With Halloween being in less than a month, I thought it appropriate to share with you a true and frightening tale from my own life. I’ve had a few weird and creepy things happen to me throughout my life, but this incident was truly unnerving at the time.
It happened several years ago, when I was visiting my grandparents in Ohio. We had decided to go for a hike in scenic Cuyahoga National Park - truly an underrated place of beauty and grandeur in America’s heartland. It was about the middle of the day, and I had stayed behind to get a few pictures while my grandparents and sister moved on down the trail.
By the time I was done, they had moved a significant distance down the trail. I followed the trail through the forest until I came to a fork. I didn’t know whether they had gone left or right, but I had to make a choice, so I went right, hoping it was the correct way. The trail took me uphill, deep into a conifer forest.
The place was dead silent. I have rarely experienced such unnerving quiet. I was on edge. Looking around, I hoped and prayed that my grandparents were near. It was then that I saw a shape down the trail; a human shape. Thank God! I was no longer alone.
Now, the state of Ohio is part of what I call the “weird region” of America. It’s an area of high strangeness that encompasses parts of Ohio, West Virginia, and Kentucky. This region is known for bizarre occurrences; hauntings, strange creatures, UFOs, and other paranormal activity. It’s the reason I chose to set my upcoming paranormal anthology The Walter Ulric Files in West Virginia. These exciting stories of high strangeness will be available on October 31st of this year. But I digress.
While I wasn’t as well-versed in stories of high strangeness at that age, I knew about some of the phenomena in the region; Bigfoot, the Mothman and others. As I approached the figure on the trail, I became increasingly uneasy. There was something very wrong about this. The figure seemed short; almost childlike in proportions. Furthermore, it seemed almost entirely of a grayish-brown color. The day was a bit foggy, so I attributed that to the fog at first. But the strangest thing was that it did not move at all. It stood there, stock still staring at me. If it was a child, I expected to see it running around, playing making noise. I also expected to see its parents, but none appeared.
My heart beat a little faster. What was this thing? Was it human or something else? Was it friendly? My curiosity got the better of my fear, and I slowly crept toward the motionless being, keeping my camera in hand to document the encounter. Closer and closer I stepped, shaking like a leaf. Suddenly, all became clear; this was no human figure, nor was it anything else living on this earth. It was rather a wooden sign post giving directions for lost hikers like me.
I heaved a huge sigh of relief as I approached the object, laughing at my own silliness for believing this was anything other than a lifeless piece of wood. I had neglected to bring my glasses that day, and my nearsightedness had allowed my imagination to run wild.
I was still lost in the woods, however, in an unfamiliar part of the world. It finally occurred to me that I could simply call my sister on my cell phone. You see, where I come from, cell service in wooded regions is spotty at best. But this was a national part, not far from a major metropolitan area. I could simply call for help. My sister answered, and I made my way back down the trail. They had evidently turned left rather than right.
While this story may be amusing, looking back now, with my current knowledge, I do believe I encountered something very real in that region; what is known as a genius loci or “spirit of a place”. These guardian spirits may or may not be visible, but they are known to instill a sense of fear or apprehension in those who encounter them. Pan, the Greek god of the wilderness, for example, was rather good at this; so much so that the word “panic” stems from his name. I don’t know for certain that this is what happened, but I simply couldn’t shake the feeling that something in that patch of woods did not want me there.
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