Just a camping trip into the woods just down the street...

John was humming lightly under his breath as he walked home from school. Taking short detour through the blazing fall foliage in the copse of woods near his subdivision he spied his best friend, Jimmy, sitting on their favorite rock near the stream that meandered through the woods, eventually dumping into the river several miles downstream. Jimmy looked lost in thought, staring at the water with his cupped hands supporting his head.

“BOO! Happy Halloween!” John yelled, jumping out of the screen of bushes directly behind Jimmy. Jimmy, startled, jumped up, placing one foot squarely into the shallows of the icy cold stream.

“Jeesh John, don’t sneak up on me like that! I’ll have a heart attack, I swear!” Jimmy pulled his foot from the creek mud with a dull sucking sound, the resulting swirl of muddy water made an interesting pattern as it raced downstream. “Look what you made me do, these were my best sneakers!” The white Nike sneaker was covered in black creek mud and dripping wet.

John, wiping a tear from his eye that had resulted from the intense laughter that had erupted as a result of his prank quickly sobered up. “Gosh Jim, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to fall in…” he couldn’t help but smile, “But you sure looked funny!”

“Just you wait, I’ll get you back for this.” Jimmy always said that, but he never quite managed to pull a good prank on John.

“Here, we might as well both get it from our Mom.” John handed him a well used handkerchief, “Just wipe it off as best you can and it’ll dry on the way home.”

“Right.” Jimmy didn’t sound convinced, in fact, he sounded downright skeptical.

The boys pretended to be Indian scouts on their way back through the woods to their subdivision. The woods, about 200 acres, were the only stand of timber left in the area thanks to the explosive growth in the Atlanta suburbs where they lived. Of course being an Indian scout was tough, as Jimmy found out, with your sneaker making embarrassing squishing noises when you walked.

“What you want to do tonight?” John asked as they neared Jimmy’s place.

“I don’t know, isn’t Fred having a party?” Fred was John’s brother.

“Yes, but if we try to crash it they will just lock us in the garage again.” John smiled.

“Maybe you could stay over, we could watch TV.”

“No, I don’t think so, I think we creep your Mom out, you know, after last year.”

“Hey, we didn’t know the cat was that stupid, besides, its tail fur grew back.”

“Hey, how about we campout in the woods!” John knew it would be a reach, but you never knew what Moms might agree to, especially when there were favorite cats to consider.

“I’ll ask, but what will we use for gear?” Jimmy looked thoughtful, it was his best look.

“I’ll get it from my Dad, he never uses it anymore. Call me and we’ll meet right here! You bring the food!” Jimmy always had the best snacks.

“Ok, later!”

The boys ran off to their respective homes. John couldn’t wait to get home and coerce permission for the nights outing. He knew his mother would be watching her favorite show and would push him off on his Dad, that would make it easy!

“Don’t bang…” BANG! “The door…” his Mother called out over her shoulder as she heard him come in. The theme song from “Seventh Heaven” was coming from the TV.

“Hey Mom, can I camp out with Jimmy tonight?”

“Ask your Father.” The standard I’m distracted by TV answer.

John looked around for his Dad, he wasn’t in the den or the office, just then he heard a not so nice word waft up from the basement. “Bingo, he’s in the basement” thought John. John took the stairs two at a time, nearly running into his Dad who was leaning over the lawnmower tightening up a bolt.

“Whoa, hold your horse there son.” His Dad smiled at him.

“Dad, can I camp out with Jimmy tonight?” John tried to sound as innocent as any 12 year old could possibly sound.

“What does your Mother say?” His Dad knew he had to ask, even if he knew the answer already. He reached out with a greasy hand and grabbing a Mellow Yellow from the workbench and took a long drink.

“She said to ask you!”

“Fine, go!” He said, putting down the drink and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a broad smear of black grease, John thought it politic not to mention it.

“Thanks Dad.”

“Be careful this time, no cat dancing!”

“Dad! That was an accident!” John’s Dad looked at him with a sideways glance, “well, it was sort of an accident, Jimmy’s Mom doesn’t let the stupid cat out anymore.”

“Gee, I wonder why!” He smiled, remembering himself at 12. “I suppose you want to use our camping gear?”

“Can I?”

