded scared and in pain, as if he was reliving a bad memory.
He stood holding his right hand in his left, clearly favoring it. His breathing had become much more labored and shallow. Backing away from the fire, while telling his story, caused deeper, darker shadows to form on his face, casting a foreboding mood over the entire group.
He continued to hold everyone spell bound, as he resumed his warning of the dangers waiting for each of them upon their return home.
There was something unexplainable, in the way he acted and in the sound of his voice that had everyone riveted to his every word, his every move.
By this time, Carol’s concern for the old man had been completely replaced by a deep sense of dread. It felt as if the old man was speaking directly to her, as she began to wonder about the dangers that possibly awaited her in her room.
“When you go to bed, they wait for a hand or foot to slip over the edge. They can and will, use this as an opportunity to grab you, dragging you under your bed and into the shadows, never to be seen nor heard from again.”
Hearing a sound next to her, Carol’s attention was briefly brought back into focus. Glancing around the fire-pit area, Carol could see by the looks on the other camper’s faces that they appeared to be as scared as she was. Although, she did not think anyone would be willing to admit it. She knew she was right, when the entire group gasped or screamed with fear, when he reached out, and with a quick jerking motion simulated the creature he was speaking of grabbing and dragging something back with it.
Turning around, he shuffled back closer to the fire. He stood with his back to everyone, pausing again. His small frame shook slightly, as if he were cold.
How could he be cold? Carol thought. He’s standing right next to the fire.
Slowly, he turned and walked over to a stump. He sat down before continuing his warning.
“I was small for my age and the other boys liked to make a game of bullying me. Therefore, I spent most of my time playing alone in my room or in my backyard when the weather was nice. It was on my seventh birthday, that I received a red fire engine from my parents. Oh, how I loved my fire engine.” The sad tormented scowl on his face softened briefly. “The weather was wicked that day. It always rained on my birthday…” he said, twisting his lips into a sideways smile, which appeared anything but happy.
Carol thought, How miserable it must be to always have it rain on your birthday.
“Mother asked me to take my fire engine into my room to play, while she and Father were busy. I must admit, the bells and sirens were loud. I had been playing for about an hour when I decided to build some ramps out of my reading books. This worked out great, until one time… I pushed my engine too hard, which caused my truck to fall off the ramp, and it rolled under my bed. I decided the engine had jumped off a collapsing bridge and landed inside a burning building. I quickly crawled over to the edge of the bed to set the ramp back up.”
The old man sat waving his left arm, while he pulled his right hand close against his chest. Leaning forward and closing his eyes, he struggled to catch his breath for a moment. The features on his face pulled tight and his lips slightly parted, showing long stained yellow teeth.
Carol couldn’t help wondering if he was in pain or just sick and not feeling well. She hoped he was not going to pass out while telling his story. Selfish as it sounded, she didn’t want to miss the end. But then, she guessed he must be okay, because he continued with his story.
“After fixing the ramp, I laid down on the floor next to the bed, so I could lift up the bedspread and see how far my fire engine had rolled under. I could see it had not rolled under that far, so I scooted myself closer to the edge of the bed in order to reach under and get it.”
Carol didn’t know if it was the expressions on his face while telling his story, or perhaps the sound of his voice, that caused her to draw her legs up while trying to balance her feet on the log seat. The hairs on the top of her head prickled and tingled, causing her to shake slightly.
The old man continued, “I started to reach under the bed to roll out my fire engine, when I saw something moving, ever so slightly. I didn’t have any pets, so I could not imagine what it could be. I could see what looked like something, clinging to the bottom slats of my box spring. I continued to lie on the floor next to the bed. I stayed very still, because I wanted to get a good look at it. It was too dark under the bed for me to be able to figure out what type of animal this might be. I needed more light. Reaching up with my other hand, I slowly raised the bedspread. As the light increased, the beast turned toward me, giving out a loud, gruesome, crackling hiss! My right hand was still under the bed clutching onto the fire engine, which had come to a stop not far from this… this… creature.”
At this point in his story, the old man sat trembling, as if he really was there in the room with the monster and scared out of his wits. A young freckled faced boy sitting nearest to him started to get up and check on him, but the old man held up his hand. Shaking his head, he motioned for the boy to sit back down.
He then continued with what everyone had assumed was only a story. “I lay as motionless as I could, afraid to move, while at the same time, I was fascinated by what this might be. The red eyes of the creature stared back at me. My senses were assaulted by a foul pungent smell coming from the creature’s breath, which left me feeling light headed and queasy to my stomach. The creature smelled of dead, rotting flesh, much worse than the dead mouse my mother had found under the icebox. It was worse than anything I had ever smelled before. It seemed like I lay still staring back at it for hours. But really, it was only moments after spying the creature, before it leapt towards me, tearing into my hand with its sharp jagged teeth.”
The old man’s face became strained and grotesque in its features. His eyes darted wildly about, back and forth in a nervous and sporadic manner. “The horrible little beast tore at my hand with its sharp jagged claws, as it continued to make hissing and crackling sounds. I could feel i
t trying to pull me under the bed. I frantically grabbed for something, anything, to hold onto. Clutching at the bedspread, I managed to pull the covers completely off the bed. The creature shrank away when the light this let in, touched his naked wrinkled skin, sending up wisps of pale smoke. I was shrieking at the pain and sheer terror I felt, as the beast continued to try to pull me under the bed.”
