THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK, PART VII

                                                                   The Legend

                                                         of                    

                                                 French Creek

The blackness of the forest became full of a milk-white vapor, although above, the sky was full of stars.  There was no wind, yet the mist came rapidly from different directions and formed a shell of white around the concrete slab.  Soon the vapor took the form of a house, becoming a solid structure.  Windows, now present, glowed bright red and I could see figures dancing within.  The door of the house opened and there appeared a group of naked men and women horribly burned, their bodies smoking.  I wanted to look away but could not.  Their obscene presence came toward me.  They lunged at me.  Their hideous laughter screamed in my ears.  Now the horrors surrounded me.  My mind could not take any more.  I lost consciousness and dreamed of daemons and devils surrounding me in an attempt to capture my soul.

 I awoke the next morning with a feeling of dread, not wanting to open my eyes.  The ruin was the same as it appeared the night before, although the debris on the forest floor leading to my campsite appeared disturbed.  I looked down, and to my horror, my sleeping bag bore handprints burnt into the fabric.

 I packed up my gear and headed down the trail to meet my wife and return to the comfort of my home, never wanting to return to French Creek Park again.

                                                   * * *

 I tried to make the horror of that night clear of my mind, but it wouldn’t happen.  I felt I had brought something back from that gruesome night and could not escape its presence.  Damned if I could figure out what it was.  So, I switched gears and embraced the event.  After some research on the Druids, I worked my experience and new-found background into a few stories that I managed to sell.

 Nearly a year had passed since that dreadful night, when Joan announced, “I think we need to get away.  How about a short four-day vacation?”

 “Sounds great, but it better be cheap,” I said.  “You know money is tight.”

 “Camping is not expensive,” she answered.  I’ve reserved a site from June 19 to June 22.”  She saw my face grow deathly pale, and then quickly added, “A site at Rickett’s Glen.”

 “I thought you were talking about French Creek.  I’m never going back there again.”

I tried to make the horror of that night clear of my mind, but it wouldn’t happen.  I felt I had brought something back from that gruesome night and could not escape its presence.  Damned if I could figure out what it was.  So, I switched gears and embraced the event.  After some research on the Druids, I worked my experience and new-found background into a few stories that I managed to sell.

 Nearly a year had passed since that dreadful night, when Joan announced, “I think we need to get away.  How about a short four-day vacation?”

 “Sounds great, but it better be cheap,” I said.  “You know money is tight.”

 “Camping is not expensive,” she answered.  I’ve reserved a site from June 19 to June 22.”  She saw my face grow deathly pale, and then quickly added, “A site at Ricketts Glen.”

 “I thought you were talking about French Creek.  I’m never going back there again.”