My dad always told me stories. Some
where just the regular “When I was your age” stories about going
uphill both ways with no shoes. Or how he grew up with no
electricity. But the ones that were the best, which still stick in my
mind, were the late at night scary stories. The kind you tell to the
kid who won't sleep on a long drive. He would wait until it was pitch
dark with the hum of the engine being the only sound.
I was sitting shotgun in the van. My
mom was in the back bench seat with my little brother. It was
somewhere between Amarillo and Dallas. There is nothing but farmland
and long stretches of lonely roads. Dad finished a cigarette, and
threw it out the window. I had been listening to a tape, but just
finished.
“You know who lived out here? The
Texas Chainsaw guy.” He told me. I hadn't really seen the movie,
but I knew enough about it. Didn't know he was a real guy. Dad told
me the real guy was found near where we were. How he captured people
and skinned them alive. This made sure that my insomnia would last
the rest of the night.
My favorite stories were about the
weird half-man creatures that lived in the forests or swamps near our
little town. Ever since that time I've been a little obsessed with
Bigfoot stories. There was a legend of something like that up in
Arkansas. Dad told me about how a friend of his had been camping, and
heard this howl that wasn't quite human, and not really an animal.
Then this smell, like a hundred skunks. He hid out behind his tent,
and heard something moving nearby. It was right as the sun was
setting, so the light wasn't very good. He turned on his flashlight,
and saw a face that looked like a gorilla! He quickly turned it off
and ran for his truck. The next day he went back with my dad and some
friends. Along with their shotguns. The camp was torn up. All the
food was gone. The smell still hung around though. After searching
through the woods for a couple of hours, they decided that whatever
it was had left.
I made him tell me that story at least
50 times a week for a while. I wanted the details. Where was the
campsite? Can we go there? I was ready to go hunting for Bigfoot at
10 years old. It took my mom telling me that it was just a story
about a hundred and fifty times to convince me. I was a little sad
for a while, but eventually got over it. Grew up some, started losing
interest in those type of things.
Then, about 5 years ago, I got an
invite to go camping with some friends. We were going to canoe down
some of the rivers in Arkansas, and camp and fish all night. In the
middle of the night I woke up with a big call from nature. I grabbed
a flashlight and headed a little bit away from the tents. Just as I
got to a nice looking tree, I heard something moving off to the left.
I panned my light over that way and saw leaves shaking. There was a
smell, like rotting fish and waste and everything nasty put together.
I'm sure my eyes got really wide. I froze for a minute. Then, I had
an idea. I made a howling noise like a coyote mixed with a monkey.
Waited a few minutes, did it again. Heard the rustling again from
somewhere behind me. Then I felt something like breath on my neck.
Slowly I turned around. My hand was shaking so much, I dropped the
flashlight. I could see just a little bit of an outline that looked
like a giant. We must have stared at each other for a few seconds,
but it felt like forever.
I dropped low and picked up the light,
but when I got it, the creature was gone. I tried howling again, but
it never came back. I eventually gave up, and finished what I had
come there for. I traced my way back to the tents. One of my friends,
Kyle, had heard the howling. I told him what happened, and we woke up
the others. None of us went back to sleep, we sat around the fire
telling stories for the next few hours. When daylight hit, we went
through the woods to where I saw the creature. There were some faint
tracks, and scrapes like claw marks on a nearby tree. We followed the
tracks for a while, but finding they disappeared after a short
distance.
Today I'm driving from Dallas to a
town in Colorado with the family. I timed it so that when we get in
between there and Amarillo, it will be pitch dark. I hope my boy is
sitting next to me, wide awake listening to music. When he looks up
from his iPod, I'll start telling him this story. And then the one
about where the old Native Americans used to bury their dead, and how
at night their ghosts protect it from outsiders. Or maybe how his
grandfather spent the night in a haunted house. As long as it helps
keep him awake, I could tell stories forever.
