Posts tagged ‘travel’
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY: HORROR SHORT STORY, PARTVI
This story was published by Necrology Shorts in January 2010.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY
I carefully closed the book and felt a shiver as I recalled some newspaper accounts of horrible occurrences that happened at Lake Harmony remembering that they took place at four year intervals.
* * *
The latest incident occurred on June 12, 1998. A group of four friends came to the campsite where we enjoyed camping. Pitching their tent, they settled in for a few days of hiking and fishing. It was reported that they were to leave the morning of June 13. The morning of June 13 arrived and the surrounding campsites awoke to find that site 35 was empty. The men were gone, along with their belongings. They were never seen again. They had disappeared with no word to their family or friends. I remembered in the article about the fishermen, an earlier incident was mentioned of a horrifying occurrence that had never been solved.
It was June 12, 1994. A family of four, a mom, dad and two young sons were camping at site 34. On the morning of their departure, no one stirred. Finally, the time to vacate the site arrived and their tent was still standing with all their gear spread around the campsite. A ranger stopped at the campsite and called out, “Time to pack-up and leave”. There was no response. He shouted that he was opening the tent and did so. The poor fellow lost his mind with the sight that greeted him. The mother and boys were there, murdered and horribly mutilated. The father was gone and suspected of the crimes. He was never found.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY: HORROR SHORT STORY, PART IV
This story was published by Necrology Shorts in January 2010.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY
Legend continued that one day Megwa, a young buck who wanted to prove his worth as a warrior, made a discovery that chilled him to the bone and sent the other warriors on a mission to destroy The Ancients. Megwa had a best friend with whom he shared his childhood. They would hunt together and talk about their future and their place in the tribe. His friend, whose name was Sharak, had suffered a grave misadventure as a young boy. Once their camp was attacked and Sharak, then a boy of six, ran from his shelter and was immediately clubbed by one of the invaders. He was thought dead, and placed among the bodies of his family and friends, but he soon stirred. The surviving tribe members nursed him back to health. He regained his strength, became a warrior, and went on to avenge the massacre of his parents killed by the invaders, but he always carried a reminder of that fateful attack. His forehead was indented with a deep crease that became a sign of his bravery and a reminder of his loss.
The time of the glowing eyes of The Ancients came once again and, again, four members of the tribe were missing. One of the missing Lenape natives was Sharak. Megwa felt a deep loss, an emptiness in his heart and a sorrow that would not leave. He grieved for his friend. He did not know where he had gone or what had happened to him.
Everyone knew that The Ancients must have been warriors in the past, for the entrance of their cave was adorned with skulls, the trophies of past battles. One day, not long after Sharak disappeared, Megwa was walking by The Ancients’ cave when he suddenly stopped and peered closely at the entrance. There among the other skulls was a new gleaming skull that he recognized, a skull with a deep gash in the forehead. He reported this discovery to the elders of the tribe and it was decided that The Ancients must be destroyed. The tribe knew they must wait until the eyes of The Ancients began to glow. That was when they were at their weakest, and feared contact with the outside world. With their eyes glowing like those of wild animals, they peered from their cave and would not venture beyond its entrance
SCHUYLKILL HAVEN: A HORROR SHORT STORY PART I
I’ll be posting short stories for a while again. The story I’m posting next has not been published. It will appear in seven parts.
WARNING
This story contains an ‘F Bomb’ which, in today’s publications, is not a rare occurrence. If you read The New Yorker, among other publications, you are aware of this. Also, sensitive people may find the theme of this story disturbing.
HAVEN OF HORROR
Jeff and Karen were recently married. Not much later Jeff accepted a better job than he had with more pay. They needed to move. With great anticipation they now were on a road trip to explore the area which would be their new home. Jeff loved wandering down roads he had never traveled, and for him this trip was a treat. A new area to be visited ripe for exploration.
As they drove along, not really sure where they were, Karen said, “I’m tired and hungry. Let’s stop at the next town for some rest and food.” They had been on the road for several days driving from California to Pennsylvania. Today, they had been driving for ten hours and they both needed rest and food.
Jeff spied what looked like a seldom used road, “Let’s go down that road. It must lead to somewhere.”
