Herman's Gully

-1-

1984 sifted away like a Boggle sand timer. The major highlight of my sixth-grade summer was when I almost died. Just ask Reynard. He remembers.

It all started one July afternoon at Herman’s Gully. Me and the guys from my neighborhood caught wind that Josh Martin built a new bike jump. After he found us pedaling a ways behind him, he complained that he did not want an audience, but he did not send us home either. He set the ramp, stomped on it to make sure it would not fall, and hiked back up the trail.

Then, we waited.

“He chickened out,” said Reynard.

“No he didn’t,” said Curtis. “Listen.”

If I strained my ears, I could hear a gust rush through the spokes of Josh’s tires. He shot around the corner of the dirt trail kicking up a thick cloud of dust behind him. As soon as he cleared the turn around the big oak tree he doubled down on his bike pedals. As if he needed more speed. The kid was insane. And also a local legend. Word on the street was that Josh had jumped an abandoned busted up station wagon once. I believed it. Josh Martin could jump anything. As an added bonus he rode a cherry-colored Redline BMX bike.

His aim was true as he hit the ramp. The moment he left the wooden wedge, Josh yanked up on the handlebars and tucked his knees in, pulling the bike as high up as he could muster. The kid must have been ten feet in the air. More, since he flew over the gully. He had to be that high in order to clear it.

Josh’s dirty blonde hair billowed in the wind. All-American, with a pointed nose, and eyes that could pierce souls, I swear he was part-eagle by the way he soared.

We held our breath. Josh seemed to hang in the air for five whole minutes, even though I knew it was only a few seconds, if that.

I did not want to see him crash and die, but I also didn’t want to miss it in case he nailed the landing.

He cleared the other side of the gully, no problem. The guy made everything look effortless. When his front wheel touched down, speed wobbles overcame his Redline. But Josh knew how to handle those. The bike tried to buck him off, but like an expert bull rider, Josh locked up the brakes and skidded sideways until the bike lay flat.

My fists shot up in an instant. “Righteous!”

All the boys around me let out various screams, whoops, and hollers.

Josh had cleared the gully. If the kid wasn’t destined to be the next Evel Knievel, I did not know who was.

Josh hopped up, did a cartwheel, and laughed all the while. What did that feel like? Probably one hundred times better than the joy I felt. I’d watched him takeoff and land. But to be in Josh’s sneakers and actually fly? That was something I’d never experience.

After we yelled our throats hoarse, we sat there, dazed. Reynard broke the silence. “You’re next, Donut.”

My heart sank into my stomach. I didn't want to attempt the jump, let alone be called out. I’d come to witness history, not become history.

“His name’s Dale Travis,” said my best bud, Curtis Smith.

“You chicken, Donut Dale?”

I used to be chubby until this last year. But Reynard never dropped my nickname. I called him Rey-nerd in return, but his lackeys, Todd and Larry, never called him that after he gave both of them charley horses. Curtis still called him that to his face, and that always put a smile on mine.

I eyed the gully. This time of year, the water was not too high, not too low. In my heart, I knew I could never clear the gully. But the guys couldn’t read my mind. The least I could do was set up like I was going to try, then bail. I bit my lip. I could get hurt, bad. Maybe I could try to land in the water on purpose.

“What’s the matter, Donut? Afraid your mom’s gonna need to plan another funeral?”

Curtis jumped to his feet to slug Reynard, but Josh beat him to it. The legend was a few years older than us and had pounds of lean muscle packed behind his punch.

“Ow. What the—?” asked Reynard.

“Watch your mouth, Rey,” said Josh.

Reynard grimaced and rubbed his arm. “It’s gonna be purple.”

“You’re lucky it's not your eye,” said Curtis.

Reynard spit on the ground in Curtis’ general direction.

Fumes drifted out of my nostrils like a tea kettle. I brushed my hair away from my furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll do it.” I got to my feet and stood my lime-green Schwinn Sting-Ray up. I spun on my heels, stomping up the dirt path toward the top of the tree covered hill.

A strong hand caught my arm. “You don’t have to do this,” said Josh in a low voice. “He’s just getting you to do it so he doesn’t look like a yellow-belly lizard.”

