Walking in the Dark
In St. Eleanor's, a suburb of my town, there are two trailer parks that are separated by a small woods. Numerous paths run all over the place in there. Partway through is a clearing, where you can find two stone foundations of buildings that have been gone since before I was born (at least, there were foundations, they might be gone by now). Along one side of the clearing are several homes.
In the summer 0f '88, I lived in one of the trailer parks. A friend (Dave once again, to those of you who have read my other threads), and I were walking from his house about a mile away to get to my trailer. Rather than take the road, which would have added about five minutes to our journey, we decided to cut through the woods. It was dark, but I had been through there hundreds of times and could likely walk through it blindfolded. As for Dave, I think it was his first time going through, as he had never spent much time in that part of the neighbourhood.
To keep him entertained, I was of course telling him stories about some spooky things that had supposedly happened there years earlier. When we got to the clearing, I pointed out the foundations and told him how another friend thought he saw a skull under a collapsed part of the stone about nine years earlier.
Moments later, we heard a loud baying from the edge of the clearing. After a moment's shock, I realized it was a dog, likely from one of the houses. It sounded quite close, though, and I was concerned it might be untied. I turned around to tell Dave that perhaps we should go back.
Dave wasn't there. However, the sounds coming from that direction revealed that he was already well on his way back out of the woods, apparently charging right through the trees rather than wasting valuable time going around them.
Yes, Dave had left me to die.
I left at a noticeably less brisk pace, as I had less faith in my ability to charge over trees than Dave did in his. When I reached him, I didn't say anything too harsh, because I was rather amused about the situation. We then took the long way to my trailer.
In case Dave should ever happen to read this, I should point out that despite the things I've mentioned here and in my previous stories, he is not a coward. He comes from a family of scrappers, and doesn't think twice about confronting regular threats, regardless of the odds. I believe that if a hideous monstrosity was eating my face, he would try to save me. He also had one of the best lines I ever heard, while we were watching a Friday the 13th movie with another friend.
Friend: Jason wouldn't be that tough to beat. Just cut off his arms and legs.
Dave: Alright, you go out there and cut off his arms and legs. After you're done, we'll come and get your body.
Me: Later.
Dave: Yes, much much later.
Now, for the actual spooky tale.
There used to be a guy in my community called Herbie. I think almost everyone knew him. He was endlessly wandering around town, looking for change to get alcohol. He was quite old, very very skinny, and had a distinct walk and posture. Even out of the corner of your eye, you would be able to tell it was him at once.
Apparently, he often went to his brother's house to spend the night. One extremely cold winter night in the late ninties, he went there, but the door was locked. He sat down in the yard and froze to death. Everybody thought it was a shame, but knew it was just a matter of time before something happened to him. He was frail, and hadn't been healthy in some time.
One night about nine years ago, I had been visiting a friend, and now it was time to walk home. The quickest way was to travel along a trail that used to be train tracks. There have been no trains on the island for around twenty years, and the tracks were converted to trails during the ninties.
I was walking along, looking down as usual (you'd be surprised how often you can find money lying on the ground). Whenever I was about to cross a road, I'd look up to make sure there were no cars coming. At one point when I looked up, I saw someone standing in the next section of the trail. He was at the edge of it, with his back to me. It looked like Herbie.
My rational mind immediately took over, and assured me there was no way it could be him. It was dark, I have much too active an imagination, it must be somebody else. I was a little creeped out, but dropped my head again and kept going.
When I reached him, I looked up again to reassure myself that this was someone else. I was less than five feet from him, and it still looked exactly like him. He was standing there, completely motionless, looking into a ditch. I kept walking, praying that he wouldn't look around at me. After about half a minute, I looked back to make sure he wasn't following me, or watching me. He was still standing in the same spot, not moving. He was in this same position everytime I looked back, until I could no longer see him. At this point, I walked so fast the rest of the way, that it was practically a jog.
Separated from that moment by almost a decade and the safety (hopefully) of my bedroom, right now my brain is still trying to rationalize that it couldn't have been him. When I was looking at him from an arm's length, though, I was absolutely positive that I was looking at a dead man.
I don't believe I've walked on that stretch of the trail after dark since that night.
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Don't be afraid of the dark. That's foolishness. Be afraid of what is in the dark.
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