The Deep Woods

Let me tell you about the time where I've never been more scared in my life. It was my oldest brother's idea. But I didn't want to back down. He was about fifteen. So I must have been about twelve.

No one seemed to know what was beyond the no trespassing signs and several rows of barbed wire fencing that bordered the neighborhood. Oh, we had heard the gunshots from time to time. We even knew the stories about pets that didn't return. But we were tougher than rumors. We didn't figure there was anything as scary as what we would find. The thrill was more in not getting caught than anything else.

The woods were still-not a breeze, not a sound-besides the crunching of sticks and leaves under our footsteps. We tried hard to walk lightly, even breathe lightly, all the while scanning the trees around us. My brother kept his eyes peeled for any movement of camouflage like a hunter on another's property without permission. I paid particular attention to where and how far we had come. About halfway in we started finding the empty shotgun casings. There were many of them dotting the landscape. Some appeared fresher than others-still smoke-stained-but we convinced ourselves to keep going.

After a while we reached a clearing. In the distance, about eighty yards to the right of us was an isolated trailer house that looked abandoned. About thirty yards in front of us was a nostalgic barn halfway burnt down and leaning to one side. The hayloft didn't look sturdy but that didn't stop us from climbing around the shambles and exploring. We handled items you would expect in a blacksmith's shop from a century ago: old nails and old coins, horseshoes and anvils. I remembered this amazing feeling of ambience from a livelihood several years gone by. It seemed the stories we had heard before were nothing to fear but rather that we would uncover greater real stories if we scrounged around further.

"Chad, get over here. I found something." Judd spoke in a loud whispery voice. He pulled wood away from a gaping hole in the ground. "There's a basement." Now my heart sank, immediately filled with a different feeling.

"I'll just keep watch." I told him.

Judd disappeared down a plank into the dark confines. "Chad, come down. There's a lot of room. No one knows we're here anyway."

"I don't want to," I said. "We should get out of here."

"We won't stay long," Judd assured.

He helped me down into the dark opening. It felt more foreboding with each step. Judd began feeling his way along a wall. "I'll go this way and you go that way," He said. Judd's path just got darker as he went until he couldn't see me anymore. "I wish we brought a flashlight," He said.

My path along the muddy wall came around a corner where I could see sunlight seeping in from the top of the far wall. I told Judd about it and then walked with my arms outstretched straightway across the room. Either the ceiling was getting lower or the floor was getting higher but I could reach up and feel the mud above me, if I wanted. As I walked I pushed past what felt like roots coming out of the ceiling. I got to the other side and reported how I could see out to the trees.

That's when I heard the Doberman barking. "There's a dog, Judd." I turned around.

"Boo," Judd shouted as he grabbed me. "Don't be so scared," Judd said, looking at my pale, frightened expression.

With my back to the light I could see what I had just passed through-a dozen dead animals, some already skeletons, hanging from nooses.

Judd's eyes had adjusted enough to see the wall before us. "Chad we got to get of here." He ran for the exit. The dog barks drew closer. "Chad, come on."

I was just now realizing that the letters "KKK" were crudely written on the wall Judd had been looking at. "Is that written in blood?" I asked.

"Chad, come on. Someone's coming," Judd yelled down from the hole.

I can't describe it, but there was presence of evil I felt as though someone was restricting my movement. For a brief moment I didn't know if I could escape at all. My stiff legs finally released themselves and I bolted for the exit, but tripped down the slope of the floor, landing in a heap of dirt. By the time I got up the plank, Judd had already made it behind the nearest tree. He was waving me on, urgently. I stepped around behind the closest wall still standing and peered out, keeping the dark confines of the basement hole in my peripheral. The dog was at the end of its chain. I don't recall what the owner looked like. The shotgun appeared bigger than everything else in my view. As the gun turned away and the owner went to the dog, I made my break for the woods. Judd and I raced each other from tree to tree until we were out of danger.

I don't know what was down there with me. I just know what I felt. I don't know, but that we must not have been seen by the dog's owner, and we were mistaken for a false alarm, because the dog was not released on us. There is no bigger state of known KKK members than Indiana, but I don't know that KKK even does animal sacrifices or what really was going on deep in those woods, but it was something sinister. I don't know what that person with the shotgun had to do with anything, nor did I want to find out. My brother swore me to secrecy that we wouldn't tell anyone, because we were trespassing, but you can be sure we never returned, because there was something unknown back there that was too scary for us to fully uncover.