I shrugged out of Josh’s grasp. “I got this.”

Josh nodded, understanding this was more about my dad than it was the jump itself.

On my way down the hill, I knew I’d made a mistake. My bike was cool for cruising, but it was no BMX bike like Josh’s Redline or even Reynard’s blue-and-yellow Raleigh. My bike was not built with huge jumps in mind. The speed wobbles assaulted my front tire. Still, I was not going anywhere near fast enough. Committing half in anger, and half in fear, was the worst reason to attempt any feat. I imagined Josh hitting the ramp with excitement. I twisted off of it with dread. Before I left earth, I locked up my brakes and jerked my front tire sideways. I toppled off of the ramp and fell into the gully. Rolling over and over, rocks bigger than my kneecaps blasted me, each one a blow to my bones and my pride.

I lay in the cold stream, wishing it would wash away the ache of my new injuries, but mostly the ache in my heart. It did neither. Curtis helped drag me and my bike out, then helped me dust my clothes.

Reynard, Todd, and Larry laughed harder than they did when watching Looney Tunes. I suddenly knew how Wile E. Coyote felt when Road Runner left him crushed under an anvil.

Josh could have gave them a good whooping, but he did something better.

His hand clapped mine in a strong high five. “Good try, Dale. Next time make sure to get as much speed as possible.” He went on to give me pointers. I nodded, pretending I was ingraining all his advice, and he pretended I was going to jump the gully ever again.

Before either of us realized what happened next, Curtis zoomed past us faster than a flash flood. The thump-thump of his tires hitting the ramp one after another, followed by the silence of Curtis being airborne, made my stomach drop.

His grip slid off of the handlebars. The bike went one way, Curtis went another. His bike crashed into the opposite edge of the gully. Curtis was not so lucky. He fell below the edge, out of view. A snap sounded followed by his screams. I rushed to the gully to help my buddy. No matter which direction I looked, upstream or down, I could not spot the tree branch he’d snapped. It had to be there somewhere. I slid on my jean bottoms down the side of the gully until I came up right alongside him.

Curtis was no wuss, so the way he was screaming while cradling his twisted leg told me his pain was immense. He looked like a failed matador trampled by a bull. That’s when I realized, there was no snapped branch.

-2-

“Mom, can we take Dad’s car?”

Mom eyed Dad’s gray ‘81 AMC Eagle, then sighed. “No. We’ll take mine.”

I don’t know why we kept his car. She never drove it, but didn’t want to get rid of it. So it just sat there. I missed riding in it with Dad. Sometimes, when Mom wasn’t around, I’d sneak into the garage and sit in the car so I could catch a whiff of him. The car smelled like cigars, handlebar mustaches, and Led Zeppelin. It was Dad through and through. I also wasn’t allowed to get the Led out anymore. It wasn’t a spoken rule, but I never pushed it with Mom. Besides, Ted Nugent rocked just fine.

We headed to the thrift store in silence. I sank in my chair until my eyes were level with the bottom of the window and watched the green leaf trees zoom by. They’d be orange soon. Summer would end before I knew it. But I doubt it felt like that for Curtis. His summer must be dragging on forever. What torture it would be to sit at home all day while all my friends rode bikes everywhere, getting into trouble without me.

“Don't slouch like that,” said Mom.

I shifted but managed to slip further down the chair.

-3-

The thrift store hit me in the face with that smell, like old clothes, grandparents, and crappy furniture. As soon as I was through the door, I ditched Mom and zipped over to the back corner of the store. Cardboard boxes waited on a metro rack to be sorted through. A treasure trove of vibrant comics awaited me. My fingers crawled over the tops of the thin comics, portals to other worlds.

Mom’s objections echoed in my head. Too many stacks of unread comics littered the floor of my room. That was true. I appreciated the art, but sometimes got bored with the stories. Whatever. I’d found a loophole to get more. I could buy them for Curtis, read them at his house and Mom was none-the-wiser. Then I looked like a saint instead of a greedy hoarder.

