There were buildings scattered throughout the overgrown grounds, all of them looking decrepit and in various degrees of ruin. Vines grew up the walls, covering most of them. Stones were still visible in a few places. A light breeze caused shadows to dance across the dark windows.
Town rumors said the place was haunted. Ghosts, of people who had been mistreated and left to die, were said to roam the place. It looked like no one had been there in years. Dr. Tines’ lecture had given them a brief history. It had been privately owned until the state stepped in and shut it down. Rumors of patient abuse sparked an audit and bad record keeping was all it took. There was a morgue and crematorium on site. He mentioned a laundry-type chute from the morgue to the crematorium. The bodies were sent sliding down and landed on the floor, sometimes piling up until someone got around to them. They were there to find out if the place was haunted.
“Okay, gang, if anyone has second thoughts, this is the time to back out,” Toni said.
Janine was reluctant but agreed to go. John just shrugged his shoulders as usual. He was generally the quiet one. Mark was always ready.

They tramped through the tall grass towards the largest building. Trees had begun to grow where the lawn had once been. The musty air smelled of rain and uneasiness filled the space around them. When they reached the halfway point, something made a strange noise, stopping them in their tracks. It sounded like a scream mixed with the sound of nails on a chalkboard. They held their breaths waiting for the sound to repeat itself.
“What was that?” Janine whispered.
Silence slipped through the night air as the seconds ticked away.
“Probably just a cat,” Mark replied, “they make some weird noises.”
“This is getting spooky,” John said. They all glanced at him. He didn’t say much most of the time.
“We all agreed to go,” Toni said, looking dismayed. “If you’re this afraid now, then you’ll be too chicken to go inside. We’ve been planning this for days. So what’s it gonna be?”
Nodding to each other in agreement, they proceeded closer and closer to the building. After a few yards Janine looked up and gasped, startling everyone.
“What is it now?” John asked.
“I-I thought I saw a light on the third floor,” pointing to the window. Their eyes followed her finger upwards, but saw nothing.
Mark glanced at her, “Geeze, Janine, you’re jumpy. It’s probably a reflection of the moon. Come on.” The group continued through the growth.
Janine hesitated for a moment, still staring at the window. “It didn’t look like a reflection to me,” she mumbled under her breath.

The group reached a large iron door of the side entrance. John stared intently at it. “I wonder what this thing is intended to keep out?” They looked at him again.
“Or in?” Mark said before turning to the door again. It smelled of rusted, damp metal and felt slick to the touch.
His mouth curved into a fiendish grin, “I wonder if it’s open?”
All of them held their breath as they watched his hand reach for the doorknob. They were frightened but eager to know what was on the other side. Mark placed his fingers around the cold wet knob. He gripped it tight preparing himself for its resistance. It turned effortlessly, like it had been oiled. The massive door creaked open. The interior was pitch black.
Toni took a deep breath. “Does anyone else think that was too easy? The group looked at her in silence.

Mark entered first. The others followed him and turned on their flashlights one by one. The door swung shut startling them with a loud bang. They looked back; no one was there. They were in a large, open room with several doors on each wall. On the far side was an entrance to a dark hallway. A swoosh, swoosh sound came from it. Pointing their flashlights into the opening, they caught a glimpse of a man-like shape moving. Toni flinched almost dropping her light. As her hands fumbled with it, she whispered, “There’s someone there.”
She pointed her light down the hall with the others. The beams sliced through the darkness and came to rest on a man’s face. It was horribly disfigured, like a gnarled tree stump. The man limped along towards them, dragging his right leg. Swoosh, swoosh.
Janine gasped, her mouth opened to scream. Mark grabbed her arm with one hand and spun her around. He placed the flashlight under his arm to free his hand and clapped it over her mouth.
“That isn’t going to help, dumb ass. You would be the first one killed in a horror flick. Shut it up,” he said through clenched teeth.
He looked towards the end of the hall again. The man was moving closer, towards them.
“Let’s get out of here,” Toni yelled, breaking the silence.
They stumbled backwards, their hands reaching for the door, recklessly grabbing for the knob. It didn’t turn, it was stuck.
“Open the damn door,” Janine shrieked.
John looked down the hall, the man was still coming. Swoosh, swoosh. He turned to the door, pushing the others aside. The man’s footsteps were getting louder. John grasped the knob and gave it a quick, forceful jerk. He stumbled out as it flew open. Looking over their shoulders, they realized the man’s face was more grotesque than it had appeared before. He was halfway to them.