“Sure, just return it in the same condition you get it!” He turned back to the lawnmower as John raced back up the stairs, down the wood floored hallway and pounded up the stairs towards his room.

As John raced by his brother Fred’s room, he noticed a stack of books on the bed, he doubled back as one caught his eye. The leather bound book was brown and cracked with age. He edged into the room, weary lest his brother lay in wait to pounce on him, the room was empty. John moved the other books out of the way so he could make out the title:

“True Ghost Stories of Alpharetta, Georgia” the books author was listed as the Alpharetta Historical Society.

It was dated 1911.

“Hey Creep Stick!” Fred yelled form the stairs, “You better not be messing with stuff in my room! It took me hours to find those ghost story books for the party tonight!”

“I’m not messing with your old room!” He called back, stuffing the neat book under his sweater and running to his own room. “At least not much” John said under his breath.
John raced to his closet and pulled a Boy Scout backpack from the closet, looking back over his shoulder he pulled the book from under his sweater and dropped it into the bottom of the pack. Hitching the strap over his right shoulder he hauled the backpack back downstairs, all the way to the basement. His Father was not there, outside, from the backyard John could hear the lawnmower running.

John rushed over to the storage closet and, opening the door, reached up and pulled on the cord that turned on the light. Arrayed before him were shelves of various sports gear, fishing, hunting, ah! Camping! He pulled a two man nylon pup tent from the shelf and stuffed it into the bag, he also pulled two light weight sleeping bags and a small catalytic heater from the shelf and stuffed them into the large bag as well. He put the fuel for the heater, after checking its cap, into a side pocket of the backpack. In the very top of the backpack he placed an old green army blanket. He heard the phone ringing up stairs.

“I’ll get it!” He called out, closing the flap on the bag and dragging it upstairs. He grabbed the phone on the fourth ring, just before the answering machine would have scarfed it up. “Hello?”

“John, this is Jimmy! Mom says it’s ok! You get the gear, I’ll get some food and meet you!”

“Already packed!”

“Great! I’ve got a great place, I’ll tell you when we meet!”

“Ok.” John hung up the phone. Looking around the kitchen, he rummaged through the junk drawer for a flashlight that worked, a knife and other items that only a 12 year old boy would take on a camping trip. Grabbing his brother’s favorite jacket from the closet he put on the coat then struggled into the backpack. He went over and straining, leaned over to give his Mother a kiss goodbye.

“Have fun.” She said, looking up from he show, “and don’t slam…” BANG! the door shut as John ran out, “the door.”

Reaching the edge of the woods John saw Jimmy with a similar backpack, they belonged to the same scout troop.

“OK, where do you want to go? The creek?”

“Naw, that’s lame, I want to go to that old stone house.” Jimmy looked excited.

John and Jimmy had explored just about every inch of the woods. On the previous weekend they had crossed over a fallen down barbwire fence, stepping on a No Trespassing sign that was face down, and crashed through various brambles and such, followed an overgrown, long unused trail to an isolated stone house that backed up onto the river bank.

“That’s a long way off, you sure?” John asked.

“What’s the matter, you scared?” Jimmy said, not quite a sneer in his voice.

Of course that settled it, and off they trudged into the woods. It was nearly dusk when they arrived at the stone house. Around them, almost all the way to the house, the woods had been alive with rustling, birds and the sounds of crickets and small creatures. The closer they got to the house, the quieter it got. They stood in the shadows and looked at the grey stone walls, broken windows and sagging roof.

“This is going to be cool!” John said, walking up to the porch and shaking off the back pack. “Let’s do some exploring before it gets dark!”

Jimmy put his backpack beside Johns and together they searched what was left of the yard. Back by the river, in the shade of a gnarled, diseased Oak, they came upon an odd structure. It had open walls and five sides, a ruined gazebo. Once they cleared the detritus of leaves and bird nests from the white stone floor they could make out a star laid into it with multi-colored bits of other stones. While it should have been attractive, in the late evening light, the colors remind them of darkness and blood.

“Geesh,” said John, “Looks like something from Doom III.”

They soon tired of the old gazebo and raced back to the front of the house. Through the naked, grasping branches of the trees they could see clouds moving in, they were dark and almost seemed to seethe, lightning flashed beyond the horizon, lighting the dark swirling masses from underneath.