The comics moved fast here. I learned the hard way, if you saw something that itched you, even a little, you bought it. Otherwise it up and left forever with some other snot-nose kid. So when I stumbled on some John Carter, Warlord of Mars issues, I knew I hit gold. I pulled out five, eleven, seventeen issues. I didn’t hit gold. I hit the motherload. One of the covers displayed Carter confronting a large alien woman atop a throne. The caption mentioned the goddess, Issus. Cool. Curtis loved Egyptian mythology. I did not know much about Carter comics, I just knew when you found them, you didn’t pass them up.

It took some convincing, but Mom was a sucker for Curtis, especially since I was his only consistent visitor.

-4-

Curtis’ eyes almost popped out of his head. “You got all these at the thrift store?”

I grinned. “Yep. I knew you liked Warlord of Mars a lot. You don’t already have those issues?”

“None of ‘em. Thanks so much.”

“Any time pal.”

I lay on my stomach, over the edge of his bed, and flipped through the pages. “I knew I found something you’d love when I saw the goddess Isis on the cover.”

“You mean Issus. Rhymes with...virus.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Isis is the Egyptian mother goddess of magic and wisdom.”

“Yeah.”

“Issus is the dictator goddess of Barsoom. Totally different.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever dude. Just be happy I got these for you.”

We thumbed through the comics for the next few hours until our brains could no longer handle the excess of swashbuckling interplanetary adventure.

“If you got sucked up to Mars, you think you could take on a Banth?”

Curtis’ eyes glazed over as he stared out the window. “Those crazy lionesque things?” He chuckled. “Naw. I’d get eaten alive.”

“Not me,” I grinned. I stood tall and sprang from the bed, wielding an imaginary sword. “With Carter’s strength, I’d slash it in half.”

“But you’re just a kid. You’d only have enhanced kid-strength. Not enhanced man-strength.”

I plopped back down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah...but I’d have courage too.”

“Courage is stupid.” Curtis wrapped his knuckles against the cast encasing his leg. “Wish I could still ride. I want to get out of here so bad.”

“How much longer do you have to wear that thing?”

Curtis exhaled a long sigh. “At least three more weeks. Doctor’s orders.”

“I wish you could ride too.” I patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not as fun without you.”

“Awe, shucks.”

“Can you go to the movies?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Gotta keep this propped up since I can’t bend my knee.”

“What about the drive-in?”

“I can. Just not tonight. My parents are going out.”

“Bummer.”

“You going tonight?”

I did not want Curtis to feel any worse. But I could not lie to my best friend. “Yeah…”

“With who?”

“Reynard. Todd. Larry. Just the guys.”

“You’re going with those dipsticks?”

“Reynard’s having a sleepover.”

“You’re sleeping over at Rey-the-nerd’s house?” He glared at me like I’d betrayed our friendship.

“He invited me. And you’re stuck here. No offense. I don’t have anyone else to hang out with.”

“You don’t have anyone else to hang out with? What about me? And now you’re going to sleepover with the jerkwad who made me break my leg?”

“He didn’t make you break your leg. You decided to jump the gully yourself.”

“Yeah, after you crashed and I stood up for you because Reynard made fun of your…”

He stopped before he said it. But I knew he almost mentioned my dad.

“It’s just one stupid sleepover. It’s not like I’m best friends with the guy.”

Curtis tossed the Carter comics on the carpet. “Whatever dude. You shouldn’t go. They’re just using you. They’ll probably just make jokes about you all night.”

I was going to go no matter how Curtis felt. But no need to salt his wound. “It’s getting late. I better get home for dinner.”

Curtis folded his arms and grunted. “Thanks for the comics.”

-5-

Reynard had everything I wanted in life. A treefort, a Raleigh bike, and even an Atari 2600. He also had a taste for deviance.

We took turns playing the brand new Pitfall II video game. The graphics were so advanced. It even had a soundtrack.

“Isn’t it time to head to the movies?” I asked. “My mom gave me just enough for the movie and some popcorn.”

“Put that money away,” said Reynard. “Where we’re going, we don’t need it.”

“Why not?”

“We’re going to the drive-in.”

“But it still costs money. And we don’t have a car. Are your parents taking us?”

Reynard jutted a thumb at me and snickered. “This guy. Don’t be such a square, Donut. We don’t need any of that. We’re breaking in long after it’s closed. We’re going to watch a grown-up horror movie, Guardian of the Crypt. Unless you’re chicken.”

