Screech in the Night

Oh, I heard the rustling in the bushes before we set up the campfire. It’s here, no doubt.

No, it’s not a raccoon. The trash pandas know we’re suckers for the masks and stripes, they’d have set up sticks for themselves as soon as the s’mores stuff came out. No, it’s not the wind either. You can see only specific branches shaking.

Don’t get any idea about inviting whatever’s hiding there to come over and share our campfire. Or our s’mores, I didn’t bring enough to feed any cryptids. Just us.

No bear, no deer. That scared them all off.

All right, fine! I’ll tell you the whole story. But some on, let’s sit down, and I’ll start at the beginning.

Pass the marshmallows.

So. You know the usual scary stories, right? Blah blah screech blah blah strange knocking noise, blah blah right behind you blah blah-

Pardon me for a minute, I’m going to yell. Don’t. Turn. Around.

Stinky, get back from my nephew! So help me, you try stealing the chocolate again, I’m calling the media! Yes, you heard me, knock it off!

Right. Where was I?

Right. Blah blah. Well, when I was a kid, my grandfather would sit here, and tell stories that were downright creepy. One Handed Hal, had a hook for a hand, beware any poor, unsuspecting, teens who would go snuggle up on Makeout Point. Everyone’s cars had scratches in the exact same place, for miles around, and never mind that the local kids liked to hide and scratch up cars, right?

Yeah, well, we stopped laughing when the feds rolled in. We were all sitting here when the red and blue lights swirled, helicopters and sirens, and the old hermit the lives right down there on the lake, he got hauled away. They’re still digging up bodies. Check in the morning, you can still see all the ratty, but still bright yellow, crime scene tape. Awful.

When I was a teen, it was my Dad’s turn. He would tell all sorts of stories, mostly about things hanging out in the outhouse. A little too much Tom Lehrer in his youth, though I think it was Julia Ecklar who sang Black Widows in the Privy. Well, let’s just say, that most of us kids didn’t want to use the outhouse here till we had proof of fumigation, and there were a lot of bed wetting accidents that summer, and Mom got mad and threatened him with something or another and I’m sure that had nothing to do with their divorce, but I remember we had to do a lot of laundry, and some of the mattresses had to be replaced. Mom also got the outhouse fumigated, and the guy who did it found a colony of brown recluses, which aren’t native to this area, and some awful accusations of attempted murder were thrown around. I still fumigate, every year, when I open up the cabin for the summer, but so far, just the usual little guys, poor things, not even a fat barn spider. It was a lot for us to take in at the time, even as teens. But at least I can tell a garter snake from a rattler at twenty paces, so yay, no hospital trips?

I’m gonna yell again, so cover your ears. And don’t look! I mean it!

Stinky! I can see your face! If I can see you, you’re too freaking close! Get back in the bushes, and stop shaking them around! Enough already!

So, after my dad was tossed in prison, and I got the cabin, then your Uncle Jeremy got in a snit, decided he liked the living up here, and bought the cabin on the far side of the ridge. No problem, right? Except, he likes his privacy so much, that we can’t visit over there, so we end up staying here. And he started feeding the skunks, to keep the place as smelly as possible, and insisted that this is the family cabin, and stay away from his private one. Okay, whatever, but how could he know what was to come?

The new neighbors moved in.

Honestly, we first thought it was bears. Anything left outside with anything resembling food, was destroyed by morning. We locked things up in bear-proof containers, and figured that was that.

Stuff still got destroyed.

Well, that implies having an opposable thumb, right? We checked into the usual suspects from town, the ones who did the rock-scratching, back when we believed in One-Handed Hal. And their crotch goblins, of course. Nothing.

I set up trail cameras, thinking Uncle Jeremy might have gone off the deep end.

Hold on a minute, I’m really gonna holler-

Stinky! Stop that stupid screeching! We can hear you all the way up here! Go bother the wolves or something, you’re not getting our food! Go and forage, you’ve been doing it for centuries, now is not the time to be mooching! Knock it off, I mean it!

Where was I?

Oh, the trail cameras?

Well, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned them. Must be too much sugar.

See, Stinky? I’m saving you from our curse! And if Uncle Jeremy drops some fermented apples, or overripe pumpkins, I’ll go clean those up, too! Stop acting like you own this mountain!

Trail cameras? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, if there was any footage, I deleted it.

Look, I thought it was Uncle Jeremy, too high on too much skunk oil – or something that smells a lot like skunk. Doing his thing, one ridge over, trying to get a rise out of us. Maybe even trying to scare us into selling.

But, if you turn around, even for a second, and see something like what I saw on that nonexistent trail cam footage, and go and blab, your parents would never let you come back. Ever.

Is that scary enough for you?

Just nod, and smile knowingly, and say it’s Uncle Jeremy.

And that we call him Stinky now, ‘cause of all them skunks he’s been feeding.

So, eat some more s’mores, and hand me the leftovers, and we’ll go inside, and get ready for bed.

And I’ll lock the door. No, none of you are making a run to the outhouse in the middle of the night. I got some portable toilets, and enzymes, so it’ll be fine. Don’t you ewww at me, munchkins, it’s better than meeting that in the middle of the night.

They really, really, really, like their sugar. I’ll douse the fire, and then we’ll make a run for the cabin, I left the light on, on the porch, so we can’t miss it.

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Uncle Jeremy in a while. Do you… do you think?…

Naaaahhhhh….

Now, run! Run!