THREE – The Beast of Lake Compton
“It was here, at Lake Compton where the beast was
first sighted. At the campsite. On the camp grounds. It was just like this. One
of the big school trips, but years ago. I heard about it through my Mom. She
used to be a reporter for the Daily New York Chronicle and she found this story
in the archives. I don’t think they ever even printed it, you know? It was too
scary. They didn’t think the readers in America would believe it either. And so
it stayed secret, hidden in the vaults down there at 274 Lafayette Street.
They got all kinds of stories down there, stuff they would never print, kind of
like a journalist’s X-Files room that
my Mom used to go down to on her lunch breaks. This was always her favorite
story.
“The boy was called Bruce Melcher and he
was around our age. Came out here for his first summer camp, his first holiday
without his parents. Thought he was safe out here, just like we all think we’re
safe. But we’re not and neither was he. No parents out here and the teachers
don’t really care. Just like on that night, same as right now, they’re all in
that big tent, drinking and eating all our food, well, probably eating all the
good stuff anyway. Point is, they’re not looking after us. Just like the camp
counselors back home, in the States. They don’t truly care about who they’re
looking after because they’re on vacation themselves. It’s summer camp! It’s
fun all around. Everyone knows that’s how Jason Voorhees ended up drowning in Friday the 13th. Because the
counselors weren’t keeping an eye on him. They were off having fun, just like
our teachers (yuck!), are doing right now.
“And
that’s when it happened. Little Bruce ventured out to go to the bathroom on
that chilly night in June 1958. Back then there were no outdoor lights leading
the way. All he had was the moonlight and a long walk through the dark woods.
See, it wasn’t all set out the same way back then. They didn’t have the toilets
we’ve got here now, they just had the public campsite toilet block, which is
through that patch of woodland over by the lake. Of course, that little patch
of woods isn’t so little. It goes right back, right up to the hills, getting
wider, bigger, scarier and much, much darker.
“Bruce
should have probably just stopped. That’s what most people end up saying. Why
didn’t he stop and go to the bathroom in the woods? Yeah well, Brucey was a
little bit of a momma’s boy. Not used to the great outdoors. Poor kid didn’t
know any better. He also didn’t really know where he was going. This was,
remember, his first night at camp, just like ours. The pathway through the
woods wasn’t very good. They had only recently started hiring out the upper
field to school parties. It wasn’t long before Bruce drifted off that newly
trampled path.
“It was a
noise that drew him away from the correct route. A noise he mistook for sounds
from the main campground. He heard it and turned, started going uphill, deeper
into the dense woods, away from the toilet block, away from everything. Of
course, he thinks he’s getting closer, thinks he’s walking towards the
bathroom. And the noise; again he hears it. Human. A low growl that he’d
thought was someone snoring. Sounded just like how his dad snored back home.
Such a familiar night-time sound, comforting in the foreboding woodlands; a
shining light amidst the many dark thoughts. That sound, like some sort of
siren calling out to him.
“But one
man’s snore is another man’s growl. And that snore/growl grew louder and louder
in volume the farther he traversed. Perhaps his head was slightly lost in a
dream, part of him still safe at home, his door ajar, letting in that little
bit of light from the hallway and, yes, Dad’s snoring sounds drifting in from
his parents’ bedroom next door. The sweet, sweet sounds of normality; of home.
His head resting on the warm pillow far away from this dark fairytale, away
from thoughts of witches and goblins and dragons, trolls and beasts. Beasts
that growled. Beasts that never snored, that were always awake and on the prowl
in the forests. Hungry beasts that fed on little boys. Growling beasts.
“Becoming more like a roar - a mighty roar that could have emanated from a
devilish lion stalking under cover of darkness, somewhere very close by.
Feeling its breath now, something warm amidst cold air. But not pillow-warm.
This was not a comforting heat. This was animal heat, animal breath and Bruce
stopped, statuesque. Nothing around him made any sense. Which is to say, his
senses were restricted, blackened, muddied and confused. Sounds no longer made
any sense. His sight was enclosed in webs of black branches, skeletal hands
grabbing and poking at him. And all around was the sweet smell of the woods. Sweet
and sickly.
“The first
strike opened up a cut on his face the size of a Twinkie. Bruce fell down to
the forest floor, clutching onto his cheek, feeling the blood oozing from his
body. He let out a scream, but it hurt to scream with a face on fire and no-one
could hear anyway. Well, no man could hear. But the beast could hear.