A swirl of emotions torrented through me. Of course I was not chicken, but there were too many risk factors in breaking into a drive-in theater. “This idea sounds dumb. First of all, we’d have to break in. And even if we do, none of us are projectionists. Those machines are too complicated for us kids to figure out.”

“Wrong,” said Reynard. His eyes narrowed to mischievous slits. “There’s a hole in the fence big enough for us to squeeze through. And as for the projector, tell ‘im boys.”

“Between the two of us,” said Larry pointing to Todd, “We know how to work the projector.”

Todd folded his arms. “We been planning this for weeks. We buddied up to the projectionist. He gave us a tour of the projector room, showing us all of the inner workings. Everything from the film rolls, to the projector itself.”

“What about the sound? We need sound to watch the movie, knuckleheads.”

“Thought of that already too, dummy,” said Todd. “I strapped a radio to my bike with bungee cords. When we get there, I’ll bring it in and tune to the right frequency. Easy.”

Larry cracked his knuckles. “We got this in the bag.”

They could talk all they wanted now, but I’d only believe it when I saw it.

A huge doubt gnawed at the back of my mind. As convincing as they thought they were, I had to ask. “What about Old Man Mao?”

“What about him?” said Reynard.

“You guys heard the rumors. What people say about him. Ain’t he from the Far East? Aren’t you worried he might—”

Reynard threw up his hands. “Might what?”

I wish Curtis was there to back me up. As an avid reader and history nerd, he knew all kinds of Eastern lore. He’d warn the guys of the perilous dangers we were willingly succumbing to. Who knew what ancient sorcerous knowledge Old Man Mao’s pagan-worshipping ancestors of the jungle temples had bestowed upon him and what foul magics he’d smuggled into the States?

I gulped. “What if there’s some kind of Eastern Voodoo hex trap set for trespassers?”

Todd raised eyebrows and bit his lip. He’d heard the rumors too.

Larry chimed in. “My dad said he’s an immigrant from Cambodia. Don’t they still practice magic out in the Far East?”

Reynard guffawed. “That’s all hogwash. Mao probably spread those rumors himself just to keep people off his property. He’s just a wrinkly old man, that’s all.”

“But even the side of town where the drive-in sits is odd,” I said. “Right next to two cemeteries. And the empty lot. At the very least there’s got to be weird energy there after dark, when it's all shut down.”

And my dad was buried there. But I kept that thought to myself.

Reynard batted my superstitions away with his hand. “That’s because no one wanted that land and Old Man Mao’s a penny-pincher.” He glared at Larry and Todd for approval. “Listen to this worry-wart of a grandma,” said Reynard. He called me a slew of other sixth-grade insults, and even slid in a few adult ones to show how certain he was.

No matter how I protested, I could not convince them otherwise. After midnight we were going to the drive-in.

-6-

“Race y'all there,” said Reynard. “Last one there is a piss puddle.”

As if breaking into the drive-in and shooting a projected light beam into the dark wasn’t enough of a stupid idea, Reynard had decided to bring his corgi along. The little dog raced alongside its owner on stubby legs, but kept up nonetheless.

We rode through pockets of streetlights and moonbeams. On the way we had a wheelie contest. My front tire stayed up for twenty-three seconds, an all-time record for me. Reynard beat me by one second. Before I could try again, we’d arrived.

The tall fence that surrounded the property was made of solid corrugated plastic panels. Old Man Mao did it that way so that no freeloaders could view the movies from the outside.

The other three boys dropped their bikes in the tall grass next to the hole in the fence. I rested for a moment on my bike and watched the other boys, one by one, squeeze through.

Reynard’s head popped out of the hole. “What’s the hold up, Donut? Don’t chicken out now. We’ve biked all the way here.”

I eyed the hole, then looked back over my shoulder at the empty road. A chill wind blew against the back of my neck. I flipped my jacket collar up to ward off the goosebumps.

“Are you coming or not?”

My face bunched up in a grimace. “I’m good. You guys go on without me.”

Reynard’s nostrils flared. “If you don’t quit being a wuss and get in here, I’ll never invite you to another sleepover again. You hear me, Donut?”