They bolted out the door and ran through the overgrowth, retracing their path.
Janine was sobbing as they reached the wood line. Mark took her hand as they dodged through the trees to reach the car parked out on the road.
“Come on, Janine. I won’t let you be the first to die. We’ll make it. I promise.”
Janine squeezed his hand as they picked up speed.

They came out of the woods a hundred yards from the car, running full speed towards it. Reaching the old Buick they were like mad animals pawing at the doors to get them open. Inside, John searched through the mass of jumbled keys. The others started yelling at him.
“Come on John, get this piece of shit moving.”
“I’m trying dammit!” He dropped the keys and fumbled on the floor to retrieve them.
Mark beat on the back of the seat. “Let’s go man!”
John found the key, shoved it in the ignition, gave it a turn and the motor started instantly. He jerked on the gearshift and slammed it into drive with his foot already on the accelerator. The car fishtailed as the tires slung gravel before they caught traction and sent the car careening down the road. John fought the steering wheel to get the car under control. They disappeared into a cloud of dust.

Half an hour later, they were back at the dorm. Shaken and still out of breath, they slumped across the sofa. No one said a word.
The door opened slowly. They all turned to see who was there. It was the disfigured man from the sanitarium. Janine let out a terrifying scream. John jumped up and grabbed the big brass candlestick that was on the end table.
“What the hell do you want?” he screamed. The man began to laugh as he pulled off the rubber mask.
“I just wanted to see if my students actually did their research,” Dr. Tine said.
Toni looked away with a smug grin on her face. Her uncle had helped her get the best of them.

© Patti Stafford

“I had a kayaking accident and was lost in the woods for a few days.  They think I’m nuts because I was babbling when they found me on the side of the road.  I’m not crazy.  What happened to me was real.”

“Oh,” he sounded interested, “tell me about it.”

I ran the story over in my mind.  It’s late spring.  My buddies and I decided to take our annual kayaking trip a month early. The days are warming but the nights are still cold as hell.  We packed the usual things and added some extra blankets and warmer clothing.

The Lochsa River was up from the early spring thaw but we were experienced kayakers.  It’s an Indian word and means “Rough Water”.  No problem.  We loved these three day trips.  Man against the wilderness.

Day one was great; everything went fine.  Fresh new flowers were blooming from the sun’s warmth.  A few swell rapids were just the thing to prepare us for Bloody Mary the next day. We usually opt for the Grim Reaper rapids, but we decided that we’d take on Mary this year.

Day two was crisp.  The morning air felt good in our lungs.  We headed out early to stop and eat before hitting white water heaven.  Lunch consisted of roasted hotdogs and chips.  Outdoor cooking just makes simple foods taste better.

Heading to the kayaks we judged it’d take about thirty minutes to reach the rapids.  Enough time to let the meal settle and get our muscles warmed back up after the rest.

We came around that last bend before Mary stared us down and the adrenaline started to rise.  The rush was coming and we were up for the challenge.  We plotted our points of entry.  You need to be careful entering rough rapids; picking the safest looking spot you can.  That isn’t always a sure bet though.  We had our system.  Bob always went lead.  Rick followed and then Stan.  I always rode drag; we felt like cowboys on a cattle drive.  We’d each hold back to a count of ten before following the one ahead.  It’s a decent amount of time to make sure the person ahead of you is out of the way or in case of trouble.  As Stan entered the white water I began my count and then plunged ahead.  I was ready for that male testosterone spark to ignite.  Smooth entry, sometimes it rocks you like a baby in a cradle, sometimes it’s like a roller coaster.  We were lucky that day; the intensity was a gradual increase.  I think I was about half-way through Mary when I hit a suck hole, or one hit me.  I couldn’t pull out, it kept me spinning; spinning until everything was a blur.  It carried me along the river turning me over and over, the way I imagine a crocodile does to its prey.  It never lasted that long.  “What the hell.”  I came out of my kayak; and then nothing.  I blacked out.