All watching the old man could swear that he was reliving the agony and terror that he was telling about in his story. It was as if he was the boy in the story that had been attacked.
Looking around, Carol noticed, along with herself, that everyone else held their right hand close to their chest and had the same look of horror etched across each of their faces.
Pausing briefly, he leered at each of the campers with a desperate pleading look on his face.
“While pulling my hand free, I continued to howl and cry for my mother and father to save me. Hearing my parents shout to me from the hallway, along with the light, now glaring under the bed, the creature recoiled and halted its attack. Darting out from under the bed, it shot across the room, hissing and crackling the entire time. Reaching the far side of my room, it scrambled up the book shelf beneath my window.”
“I wasn’t supposed to have my window cracked open while it was raining, but I liked the smell of the rain. The creature stopped, to look back at me, before it leaped out of the window only a moment before Mother and Father came running through my bedroom door. Seeing blood everywhere, Mother rushed over to me and grabbed my hand, while wrapping her apron around it. I continued to scream about a monster that jumped out the window.”
“Without thinking, Father ran over to the window, slammed it shut, and locked it. He peered into the driving rain, searching for the thing that I was ranting about. His attention was brought back to the room by Mother shouting at him to get the doctor.”
“Over the next couple of days no one was able to find any trace of the animal. They searched under every house, in every barn, and every hollow tree stump. Most guessed that it had to be a skunk or cat of some kind. I received the treatment for rabies, since they could not find the animal. Everyone said the series of shots made me delirious, because I rambled on into the night about a small creature that clung to the bottom of my bed and tried to eat me. After that, most people decided that it had to be a large bat of some kind, because bats like the dark and hanging upside down under things, while at rest. No one believed my story about what I saw under my bed.”
All watched, as the old man stood, waving his good hand wildly around in the air. The panic in his eyes and the short gasps for breath horrified everyone, as he neared the end of his story of terror.
He added, still half out of breath, “I know, all of this is difficult to believe, but I am here to tell you that it is all too true. And here is the proof!” he cried out, as he pulled off the glove that he had been wearing and held up his right hand in the firelight.
His hand was not a normal-looking hand, as one could plainly see. It had, at one time, been horribly mangled and scarred. This caused everyone, especially Carol, to shriek in surprise and fear, as he did this.
Carol franticly asked both of her parents, while trying to keep the fear she felt, from showing in her voice. “Is it true? What he says, is it really true? Are there things hiding under your bed waiting to drag you under, after the light goes out, or when you reach under your bed to get something?”
“Of course not, Dear,” they both tried to reassure her. “It’s just a story made up to frighten little girls. And I see that it seems to have worked on you,” Carol’s father added trying not to let anyone see that he had also been unnerved by the story.
“He’s as good a story teller as I have ever heard,” he whispered to Carol’s mother. “Did you see how he used the firelight to cast shadows on his face and body, instead of the flashlight like the rest of us?”
“Yes, I did,” she replied, holding on tightly to his arm, while Carol sat clutching the other one.
Carol could hear the others saying how they too noticed that he had not used the flashlight like all the others did, but made use of the firelight, letting the shadows dance wickedly across his face and body. No one wanted to mention his mangled hand, in hopes that it would keep the story from seeming too real.
“The faraway look in his eyes appeared as if he was recalling a previous time, when something awful really did happen to him,” Carol’s father commented, while standing up to gather their things. Then while looking over towards his frightened little girl, he added, “Come on, Little Miss Scaredy Cat.”
“Oh, no, Dad, I’m not really afraid,” Carol insisted, as she clung to his arm, while looking around to see if there was anything following them back to their tent.
“What’s that for?” Carol inquired, as her father reached over to pick up a big stick before they left to make their way back to the tent.
“Oh, nothing dear, I just didn’t want anyone to trip on it in the dark,” he assured Carol and her mother.
Carol didn’t quite believe him, as she watched him peering off into the shadows. Instead of tossing the stick off the path, as he usually would have done, he kept it in his hand while his wife held onto his arm.
Carol also couldn’t help but notice, as they walked to the tent area, that her father was not the only one to pick up a stick while leaving the fire-pit. No one dared to speak above a whisper, as they made their way back to their campsites.
Carol thought nervously to herself about the stories told during the nights before this one. She was sure that she could hear the creatures that they had spoken of that night, moving among the bushes and trees. However, tonight there were no sounds; no movement… all was quiet.
“What do you suppose happened to his hand?” Carol asked.
“An accident of some sort, I’m sure. Nothing to worry you about, Little Lady,” Carol’s father reassured her, as they continued to walk down the path not far from where the stories had been told.
Looking back at the fire-pit again, everyone had left for the night, except the odd little man who remained near what was left of the burning embers. He stood holding his hand up and looking at it, as if he was remembering the time that he really did find something under his bed.
No one noticed that a winner had not been picked for the campfire stories after the end of the old man’s warning.
The memories of the camping trip were not the only things they brought back with them. The warning the old man had told during their last night, would haunt them longer than anyone could imagine.