No more sleepovers? That meant no more Pitfall II. No more Atari. No more access to the treefort. And unspoken was the threat that the guys simply would not hang out with me anymore. For the rest of the summer I’d be friendless when I went biking on the streets. I’d be forced to bike alone, or hang out with Curtis even more. I felt bad for my buddy. But I didn’t break my leg. I shouldn’t be cooped up either.

“Fine.”

I dropped my bike in the grass next to theirs and crawled through. Once I got to the other side, it struck me that this was my first time intentionally trespassing. I was officially a criminal.

My heart thumped in my chest. A rush hit me, forcing me to breathe deep. Doubt, excitement, and worry all crowded my mind, vying for control. For the first time in a long while, I felt alive. So what if we snuck onto private property? I loved it.

-7-

The projector stood three feet taller than any of us sixth-graders, so working the equipment was no small thing. Todd and Larry went to work setting up the film. I admit, it was impressive. For friends of Reynard, they weren’t half as dumb as I’d thought. In fact, I’d bet all the nickels in my pocket that’s why he hung out with them. He needed smart friends, and they needed a tough leader. Just like I needed Curtis.

A picture of Old Man Mao mounted on the wall gave me pause. Who hung a picture of themselves at their own workplace? Mao stared right into the camera. It captured his eyebrows furrowed together, all the wrinkled lines of his dark brown face leading to his dagger-like eyes. Below the picture frame, a handwritten note said, “The boss is always watching.” I shivered against my will. It was all I could do to take the frame off of the wall and turn it around.

-8-

Guardian of the Crypt was your standard Egyptian archeology-themed horror movie.

Mom never let me watch those kind of films. Dad would have taken me though. What I wouldn’t give to be able to watch this with Dad and Curtis. At least my buddy would heal and we’d be watching flicks like this in no time.

I’d seen a handful of horror movies, so I knew what to expect. Some dummies were going to try and break into a newly discovered Egyptian tomb and make off with untold riches, but one by one they’d be picked off by whatever was guarding the crypt. Probably a resurrected mummy or an ancient god.

Uncertainty nagged at the back of my head. I could not watch the movie in peace. The drive-in owner could appear at any moment. At the slightest noise, I’d jump.

“Cool it, Donut,” snapped Reynard.

“Yeah. Chill,” said Larry. “No one’s coming. We’re safe.”

I rationalized with myself why we were okay. Todd’s radio was small. The volume barely traveled to our ears, let alone to the limits of the property. We were alone. No one was spying on us or expecting us to be there. We’d pulled it off.

I took a moment to simply enjoy what we'd accomplished. We’d snuck into a drive-in movie at night, set up the film ourselves, and started enjoying a free grown-up movie that none of us were allowed to watch without adult supervision. And we did not even pay a dime.

As the movie progressed, a sensation of being watched crept along my limbs and up my spine, like I was being sized up and considered for consumption.

Reynard noticed my disquiet and glared my fear away.

A number of characters in the flick died in the tomb. One by one they were picked off. Each time, more and more of the mysterious monster was hinted at, until at last the camera fell upon the whole beast. Massive crimson eyes burned inside a sphinx made of sand. It roared on-screen, reveling in all its part-lion, part-feminine glory.

A nervous giggle escaped my lips. I tried to rationalize and ignore my fear. “A sand sphinx? That’s dumb.”

The other guys didn’t reply. We were all shaking in our boots.

White noise hummed over the radio. The movie audio grew difficult to understand.

On screen, with the determination of a feline predator, the sand sphinx turned its crimson eyes on us. And I don’t mean us, whoever was watching the film at any given time. I mean us, Todd, Larry, Reynard, and myself.

The sphinx paw prodded the movie screen.

“Uh...guys?” I asked. But they were too entranced to answer.

The corgi let out a howl that penetrated my bones.

The next instant, Todd’s portable radio screeched like a primal hunter. He fiddled with the knobs, trying in vain to silence it.

Reynard’s corgi devolved from barking and snarling, to running circles with its tail between its legs.

The sphinx paw prodded the screen again, this time with more force.

Larry and I whimpered.

Reynard fought to keep his corgi under control and yelled over the siren-like sound. “Shut it off.”