“Man, am I glad we are staying inside!” John said, pushing the old door open. Its hinges, rusted by years of neglect, gave way and it crashed to the floor, raising a cloud of choking dust. “I think.” John said under his breath.

Boldly going where he had not gone before, Jimmy stepped right into a sticky mass of cobwebs. “Crap, get this stuff me!” he wiped at the cobwebs almost desperately, just knowing there were black widows and brown recluses hiding in droves in the sticky dusty substance.

“Hold still, nothing in there but dust!” John said, wiping the cobwebs from his friends face and hair. “Your head I mean…lots of juicy spiders in the web…”

“You are a shit!” Jimmy said, pushing John roughly, “A real shit at times! You know how I hate spiders.”

The excitement finished for at least the time being, John took the old blanket from the pack and spread it out on the filthy wooden floor. Outside they could hear the wind rattling the empty branches of the old Oak tree, the lightning made the shadows dance and through the floor they could feel the rumble of far off thunder, moving closer.

“Can we build a fire in the fireplace do you think?” asked Jimmy.

“No, it would probably collapse on us, here.” He pulled the catalytic heater from the backpack and handed it to Jimmy. “Hold this while I get it fueled up.”

“Man, you thought of everything” Jimmy said as he watched Jimmy pour some of the fuel into the heater.

Taking a strike anywhere match from a box in his backpack, John stroked it on his pants zipper, it flared into flame and he lit the catalytic heater. “There, soon it will be good and toasty. Help me stand the door back up.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you could do that!”

“What? stand the door back up?”

“No, light a match like that. Let me try!”

Solemnly John passed him a match. Jimmy, striking downwards, caused a spark to land on his pants leg, burning a neat round hole. “Ouch!” Jimmy dropped the burning match, John quickly stomped it out.

“Be careful will you! This whole interior is one big fire trap!” He eyed the decaying plaster and the lathing visible in the walls and ceiling.

“Let’s get the door back up.”

Straining they lifted what was left of the solid wood door and placed it back in the opening, leaning it slightly so it wouldn’t easily fall over in the increasing wind.

“Wasn’t there a table in the kitchen, and a couple of chairs?”

“If they haven’t fallen apart.”

John grabbed the nearly empty backpack and the heater. “Bring the food, let’s get comfortable.”

They moved into the kitchen area. An old cast iron stove sat off to one side, now a home for mice. The table, though a bit wobbly, was sturdy enough, and they found two chairs just strong enough for two 12 year olds to sit on, if they didn’t sit too hard that is.

Outside the wind moaned in the eaves. The old Oak rattled and the dry fall leaves rustled and stalked each other in the swirling wind. As the dark clouds covered the gibbonous moon it rapidly grew nearly too dark to see inside the old house. John reached into the backpack and pulled out the large flashlight and spare batteries he had taken from the junk drawer. Along with it he took out a couple of candles his Mom kept around in case a storm caused the power to go out. Handing the flashlight to Jimmy, who quickly switched it on, he lit the candles with another match from the box. Shaking it, it produced a light rattling sound “Hmm, only a couple left.”

John used one candle to drip wax into a puddle on the table, taking the other he planted it into the wax and held it as the hot wax congealed, he then repeated the action with the second candle.

“Now for the fun part.” John smiled evilly as he pulled the old book from the backpack.

“Cool! Let me see it!” John handed Jimmy the book. “Just what we need…ghost stories!” Jimmy smiled.

“What did you bring to eat?” Asked John

“Doritos, cheese sticks, a couple apples, some cokes.” Jimmy passed the backpack over to his friend and began looking through the old book.

Just then a massive bolt of lightning streaked down out of the sky and hit a tree somewhere in the woods on the other side of the river. The flash nearly blinded them. The rain poured down from the sky as if a second flood were imminent.

“Geesh, glad we are in here!” John said, just as a drip of dirty water plopped down on his head from a dark water stain on the ceiling. “Crap, let’s move over there!” He said, pointing to a dry area against the wall.

The old table and chairs screeched as if in protest as they dragged them to the one dry spot. “I better check the sleeping bags.” John said grabbing the flashlight from Jimmy, “You stay here and find a neat story to read.” He trudged off to the living room dodging leaks as he went.