Karen looked at him as if to say, ‘Give me a break’ for it looked like it would lead to nowhere. The newness of marriage had not yet dissolved, but it was getting there.
Karen glanced at the maps they had brought along, “Jeff, this road is not on the map!”
Jeff’s response was, “Great.” Karen just shook her head. And off they went down an unmapped road hoping to find food and perhaps lodging for the night as the sky was steadily darkening the landscape. He looked at Karen and wondered if the stop would lead to ‘cuddling’ – and perhaps more. He wondered how long those episodes would last. He had heard stories.
With Karen constantly complaining about how tired and hungry she was, they approached a small town. Jeff was hungry too, and ready for some nighttime activity. As they entered the town it was as if they were visiting a page out of history. There was not a modern structure. It was like something of a lot for filming an old movie. There was a gas station with only one pump. An old guy in a chair was leaning against the building.
The old man waved and said, “Hi. Don’t see many strangers here.”
The town was Schuylkill Haven.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART IX
PLUMBING PROBLEMS IX
“Hang on,” she said, “I’ll try his cell phone.” She came back on the line and said her call to Dave could not be completed; something was wrong with his cell phone. I wasn’t prepared for her next response.
She half shouted and half cried, “That bastard!”
There was more to come.
“He’s with his slut, that son of a bitch. That’s the only place he can be.” Debbie continued with an explanation that I really didn’t need to hear. “We had just been married a year, and I knew I wasn’t his first girlfriend, but I figured I’d be the last. Dave had accepted a job from a woman new to the area and I found out he was servicing more than just her plumbing. No that’s wrong, he was servicing her plumbing.” Debbie wailed, “That’s the only place he could be, and if that’s where he is he can go to hell!”
As fast as I could, I offered to let her know if Dave returned, said good-bye and hung up. I needed to have my plumbing fixed and not to be in the middle of a marital dispute.
I searched around the house and walked the fields again but there was no sign of Dave. By now night was approaching. With reluctance I called the police. I related to the officer Dave’s disappearance and also about my conversation with his wife.
“Sounds like a sticky situation,” came the officer’s reply. He continued, “I’ll phone the wife. She’s the one that has to file a missing person report. After I talk to her I’ll take a run out to your place and see if I can figure out what is going on.”
I said I’d be watching for him, hung up and looked into having the mess upstairs cleaned up. A few hours later a police car pulled up behind Dave’s truck. By now it was quite dark, so I put on the outside lights and saw a policeman walking towards the front door. He introduced himself as Officer Marks and I asked him in.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS: A GHOST STORY
On one side of my property, some eight to ten feet deep, is a gully. I was told some time ago that this gully belonged to a railroad. I have seen an arial photo, taken perhaps in the 50’s, showing tracks at the bottom of the gully. I’ve also been told that they were either train or trolley tracks. I began thinking, What if there was ever an accident down there?
Unwelcomed Guests was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in February 2010.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS
Will Trizma was a writer of ghost stories and mined the local countryside for legends and their settings. The area abounded in both. His wife, Joan, acted as his editor and sounding board for his ideas. At times, the only comment she would make is, “You’re sick.”
Not only did he write ghost stories, but he also dreamt of them. One night he conjured a most vivid story; a story from the future. But unlike most of his dreams, he could not remember this tale. The only recollection he had was that it was horrifying.
* * *
It was the evening of August 15, 1949. The time was slightly before ten as a train made its way toward West Chester. There were fifteen souls aboard, counting the crew and passengers on this quiet summer night. The steam locomotive was pushing a caboose and two passenger cars. The weather had been stormy for days and up ahead the foundation of the bridge spanning Ship Road had been undermined by runoff. Jim Purvis, making his last run in a fully loaded fuel truck, slowly crossed the bridge. As he reached the span’s center, it collapsed leaving the truck astraddle the tracks. Jim could not believe he was still alive considering the load he was carrying. Although injured, he managed to climb out of the ravine and go seek help.
As the train slowly made its way into a depressed section of track, the conductor, Ben Elliot, sat on the caboose’s platform and began filling his pipe thinking about sharing a late dinner with his wife. He looked down to light the pipe, and once achieving a satisfactory burn, he puffed contently, and then looked up. The sight before him made his scream, “Holy sh…! He never finished the expletive.