The more Todd fumbled with the radio the louder it wailed.

We were so transfixed on the strange noises emanating from the radio, none of us noticed the gargantuan beast emerging from the screen until it was too late.

-9-

We all screamed our lungs out like sissies. The smell of urine invaded my nose. I looked down, surprised it was not my own.

The projector flickered, causing the sand sphinx to sputter in and out of existence. With each flicker, the beast drew closer, like a lethal game of flashlight tag.

Terror overwhelmed my entire being, rooting me in place. Everything inside of me wanted to flee, but I stiffened like a mummified corpse.

Without warning the projector sputtered a few times before shutting off altogether, leaving us and the movie screen in near absolute darkness. Even the moonlight seemed to dwindle.

Seconds of silence passed. I began to doubt what I saw. It was a trick of light. Or the projector broke. Or this film director had invented a new way to terrorize audiences. I half expected Old Man Mao to charge us with a shotgun and spook us off his property. I prayed that maybe he’d turned the tables on us and scared us straight with a good prank.

The pounding of heavy paws shook the grass and gravel beneath my sneakers. It was no prank.

Before any of us uttered a word the projector beamed back to life. Instead of the movie resuming, a white screen glowed with the telltale black spot of the film cue in the top right hand corner.

The sphinx emerged from the shadows, illuminated by the projector light, much closer, and much more than a movie prop.

Without the trespassers within the film to hunt, we were the only trespassers that remained.

Like an embalmed pharaoh in a coffin, I could not move.

Reynard’s chide from Herman’s Gully hit me in the gut.

Afraid your mom’s gonna need to plan another funeral?

No. I didn’t want my mom to suffer anymore. She’d already lost my dad. It had not even been a whole year yet. Plus, how could my mom have a decent funeral for me if they didn’t find my body after the sand monster consumed me?

And there was Curtis to worry about. Who’d be his friend if I was gone? Who would bring him comics and Bud’s Burgers when he was down? I needed to make it through this for my best bud Curtis’ sake too.

Somehow, I conjured up the courage to speak. “Guys. Run!”

One by one, us boys dove through the hole. We mounted our bikes and were almost off when Reynard cried out in horror. “Where’s my dog?”

Our eyes darted in every direction, but he was nowhere.

Barking from the other side of the fence told us that the corgi had decided to challenge the beast.

“We gotta leave,” I screamed.

“No,” said Reynard. He dropped his bike and dove for the hole.

The corgi’s head popped out. Reynard sighed with relief.

Only half of the little dog had made it through when it stopped and howled, its little paws digging in the dirt trying to find something to hold onto.

Reynard grabbed his corgi by the front paws and tugged. A terrible snarl sounded from the other side of the plastic panels. The whole fence shook.

The corgi popped out of Reynard’s grasp and disappeared. Snarls turned into bone-crushing wet chomps. The corgi was a goner. We’d be next if we didn’t leave.

Without waiting for the other guys, I jumped on my Sting-Ray. I dared to glance over my shoulder and found the other boys following me. But their bikes boasted newer designs. Soon they overtook me, only to leave me in the dust.

In the receding distance, I could hear the fence crumple like foil. The sphinx finished its snack and wanted dinner. And I was next in line.

Blindly following the other guys, it wasn’t until we passed the cemeteries, sped through an alleyway, and left the housing behind that I realized where we were going. Up ahead, a line of trees loomed like a natural gateway into the sparse forest. Reynard led the way and likely didn’t have a plan. His gut reaction had sent him on the most familiar path home, through Herman’s Forest.

The moon and streetlights had guided us this far, but once in the forest we’d be blinder than bats. We flipped our mounted flashlights on. The battery-powered beam created two walls of darkness on either side of me with a narrow sliver of light to follow the trail.

But then, my shoelace snagged in my bike chain, sending me sprawling. My body smacked into a tree. All of the wind rushed out of me. Forgetting my shoelace was tangled, I stood and tripped again. The distance between me and the guys stretched until they were out of sight.

The ground shook as the sand sphinx barrelled down the trail, mere breaths away from me.

Tears sprinted down my face. With a violent jerk, I ripped my shoelace free and ditched my sneaker.

