Walt Trizna's Blog, page 13
November 25, 2024
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART V
The Legend
of
French Creek
Two weeks later, we were packing for our camping trip. Our dog, Millie, appeared to be as excited as we were, seeing her food and toys packed up and taken out to the van.
We set out on the afternoon of Halloween full of anticipation in leaving our daily lives and spending a weekend in the wilderness with our pup. After finding our campsite, we quickly set up camp and Millie, attached to a long lead, sniffed the forest floor. That night, seated by a roaring campfire with Joan, my imagination ran wild. I pictured Druids descending on our campsite, with us captured for their human sacrifices. Of course, nothing happened. The entire night passed, uneventful. My imagination can be a weird place.
The next morning, we planned our first hike with Millie. The Orange Trail passed behind our tent. It was an easy trail, ideal for Millie, my wife and me. After packing lunch, we set out in late morning with Millie taking the lead, full of excitement. We walked the trail for a little more than two miles when it meandered toward the perimeter of the park. After another half mile, Millie’s excitement on this adventure changed dramatically. Our pup began to growl and pull away from the direction we were going, not wanting to continue. We pulled her along and her growl became a whimper of fear, something we’d never seen her exhibit. Another fifty feet and there it was. I was sure it was the site of the minister’s house described by the old man in the store.
As Millie pulled back on her leash, we approached the destroyed structure. There was a concrete slab about thirty by twenty feet off the trail with charred posts sticking out from points in the foundation. A rusted bedspring was the only sign of furniture. A few decaying pipes punctured the concrete slab. What was unusual was the lack of vegetation surrounding the slab. No trees had invaded the immediate area. Only weeds and forest litter marred the land.
We stood there, with Millie pulling away. Joan said, “What a curious place out here in the middle of nowhere. And why is Millie acting so strange?”
I had yet to relate to Joan the story the old man told me. As we continued on our hike, I told her about the old man’s story. We both noticed that the farther we walked along the trail, the more Millie returned to her pleasant disposition.
I knew I had to return to these ruins on the summer solstice to investigate.
November 24, 2024
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART IV
The Legend
of
French Creek
“It was in the early 1920’s when a new preacher came to town. During the late summer the townsfolk said they would build him a house. He walked not far from the church and saw a level area with little growth. Apparently, the damn fool picked the site where the pagans’ cabin once stood.
“The house was built before winter set in and the congregation spent the remainder of the winter and the next spring worshipping, led by the new minister.
“Then the night of the summer solstice arrived. No one knows what happened, but the minister’s house burnt down that night with him in it. The church caught fire and burned to the ground too.
“Eventually, during the depression, the town died, and the area returned to wilderness. Here’s where the legend takes over, my young friend. All the buildings were overgrown by the forest except for the minister’s. The concrete slab that served as its foundation is still there, along with some burnt up debris. The forest won’t touch that rubble, so the legend says, because the pagans still dwell there underground. I don’t know exactly where it is, but it’s somewhere on the perimeter of French Creek State Park. Folks say it’s still there, easy to find along one of the popular trails, but I never bothered lookin’. Some say they get a strange feeling when they hike past the rubble on the day of the summer solstice. No one goes there that night. Campers all stay snug and warm by their fires or in their tents, and town folks safe in their homes.”
“That’s a great story,” I told the old man. “Maybe I could use some of it in a story. But first, I’ll try to find the ruin you mentioned.”
“Don’t know if you should, mister. All legends have a bit of truth. I wouldn’t want to cause you any harm.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
I shook his hand and left the small store, my mind full of ideas. I kept in mind the details he gave me about the location of the minister’s house. With our impending camping trip to French Creek State Park, I thought the coincidence was perfect for me to do some research. If I could locate the site I could use the surroundings to give my story a realistic bent.
November 23, 2024
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART III
The Legend
of
French Creek
I pulled a small pad and a pen from my shirt pocket. “Mind if I take some notes?”
“Hell no. Most around here know the story – it’s no secret.”
He began his tale.
“Grandpa first told me this story when I was young. Wanted to scare the hell out of me, I suppose. Used to enjoy doing that a lot. Starts back in the late 1700’s when some people moved in that weren’t welcomed in this neck of the woods. They came from England. Some kind of pagan cult called Drubids.”