And it answered back with another growl, much clearer and louder than all of
its previous noises. Bruce looked up to the source of the horrific sound, but
he couldn’t really make much out. It was some kind of giant, some kind of
animal - like a bear. If he’d been back where I come from, maybe it could have
been a bear. But not out here.
“It was
during the monster’s growl that Bruce went to the bathroom in his pants. After
all that and the kid ends up peeing out in the woods anyway! But he couldn’t
help himself. I mean, he’d just been attacked by an unseen, unknown animal that
still loomed over him, more than likely waiting to eat him - just like the
fairy tales warned. Any parent will tell you, the bogeyman is very real indeed.
And monsters are just as real too. Okay, so maybe our parents aren’t being
completely literal and none of the stories they tell us are true stories. But,
the point is, they’re all based on true stuff. True stories just like this one.
“Bruce watched as the huge bear-man’s
shape started to grow in size as it got closer to him. His senses became
sharper and sharper. His body was no longer toning down his senses to help him
cope with the unknown, like they’d been acting as a natural barrier. No, now
his body needed all its senses. It no longer was out to censor the horrors
around it. It needed to take them all in to make sense of what was happening
and do something about it. First thing he notices is how bad it smells, this
massive hairy animal before him. A terrible, nauseating smell. It reminds him
of how his kid brother smelled when he had his diapers changed. But worse, much
worse. Like a hundred diapers being burned in a vast tyre fire.
“And the
eyes. Sight becoming more accustomed to the view in front of him now. He can
see eyes. Yellow eyes. Not the eyes of a human being. They have a slight glow
about them; incandescent eyes. And they’re big and bloodshot. They are devilish
eyes, encrusted with madness and mayhem and murder. Beastly eyes with a strong
focus, focused on him, watching him bleed, watching him suffer. And they get
bigger as the animal, or whatever it is, bends down. The smell gets more and
more intense and he can hear its breathing, and that scares him more than its
eyes. He can hear and feel the breath of the beast.
“Strike
number two is on the shoulder. Another massive gash opens up on the frightened
kid’s body and more blood oozes out. Blood he can’t see. Can’t see his own life
pouring away. It’s at that moment that Bruce thinks he’s a goner. Alone out
there in that dark domain with the beast. Nobody to save him. Well, you’d think
that was it. That the creature was going to maybe wait for him to die and then
feed. Or maybe not even wait. Maybe the vicious body strikes had only been to
render the prey lethargic. Allowing for a nice, warm and lively lunch. Well,
late supper.
“But no. Mr.
Beastie isn’t eating. BOOM!!! If Bruce hadn’t already just gone to the
bathroom in his pajamas, it would have been the perfect time to go right then -
straight after the shockingly loud and intrusive, yet oddly welcome, gunshot.
With one hand on his face and the other on his shoulder it’s hard to
concentrate. And the shot induces a little temporary deafness. Regardless,
Bruce is pretty sure that the creature departed on the BOOM!!! And he
doesn’t remember much after that. Last thing he can remember hearing is one
word. One little expletive from the mouth of a fellow human being. Pretty loud
too. It’s an angry word, said in an angry way by an angry man. He hears a
gruffly voice curse, SHIT!
Lori finished the story there. On the word shit.
How lovely, but we were kids. I suppose it was a good way to end her little
campfire tale.
“Shit?” I said. “Well, who said it? Did
the beast say shit?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so. But
nobody knows. Maybe Bruce remembered more about it but never said anything,”
she replied, before stuffing her face, well deservedly, with a chocolate candy
bar.
“That’s a weird story,” Heather said.
“Maybe he’s still alive, Bruce I mean,” I
suggested.
“Yeah. He probably is,” Lori said through
a mouthful of chocolate, peanuts, caramel and nougat.
“What was that noise...?”
TAKEN FROM BEYOND BIGFOOT
Available to buy from Amazon and Barnes & Noble
Deep in the woods of the Appalachian Trail a grisly murder has taken place. Could the legendary creature known as Bigfoot be responsible? British mother Crystal has a dreadful feeling she knows who the killer is. What is the beast that lurks in the dark woods? Is it man or beast or something... beyond? From horror writer Killian H. Gore comes this nightmarish tale of the infamous Bigfoot.