Back on my bike, I retreated down the dirt trail as fast as I could, despite the sting of the pedal biting into my foot through my sock. My pedals revolved so fast, I thought my chain might break. Down, down, down the trail I descended. Gravity overtook my Sting-Ray, but still I moved too slow.

Snapping twigs, cracking branches, and exploding trees attacked my ears. I dare not glance over my shoulder again, even for an instant. The sand sphinx would catch me, claw me open, and fill me with endless grains until I ended up like the victims in the movie. Or worse, like the corgi.

I was on a collision course with the gully jump. If I wanted to escape, I only had two options, neither one stellar. Option one? Get to the bottom of the trail and follow the trail as it turned parallel to the gully, then hike upstream until I could cross the footbridge with my bike. No doubt, that’s what Reynard and the guys had done. But that would take way too long. And I’d have to fight gravity, pedalling uphill. My Sting-Ray wasn’t built like a BMX and I’d be fighting a losing battle with the sand sphinx close on my tail. That left option two. Attempt to jump the gully. And not like my sorry excuse of an attempt last time. It would have to be a final, everything-I-got, attempt. My short twelve-year-old life was riding on it. But my bike wasn’t built for jumps that big. I was starting to really hate my bike. My handlebar grips disintegrated in my iron grip. Blistered palms were inevitable if I survived.

My mind replayed the sickening snap of Curtis’ leg. Better that than being eaten alive.

If only the sphinx had some weaknesses. But even the adults in the movie had no weapon against it. They’d shot it with revolvers, rifles, and even waved a flaming torch at it. The only thing it seemed to hate was running water.

Running water.

Like the gully stream.

A small seed of hope sprouted in my chest.

I rounded the corner around the big oak tree. The jump stood mere feet away now. Resolve solidified in my chest. I was going to jump Herman’s Gully.

On the other side, I made out the three flashlights of Reynard, Todd, and Larry’s bikes. They must have remembered the beast’s weakness from the movie too. Or else dumb luck had led them there.

Josh Martin’s voice echoed in my head, replaying all of his advice. Hit it dead center, legs bent, pull your handles up, knees tucked in tight. Then pray.

My bike left the ramp like a NASA liftoff. Frigid night air filled my lungs. I crested the top of my flight. I yanked the bike up and close to my body. We were one, boy and bike, freedom and fear, fleeing and flying.

I’d done it. I was going to clear the gully jump.

Earth called me back down. My stomach shot up into my throat. I gritted my teeth and tried to spot my landing. My front tire touched down first. Control abandoned me. I flipped over the handlebars and rolled down the path.

My chest rose and fell as I awaited a terrible death by sand monster. The beast’s wicked roars bounced off of the trees, but it did not approach. Nor did I hear the dying screams of my fellow sixth-graders. Gathering my courage, I crawled to the edge of the gully with the other boys. The stream trapped the sand sphinx. It tried in vain to claw at the sides of the gully, but the current washed away large clumps of sand so that with each attempt the beast shrank in size.

For all its promise of death and destruction, the sand sphinx sifted downstream in less than a minute. The eerie feminine eye-sockets were the last thing to dissolve in the gully stream.

“You trapped it,” whispered Todd. “Gnarly.”

Reynard ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t believe it, Donut. You cleared the gully and killed the monster.”

“That was wicked sick,” said Larry.

I was so stoked, a nervous laugh arose from my gut. If only Curtis had been there to see it. And Dad too.

I slugged Reynard in the shoulder. “Eat that, dipstick.”

-10-

Things were different between me and the guys from then on. We’d survived an evil we could never explain to anyone. No one would ever believe us. Not even Curtis. But the undeniable evidence from that night lingered on. Like the unexplainable respect I’d earned from Reynard and the guys.

Years later, while cruising in my ‘81 AMC Eagle to visit my dad’s tombstone, I gathered up the courage to pass by the drive-in. The place had shut down. Old Man Mao had passed away, and drive-in theaters with him. Even as an adult, I shuddered at seeing the old lot, overgrown with weeds and the abandoned screen showing nothing but ruin.

Above all, I’ll never forget clearing Herman’s Gully. It saved my life.

END