I awoke; I don’t know when.  My head and body ached, I tried opening my eyes but everything was in a haze.  There was an odor.  What was that damned smell?  Was it me?  It wasn’t a putrid odor, more like a mixture of damp leaves, the musty smell of dirt, wet stinky dog, and something else.  Anise, that’s what it was.  Together they made an unusual mixture.  And then nothing, I blacked out again.

I awoke later, not feeling as bad as before.  The odor still stunk, like it was etched into my nostrils.  I opened my eyes; the haze was lifting but still cloudy.  I could hear the rush of water so I knew I was still close to the river.  It sounded like it was below me.  The guys must have pulled me out, but I couldn’t hear them talking.  Why weren’t they talking?  They were always jabbering about something.  My eyes were beginning to focus more.  I could tell the difference between the trees and the rocks, sort of.  There’s a large dark shape to my left.  A rock covered with moss, it was getting clearer.  Yes, it was covered with moss; thick brown moss.  No, it’s hair, definitely hair.  The rock is covered with hair.  It moved.  The hairy rock moved.  “Shit,” rocks don’t move–or have hair.

Clearer now, it has a face.  It’s not quite a man’s face, or one that belongs to some hideous creature.  Just a face, a—sad face that looked like tanned leather from many days in the sun and wind.  It was a deep bronze color or maybe the color of burnished copper.  The eyes were large and bright, but there was something to them, something I couldn’t place.  His nose was large like an ape, but it wasn’t like an apes.

“Fuck the dog,” I mumbled as I propped up on one elbow, feeling kind of woozy.  “It’s Big Foot.”  No, it can’t be, those creatures don’t exist and I have a big gash on my head.  But there he sits looking at me with sad eyes.  Concerned eyes?  I thought I saw compassion in his eyes.

I looked at him in disbelief, “Well dude, I’ve hit my head pretty hard cause you look like Big Foot.  Good one Stan.  Now can you take off that outfit and get me the hell out of here?”

Stan didn’t speak, he grunted.  The gruff kind of noise a person might make if they were constipated real bad.  It was strange but I understood it.  There was no voice but I understood the meanings.

It wasn’t Stan playing a joke.  Another grunt.  He’s telling me who he is.  It’s an unspoken language of sorts.  They don’t have names like John or Bill, they communicate differently.  They know each other by ways other than names.  He’s Sasquatch, it’s not his name it’s more of a title. The Indians called them that and they prefer it over Big Foot.  They’ve been around since the beginning.  Highly intelligent.  Very gifted with languages and understandings of human ways.  His grunts weren’t words as we know them.  It was like magic that I knew what he was telling me.  I knew it in my heart and soul as well as in my head.

I sat upright; head stinging, my eyes adjusted and cleared, mind was still a bit fuzzy.  He was definitely not Stan in a hairy suit.

“Hol-y shit.  You are real.”

The voice he grunts is calm.  It’s philosophical; a deep baritone, but quiet.  “Yes, we’re real.  I’m not the only one.”

“But why, how?”

“Why are we such an elusive mystery?”

“Yeah,” I said with confusion in my voice.

“We choose to be.  We don’t wish to live like you, or to be like you.”

“What do you mean by that?  You mean people?”

“Yes, I mean people, humans.  Whatever it is you call yourselves now.”

“But why?  Just think of all the attention you’d get.”

“We’ve seen your cities, and they disgust us.  We’ve seen the attention you give to one another.  It’s cruel, it’s vicious and it disgusts us.  We sit here on the edge of your existence and we watch.  No one sees us because they are too busy looking for ways to get ahead.”

“Not all of us.  Our lives are full and enriched.  We have luxuries and education.  We’ve been to the moon for Christ’s sake.”

“Oh yes, Christ, the one you nailed to a cross because he was different.”

“You know about him?”

“Oh yes, we were there.  We witnessed how you were then and how you’ve evolved, as you call it.”

“We’ve bettered ourselves.  We’ve built cities, factories.  We’ve created an efficient world that has conveniences.”

“Have you now?”  His tone was irritating me.

“Yes we have!”

“If your world is so great and full of these…conveniences, why do you invade our world so often?”