“Do you mean Druids?” I asked.
“Ya, something like that. Anyway, they wanted to be left alone so they built a house way out in the woods. There was men and women, but no children. Young, they was. Maybe eight or ten of them.
“Seems the locals, being of the religious type, didn’t take too kindly to these pagans. Then the trouble started. Farm animals turned up missing, some cows and sheep. The locals suspected treachery by the pagans, but they kept their peace. Then, within two weeks’ time, three children went missing. A group of townsfolk paid a visit to the pagans. The heathens said they knew nothing of the animals or children disappearing. But the locals thought they were acting suspicious.
“This all happened in the spring. Then came the massacre.
It was the night of the summer solstice. The nearest residents to the pagans reported a red glow in the forest that night. Some of the local men, well-armed, went to investigate. They approached the pagan camp and saw the men and women dancing naked around a fire. There was a pile of cut-up carcasses, no one could tell what they were being thrown into the fire.
“One of the men, nervous I suppose, shot into the air and the pagans made for the cabin. The story goes that the men surrounded the cabin, and then someone threw a blazing brand onto the roof. The cabin caught fire. Screams could be heard coming from the house. Some of the pagans tried to escape through the door and windows, but they were shot and fell back into the inferno. While they waited on of the men poked around in the fire. Found bones, small human bones so the story goes. The men of the town remained until the house collapsed. By morning, it was just a smoking ruin. They left and said little of what they had done to anyone outside the community. Some of the curious would visit the site of the pagan compound, but that ended after a while. And as time passed, the story faded but was not totally forgotten.
November 22, 2024
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART II
The Legend
of
French Creek
The store was the sort that existed before the supermarket came into existence. To my right was an ancient refrigerator case holding cold cuts and cheese. I walked the two rows of shelves. There was soup, canned vegetables and a host of other products. But where a modern grocery store might have ten brands of the same product and a vast quantity of each, there was only one brand with four or five samples available. As a guy, I thought this made shopping a lot easier. The shelves to the far left held products for the local sportsman. Ammo and freshwater tackle lined the shelves. After drinking in the atmosphere of the store, I wandered up to the counter. I really wanted to talk to this old fella and get more of the feel for this area to perhaps use in a story.
On the counter was a cardboard display of beef jerky. I took out a sleeve and laid it down.
“That’ll be seventy-five cents,” said the old man. “You from these parts?”
“No, just driving around,” I answered.
“Must be on vacation driving around in early afternoon.”
“No, not on vacation,” I said.
“Young fella like you out in the middle of the day must be unemployed.”
“No sir, I’m a writer. I’m always working, maybe not making much money, but always working.”
“What’ cha write?”
“I write horror stories. This area of the county is full of ghost stories and legends. When I’m between stories, I ride around looking for atmosphere and leads I can use.”
“What’s your name?”
“Will Trizma,” I replied.
“Ain’t never heard of you. I do enjoy a good ghost story, but never heard of you.”
“That’s one of my problems,” I answered. “Not enough people have heard of me, but I’m working on that. Right now, I’m looking for inspiration for a new story.”
“What’s your new story about?”
“That’s the problem; I’m stuck. I’ve found plenty of atmosphere, but no story line.”
The old man leaned forward, “You want a story?” He looked over his shoulder, although we were the only ones in the store. “I first heard this story from my grandpa. Scared the ‘you know what’ out of me.”
“Sure,” I said full of anticipation. “I enjoy hearing the local lore and set my stories in locales that really exist.”
The old man’s voice grew soft, “This is a story, or maybe not. I don’t know and never had the nerve to check it out. It’s called The Legend of French Creek, although it comes from way before the state park existed
November 21, 2024
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK
The Legend of French Creek was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in January,2010.
I enjoy writing stories using actual locations. French Creek and Ricketts Glen are both fantastic state parks in Pennsylvania. Since I write mostly horror I imagine, even though it’s fiction, that the story might provide a bit of a chill to nearby residents of these locations.
The trail mentioned as being in French Creek exists as does the remains of a structure next to the trail.
Unfortunately, our dog, Millie, no longer exists but she did go camping with us on the camping trip used in this story. I miss her.
