The Perfect Costume

            CONTINUATION FROM PREVIOUS WEEK

            The darkness I had fallen into was all-consuming. Time stopped. I was numb all over. Silence reigned. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, and my jaw seemed to be clamped shut tight. After remaining in this state for a substantial amount of time, I was convinced I was dead. I must have misjudged how wide the stream was and smacked my head on a rock. For all I knew, I was simply a collection of thoughts and nothing more. Maybe that’s how death was: only your thoughts survive and even they eventually dissipate over time. Soon I would be nothing more than small bits of energy floating about the universe.

            When I first heard the other voices, I was sure it was just my thoughts mingling with other dead people’s thoughts. I don’t remember what the voices were saying to begin with, but after the incessant interruption of my thoughts, I focused on them. Two things surprised me about the voices: one, they were two distinct voices, not a bunch of random ones that I would have expected in the spirit-thought realm; and two, they were German.

            Now, I’ve seen enough WWII movies to know a little German, and I’m pretty sure the voices were saying something like, “…maybe he’s dead.” “Well, if so, we should eat him.” “I’m not going to eat him, I’m just going to rifle through his pockets and see if he’s got any old collector’s stamps on him.” “Forget the stamps, I’m hoping he has some moon rock dust in his hair…” As the voices continued, pain started to seep into my thoughts, increasing until it was too much. That’s when my jaw unlocked and the most horrible scream I’ve ever heard issued forth from my very throat.

            My shriek drowned out everything around me, and I must admit, I put those howling aspen trees that had frightened me to shame. I certainly freaked the Germans out who had happened upon me, because I could hear them yelling and panicking, trying to figure out what to do. Then everything went black again, thank goodness.

            When I came to again, I felt pain, but it was subdued. I could hear a beeping noise and there was a thin blanket covering my body. Eventually I opened my eyes and saw mostly white. Once again I wondered if I were dead. It didn’t take as long for the voices to start up, though: “His eyes are open.” “Oh, good! How do you feel?” “There you are. You took quite a spill, didn’t you?” After hearing them, I knew I was among family and friends, and most likely wasn’t dead.

            Over the next few days, as I lay in a hospital bed, I was slowly able to recall to others the events that led to the present moment. Many of my visitors seemed to have difficulty believing most of my explanation of how I wound up smacking my head. They all seemed incredulous when I detailed the howling trees and the mysterious apparition. The only proof I had from the whole experience was the injury on my scalp. Fortunately for me, Halloween is just around the corner, and the stitches keeping my head together provide me with the perfect gruesome costume. No makeup necessary.

            Moral of this part of the story: Life is a game of chance. Sometimes you get lucky. Oh, and not all Germans are bad.

            This story and the previous three were all inspired by mostly true events. Happy Halloween!

The Ghost Light

            CONTINUATION FROM PREVIOUS WEEK

            Something was rising out of the bushes on the other side of the small stream I had found in the dark nighttime forest. A voice that sounded like empty tin cans and discarded newspaper blowing down a vacant street said, “Lost, little boy?” I didn’t know how to respond, mostly because I was scared speechless and my body was numb. I had had ghostly encounters twice before in my life, but the first time I was too young to be truly frightened and the second time I was a teenager and oblivious to what I was seeing. Now I was well aware that the being before me was neither flesh nor blood and that it was addressing me.

            Despite my terror, something about what the apparition had said bothered me. I finally hit upon the offending bit and spoke back, somewhat defiantly, “I’m not a little boy. I just turned 30 a couple of months ago.” The nebulous shape before me shuddered slightly and retorted, “I’m technically over 150. You’re a little boy in my book.” I couldn’t argue with his cold logic, so I shrugged and went back to being scared. After visibly trembling for a bit, I eked out the only thing I could think to ask the ghost: “What do you want?” The ghost’s desolate voice responded, “I only want to know if you’re lost. I know these woods like the back of my hand and can help you back to safety.”