“To get away.  Relax.”

“Away from what?  Why do you need to relax?”

“Geesh, it’s because we work hard.  We have to get away from the daily wear and tear on our lives.  Get back to nature.”

“Exactly.”

With that one word, his meaning was beginning to sink in, hitting me hard.  I sat there in silence for a while.  I looked over at him, ready to tell him more of how great our world had become, but he grunted before I could open my mouth to speak.

“You’ve created monstrosities.  You’ve polluted the air making it difficult for anything to breathe.”

“Yeah buddy, you gotta lot of room to talk there.  At least we bathe.”  I was a bit snide.

“My smell offends you?”

“Yeah, I’d say it does.”

“Good.  That’s what it’s intended to do.”

“Why is that?”

“To keep you away.  To keep you from invading our world when your perfect one is too much for you to live with.”

“I think I understand.”

“Do you now?  Do you realize that all the things you’ve created for yourselves, to make your lives easier and more enjoyable are the same things you run to my world to escape?”

“I’m beginning to.”

“You see then, that my world is still perfect.  Still the way it was when time began.  There is nothing to escape from, or to.”

God, he was right.  All these things that we’ve created and loaded into our brains thinking we’ve done such a damned good job with, and it basically doesn’t mean shit.  Nothing.  We’ve lied to ourselves.  Cheated ourselves.  We’re destroying ourselves.  For what?  For convenience?  How convenient is that?

Every chance we get; we invade his world.  We try to escape our own and pretend like we’re roughing it in the wild.  We escape back to where we began.

All our technology, our advancements, doesn’t mean shit.  The answers we’ve searched for through philosophers, astronomers, psychics, and religion.  Some how I felt that he had all the answers.  He was more intelligent, more advanced than we ever dreamed of.  A real genius.  But his kind was smart enough to keep it simple.  They saved themselves a lot of grief and a lot of greed.  Then we come along and try to destroy it every chance we get.

I had a million questions for him.  He knew I had that many and wanted answers.  He stared at me with those sad eyes.  “I won’t give you the answers.”

“Why not?”

“Because you already know.  You’re just too bogged down in your perfect world to realize it.  So, you will continue to invade mine when you can and do your damnedest to destroy both our worlds because killing your own isn’t enough for you.  It never will be, so you’ll keep doing the same things you are now.  You’ll continue to look for the answers around you when they’re already inside you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes, you’ve created your world.  You have to live in it.”

“Why did you save me and let me witness your existence?”

He sat there in silence for awhile, pondering I suppose.

“I wonder that myself each time.”

“I’m not the first then?”

“No, you won’t be the last either.  We’ve saved many of your kind.  Especially the small ones, the children.”

“That would explain why so many children have survived after being lost in the woods for days.”

“Yes, they have the ability to accept us for what we are and an inner desire to keep us protected.  The adults of your world just blow them off as having wild imaginations when they do speak of us.”

“You’re right.”

“Even you, if you tell this story, they will think you were having hallucinations from exposure to the elements.  Eventually you will quit telling the story and be satisfied with the truth that’s in your heart.”

Sitting here in the psych ward, I now know he was right about that too.  I finally looked over at the guy who sat there waiting to hear my story.  “Well, you know how trauma is.  It makes you say funny things.”

© Patti Stafford

Eyes blood-shot, there is no rest, no sleep. No peace. Clothes smell of sweat and a carton of Marlboro. He put them on a week ago, or was it two? He couldn’t remember.
He lies on the sofa, closes his eyes. The blinking cursor remains, etched in his memory, lingering like a bad dose of medicine on his tongue.

He opens his eyes. The screen stares back at him. The cursor blinks its one evil eye. “Give it to me,” it teases. “Quit wasting my time.”

“I’ve tried. I’ve tried in vain,” he whimpers. “It will not come. It eludes me.”
He paces, ranting. He sits and scribbles, tosses the paper to the growing pile. He takes a sip of beer; only to find a cigarette butt in the bottom of the can. He spews flat Coors and ashes across the screen. Still the cursor blinks, growing impatient.

Haunting him. He drops to his knees, hands grasping greasy, ratted hair.
“What is it you want from me?” he cries out.
“One word.”

© Patti Stafford