In the living room they had lucked out and placed the blanket and sleeping bags in the one dry spot. Just as John turned to go back to the kitchen, another bolt of lightning struck, this time on their side of the river, blinding John with its intensity. The entire house shook with the booming of the resulting thunder. Johns eyes filled with tears as he blinked the spots form them, “Damn” was all he could say. He rushed back to the kitchen and the cheerful light of the candles.

“Find anything?” he asked, holding the light so Jimmy could see better.

“Maybe now that I can see!” Jimmy retorted, even though the candles had provided a surprising amount of light. “Most of them are the typical graveyard at night, old confederate soldier stuff. But this last one looks interesting.

“Let me see.” John took the old book from his friend. “The Witch of Baker’s Wood” he read. “Sounds neat, read it will you?” He handed the book back.

“How come I always have to read?” Jimmy wined, the least little bit.

“Because you read real good.” John actually was an excellent reader, but he preferred to keep watch while his friend read, to keep something from creeping up on them.

“In the year 1785, Claire Wilkins, a witch, was found to be practicing her dark arts in the midst of Baker’s wood. Baker’s wood is a stand of timber near the intersection of Old Alabama, and Kingston Pike. She was said to sacrifice small children when the moon was full on the eve of the feast of Samhain at the gazebo she built specifically to the devils design.” He paused. “Hand me a coke will you? This is thirsty work!”

John opened a coke and handed it to Jimmy. Jimmy took a long drink, burped loudly and then began to read again.

“Dragging her victim, often children, to the center of her pentagram she would light black tapers made from the fat of still born children, chant her evil homage to the dark prince and then plunge a witch’s blade into their young hearts, offering their young rich blood as a sacrifice!” Jimmy’s voice had risen through the entire passage, until near then end he had nearly shouted. “Jeesh, almost scared my self.” He said sheepishly. Outside the storm still raged, occasionally shaking the house from the wind, rain and thunder.

“Isn’t a pentagram like a star?” Asked John.

“What is this math class? Yes, I think so.” He looked up at John, together they looked toward the river and the decaying gazebo. “Crap.”

“Keep reading.” John said quietly.

“Enraged when several local children disappeared from a Halloween festival…” Jimmy looked up, “Samhain is Halloween? That would make the eve of the feast of Samhain tonight!” Jimmy was beginning to look a bit white. “The town leaders stormed Baker’s wood, trapping her in her gazebo, still clutching the bloody knife. They lynched her from the Oak tree which sheltered the gazebo.” Both boys looked a bit wide eyed as they peered through the gloom towards the old gazebo and dying Oak tree.

With a crack! Another bolt of lightning struck the ground between the house and the river, blinding both of them and rattling down chunks of decaying, wet, plaster from what was left of the ceiling.

“Damn! Nearly peed my pants!” Laughed John.

“Nearly nothing! I think I did!” Laughed Jimmy.

“How does it end?” John opened the Doritos and popped the top on a second coke and took a long drink, and as if in competition with Jimmy, belched even louder than Jimmy had.

“Get any on yourself?” Asked Jimmy, with a note of respect in his voice.

“Just read!”

“For years after it was said her ghost haunts the area around the Oak tree, her spirit trapped there until it dies. As late as 1908 there were reports of children gone missing in Baker’s wood, none were ever found.” He closed the book and shivered. “This is her house, that’s the Oak tree!”

“So, I ain’t heard of any kids gone missing in these woods, have you?”

“No”

“Then don’t worry, it’s just a story”

They sat and read another couple of stories to each other, none was as scary as the first one. At about 11 pm by John’s watch, leaving the book open to the last story, they went into the other room and snuggled into their sleeping bags. The storm was still raging outside but they felt fairly safe. Even in the witch’s house.

Just as John was drifting off to sleep, on that delicate balance point where the long smooth slide into oblivion occurs, another bolt of lightning and its blast of thunder shook the house. Both boys sat bolt up right.

“Damn, that was close! I’ll bet it hit the gazebo!” John said, crawling out of the sleeping bag. “Let’s go look!”

Jimmy was right behind him as he ran into the kitchen and peered into the gloom through the filthy window pane. Outside, the gazebo still stood, they could see it in the flashes of other lightning. Suddenly, a bolt slammed down from the sky and skewered into the dying Oak tree. Flying into a million splinters one branch was obliterated, with a groan that could only come from a dying behemoth, the second branch of the main fork slowly crashed over, narrowly missing the house. A wisp of dirty gray vapor curled up from the remains of the destroyed tree.

