Tonight I went back to the trail where I dealt with the whole laughter thing a couple of weeks ago. Dan didn't drive me- he's busy tonight, working a graveyard shift. Instead, I drove myself, and parked my car on the side of the road about half a mile from the trail and hoofed it from there. I'm not a fan of leaving my car unattended in the woods in the middle of the night, but I needed to unwind, and I couldn't get anyone else to drive.
Like I said, I needed to unwind. Over the last couple of nights, I've had some pretty bad episodes- the kind where I can't move and I can't speak and I can barely breath. Like I've said before, when I get like that, I think something's in the room with me. Something is just past the corner of my eye, or just deep enough in the darkness of my bedroom that I can't make it out against the background.
My great grandmother, she was full-blooded Spokane Indian. She used to tell us scary stories when we were kids, supposedly taken from myths of the Spokane and other groups that lived in the same area. Now, Nana's stories changed depending on how much she drank, but there's always been one that's stuck with me. She would tell us about these things. Sometimes she called them hags, sometimes shadow people. These beings, whatever they originally were in the old tales, always had one thing in common: someone would piss them off, and they would punish that person. Whether it was a child who disrespected their parents, or a man who made his money exploiting others (again, depending on Nana's mood), the shadow people would appear in their house, and watch them sleep. And then, when it came time to punish the person, the creature would sit on their chest, hold them down so they couldn't move, and then consume their spirit.
The reason I bring this up is so you all understand why the last couple of nights have been bothering me more than usual. Like I said, when my episodes hit, they usually involve me believing that something else is in the room with me, watching me. It's been worse the last couple of nights. Instead, there's something on top of me. I can't see it and I can't even really feel it, but I know it's there because my arms and my chest is pinned to the bed, and even though I can't see anything, I just know it's there. So the first episode like this got me thinking about Nana and her stories, and it's likely that contributed to me having the same experience several nights in a row.
Hence why I needed to walk tonight. I would have gone to a different trail,but this one was the closest, and using the same logic as millions of people who eat McDonalds every day, I chose convenience over comfort. I just needed to walk.
I get maybe fifteen minutes into my trek, and the noises start again. I don't know if these guys (and I'm not even sure whether it was one person or a group, or whether they, if there was a they, were all male) lived near the trail or what, but I swear they were the same noises from last time. The same laughter, at least.
So I put up with it. Headphones in the ears, Pink Floyd at full volume, and eyes focused on beam of my headlamp, I just paid attention to moving forward. After a couple of miles, the trail usually splits off into two directions: one heads up a steep set of switchbacks, goes over the peak of what is more of a large hill than a mountain, and then winds its way slowly around the nearby lake. The other follows the lake in the other direction, but is much easier and more relaxed, both to start and because it goes down the switchbacks, rather than up them. At the intersection of the two trails is what used to be a signpost featuring a map of the trail. Nowadays, though, its primary feature a smattering of graffiti. Usually, I take a quick breather here, to decide which way I want to go and see if anything new and interesting has been added to the sign.
Now, the reason I'm in a bad mood is because I'm definitely being screwed with, and there are two possible culprits: It's either Dan, or it's one of the five or six other people who seem to be reading what I'm posting here.
I say this because, nailed to the signpost, dead center, is one of those Blair Witch Dolls. I wish I had taken a picture of the one stuck up on the signpost, but I didn't, so for those of you who haven't a clue, this is what I'm talking about.
Now, in case you missed my post from the other day (or this is your first time here, in which case, welcome, I guess), The Blair Witch Project freaks me out. Dan knows this. Hell, any of you reading this know this. And I'm reasonably convinced that whoever put the doll out there put it there to mess with me. It looked fairly fresh (as 'fresh' as a doll made of twigs could look), and it seems to me that any park rangers that had seen it after the park closed would have taken it down, so it couldn't have been up there for more than a couple hours.
Honestly, Dan's the only person who could have done it. Unless one of you (of the six people who are reading this) somehow found out where I live, what trails I like to hike, and when I would be hiking this specific trail, Dan is the only person who would know I'd be out here. I'm gonna try to talk to him as soon as he answers his damn phone.
But hey, maybe it's just coincidence? Otherwise, I'm pissed.
No comments:
Post a Comment