            My mind was full of questions at this point: Who was this ghost when he was alive? Could I trust him? Why was he so willing to help me? Was it a trap to kill me so he could have a friend? Why was his voice so creepy? Did he possibly have anything lying about that was edible? As I wondered all of this my brain began to function more and more normally. I remembered how much I enjoy a good adventure, and that I needed material for the next week’s column. Before I knew it none of my questions seemed important in the face of the epic adventure standing before me. A 150-year-old ghost was going to lead me through a creepy forest in the dead of night!

            The ghost hadn’t tried to harm me yet, so I figured I could trust him. I looked at him and said, “Yes, I’m lost. I would be extremely grateful if you could help me.” The flickering mass of air in front of me seemed to smile and bow and then proceeded to bend down and retrieve something from beneath the thick bushes. As he straightened back up, the area around him was immediately illuminated with a pale glow, like a subdued fluorescent light. I could now see the ghost’s features a little better. He had a stubbly beard, thick eyebrows, a sort of furry top hat, a long, dark wool overcoat, and gray trousers. He was holding an old metal lantern in his left hand, but I couldn’t perceive where the light was actually coming from. There was no flame or intense point of light, but somehow light emanated from the lantern all the same.

            “You’re going to have to cross the stream if you want my help, boy,” the ghost said as he began to turn to lead me through the forest. I looked down at the small flow of water and suddenly had a pang of trepidation. After a moment’s hesitation, the desire to experience a grand adventure quickly quelled any misgivings I had, and I nimbly hopped over the two-foot-wide streamlet.

            And plunged into the blackest void imaginable.

            Moral of this part of the story: Intuition and gut instinct are the most reliant tools humans possess. Don’t ignore them.

            TO BE CONTINUED…

Darkness Descending

            CONTINUATION FROM PREVIOUS WEEK

            Once my gasps for air turned into semi-normal breathing, I looked up and took in my surroundings. I stood at the edge of a large meadow full of low-lying shrubs and thick grass. All around the perimeter were the yellowing leaves and white bark of aspen trees. If it weren’t for the dark clouds moving in and my recent run-in with a bunch of all-seeing, shrieking aspens, the scenery would have been somewhat idyllic.

            When I had started my hike earlier in the day, I had followed a well-marked trail for a few hundred yards until I came across a small, inconspicuous path – most likely used by deer – and followed it. Eventually the path disintegrated into the vegetation and I blazed my own way through the forest. I had a compass and the sun at my disposal, and I wasn’t afraid of getting lost then.

            Now I had no idea where I was, the sun had all but disappeared, and my compass was obsolete because, at this point, I truly didn’t know if my vehicle was east, west, north or south of me. I couldn’t even see any trails leading in or out of the meadow that might have given me some sort of hope. No one knew where I was; I had decided to enjoy the beautiful fall day on my own. My cell phone was back in my car. My backpack only had a few odds and ends: small first aid kit, penknife, bottle of water, and crackers. No light source at all…and the daylight was fading fast.

            My best bet was to head downhill. Thanks to my compass, I at least knew that the Heber Valley had to sit almost due east of my location. The only thing between it and me was a few miles of mountain and a few man-eating beasts.

            Traveling in the twilight without a flashlight or lantern is always an eerie experience. I have an overactive imagination and the descending darkness wasn’t calming it down any. After crossing the meadow I had to face another grove of sinister-looking aspen trees. All I could do was tell myself that my previous encounter with the howling trees was completely in my head.

            The wind was steadily blowing down the canyon I was navigating through. The constant rustle of leaves overhead was slightly unnerving and it was all I could do to keep from imagining skeletons or ghosts creeping up from behind me. The white trunks and branches of the aspens certainly weren’t helping. They created a series of creepy, silent sentinels in the last little bit of light. I could feel their eyes on me.

            After an hour of traveling downward and restraining the panic and terror within me, I hadn’t crossed any paths or seen any lights. The sun had surely set, as it was now extremely dark. Luckily my night vision is pretty good and I had finally found an almost imperceptible path leading through the trees. I had a feeling I would reach a bigger trail and maybe even a roadway soon.