The caboose rammed the truck, followed by the cars. The locomotive cut through the wreck until it reached the truck exploding the gas tank and turning the wreck into a funeral pyre.
* * *
Writing is a lonely profession, and years ago Will sought out a local writer’s group for support and editorial advice. During a Christmas dinner attended by all the writers, Will and Joan suggested a summer party and volunteered to hold it at their house. As the day of the party approached, one spouse or two became sick and others were called away unexpectedly on business.
Will and his wife greeted their guests, their thirteen guests.
Their dog, Millie, a lab mix was her usual excited self with the arrival of every new visitor. Once everyone was there, she settled down and dozed in the sun.
The conversation was lively with all the creative minds present, and as dusk approached, Will was called upon to tell a ghost story. “Not dark enough yet,” he answered.
Dessert was served, and when there was no longer a hint of sunlight, and with the patio bathed in twilight, Will deemed the time right for his tale and went into the house. He returned with candles, one for each table, after extinguished all the inside lights. “Now we have the right atmosphere,” he said. Will began his story and even Millie appeared interested, her eyes reflecting the candlelight.
The weather had been rainy the last few days, and at ten as he began to read, Will noticed a mist begin coming out of the gull bordering one side of his property. A few guests had asked him earlier about the gully and he answered that it had once harbored a railroad track.
The mist became denser and soon overtook the yard along with the guests. One by one they all fell asleep, including Millie. As the wall of fog enveloped all present, fifteen human shapes began to form. The specters slowly made their way to the dozing, and one by one, entered their bodies.
The next morning, they awoke from their deep sleep and knowingly smiled at one another. Ben Elliot looked around, and Will’s eyes filled with tears. “We’ve waited sixty years for this moment.”
Millie awoke and growled. She knew there was something terribly wrong with her master.
THE END
THE SUPERIOR SPECIES: PART II, THE DISCOVERY
THE DISCOVERY
John and Paul had hiked the Alps of Switzerland for most of their lives. Friends in England since their youth, they both chose to seek employment in Switzerland to be near the mountains they loved. Both enjoyed the solitude, hiking the mountains high above the point where novice hikers would stop. As they hiked that June day, they would have an experience they would never forget, an experience that would alter mankind’s perception of his place on this planet.
While on the lower levels of the Alps, they drank in the fragrance of the sentinel pine. And as the winter ice retreated, they had to climb higher and higher to enjoy the solitude they cherished. This June day, they hiked into an ice-shrouded valley that was new to them. Paul was the first to notice a dark mass protruding from the ice halfway up the valley wall. It stood out black against the pristine ice.
“Do you see that, John?” Paul pointed. “I’m going to check it out.”
As Paul approached, a slight wind ruffled Paul’s quarry.
“John, come up here! It’s hair.”
The two men approached. They could make out a shape in the ice beneath the hair. They peered into the ice, and both came to the same conclusion. Buried in the ice was the body of a man.
* * *
The two police officers responding to the Englishmen’s call were used to this sort of thing. Hikers were often lost in the Alps. When egos outdistanced skill and training, along with a lack of preparation, the results were often disastrous. And when the weather became unforgiving, they weren’t found until the first thaw. The two officers worked to reveal more of the body by chipping away some of the ice. The face was revealed along with other details. The more ice they cleared from the body, the more both men knew they were not uncovering an ordinary hiker.
“We had better place guards and call the university in Zurich.”
* * *
Dr. Hans Bueler looked down on the body. He could not hide his excitement. As he examined the corpse, he talked to the policemen protecting the site.
As his investigation proceeded, he said, “Gentlemen, I do not know if you appreciate the magnitude of this find. This is, by far, the greatest discovery in the study of our ancient ancestors to date. You will notice the prominent brow, wide nose and lack of chin. Also notice the muscular shoulders. I will require further study, but I am positive this is the body of a Neanderthal.
“I am sure you also have noticed the cause of death. I refer to the spear point protruding from this individual’s chest. Gentlemen, this is a crime scene, a murder. However, you will never apprehend the murderer, for this crime took place thousands and thousands of years ago.
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