“Holy shit!” John said.

They stared for a moment longer, then ran back to the living room and dove into their sleeping bags, their minds retreating back to a time when hiding under a blanket kept monsters at bay. When nothing else happened after a couple of minutes, they poked their heads out and looked sheepishly at each other. There was dead silence except for the sound of rain on the old roof.

Then the laughter started. It started low, barely registering on their ears, but grew, louder, more depraved. Then the slow, dragging sound of foot steps, coming from the back of the house, from the old Oak, came around the side, toward the front door.

“Jimmy…” John said, his voice quivering.

“What?”

“I don’t think we want to be here when it gets to the door.”

The laughter suddenly stopped, the rain slowed down and then with a crash! The door smashed in. Outside they could see the hunched over form of something, with its hand raised as if to knock. In a flash of lightning they saw her grinning, gore stained face and the rope dangling its bloody length from her neck.

They literally leapt from the sleeping bags. The ghostly laughter started up again, a witch’s cackle that chilled the blood, as the fearful apparition stepped into the door they ran screaming to the rear of the decrepit house, knocking the rear door from its rusty hinges. How they kept from killing themselves in their run through the dark and wet woods without the flashlight is a mystery. They were sure they could the foul creature’s footsteps and its ghastly laugh right behind them each step of the way all the way to Jimmy’s back door. It was locked!

They called and banged until they were sure half the neighborhood was awake and calling 911. Finally Jimmy’s Mom, dressed only in a light housecoat and slippers, having leapt up from a long hot bath, opened the door to let the two, wet to the bone shivering kids inside.

“I should have known as soon as it started raining you two would come running home!” was all she said.

The boys looked at each other, knowing if they told what happened she wouldn’t believe them. After some dry cloths, hot chocolate and a warm fire in the fireplace they fell into a fitful doze for the rest of the night.

The next morning dawned clear with a crisp freshness in the air. The boys woke up almost believing it was all a dream.

“Jimmy, we have to go back.” John said over Jimmy’s Mother’s wonderful scrambled eggs.

“Darn, we left all the equipment!”

“And that book…if I don’t get it back, Fred will skin me alive!”

In the light of day the old stone house looked even worse than in the dark. It was well on the road to falling completely to pieces.

“We were lucky the whole darn thing didn’t collapse on us in the storm!” exclaimed John, carefully avoiding the rotten spots on the stairs as he climbed them to the front door.

They quickly gathered the gear and picked up the closed book from the table in the kitchen.

“Jimmy, when did you finish the Doritos?”

“I didn’t.”

They ran all the way back to Jimmy’s lugging the backpacks.

“I better get the book back to my house.” John said, “I’ll try to come back over if Fred doesn’t kill me.”

John got into the house undetected and put the camping gear back in the store room. As John climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, his brother pounced on him from behind.

“Ah ha! You did take it you little sneak! That was the one I counted on to scare the girls!” Fred grabbed the old book from John, he quickly opened the book to check for damage.

“What did you little twerps do to it!” Fred looked disgusted.

“Nothing, honest! We just read from it!”

“Just read from it, look at this red stuff all over the pages! And the last story is barely readable!” He shoved the book at John, nearly causing him to fall over backwards down the stairs. “You’re the one going to pay for this!”

There were bloody stains on nearly every page, the last story was the worst, it looked like someone had drug a bloody finger along every line while reading it. John couldn’t take any more, he turned and bolted for the door.

“You have to come back sometime, then, you’re going to be dead meat!” Fred called after him.

He ran back to Jimmy’s house, and told him what had happened to the book. Afraid to go home until he was sure at least one of his parents was home, he stayed over at Jimmy’s.

Over a peanut butter sandwich that afternoon they heard the radio news tell the story of a woman whose car had skidded off the river bridge the previous night, how she had nearly drowned in the river and had found an abandoned house to hold up for the night. The story explained how she had nearly bled to death until she had bandaged her neck with a long scarf. The injury to her neck had made her calls for help sound like odd laughter. They exchanged glances over bread soggy with grape jam and sighed with relief, the world was a sane place after all.

They believed it right up to the point when Sammy Wilson, the third basemen for their Little League team, disappeared.