            The noise of the wind was joined by the sound of water up ahead. I had to be close to a stream. For some reason the thought of a stream calmed me down. As I neared the flowing water, the aspens thinned out and the ground became covered in thick bushes that were hard to push through. Right before I reached the small stream I stopped short. On the other side of the water, in the midst of more thick bushes, there was a shape rising out of the vegetation. At first I was startled, thinking it was an animal. I stretched my arm back to grab my penknife out of my backpack, but sheer terror quickly halted all of my movement when I realized what was on the other side of the river. My penknife would do nothing against the horror I had just stumbled upon.

            Moral of this part of the story: Sometimes it is impossible to be prepared. Especially for the unlikeliest of circumstances.

            TO BE CONTINUED…

The Trees See All

            An aspen grove is one of the most serenely beautiful places to visit in the early autumn. The vibrant yellow leaves sound like waves on some distant shore as the wind calmly weaves its way through the trees’ branches. A couple weeks ago I sought the soothing effects of an aspen grove at the top of American Fork Canyon. As I began hiking through the labyrinth of pale white trunks, the constant clamor of the city’s heartbeat faded and was replaced with a Zen-like “ohm” that radiated out into the trees. The trees returned the mantra, filling me with inner peace and calm, dispelling the stress that weighed upon my shoulders and chest.

            The aspen trees had made such an impression on me that I wanted to leave my mark on them. I pulled out my penknife and found the perfect white space of bark to write a loving message to the trees. While I carved “G.E. + A.T.” (for Gabe Eberhard + Aspen Trees) into the soft, papery flesh of the tree, a sudden sense of danger came over me. There was a disturbance in the “ohm” within my chest, a slight aberration like a record skipping or the thump of a large rock hitting the ground after falling 100 feet.

            And then the low groan started. It was clearly audible, not like the spiritually silent sound of inner peace. At first I believed the guttural noise was possibly a dangerous animal, but after surveying my immediate surroundings, I determined that the sound was emanating from the tree I had just sliced open! In fact, it was coming from the very gashes that I had but moments before executed. Surprised, I took a step back and tripped on a low-lying bush. I fell onto my backside and sat there for a few seconds, attempting to gather my wits. But the groaning was becoming a howl. How could this be? How could a tree make such a horrid noise?

            Sitting on the ground, stunned, I watched the grove darken as a large cloud passed in front of the sun’s random shafts of light. The shadowing effect of the cloud brought something to my attention that I had previously taken for granted. Black markings that had seemed to be scars were now eyes menacingly staring down at me. The tree I had engraved was glaring at me! I pushed off the ground and stood up. In a fit of desperation and panic I jammed my penknife into one of the tree’s eyes and twisted it about. As quickly as I had attempted to cut the eye out, though, I stopped. I tried to convince myself that my eyes and ears were playing tricks on me. The whole situation had to be due to some phenomenon caused by the odd light and the cooler weather.

            The tree I had sliced into was freaking me out, despite the whisperings of my rational mind, so I turned around to get away from it. To my horror every white trunk in the vicinity was staring at me. Some trunks had a couple of eyes and others had ten or more, and they were all riveted on me! I wanted so badly to chop each and every eye out of the trees. I wanted to cover up what I had done to one of the trees that had, minutes earlier, shared my inner peace.

            The persistent howl behind me crawled up my spine and I could feel my strength waning as my legs began to tremble ever so slightly. I felt like the trees were bearing down on me like a pack of starving wolves. Other trees soon took up the maddening, never-ending howl and the cacophony of noise swirled about me. I knew I couldn’t face the sheer numbers that the aspen grove possessed and so I mustered all my strength and ran back through the maze of deathly white trunks and black, all-seeing eyes until I reached a clearing where the unearthly howl was drowned out by the wind. I had no idea where I was, but at least I could gather my breath and my senses.

            Moral of this part of the story: Don’t carve into trees. They’re watching you.

            TO BE CONTINUED…