The Legend
of
French Creek
In southeastern Pennsylvania, the small towns yield to a rural countryside. Heavily timbered, with a sense of remoteness, the area has always been one of legend and mystery. The story you’re about to read is one of the legends generated by this atmosphere. For those curious enough to seek out the location of this tale, the signposts are in the story. A map of French Creek State Park is all you need.
* * *
My name is Will Trizma, and like most writers of the macabre, I am constantly on the look-out for material to weave into a piece of horror, spending time driving down back roads seeking scenes and atmosphere for my stories.
One warm October day, with the foliage a kaleidoscope of rich color, I went for a drive and chanced upon what I thought was a goldmine, but now I’m of a different mind. But, as you can see, a story was created.
My wife, Joan, and I were about to go camping at French Creek State Park on Halloween night. Our dog, Millie, would join us. Her disposition is gentle, but she is always aware of strangers or something out of the ordinary.
Joan was a high school teacher and gone most of the day. I spend my days at home writing. But when my muse fails, I drive the rural roads taking notes on settings that I may be able to use in a story. It was one such drive that inspired the tale you are reading.
I was driving along highway 23, just east of Elverson, when I saw a roadside store I just had to explore. It was a small building, faded white in color, and above the door was a sign proclaiming, General Store, in equally faded gold letters with a green background, looking like something out of the 1950’s. I parked in the small, graveled lot. Along one side of the store was a good-sized garden with the last tomatoes and peppers of the season. A series of vines snaked through the garden with butternut squash waiting for the first frost of fall to turn them into a golden brown. I smiled, thinking that the bounty of this garden was the source for produce for sale in the store I was about to enter.
I climbed two well-worn stairs and entered an earlier era. Behind two rows of fully stocked shelves was the counter, and behind the counter stood a man who had to be eighty if he was a day. He called out, “Hello, young fella. What can I get for you?”
November 20, 2024
ELMO’S SOJOURN
ELMO’S SOJOURN
Elmo’s Sojourn is a novella I wrote awhile ago and was first published by Bewildering Stories in 2007. Since then, it has been published by Mélange Books (no longer publishing) in an anthology, Curious Hearts, and as a stand-alone e-book.
The story involves Elmo, a retired Los Alamos retired scientist who accidentally discovers the ability to travel through space using wormholes. With this new knowledge he travels to a distant planet and discovers an alien civilization with a devastating problem. A problem for which he stumbles upon a solution.
I was checking Google to see what was being done with my published work when I stumbled upon the fact that the first two chapters of the novella has been published in China.
Just now I have also found that Elmo’s Sojourn is still available for sale. I’ve provided a link if anyone is interested.
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/elmos-sojourn-walt-trizna/1118770303
November 19, 2024
THE WIZARD OF OZ CONTINUED
THE WIZARD OF OZ CONTINUED
Much as today there was a wide gulf between the haves and the have-nots. Back then the haves were called robber barons and fortunes were made by the manipulation of the gold standard for money.
The have-nots were agriculture workers and the rest of the working-class. Sound familiar. A movement, popularism, was started in support of the have-nots and Littlefield ‘decoded’ The Wizard of Oz in relation to the times then in existence with some interesting comparisons.
In Littlefield’s thinking the yellow brick road represents gold and those in support of the gold standard and that road leads to the Emerald City where we meet the wizard of Oz who turns out to be a phony.
Dorothy lives in Kansas, a state at the time and still is heavy in agriculture. Along with the farmer’s theme the scarecrow stands for the frightened farmers.
The Tin Man represents workers who have lost their heart.
Now to the cowardly lion. That character represents William Jennings Bryan, a well-known fierce orator who accomplishes nothing.
Then there are the witches of East and West. These characters represent the two coasts where political power and cities holding financial power exist.
Now for the ruby red shoes. In the book they are silver in color, the metal which the popularists want to be made into the monetary standard replacing gold.
Finally, the value of gold is expressed in ounces. What is the abbreviation for ounce?
November 18, 2024
THE WIZARD OF OZ
THE WIZARD OF OZ
The Wizard of Oz, written by L. Frank Baum and published in 1900, is one of the most popular children’s books of all time.
The story, made into the famous 1939 movie, with the same name, is still watched with enjoyment. The story has also appeared in plays. The most recent example of a movie being Wicked. However, there is another interpretation of this story which is far from a childish theme.
In Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions he discusses the viewpoint of Henery Littlefield made in 1964 at the meaning of the story in relation to the conditions existing in the country at the time Baum wrote the story and the purpose of the work. The existence of the monetary gold standard in this country Littlefield suggests is the purpose behind the story. What follows is what Littlefield thought the story represented and I was astonished when reading it the connection between The Wizard of Oz and the gold standard. I think you will be too.
November 17, 2024
CAT’S EYES, PART VIII
CAT’S EYES, PART VIII
Joe slowly raised his eyes to Dr. Glassy’s face. He saw the doctor smiling. But movement toward the ceiling caught his attention. At first he had trouble comprehending what he was seeing. Then, in horror, he realized he was privy to a host of worlds, one atop another. Realms and dimensions overlapping into what seemed infinity, inhabited by beasts never before seen by man. Joe’s brain was taken on a wild ride. In an instant he knew that cats could see what humans couldn’t. A series of other worlds, which a cat’s brain could not process so with what they were observing, they showed no fear. However, his brain revealed the terror his eyes observed.
Revealed was a multitude of dimensions never imagined by man. Occupied by beings of unspeakable character. The closest dimension was inhabited by beings with human form, but any other resemblance to man stopped there for their arms were replaced by tentacles. Others had arms issuing from their chests, ending in horrible appendages for unknown purposes. A multitude of creatures with horrible appearances were revealed to Joe’s now cat’s eyes. Misshapen heads and misaligned features dominated their features. On occasion some of these creatures, detecting Joe’s observance would venture into Joe’s dimension. But when they crossed the film between dimensions they became ghostly white with no mass. Accompanying the grotesque creatures already observed were winged insects covered with chitin-like armor bristling with deadly spikes. One of these beasts realized it was being watched and turned its many-faceted eyes toward Joe then the ghostly image flew at a dazzling pace to the unwelcomed observer.
With his mind finally able to absorb the horror his cat’s eyes revealed Joe screamed as a man possessed.
He went to tear at his eyes, then stopped. Joe’s thoughts shifted from terror to the realization that this was the outcome he was hoping for after acquiring the cat’s eyes. He also became aware that no matter how horrible the creatures in these other dimensions were, once crossing into his, they were powerless. Right before his eyes was an untold number of potential stories.
Now that he had his emotions under control he turned to Dr. Glassy and asked, “Could I have a pencil and paper?”
The End
November 16, 2024
CAT’S EYES, PART VII
CAT’S EYES, PART VII
The time came for the bandages to be removed. Joe was full of anticipation. After the long period of having his eyes bandaged, he came to realize what being blind would be like. How going from seeing to not seeing changes your life. Dr. Glassy said, “We’ll be removing your bandages now. Do not open your eyes until I tell you to. After we remove the bandages, I want you to look down and remain looking down. I want to make sure the muscles are firmly attached. The room will be in total darkness. I don’t want to expose your new eyes to harsh light.”
“I understand,” responded Joe, anxious to experience how his new eyes would function.
He could feel the bandages being unwound from his head, and then thick gauze being removed from his eyes.
“All right, Joe. Slowly open your eyes.”
Joe did as he was told, keeping his eyes down. “I thought you said the room would be dark,” his voice full of anticipation.
“Joe,” Dr. Glassy said in a rush of excitement, “This room is pitch black. I cannot see you!”
With a quivering voice, Joe said, “But doctor, I can clearly see the floor, my legs. The light is dim, but I can see.”
Dr. Glassy, almost shouting, said, “Joe, I think the surgery was a success. Keep looking down, and slowly move your eyes from side to side.”
Joe did as he was told. “I have no trouble moving my eyes,” he said. It felt no different than when he still had his eyes, his human eyes.
“Is there any pain?”
“None.”
“Okay, Joe, we’re going to slowly increase the light. Tell me if you feel any discomfort.”
The light level was slowly raised to that of normal.
Joe said, “I have no problem. I see clearly. Especially objects which are close.”
“Great, Joe. Keep your eyes down. I’m going to show you a series of colored dots. Tell me what colors you see.” As expected, Joe could see only purple, blue and green. With that test concluded, Dr. Glassy said, “Now, Joe, look up at me.”
